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Then why, why, she wailed inwardly, had he kept her at more than arm’s length all these endless weeks? And what guarantee was there that he wouldn’t continue to do so? Just because he’d let the mask slip a little didn’t mean that he would allow his body to dictate to his mind. He was, she knew, far too fastidious for that.
And, besides, he had no means of knowing about her own moment of self-revelation. No means at all, unless she let him know—somehow.
‘Lovely party,’ an American voice said, and her smile flashed as if it was on auto-pilot.
In a way, she wished the reception was a dismal failure. That way, they would all leave, and she could be alone with him.
No, she thought. She would just be alone. When the house was empty, Malory would excuse himself courteously, as he always did, and leave her to her solitude. And if she threw herself at him, as she’d done that last disastrous time, he might well throw her back.
I can’t risk that, she thought, exchanging hesitant banalities with a Japanese couple. But what other choice do I have?
She didn’t care if she was being a lousy hostess. She had to find him. Eventually, she tracked him down in his study, seated in a group around the fire.
Taking her courage in both hands, she sat down on the arm of his chair, sliding her arm intimately across its back, leaning sideways towards him so that he was aware of her warmth, her scent. To a casual observer, she was being an ordinary, affectionate wife. Only Malory knew differently, and she could feel his awareness in his sudden tension, although he continued to talk with outward calmness to his guests.
But he knew, and she knew that he knew, he would only have to turn his head slightly for his cheek to graze the curve of her breast—move his hand a fraction for it to rest on her thigh.
She stayed long enough to etch her acceptance, her readiness, on his consciousness, then drifted away again.
And this time, he followed her. As she talked and laughed, and made sure plates and glasses remained filled, Malory was there on the edge of her vision, watching as if he could not bear to take his eyes off her. And she used his regard quite shamelessly, every turn, every movement of her body totally deliberate, designed to inflame him beyond all bearing.
What she could not gauge was the extent to which she was succeeding. She dared not look at him directly, because she knew if she did that her gaze might plead, and that wasn’t what she intended at all. Tonight they would meet, if at all, on equal terms.
She was no longer the complete innocent. She had been allowed a glimpse of the extent of her own sensuality. Now, her body was awakened, urgent, seeking to test those limits to the full.
The only glances she sent his way, were brief, and loaded, under demurely lowered lashes.
The evening seemed endless. It was long past midnight when people began reluctantly to take their leave. She shook hands, and smiled, and pantomimed a regret she did not feel. The Templeton executives at the reception lingered endlessly, their mood clearly euphoric. It was difficult concealing her impatience to see the back of them.
I shall just, she thought, have to concentrate on something else. And, in turn, she began to watch her husband overtly, allowing her eyes to slide down his body, as if mentally reminding herself of what he looked like without his clothes. She was perfectly discreet, of course. Only Malory knew what she was up to, and the taut lines of his face revealed the effect it was having on him.
Peter Wilton was among the last to leave. Amanda had already given instructions that any clearing up was to be delayed until the following morning. Now, knowing that Malory was outside, saying goodnight, guiding the last cars out of the drive, she went swiftly and noiselessly upstairs. She went straight to Malory’s room, switching on one of the big lamps which flanked the bed. Then she kicked off her shoes, unfastening and taking down her stockings, before beginning without haste to undo her dress.
She didn’t hear Malory’s approach up the stairs, and she didn’t look towards the doorway, yet instinct told her that he was there, watching her as if in a trance.
She let the midnight dress fall in a shimmering pool round her feet, and stood motionless for a moment in the silken teddy which was all she wore beneath it, before putting up her hands to unpin her piled-up hair, letting it fall round her shoulders.
Then, and only then, she looked at him, her body poised in a challenge as old as mankind.
He might have been carved out of stone. Only the blue eyes flared with an icy flame. When at last he made a movement, it was a brief, imperative gesture that told her without words that even the fragile veiling of the teddy was too much of a barrier to his eyes.
She obeyed instantly, dealing with the simple fastenings, slipping the ribbon straps down from her shoulders so that the flimsy garment joined the remainder of her clothing on the floor.
