AllFreeNovel
Share Us
They were parked in front of tall wrought-iron gates, set between stone posts, and Jude got out. 'I'll open the gates.' Cleo slid out of her seat, closing the car door behind her.
'I'll walk up,' she told him, passing him as he swung the gates open. The iron creaked as it moved on its rusty hinges and she didn't look at him. It hurt too much.
She would look over the house, and if she liked it she would buy it. And she'd move in as soon as remotely possible, install a computer link-up with Slade head office, go on from there. For the sake of appearances, Jude didn't want a divorce just yet and neither, particularly, did she. She would never re-marry, and as for being free—well, she'd never be free of him, she knew that, because she would always love him. Love him, hate him, there seemed little difference.
Once today was over she probably wouldn't have to see him again, or not very often. He'd continue to make himself scarce until she was settled in a place of her own. She knew he wouldn't want to spend time with her.
Dene Place was a Queen Anne house, not too large, and the gardens were a wilderness, but the fabric of the building seemed sound. The bare, dusty floorboards echoed with the hollow sound common to all empty houses as she explored, leaving him to follow if he felt he had to.
The view from the first-floor windows was benignly rural—meadows, trees, gentle hills—and she could be reasonably content here.
'What do you think?' Jude had walked up behind her and she stiffened, her eyes staring, not seeing anything now. Then she made herself turn, a slight smile pinned to her face, and he was closer than she had expected.
Her bare arm brushed against his and the shock made her stumble. He put a hand out to steady her, the action automatic, and she sucked in her breath, moving away quickly. His slightest touch still set her alight. There was nothing she could do about it.
'I like it,' she took up his question, anxious that he shouldn't guess how he still affected her physically. 'I'll buy, subject to surveyors' reports, and I'll handle the whole thing. There's no need for you to put yourself to any more trouble.' She wanted the thing settled now, and this place would be somewhere, to hide, to lick her wounds.
'It's not too isolated for you?'
Her eyes fled to his, hard, bright eyes because she was crying inside. He looked weary, gaunt, as if he'd lost weight and the loss had been rapid, but, her mouth a tight line, she pushed concern out of sight.
'1 wouldn't let that bother you.' She wouldn't be lonely—or only for him. She would have her work and, later, her child. She moved rapidly through the empty room but his voice stopped her before she reached the door.
'You hate me, don't you?'
'Yes!' Her reply was instant, savage, her lips pulled back against her teeth.
He confused her emotions, made love and hate seem the same thing, and she could no longer stand the bitter tension. She had to get out of here, find some space, some air to breathe that wasn't tainted with the stench of tension.
Almost stumbling in her haste, she sped from the room and across the large, square landing, taking the stairs quickly, hearing his voice behind her. But for all her haste he reached the foot of the stairs at the same time as she, grasping her shoulders roughly.
'You little fool!' His voice was driven hoarsely through white lips. 'You could have fallen, killed yourself, killed the child!'
Shaken, trembling inside, she returned his angry glare, tugging her arm away from his hurting fingers.
'I would have thought that might have suited you admirably,' she said coldly, nastily. 'Two unwanted encumbrances out of the way in one fell swoop!
Why. should you care?'
'Of course I damn well care!' he bit, his mouth compressed as he faced her, his hands gripping her shoulders again. 'I care like hell what happens to you and my child!'
Cleo's eyes flicked upwards, searching his. One of them wasn't thinking straight. Either she was hearing things she wanted to hear or he'd made a Freudian slip, admitting paternity in the emotional heat because that was the way he'd wanted it.
His strong hands were still gripping her shoulders, she could feel every fingertip burning through the thin fabric of the sleeveless dress she wore.
And he was too close, too male, and too much loved.
'Did I hear what I think I heard?' she asked acidly. She felt his hands drop to his side. 'Do you actually admit the child is yours?'
'Yes.' The admission made his face go hard and she stared at him disbelievingly. Had he finally reached the conclusion that she could be trusted? Had he cared about her enough to work it out for himself? The hope she'd thought was dead stirred to reluctant life again. She was a fool to want him still. He had caused her more pain than she could ever have believed she was capable of handling. Yet love couldn't be turned on and off like a tap, however much one wished it could be.
'I don't blame you for hating me, Cleo, and I have a lot to apologise to you for.' His face was bleak, his teeth biting down on his lower lip as he spread his hands hopelessly in a gesture of defeat she wouldn't have believed him capable of. Then he moved away from her, staring out of the open door to the sunlit tangle of the gardens. 'I don't have the right to expect you to accept my apologies, but I hope you'll believe me when I say I'm desperately sorry—for everything.' He turned then, facing her, his eyes shuttered. 'Under the circumstances I'm willing to give you the divorce you want. It's the least I c
an do.' A muscle worked spasmodically at the side of his jaw and his voice was husky as he swung on his heels, making for the open door. 'If you want to look around outside while we're here I'll wait for you over there.'
Her mind was reeling. None of this made any kind of sense! He had at last decided he'd been wrong about her, that the child she carried was his—he had even apologised! And yet, he was willing to divorce her! A few days ago, still believing the worst of her, he'd stipulated no divorce for several years!
There was a stone seat against the rosy brick of the high garden wall and he was making for that, to wait for her. All notions of exploring the grounds left her head as she ran after him, her feet slithering on the weedy gravel drive, the full skirts of her summery blue dress flying around her long bare legs.
