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Her hand shot out to connect stunningly with his face and as the sound echoed round the empty garden they both froze into icy stillness. ‘Well?’ One black eyebrow lifted in cool, hard, quizzical admonition but his expression was impossible to gauge as he stood up slowly, his movements faintly reminiscent of a big black cat. ‘Is that a yes or a no?’
He was playing with her she thought suddenly as she stared back into the dark, glittering eyes. Taunting her, seeking a weak spot.
‘Well, little wife?’ His eyes were cold. ‘Shall we go for a quiet pleasant walk in this countryside you like so much, somewhere quiet and secluded where we can be alone?’
There was definite cruelty in the lazy, cool jibe, but in spite of the apprehension that clouded her eyes and sent a little shiver of fear snaking down her spine she felt a strange sense of relief too. He didn’t suspect the truth or he wouldn’t be treating her like this. Those cold black eyes would be soft with pity and the hard face would maybe, however hard he tried to hide it, have a shred of revulsion somewhere in its depths. He liked beautiful things, beautiful, perfect things, and she wasn’t that any more.
Now she had to be very strong, had to convince him that he didn’t affect her any more, that she meant every word she had spoken concerning their marriage. Could she do it? She brushed the thought aside angrily. She had to, that was all there was to it.
Once back in the car he drove for just a few miles before turning off the main road into a narrow earthen lane banked by high flower-strewn verges and overhanging trees. ‘Do you know this area?’ she asked in surprise. He seemed almost as though he knew where he was going.
‘I asked in the pub,’ he said shortly, ‘and they recommended this way. We should reach a gated road in a moment and beyond that moorland.’
True enough, within thirty seconds the gate, gnarled and old, presented itself and, after they had passed through, the lane led them up and up until the sweet wild smell of moorland grass invaded the open windows of the car and the landscape fell away in great rolls and curves of patchwork artistry.
Blade brought the car to a halt in a little indentation at the top of a hill, and once the powerful engine had died the silence, complete and awesome, took over in all its majesty. ‘Come on.’ He had left his seat to move round the car and open her door and now almost pulled her from the interior, his face expressionless. ‘Let’s walk.’
She had expected him to begin the interrogation at once, but instead he seemed wrapped in some dark silence of his own, walking by her side but careful not to touch her until they came to a flank in the great fell where a tiny narrow stream splashed its way over hard grey rock, the water crystal-clear and icy cold. He took her hand to help her across the gully and the contact seemed to trigger his voice. ‘Cards on the table, Amy.’ His voice was hard and cold and she shivered against its severity. ‘It’s truth time. And don’t forget—’ he smiled slowly ‘—there’s just you and me and miles of moorland.’
‘Are you threatening me, Blade?’ she asked, with far more composure than she felt inside. ‘Because if so—’
‘If so, I get my hand smacked?’ he asked with mocking contempt. ‘But don’t worry anyway, sweetheart, I’m not threatening to hurt you. Merely—’ he paused contemplatively ‘—merely offering to fulfil my marital obligations.’
And as she took a step backwards, her eyes wide with shock, he laughed very softly and the sound was more chilling than any uncontrolled rage.
CHAPTER FOUR
AS she stared at this man she had promised to love, honour and obey for the rest of her life, Amy was vitally conscious of two quite unconnected facts. One was that there was something immensely threatening in the very blankness of the jet-black abyss of his eyes, and the other was a low-moving shadow sweeping across the rolling grassland even as the sunlight followed close on its tracks.
‘How long did you think it would be before I found you?’ Blade asked softly after a full minute had passed. ‘You obviously expected me to try?’
‘Not really.’ She looked at him warily but the hard face was expressionless now, his eyes veiled. ‘I didn’t know what you would do.’
‘I’ve checked on the validity of John’s injury,’ he continued in the same soft voice that was infinitely disturbing. ‘And it appears it’s genuine.’
‘You’ve done what?’ She forgot to be cautious as the shrillness of her voice caused the black eyes to narrow into slits. ‘How could you? As if anyone would make up a story like that!’
