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She wanted to walk out of this room but couldn’t move. There was potent chemistry here, keeping her immobile, a subtle kind of magic holding her against her will. She watched him turn. He was holding what looked like two huge doses of brandy in his elegant, capable hands.
‘Sit,’ he commanded tersely. ‘Tea and then a shot of brandy could help.’
‘I don’t want it.’ She dragged her eyes from the heart-stopping wonder of him, fixing them on the floor, not caring if she looked and sounded like a sulky child.
She was no longer his wife, not in any real sense, so she didn’t have to let him pull her strings, tell her what to do and when to do it. Not any more.
Besottedly in love with him, she’d never made a fuss when things hadn’t worked out the way she wanted them to. She’d taken it for granted that, because he loved her, the decisions he made regarding the present and the future were the best for them. She’d believed he had some grand plan, the details of which had been a mystery to her.
Love had made her turn herself into a doormat She now knew he had never loved her—couldn’t have done—so was it any wonder he’d thought nothing at all of walking all over her?
Thrusting the disturbing revelation aside, she lifted her head and gave him a defiant look. ‘I’m going to bed. I’ve had as much of today as I can stomach.’ She was doing the dictating now, and in some perverse way was almost enjoying it. ‘You said you’d be making tracks in the morning. Don’t go without me.’ She stared at him from glass-clear, challenging eyes. ‘My sense of direction is nil, as you might remember. So take it as self-preservation on my part, not a warped desire for your company.’
Let him chew that over! Engineered this unlikely set-up, had she? Conceited brute!
She was at the foot of the wooden staircase when his terse voice stopped her in her tracks.
‘Have you eaten today? You won’t get far on what will probably turn out to be a ten-mile hike to get to anything remotely approaching civilisation on a diet of vinegary spleen.’ His tone wasn’t remotely humorous, nor even a touch compassionate. It was totally judgemental. ‘Was losing weight part of your job requirements? Stick insects still high fashion, are they?’
She ignored the lash of anger in his voice. What did he care, anyway? She could get thin enough to disappear with the bathwater and he wouldn’t blink an eye. It would save him the trouble of divorcing her.
But he was right about one thing—she should at least try to eat something. The walk out of here tomorrow would be exhausting, and the single slice of toast she’d had at breakfast was nothing more than a distant memory.
Much as she now hated to do anything he suggested—a backlash from the days when she’d practically turned herself inside out to please him—she turned back, and would have rooted around for the bread and some cheese and taken it through to eat by the probably dying fire, but he got in before her.
‘I’ll fix something. There appears to be enough food laid on to provision a garrison so it shouldn’t be difficult. Why don’t you drink that tea?’
No anger now, merely a smooth, impersonal politeness. It reminded her of her former attempts to be adult about the situation. So she’d play it his way—forget being bolshie, drink her tea like the man said.
It was tepid, but she got through half of it and ignored the brandy. He was sipping his as he moved around. Her eyes narrowed as she watched him. He was good in a kitchen, and she’d never known it.
She’d always been there, waiting for him to fit in a visit home between his tight work schedules. So pleased to see him, so eager for the time he could spare her—had condescended to spare her!—that she’d practically fallen over herself to make their time together as smoothly memorable as possible. After all, she’d had little else to do until she’d taken the initiative and gone back to work. He’d hated that!
The helping of grilled Cumberland sausages and tomato halves he quickly and efficiently produced was enormous enough to make her groan inwardly, and the mug of milky cocoa made her eyes go wide.
Had he secretly yearned for nursery food while she’d dished up sophisticated delicacies—potted shrimps, navarin of lamb, home-made sorbets so delicious they brought tears to the eye? All exquisitely served on the finest bone china—accompanied by superb wines, of course.
All the effort and dedicated planning that had gone into every meal she had ever produced for him, when all the time he might well have preferred a plate of sausages and a mug of cocoa!
Now she would never know. She most certainly wouldn’t ask.
The forced intimacy of the situation frayed her nerve-endings, while the heart-clenching nearness of him on the opposite side of the small table brought the sensations she’d been battling to forget for a whole year burgeoning back to life. Which didn’t help her appetite.
And she couldn’t make an attempt at light, relaxing conversation. Relaxation didn’t get a look in while he was around. And they didn’t have a single thing to say to each other that didn’t reek of contention.
Even the small sound of cutlery on earthenware platters became too much to bear. She stood up, pushing back her chair more sharply and clumsily than she’d intended.
‘Thank you.’ She meant for the food she had barely touched, the cocoa she hadn’t touched at all. ‘But I think I’ll turn in. One way or another, it’s been an extremely unpleasant day.’
She made it to the stairs before he had time to respond. She truly hadn’t meant to snap, but hadn’t been able to keep the acid out of her voice.
Her hair prickling on the back of her neck, she bounded up the staircase. She felt like a rabbit with a fox on its heels. Jacob Charles Fox by name, and foxy by nature, she thought half-hysterically as she breathlessly gained the room she’d earmarked for herself long hours ago when she’d innocently believed she’d be sharing the isolated cottage with Evie.
But he didn’t follow her, as she feared he might, to drag her down and force her to eat the food he’d cooked. Of course he didn’t.
Why the heck should he want to bother? she reminded herself tiredly as she sagged back against the door, one hand at her breast as if to still the wild beating of her heart. Secure in her room, with no
sound of following footsteps or angry commands from below, she couldn’t imagine why she’d panicked.
