Everything in the case was new, in honour of her brand-new future, including the quilted apricot bag for toiletries with its pretty beaded embroidery. She took it, with the nightdress, into the bathroom.
The fittings were old-fashioned, and the shower was a trickle rather than a torrent, but she managed somehow, patting herself dry with one of the meagre towels. Then she slid the nightdress slowly over her head.#p#分页标题#e#
A year ago the chiffon would have enhanced slender, blossoming curves and made them seductive. Now it hung from her, she thought, giving herself a last disparaging glance in the mirror before turning away. Her shoulders and arms were thin, and her collarbones like pits. Her breasts were t hose of a child again.
But why should she repine? After all, the last thing in the world she wanted was for Nick to find her attractive. He liked beautiful women—
he'd never made a secret of it. And for a while there, as she'd bloomed under his careful tutelage, she'd been— almost lovely.
But that girl no longer existed, and what was he left with instead? A rag, a bone, and a hank of hair. That was all.
And maybe the connoisseur in him, the sensualist, would not find that enough.
She trailed back into the other room, took clothes for the next day from the case—fresh underwear and a mid-calf dress in primrose linen, square-necked and cap-sleeved, which she hung up in one of the fitted wardrobes. After all, she'd bought it purposely to wear on the first day of the rest of her life, so it seemed an appropriate choice for tomorrow, if slightly sick.
And it was barely creased, indicating that her bag had not simply been left unopened and untouched over the past twelve months, as she'd thought likely.
Either that or she'd expected the entire contents of her luggage to have been removed to the nearest charity shop, erasing all physical reminders of her from his life. And yet it was all still there, wrapped in tissue and wailing for her.
He really had intended that she should go back to him, she thought shivering.
Her time was nearly up, so, with another apprehensive glance towards the sitting room, she reluctantly climbed in to the wide bed, hugging its extreme edge as she reached up and turned off the pink-shaded befrilled lamp. Lying rigidly on her side, she closed her eyes tightly and kept them closed, trying to breathe deeply and evenly as if she was asleep.
It seemed an eternity before the door between them opened quietly and she knew she was no longer alone. She was aware of Nick moving about softly, then the click of the bathroom door, and beyond it the noise from the shower.
Cally tried to relax—to sink down into the mattress— giving the impression that she was dead to the world. But it wasn't easy— not with tension building inside her all the while.
For the first time in her life she was about to spend a night in bed with a man, and in spite of the assurances she was petrified.
Eventually she heard him come back into the room and walk quietly across to the bed. There was a soft rustle like silk, as if he was removing a dressing gown, then she felt the m at tress dip slightly as he joined her. The other equally awful pink lamp was extinguished, and the room was dark.
He was nowhere near Cally, maintaining his distance as promised, but she was intensely conscious of his presence just the same. His skin smelt cool and fresh with the fragrance of soap, and some unguessed female instinct told her, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was naked.
She froze. Her heart was thudding like a trapped animal beating against the bars of its cage as she waited tensely.
'For God's sake, relax.' His voice in the heavy darkness was weary with exasperation. 'I don't go in for force.'
At least not tonight, Cally thought, but did not dare say it.
'Can't you understand how difficult this is for me?' she demanded tautly.
'I don't find the situation easy either,' Nick retorted sharply. 'But we have to start our marriage somewhere, and tradition suggests that bed is the place.'
'For lovers, perhaps.' Her riposte was more acerbic than she'd intended. There was a silence.#p#分页标题#e#
Then he asked gently, 'Is that intended as some kind of challenge?"
Cally found her eyes were so lightly closed that coloured spots danced behind her lids. 'No,' she mumbled.
'Good,' he said. 'Let's keep it that way, shall we?' He paused again. 'And bed isn't simply about sex, Cally. It's al so a quiet and private place to talk sometimes.'
'You're implying we have something to discuss? So far you've simply issued instructions.'
'I thought you might wish to go into a little more detail about why you ran away from me.'
Cally's eyes flew open. She hunched a shoulder. 'It seemed like a good idea at the time. As it happens, it still does.
'And that's your final word on the subject?' He sounded more curious than angry.