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‘Your stepfather called them. I was warned off for causing a public disturbance. Now I don’t believe it was my fault that the paparazzi were encamped outside your parents’ house or that they went crazy when I arrived… but somehow I received the blame.’ The chill of his accusing appraisal, the hardening of his strong facial bones told her how outraged he had been by the experience.
Molly had known about that visit he had made but she hadn’t known about the interference of the police. Dismay on his behalf briefly assailed her. No, that hadn’t been fair but physical force wouldn’t have persuaded her to see him then and, in any case, she hadn’t been staying with her parents at the time. She had known better than to turn to her stepfather or her mother for sympathy when her marriage had gone so horrendously and publicly wrong.
‘The desire for revenge might well have died a natural death once I came to the conclusion that I had had a lucky escape,’ Sholto continued with brutal candour. ‘But it was what you did to my cousin, Pandora, that I could never forgive or forget’
‘Pandora?’ Molly breathed in a sick undertone, barely able to get her vocal cords round that name.
‘The Press tore her apart. She was tied to the stake by the tabloids and burned like a witch. People cut her dead; friends stopped calling. She was even spat at in the street,’ Sholto recited grittily. ‘Pandora, the man-hungry, promiscuous bitch, who supposedly stole the groom from Molly, the poor martyred little bride…that’s how she was portrayed. And why did that happen? Because you told a bunch of filthy lies to a journalist!’
‘I didn’t!’ Molly protested, a choking sob building in her throat, but she turned her head away even as she said it. She hadn’t been the one to do the talking but she knew who had. Outraged on her behalf, Jenna, her then best friend, had passed on her indiscreet confidences about Molly and Sholto to an eager reporter. Molly hadn’t given Jenna permission to do that, nor would she have, but she could not deny that at the time she had experienced a bitter satisfaction when Pandora was vilified by the Press for her role in the break-up of their marriage.
‘You let loose the whole media circus,’ Sholto condemned, swinging restively away from the bed.
‘No, you did that,’ Molly contradicted him, her voice low and tremulous as she bowed her pounding head over her knees. ‘You did that when you were photographed leaving Pandora’s apartment at dawn the day after our wedding.’
‘You were my wife. I had the right to expect some degree of trust and loyalty from you,’ Sholto drawled with chilling bite from the fireplace.
She could barely absorb what he was telling her because he had utterly devastated her with the cruel reality of what had lain behind his seduction. Molly had never really accepted that Sholto could be as ruthless as he had always been painted and only now did she appreciate that in the years since the annulment she had learnt to partially excuse him for the terrible pain he had caused her. Somewhere in the back of her mind she had begun to believe that he might well have married her in a desperate, possibly even praiseworthy attempt to break off his relationship with Pandora, but that he had ultimately found himself unable to sustain such a deception when Pandora had refused to let go.
‘You got what you deserved,’ she murmured painfully ‘Exactly what you deserved. I used to think that maybe you couldn’t help yourself and now you’ve taught me differently. I did trust you and that was stupid but I would rather go through life being stupid than become a cold, unfeeling—’
‘Dio…never, ever unfeeling,’ Sholto interposed with silken emphasis from the door. ‘But revenge is a dish best eaten cold and I really could not stomach the idea of you marrying Donald and producing a host of little portly, pigeon-toed children. What did that clod do to deserve my wedding night? Well, if he takes you now, cara, let him do so knowing that you were mine first!’
Molly shuddered with appalled distaste. Sholto gazed back at her, golden eyes ablaze with challenge. He was quite unashamed of the primitive sentiments he had just expressed. And that was yet another revelation to Molly. Four years ago, she had married an unprincipled savage without knowing it, indeed had fondly believed that Sholto was the very last word in laid-back cool and control.
As the door closed she stared into the smouldering heart of the fire, conscious of the shadows now gathering in the corners. The flames had died down like the counterfeit passion and soon there would be nothing left but ashes. Sholto was a prince of deception and he had run rings round her with his sexual charisma. He had done it in the name of revenge and suddenly Molly was desperately grateful that she did not love Donald and that he did not love her.
