The sound echoed in the sudden silence of the room as Charlie fingered the crumpled wedding dress he had thrown at her, the events of the evening racing through her tormented mind. This was her wedding night. How had it gone so terribly wrong? Because she had finally chipped through Jake's—her husband's—monumental control and discovered the truth, and it was not the love she had hoped and dreamed of.
White-knuckled, she gripped the gown and began to shiver. Acting on autopilot, she slipped off the bed. She found her suitcase and withdrew a blue satin nightgown, then shoved her wedding dress inside and shut the case. She slid the blue satin over her head. It wasn't very warm, but then she had not bought it with warmth in mind. She blinked and blinked again as she walked back to the bed, and lay back down, pulling the sheet up over her shaking body. Then, and only then, she buried her head in a pillow and surrendered to the agony and despair that tore at her very soul. Finally when there were no more tears left, only dry racking sobs, and her stomach ached with the pain, she realised she had to stop—if not for herself, for the sake of the baby.
She didn't know what she was going to do. All she did know was the happy, laughing bride of a few hours ago was no more. Jake had seen to that. 'Damn Jake—damn him to hell,' she muttered under her breath as hurt and anger rose to the fore. Who the hell did he think he was? What right had he to sit in judgment of her or her father's morals when he had the morals of an alley cat by all accounts?
Charlie tossed restlessly on the bed. She had to be strong. Already she was coming to terms with the revelations this evening had brought, and given time she would work out the best plan of action. She was an independent woman, or had been before she had met Jake and let love cloud her judgment—but no more, and no more tears. She rubbed her eyes with the sheet. And if Jake thought she was going to sit around playing the grateful little wife and mother, Jake was in for a rude awakening.
With his name lingering on her lips she fell into an exhausted sleep, unaware that her husband had returned and was staring down at her. He saw the tears that leaked from under her pale lids as she slept, and sorrow dampened his eyes as he quietly turned and left.
CHAPTER NINE
'GOOD , you're awake.'
Charlie shot up in bed, her gaze winging to the door, her eyes widening in shock as Jake, barefoot and wearing a maroon silk robe, entered the room. In his hands was a tray set with breakfast with a vase containing a single red rose as a centrepiece. 'Not quite the conventional honeymoon breakfast of champagne, due to your condition. But I have made you tea and scrambled eggs on toast.' He smiled, approaching the bed.
Jake looked so pleased with himself, Charlie had to fight back a reciprocal smile and consequently she said more harshly than she intended, 'You needn't have bothered.'
'Hostilities resumed, I see,' Jake mocked, his eyes darkening, a muscle tightening in his jaw as he placed the tray down on the bedside table.
For a fleeting moment she regretted ignoring what was obviously an olive branch from Jake, but only for a moment. The hurt had gone too deep for Charlie to forgive or forget. 'I'm pregnant, not an invalid. I could have made my own breakfast.'
'You don't need to; that's Marta's job. But I gave her the day off for some reason that escapes me now,' he said sardonically. He filled a cup with tea and handed it to her and, careful to avoid touching his hand, she took it.
'Thank you,' she murmured, slanting a glance at his handsome face.
A cynical light gleamed in the dark eyes that met hers. 'Prego. Eat, enjoy, and we will talk.'
'I don't see we have much to talk about. You said it all last night.' She drank the tea, and replaced the cup on the tray. She didn't want to talk; she didn't want to look at him. Charlie felt as though a veil had been torn from her eyes last night and for the first time since she had met Jake she had seen him in his true colours. He was a ruthless, hardhearted bastard who hit back at anyone who crossed him, as he perceived her father had—and her as well.
'Last night I said too damn much.' Jake snorted disgustedly. 'But the past is dead and buried with your father and Anna. Surely you can see that?' he asked seriously. 'We were married yesterday. Forget last night and let us start again.' Sitting down on the side of the bed, he covered her hand where it lay on the coverlet with his much larger one.
The sensual warmth of his touch triggered an immediate response in Charlie that filled her with dismay and a rising anger. Hastily she jerked her hand away, and, taking a deep calming breath, she raised her head. Blue eyes clashed with black and for a moment she was stunned by the tenderness in Jake's expression—but then, he was a great deceiver, she reminded herself.