Marriage Without Love & More Than a Convenient Marriage(33)
She had her back to him, but she knew the instant he saw the nightdress, because his voice suddenly changed, sharp with disbelief, and it didn’t need his soft, ‘Well, well, it seems as though I am going to have a wedding night after all,’ to warn her what a precarious position she had placed herself in.
‘I put it there because of Mrs Johnson,’ she began defensively,
‘You did? A woman who not two hours ago was telling me that she didn’t give a damn about other people’s impressions? I don’t believe you.’
‘Believe what you damned well like. I wouldn’t sleep with you willingly if you were the last man on earth!’
‘You wouldn’t get the chance,’ Kieron replied brutally, ‘if that shapeless cotton sack is the nearest you can get to wearing something enticing.’ His fingers flicked disparagingly at the garment in question, high-necked and faded from numerous washings, and hurt tears stung Briony’s eyes, although why she should be hurt she could not have said, but as though his contemptuous words had touched a deep buried nerve she quivered with mingled pain and indignation, longing to deliver an equally effective snub back. The nearest she could get to it was to demand breathlessly, ‘I don’t suppose you sleep in anything?’
‘Certainly not,’ he agreed suavely. ‘And I haven’t had any complaints as yet.’
As she stalked towards the door, he caught her by the arm, his eyes mocking and intent.
‘Was it just for Mrs Johnson’s sake, Briony?’ he asked softly. ‘Or was that woman you’ve tried to bury so deeply making her presence felt again?’
‘I don’t know what you mean!’
The way he was looking at her was making her feel oddly breathless, her skin quivering under the lazy circling caress of his thumb against its softness. She tried to avoid his eyes, staring instead straight in front of her, which was a mistake, for all she could see was the hard expanse of his chest and the dark hair curling crisply there, all sorts of treacherous memories suddenly surfacing with devastating clarity.
‘I’ve got to go to Nicky,’ she mumbled huskily. ‘Please let go of me.’
He released her, but did not move away, and she was unbearably conscious of the maleness of him as she brushed past his motionless body, her face on fire with anger at the deliberately enforced intimacy.
* * *
‘But how soon will we be there?’ Nicky demanded for the third time. They were sitting in Kieron’s car heading for the new house. Briony had not made her mind up what to do about her own and Kieron had suggested that for the time being they let the flats on a temporary basis, fully furnished, until she came to a decision.
She had hardly slept, and Nicky’s excited chatter filled the silence which seemed to stretch between herself and Kieron. She had gone straight to bed as soon as Nicky was asleep, claiming that she was exhausted, despite Kieron’s request that they talk. What did they have to talk about, she wondered bitterly, apart from their son?
It was still early enough in the summer for the countryside to be fresh and green, despite the long weeks without rain, and in any other circumstances Briony would have enjoyed the outing. The powerful car ate up the miles, the air-conditioning maintaining a pleasantly cool temperature, but although she tried to concentrate on the passing landscape Briony found it impossible to relax.
The house was in a small village, Kieron had told her, adding that he would do something about getting her a small car so that she could get about. As she knew from working with Doug a newspaper editor’s life was subject to a good many pressures and demands, not the least of which was being called out at any time of the night or day when emergencies arose, and surely Kieron would prefer to be closer to the centre of town.
When she voiced these doubts he shrugged them aside, saying that the house was only a temporary measure, adding glintingly, ‘Planning on how fast you can get rid of me, already?’
She didn’t know how she was going to endure his constant presence; after one day the pressure of striving for normalcy was beginning to tell on her to such an extent that she felt continually on edge; tearful and nervy, ready even to snap at poor little Nicky.
Although they found the village without any problems, Kieron had to stop and ask the way to the house. It was down a narrow, rutted lane, a black and white timber building with a thatched roof and latticed windows peering out from beneath thatched eaves. A cat basked on the worn flags flanked by lavender bushes, and Briony caught her breath in disbelieving wonder, turning spontaneously to Kieron to comment shakily, ‘It’s beautiful!’