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She had lit the fire in the pretty floral sitting room after lunch, pulling the sofa close to the crackling flames and dozing on and off most of the murky, overcast February afternoon, but at five she was wide awake, looking out into the dark garden as the storm which had been threatening all day began to break in the heavens.
Lightning was flashing across the sky, great jagged streaks which silhouetted the ebony thunderclouds with silver. An icy cold wind was moaning about the house, lashing the trees and bushes into a frenzy now and again and causing the odd billow of smoke from the fire in the grate.
Marianne shivered, although the sitting room was as warm as toast, and wandered through to the front of the house to stand looking out of the drawing room windows at the empty drive for some minutes, before returning again to the warmth and cosiness of the sitting room.
Was this storm an omen? she asked herself silently. A portent of what was to come if she opened Pandora’s box? They were supposed to be going out to dinner tonight; Zeke had reserved a table at a local restaurant which had an excellent reputation and cost a small fortune, and they were due to arrive for seven.
If he was much later she would have to leave talking to him until they returned home. She didn’t want to rush the conversation or leave for the restaurant halfway through; it was too important.
Zeke phoned five minutes later and he sounded harassed.
‘Sorry, I’m going to be late,’ he said quickly. ‘I’ll explain when I see you. Could you be ready to leave when I get home, which should be about half past six?’
‘Of course.’ She kept her voice bright and steady as she battled with the thought—quite unfair, she admitted silently—that he was reverting to how it had been before she had left him. He had often arrived home late then, content in the knowledge she would be waiting for him in her glass tower.
But it wasn’t like that now, she told herself firmly after she had said goodbye and replaced the receiver. And he was running a multimillion-pound business, for goodness’ sake; there were going to be some days which weren’t plain sailing and necessitated long hours.
Nevertheless, the feeling of déjà vu persisted all the time she was getting ready, and several times her hand moved to the faint mound of her stomach as though seeking some kind of reassurance.
She stood staring at herself when she was ready for some moments. The off-the-shoulder cashmere top in deep violet teamed beautifully with the pencil-slim skirt ending in frivolous frills just below her knees. It wouldn’t be long before she wouldn’t be able to wear her normal clothes, she told herself with what she realised was a little dart of sheer pleasure. She was looking forward to seeing her stomach grow, knowing it was Zeke’s child she was carrying, although no doubt by the end of nine months she would be heartily glad to return to her normal shape.
Zeke roared on to the drive at a quarter to seven, and she was just slipping into her coat when he opened the front door. ‘You look gorgeous.’ He ran his hands down her body under the coat as he pulled her close for a long moment and kissed her. ‘Good enough to eat.’
So did he. She smiled into the handsome aesthetic face, feeling the power that radiated out from him with a frisson of sensual pleasure. He had always had a devastating presence; it went with the cold, arrogant good looks and the air of command that was as natural to him as breathing.
It would be so easy to lose her own identity, she thought soberly a moment later as they walked out to the car. To be smothered, taken over, as
she had nearly been in the past. And then she brushed the thought away, determined to enjoy the evening out with the man she loved and the father of her baby. Later was later, and she would say what needed to be said then. For now she wanted to drench herself in the pleasure of being with him.
The restaurant was fabulous: discreet lighting, beautiful surroundings—it even had a miniature waterfall in one corner and a pianist in full evening dress in another, providing a melodious background to the buzz of conversation emanating from the assembled diners.
The food was everything they had been promised it would be; the mousseline of smoked salmon with asparagus and saffron dressing melted in her mouth and the fricassee of chicken with tarragon and wild mushroom sauce was truly delicious, but it was the dessert—silver-dusted double chocolate torte with whipped cream—that was the supreme triumph of the evening as far as Marianne was concerned.
‘That was truly gorgeous.’ Marianne curled back in her seat like a small satisfied cat as she spooned the last delicious mouthful in her mouth, and raised her eyes to see Zeke watching her, an amused quirk to his mouth.
‘Come tomorrow morning you won’t be feeling so pleased with yourself,’ he warned softly, laughing out loud as she pouted at him for the bad taste of the remark.
‘I daren’t come here too often,’ she said lightly. ‘I’m going to be fat enough as it is.’
‘You’re going to be beautiful and desirable.’ His voice was husky and very warm.
‘Will you still say that when you come home to tired, grizzly children, a house cluttered with hundreds of toys and an irritable wife who hasn’t had time to do her hair?’ she teased softly.
‘Ah…’ He surveyed her from dark glittering eyes. ‘Now that brings me very neatly on to something I’ve been looking into over the last few days, and the main reason why I was late tonight. I needed to pay a visit to one or two medical establishments.’
She stared at him, puzzled at his tone. It was one of suppressed excitement and eagerness.
‘We’re going to have a baby,’ he continued softly. ‘Right?’
‘It’s definitely more than a bout of indigestion!’ She grinned at him, the excellent meal and one glass of wine she had allowed herself giving her something of a devil-may-care feeling that was wonderfully liberating after all the agitation and soul-searching of the last few days.
‘Our baby.’ He hadn’t returned her smile, and now she found herself searching his face. ‘Yours and mine.’
‘Zeke?’ She was beginning to feel panicky and she didn’t like it.
‘Agreed?’ he pressed, still in the same low voice.
‘Of course it’s your baby and mine.’ She didn’t have a clue where he was coming from, but something was afoot, and the smile had died.
