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The strange conversation haunted her all day. What did it mean? She knew Quinn entertained out-of-town clients every now and then; she’d overheard him telephoning the Connaught hotel s
everal times, making dinner arrangements. But he never brought guests home, and even if he had she had no role in such plans. Surely Norah had misunderstood Quinn’s instructions? Paige saw no alternative but to confront him and ask him to straighten things out with his housekeeper.
She was waiting for him in the sitting room that night when he returned home. She rose when she heard his key in the lock, mouth dry, heart pounding.
Don’t be such a fool, she told herself, and she took a breath and stepped into the doorway.
‘Quinn? I’d like to talk to you for a moment.’
Her nose wrinkled as he followed her into the sitting room. There was a faint smell of whisky about him and something else mixed with it, something vaguely floral.
‘What is it?’ he asked without ceremony.
Paige swallowed. ‘Norah came to me with questions about a dinner you were planning. I told her she was mistaken.’
‘She was not mistaken,’ he said, crossing the room to the cellaret in the corner. ‘There’ll be six, including you and me. I thought we’d have something informal, but the final decision is yours.’
Paige looked at him in surprise as he poured himself a brandy. ‘But… but that’s out of the question, Quinn. You and I don’t… we have no reason to plan a dinner or…’
He tossed off the amber liquid in one swallow. ‘We have every reason. We’re married, Paige.’ His cool gaze moved over her slowly. ‘This is our house. I pay the bills. What, precisely, do you do?’
Don’t rise to the bait, she thought. ‘I’ve been thinking of going to an agency and looking for a job.’
Quinn laughed. ‘They don’t advertise for women with your skills, sweetheart.’
‘Damn you, Quinn.’
He set the brandy snifter down on the bar. ‘You have a job,’ he said harshly. ‘You’re my wife.’
Her anger faded beneath the pulse of fear in her blood. ‘I thought we’d settled that.’
He crossed the room and took hold of her shoulders. ‘Settled it?’ he asked softly. The smell of whisky was stronger, and she realised he’d been drinking long before he had the brandy. ‘No, sweet Juliet, we have not settled it.’ His mouth curved into a cruel smile. ‘We will, though. Some day soon. I promise.’
‘You’ve been drinking,’ she said coldly.
His eyes narrowed. ‘What I do is my business.’
Paige nodded. ‘Exactly. And so is your dinner party. I won’t…’
She gasped as his grip on her tightened. ‘You bloody well will! I’ve spent the past weeks like a stranger in my own home, and I don’t like it.’ His hands fell to his sides. ‘It’s time you paid your way here. I expect you to dine with me in the evenings.’
‘What for? You and I…’
‘You and I are married,’ he growled. ‘That means we’re going to dine together, talk together, be seen together. I’m weary of making excuses about where my bride keeps herself. It’s been my habit to entertain in my home.’ He smiled coldly. ‘It’s going to be hard to do that with you in your room while my guests and I dine.’
‘All that has nothing to do with me.’
‘It’s time you lived up to our contract and started playing the part of my loving wife.’ He looked into her eyes. ‘Surely someone with your talent can manage that.’
‘That’s impossible. You can’t expect…’
‘I can and do expect, Paige. Civility is a small enough price to pay for the money I deposit to your bank account, isn’t it?’
She felt her face blaze beneath his mocking smile. Finally, she nodded stiffly.
‘All right. What is it you want me to do?’
His smile faded and she thought, for a heartstopping moment, he was going to take her into his arms. Her breath quickened; it had been so long since he’d touched her, yet she could still remember the feel of his body, the taste of his mouth. But all he did was brush his hand lightly along her cheek.
