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The question puzzled her. She looked up, the muscles of her throat tightening as she saw the look in his eyes.
‘Did he sleep with you, Genista?’ he pressed.
There was no way she could tell him the truth. She had told him too much already—things she had told no one else; secrets she had kept close to her heart all her life.
‘What do you think?’
A muscle jerked in his jaw, his hands tightening on the steering wheel until the knuckles gleamed whitely through the tanned skin.
‘You were a fool,’ he told her harshly. ‘You should have refused him.’
‘Why? So that you could be first?’ She could have bitten her tongue out the moment the words were uttered. She had no idea what had prompted her to utter them. Luke’s expression was savagely angry, and she was glad that the narrow road demanded his concentration. He looked as though he would have liked to strangle her, but she had no idea why. ‘I thought men didn’t go for virgins these days,’ she added, trying to make the words sound light. ‘Experience is all the vogue.’
‘You’re right, of course.’ Luke’s voice was completely impersonal. ‘Inexperience causes fear, which in turn lessens both parties’ pleasure.’ He shrugged, and Genista saw the powerful muscles beneath his shirt contract and expand. ‘Virginity in itself is nothing, but I suspect deep inside every man lurks the desire to teach the woman he loves to respond to him, and him alone.’
His words touched a chord deep inside her she had never known she possessed, causing her an aching pain which seemed to spread endlessly through her body in waves of anguish, and yet why, she did not know. She did not love Luke and he did not love her. But he would be the first man to make love to her, stealing from a man who might love her the right to teach her. She shrugged the thought away. She had never intended to marry, never believed in love, so what did it matter? This marriage was something that must be endured for Bob’s sake. A sudden thought struck her. Surely if he found her cold and unresponsive Luke would soon lose his desire for her, and wish their marriage over? And she wouldn’t need to act the part. Already she was dreading being alone with him, her body rigid with terror at the thought of having him touch her.
‘Hungry?’
She had been totally engrossed in her thoughts and realised that the Maserati had come to rest in the forecourt of a large Victorian hotel. She wasn’t really hungry, but it was obvious that Luke intended them to eat, and as she was fast beginning to learn, he wasn’t a man one could argue with and win.
His courtesy as he helped her out of the car was something which surprised her, until she reminded herself that his excellent manners were probably an automatic reflex of which he was possibly unaware. The hotel was imposing, the red brick façade faintly awe-inspiring. A flight of shallow stone steps led upwards to the entrance, and as they stepped into the cool tiled foyer. Genista looked around the elegant high-ceilinged room appreciatively.
‘It was originally a country house,’ Luke told her informatively. ‘The scene of many a weekend party, or so I should imagine, but after the war it was turned into a hotel.’
The head waiter materialised in front of them, and obviously recognised Luke. They were shown to a small table overlooking the gardens with a deference that Genista found enlightening. She had thought of Luke only in context with herself, and now it was brought home to her that she was marrying a very important man; and certainly an exceedingly wealthy one.
She was handed a menu which she studied absently.
‘If you’re not feeling particularly hungry, I suggest you start with the river trout,’ Luke said quietly. ‘They’re a speciality of the hotel.’
Genista did as he suggested, and as he had promised the fish was delicious. She had ordered fillet steak for her main meal with a side salad, and although the steak was beautifully tender she was unable to eat more than a couple of mouthfuls. Seated opposite Luke in the elegant surroundings of the restaurant with its thick pile carpet and gliding waiters, she felt the enormity of her situation suddenly come home to her. She all but choked on her steak, pushing her plate away, as she stared blindly into space. What had she agreed to? She wouldn’t marry Luke. She couldn’t marry him! She stole a glance at his imperious profile. He appeared absorbed in his food. Her eyes rested on the strong male features of his face, trying to relax her taut nerves. Luke beckoned the wine waiter and murmured something to him, and for a moment the man’s impassive features relaxed into a smile. He disappeared, returning several minutes later with an ice bucket containing a green bottle, and two champagne glasses.
‘Drink it,’ Luke commanded when the frothing liquid had been poured. ‘It will help calm your nerves.’
‘So would a cup of Horlicks,’ Genista murmured irreverently. It seemed wrong to be drinking champagne—a drink she had always associated with happy celebrations—before this forced wedding.
‘Horlicks is a bedtime drink,’ Luke said softly. ‘Do you have trouble getting to sleep, Genista? I’m not surprised, with all that you must have on your conscience. They do say that healthy exercise is an excellent cure.’
Her cheeks burned, as much at the implication of his last words as at the earlier insult. Tears burned against the back of her throat, and all at once she felt unable to fight any longer. A terrible feeling of misery engulfed her, a lassitude so foreign to her nature that she couldn’t understand why she should be experiencing it. It was as though her mind was at last acknowledging that there was nothing more she could do to escape and it was trying to teach her body acceptance.
Luke had ordered strawberries and fresh cream for dessert. He himself had cheese and biscuits, and Genista pushed the fruit round her dish, until his muttered exasperation got through to her.
‘I don’t want it,’ she told him defiantly. ‘All I want is for everything to be over…’
‘And for things to be as they were before,’ Luke finished for her.
Self-pity welled up inside her.
‘Things can never be as they were,’ she told him fiercely, flinching a little at the inimical look in his eyes as they searched her flushed face.
‘No, they can’t, can they?’ he agreed softly. ‘And I warn you now, Genista, if I think for one moment that you’re thinking of Bob when I make love to you, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born.’
‘You already have,’ Genista said recklessly. ‘And you can’t tell me what to think, Luke. My thoughts at least are still my own.’
She could feel the anger beating up inside him, and wondered shiveringly what would happen if he ever unleashed it. She hoped she never got to find out.
It was two o’clock when they left the hotel. They didn’t return to the motorway, but drove through the dales, lonely, magnificent country dotted with sheep, and laced with ancient grey stone walls. Villages huddled in the valleys, single streets of tiny cottages by rivers, so clean and clear that Genista could see the river bed as they drove past. The sun shone sporadically, casting shadows which chased each other over the rolling hills as clouds drifted over the sun. In other circumstances the peace of her surroundings must surely have had a relaxing effect upon her, she reflected, but today she was too tense, too highly strung to appreciate the timeless beauty of the countryside.
