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Even when his quiet, steady breathing told her that he was asleep, Cally could not relax. How could he be so casual—so unfazed, she asked herself, when he was behaving so abominably?
He'd meant everything he said, she thought, fear tightening her throat. They had a bargain, and—sooner or later— she would be made to keep her side of it.
How many women did he want in his life at any given time? she wondered, almost hysterically. And what kind of man made time for his mistress just before he was due to depart on honeymoon with his brand-new bride?
The cynicism of that terrified her.
But even if she confronted him about it—accused him, told him openly that was why she'd left, why she could not bring herself to live with him as his wife-would it make any real difference? He'd simply shrug it off, without guilt or remorse. A deal that had not paid off.
Or, even worse, he might see it as a confession of weakness on her part. A sign that she cared more then she'd eve r been prepared to admit.
And she couldn't risk that. Not at this juncture.
Cally brought her clenched fist up to her mouth, sinking her teeth into the knuckles.
Her disappearance had undoubtedly embarrassed him, and it would certainly anger him if she reneged on their bargain a second time. But Nick wouldn't suffer—not as she'd done a year ago, she thought with anguish. Or as the Gunners Wharf residents would when he pulled the plug on their housing scheme. As he assuredly would.
And she would be left to endure the guilt of that— knowing that she could have prevented it if she'd submitted to his demands.
But the reality of what he was asking had settled on her like a stone, and she felt crushed by its weight.
A baby, she thought. A tiny human being to be created and carried in her womb. To be brought into the world for her to love and nurture. Or, as seemed more likely, a prize to be fought over by two waning strangers.
Cally shivered. That wasn't what she wanted. How could it be? Yet he'd already set off an emotional alarm bell. 'Joint custody,' he'd said. 'At first anyway.'
Those were the words that had set off reverberations in her mind. That lingered.
Indicating—
what, exactly? That there might come a time when she'd be expected to surrender her rights to her own child? Virtually give up her baby for adoption by a man rich enough to pay for his slightest wish to be fulfilled, and sufficiently powerful to fight anyone who stood in his way?
Was Nick really capable of being that uncaring—that ruthless? Or would he simply say that the end—somehow— justified the means, and believe it?
Oh, dear God, she thought achingly. Please—please don't let it be so.
Yet he'd told her frankly that marriage wasn't for him. That once she'd fulfilled his terms she'd be free to leave. But he hadn't mentioned the baby.
If, of course, there was a baby...
She'd always assumed that one day she'd be a mother. After all, it was the next natural progression from being a wife. But, like so much in their relationship, she and Nick had never actually discussed the possibility.
And it had certainly never occurred lo her that he regarded her as some kind of brood mare.
Her pregnancy, she thought wretchedly, should have been one of the crowning moments of their love. Except that the love had never existed, and now one of the supreme joys of a woman's life was being reduced to the status of duty. Transformed into an obligation.
For the past year she had been alone. But in the next months she seemed fated to learn the true nature of loneliness itself.
And how could she bear it?
Cally slept at last, exhausted by the weary treadmill of her thoughts.
When she awoke, she lay for a moment, feeling disorientated, wondering where she was. Then memory prompted her, and she turned her head slowly, looking with trepidation at the bed beside her. But it was empty, only the rumpled pillows and the covers tossed back revealing that the space had ever been occupied.
And, as if on some silent cue, Nick emerged from the bathroom, immaculately shaved, dark hair still damp, fastening links into the cuffs of his shirt.
'Good morning.' His tone was brisk. 'The bathroom's all your’s, and I've ordered breakfast in fifteen minutes, so I suggest you get a move on. We have things to do, and I want lo be back at Wylstone by early afternoon."
'You're planning lo return there today—taking me with you?' Cally was astounded.
'Naturally.' His brows lifted. 'Just as soon as the Gunners Terrace business is completed.'
'But you have lo give me some leeway here,' she protested huskily. 'You can't expect me simply to— abandon everything and leave.'
He said icily, 'I didn't expect it last time, sweetheart, but you managed it all the same. And you've had a year of ducking and weaving since then to perfect your technique.' He paused allowing dial to sink in, then added, 'Now, get dressed—unless you want me to help you?'