Donald would be disappointed but not hurt when she returned his ring. He had only proposed at the weekend and he had urged her to think very,
very carefully before she gave him her final answer. She had lain awake last night and then had put on the ring when she got up, resolving to tell Donald of her decision when she returned from this trip. But that now seemed a lifetime ago and Sholto had just smashed what she might have had with Donald. She was deeply ashamed of her own physical weakness. A woman who could so easily and foolishly succumb to the sexual allure of one man had no business at all even considering a serious relationship with another.
A cheap one-night stand. That was what she had made of herself. He had even dared to censure her for what Pandora had suffered! But then, albeit unwittingly, she had attacked and hurt the woman he loved. Indeed, tonight Sholto had taught her what real hatred was and it was not the weak illusion that she had hidden behind to conserve her own pride. But she still found it incredible that Sholto could blame her for their broken marriage, could question her loyalty and trust. For, hysterical or not on their wedding night, she had made her feelings quite clear…
‘If you go to her, I won’t be here when you come back!’ she had told him, shooting the last bolt on her pride with that ultimatum because she had not been able to credit, had not been able to believe until he’d actually walked out the door that any male would leave a sobbing and already distraught bride to go to another woman on his wedding night.
And Sholto had made his choice. Indeed, Sholto had made his choice without hesitation. If he had come in search of her afterwards…well, it had already been too late. When Molly had seen that photo of him emerging from Pandora’s apartment block at dawn, had been faced with the humiliating public proof that he had spent the whole night with his cousin, she had never wanted to set eyes on Sholto again. The agony of that betrayal had been too immense.
And yet they had started out with such apparent promise, she conceded painfully, struggling not to let the memories flood back, for the last thing she needed now was to wallow in the distant past. But somehow the temptation to recall a happier time was irresistible.
She had first met Sholto on one of those hot, still summer afternoons when anything physical felt like an outrageous effort. She had been coasting her bike down the hill, her basket full of eggs from the village shop, when a black sports car had suddenly shot out of a leafy lane in front of her. Her frantic evasive manoeuvres had sent her flying head first into the hedge. When the world had righted itself again, Sholto had got out of the car and was helping her disentangle herself from the brambles, exclaiming about the scratches on her bare arms and apologising.
A languid female voice had drifted from the sports car. ‘Ask her where the Hendersons live…’
Sholto had stridden back to the car and wrenched open the driver’s door. After a terse exchange, a tall, beautiful blonde with a sullen mouth had reluctantly emerged. ‘I’m sorry you came off your bike but you really should’ve been looking where you were going—’
‘You were driving like a bat out of hell,’ Sholto interposed, looking at the blonde with icy reproof.
For an instant Sholto and Pandora stood side by side, and together, as Molly got her first really good look at them, they took her breath away. One so dark and one so fair and both of them possessed of that compelling kind of physical beauty which turned heads and fascinated. Never had Molly been more horribly conscious of a face bare of make-up, hair tangled by the breeze and a faded summer dress that had seen better days.
‘The Hendersons,’ Pandora repeated impatiently.
‘You’ll have to excuse my cousin. Pandora. She’s not very good with strangers,’ Sholto murmured wryly as he extended a lean hand to Molly. ‘Sholto Cristaldi. Where were you heading when we interrupted your journey?’
‘Home.’ Her uncertain gaze collided with shimmering dark golden eyes as she clasped his hand. And he didn’t let go again. He kept on holding her hand, a faint frown-line etched between his aristocratic brows as he stared intently down at her until a deep flush of selfconsciousness coloured her cheeks and she tugged her own fingers clumsily free.
‘Sholto, we’re late!’ Pandora snapped.
‘What’s your name?’ Sholto asked, as if his cousin had neither spoken nor even existed.
