He was silent for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. He said quietly, 'You don't even want to know what it is—my gift? You've no wish to see it?'
'None.' She took a swift breath. 'Can't you see I want nothing from you? Don't you understand that the only thing of value you could give me is my freedom—and the absolute certainty that I'll never have to see you again? But I doubt that's on offer.'#p#分页标题#e#
'Not immediately.' His voice was harsh. 'However, I can probably arrange matters so that we only meet in bed. Perhaps that might make your sentence easier to bear. Although we will have to share occasional meals,' he went on. 'Starting with dinner tonight, which I've arranged for eight-thirty. And you, my sweet wife, will sit at my dining table and pretend to enjoy the special food that Margaret is preparing. And, to enter fully into the spirit of the occasion, you will wear your wedding dress, which you'll find with the rest of your things upstairs in the dressing room.
'And that's not a request,' he added swiftly, as her lips parted in protest. 'It's an order.'
There was a corrosive note in his voice that frightened Cally.
This was a dynamite situation, she realised, and she hadn't handled it well.
'And now I'll respect your wishes and leave you in peace, to enjoy your own company.' He got to his feet. 'As usual, there's some work I should do. After all, I need to work harder, don't I, darling? Earn more money now that I have a wife to support and the prospect of a child.'
'Nick,' she said, her voice shaking. 'Nick—please.'
At the door, he turned. 'Having regrets, sweetheart?' His tone was ice. 'Save them for bedtime. You might just need them.'
Alone, Cally sat for an endless moment, staring at die closed door. She could still feel his anger in the room—an almost tangible bitterness, making the walls close in on her. Making it suddenly difficult to breathe.'
She rose and ran across the room, half stumbling in her haste, to die French windows and out on to the terrace, where she paused, gasping.
How dared he treat her like this—speak to her in that way? she demanded silently as she leaned against the stone balustrade, trying desperately to compose herself. She'd run from him on an impulse triggered by shock and grief, because her
Life had suddenly become unbearable, but he was the cause of that. It was his fault, not hers. She'd been forced to go. She'd had no other choice.
And even if she'd stayed—forced a confrontation—it would have led to the same result in the end.
Had he really believed he could keep his mistress a secret from her? she wondered. True, Southwood Cottage was in a sufficiently isolated spot to provide a discreet rendezvous. But even if Adele hadn't told her about the affair there'd have been gossip—hints—eventually. In a small locality that was inevitable. And the longer their marriage had existed, the worse the sense of betrayal would have become.
During lovemaking did he say the same things—do the same things as he did with her? Those were things she would have asked herself over and over again, torturing herself in the knowledge that she would never find an answer that gave either comfort or hope.
And did he draw comparisons between them?
Perhaps he'd thought she'd be so besotted with him by that time—so dazzled and indulged with sex and money—that she'd be unwilling or unable to give him up. That she'd be prepared somehow to share him.
She might also—heaven help her—have been carrying his child, which would have reduced her options still further.
But this was no longer a hypothetical situation, she thought, shivering. It was going to happen, and she would have to find some way to live with it. To endure...
Her fingers tightened convulsively on the stone ledge. 'Don't go there,' she whispered to herself.
At least this time around limits had been imposed on her unhappiness. And, as long as she could keep its root cause hidden, she had a chance of emerging from the whole disaster with her pride battered but intact, if nothing else.#p#分页标题#e#
There is something I have to tell you.
Not while I have breath, Cally thought fiercely. Confession may be good for the soul, but not when my heart has to be torn apart as a consequence. I don't need this belated honesty.
The bride's present to the groom—forgiveness and absolution. Was that really what Nick was hoping for?
Or had he simply realised the impossibility of maintaining the secrecy of his liaison for much longer? And was he crazy— or just cruel—to think that bringing the issue into the open would somehow make it easier to deal with? If so, how wrong could anyone be?
'Her name's Vanessa Layton.' The image of Adele's slow smile came back to haunt her as her mind went into free-fall. The confrontation had taken place in the hall, and for some strange reason Cally could remember a bowl of early roses standing on a side table, and the soft whisper as one of them shed its petals. There'd been a shaft of sunlight coming through the open front door, hitting her as if she was a small animal caught in the headlights of a car. Rendering her transfixed— immobile.