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‘Frankly?’ She shrugged, embarrassed by telling someone she cared about what had motivated her. ‘I was angry. Angry with men, angry with society. Angry with myself. Piers had taught me to love, but then he left me. I know it was not his fault, that my anger was not rational, I understand that.
‘I wanted a lover, but there was no one I could bear to be with and besides, I dared not risk falling pregnant again. Society expected me to return to the Marriage Mart after my illness, but how could I counterfeit an innocent little virgin? Besides, if I married, the man would have to be very naive indeed not to notice I had carried a child.’
‘If he wished to marry you, you could have told him first.’ Avery’s thumb stroked the sensitive skin of her inner wrist. She doubted he realised he was doing it, he seemed so absorbed in her story.
‘And have him break it off? Risk the truth getting out? No man would marry me knowing that.’
‘I did.’
‘I trapped you,’ she flung back.
‘Perhaps,’ he said, puzzling her with the small, almost secret smile that touched his lips. ‘You certainly secured the two things you wanted: your daughter and a man in your bed.’
‘A man in my bed is a matter of no importance beside my daughter. I would have become a nun if I thought that would make Alice happy and secure,’ she protested.
‘That would be a waste,’ Avery said. Had she wounded him, asserting that a man—he—was of no importance? ‘It took you a long time to seek her out.’
There was a question in the statement, one she could not bring herself to answer. How could she tell him her parents, whom she had loved and trusted, had plotted and lied, had planned to take her child and break her heart, all in the name of respectability? She loved them still, but she could not forgive them, or bring herself to speak of that betrayal, the way they must have put respectability and appearances beyond care for their own grandchild and before her own wishes.
‘The time was right,’ she said abruptly. ‘Avery, make love to me again.’
It seemed he was rested enough. There was no opportunity then, nor until they fell asleep finally and deeply at dawn, for questions, truths or lies.
*
Avery could not remember ever feeling so physically satisfied before. His muscles felt as though they had been massaged, his whole body was relaxed and yet sensitive, tingling with remembered orgasmic pleasure, the anticipation of more to come a constant awareness.
And yet, as another week passed in apparent harmony a
nd the nights in mutual pleasure, he could not settle, could not be easy in his mind. He knew what was wrong, or, at least he could see the shape of the problem, looming like a nightmare beast in the corner of his vision. Lack of trust. Laura had lied to him and, he was certain, lied to him still. There was something she was hiding, something she was not telling him. He no longer believed that she feigned delight at his lovemaking, but he had been deceived by her too often to yield to the emotions that he feared would make him blind to more lies, more deceptions.
He loved Laura and if she ever discovered that weakness she had the intelligence and the ruthlessness to exploit it unmercifully. His own mother had been quite conscienceless in manipulating his father, who could never bring himself to believe the woman he loved was the wanton his friends tried to warn him about. She had smiled and charmed and, occasionally, confessed to a fault with tears and ingenious excuses. The poor devil had believed her until he was confronted by undeniable proof.
Avery had never believed the story of how the shotgun had gone off accidentally when his father was climbing a stile. He had gone to his Aunt Alice and she had simply accepted him into the family, treated him as an elder brother to Piers. His mother had shrugged, no doubt, and gone her own self-obsessed way. The accident that left her with a broken neck at the foot of her latest lover’s grand staircase had been hushed up. Avery, aged just seventeen, had wept for the last time in his life and faced the fact that his mother had killed any scrap of love he had ever had for her.
Now, over breakfast, he watched his own wife and tried to force the lid closed on the feelings that left him vulnerable to hurt and disillusion, just as his father had been.
Why had she left it so long to come for Alice and why, when she did, had she disguised herself and lied about her identity? Why had she not simply come to him, told him who she was, confessed her wish to become part of her daughter’s life? Why, when she knew he was seeking a wife, had she not suggested to him that they wed in order to provide Alice with a loving home?
Her first deception had risked confusing and hurting the child. It had certainly confused him. He could accept that now and knew why he had been so angry when he had discovered who she really was. Her second piece of scheming could have wrecked his reputation.
Was that it? Startled by the sudden thought, Avery lifted his newspaper to hide his face. The sheets rattled against his cup and he threw it down. Did she hate him so much that she would risk upsetting Alice, hazard her own, fragile reputation in order to punish him?
He had taken her daughter, then she discovered he was instrumental in sending her lover to his death. Once he knew her identity he had forbidden her any contact with the child until the house party had thrown them all together. Had she manipulated her invitation to the house party, relying on his godmother’s cheerful love of entertaining to ensure her welcome?
The enormity of it made him dizzy. Avery made himself breathe deeply until the charming, happy face of his wife came back into focus. She was coaxing Alice into eating some egg before the child attacked the jam and toast. The picture of perfect motherhood. The ideal wife who had every reason to hate him.
He had never found the words to convince her of his deep regret for the misunderstanding over the letter to Piers. And Laura had never mentioned it again. Was that because she did not want to forgive him? Yet there was no way she could wound him, not now they were wed.
‘Papa?’ Alice’s clear voice cut through his churning thoughts.
‘Yes, sweetheart?’
‘Do you like my new hair ribbon?’
‘Yes, sweetheart.’ She could hurt him through Alice. If she took the child away…
‘I don’t seem to have seen Blackie for an age,’ he said.
