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'If only it were that simple,' he murmured with faint amusement.
They drew up a short while afterwards outside an old-fashioned country inn, an ancient timbered building with low ceilings and uneven floors, and, at the rear, well-kept gardens, bright with flowers, and a lawn stretching down to the river, offering tables shaded by parasols.
'Will this do?' Nick halted at a table in an arbour, heavy with climbing roses just coming into flower.
'Fine.' Cally picked up a menu and hid behind it.
'They're famous here for their pies.' Nick seated himself opposite. 'I'm ordering steak and kidney. How about you?'
Cally, who had no wish to enter into the spirit of the occasion, tried to work up an interest in the sandwich list, and failed utterly. 'Turkey and ham,' she capitulated, after a brief struggle. 'And a glass of dry white wine—please.'
She watched him cross the grass to deliver their order, and saw how women's heads turned as if operated by strings when he passed by. Two pretty girls at an adjoining table were waiting, saucer-eyed, for his return.
And it was worth waiting for. Even she had to acknowledge that. In a crowd of thousands, she would still be able to pick
out that long, lithe stride. Feel the pull of that cool, understated masculinity, and the unwelcome stir of her own senses in response.
To her embarrassment, he saw her watching his approach and smiled across at her. She looked away, swiftly and blindly.
As he put down the drinks and resumed his seat Cally said, quietly and urgently, 'Nick, it's still not too late. We don't have to do this.'
His brows lifted. 'You want to change your order? Or go somewhere else? I thought you'd like it here.'
Her voice shook slightly. 'That's not what I meant, and you know it.'
His mouth twisted. 'Well—perhaps,' he conceded drily. 'So, what exactly are you saying?'
Cally lifted her chin, "That if you announced you were looking for a surrogate mother for your baby the queue would form on the right. Because that's all you really want—isn't it? You—you don't need to involve me.'
'Oh, yes, I do, darling,' he said softly. 'And that's why I'm not going for surrogacy, or adoption, or even down the IVF route, or any other potential means of escape that fertile brain of yours can summon up.' His smile was hard—implacable. 'You married me, Cally, for better or worse. And now, a little belatedly, you're going to learn to be my wife.' He added harshly, 'The number of lessons required will depend entirely on yourself.'
Her breath caught. She said huskily, 'You—really want your pound of flesh, don't you?'
The grey eyes narrowed as they studied her. lingering with explicit appreciation on the deep neckline of the yellow dress, the way its fabric clung to her small high breasts.
He said quietly, 'I want all of you, Caroline. No protests and nothing held back. And no less will do.'
She swallowed. 'I—think I just lost my appetite.'
'Unfortunate,' he said. 'Then you'll just have to watch me eat instead.' He paused. 'Tell me something, Cally. Is it the whole idea of sex that repels you, or merely the thought of having it with me?'
She stared down at the table. 'I ran away from you,' she said, expressionlessly. 'I'd have thought that made my feelings clear.'
'No, darling,' he said. 'Now, as always, your emotions remain an enigma.' He lifted his beer glass mockingly. 'To marriage,' he said, and drank.
In spite of her previous disavowal, Cally found that lunch, when it came, was irresistible. The pies arrived, golden-brown in individual earthenware pots, accompanied by dishes of vegetables, and were served by the waitresses onto their plates. As the crusts broke, spilling their fragrant contents across the porcelain, the aroma literally made her mouth water.
There was no way she could refuse to eat. Nor would she achieve anything by starving herself, she admitted resignedly.
She was expecting a sarcastic comment from Nick as she reached for her cutlery, but he only permitted himself a swift, ironic glance before applying himself to his own food.
'Dessert?' he asked, when she finally put down her knife and fork.
She said stiltedly, 'Just coffee, please. Black, no sugar.'
'I'll have the same.' Nick offered a brief smile to the girl who'd come to clear their plates, then bent to help retrieve the cutlery she'd instantly and blushingly dropped on the grass.
'Poor girl,' Cally commented as the waitress retreated. 'You seem to have a devastating effect on women.'
'Not often,' Nick returned silkily. 'And certainly not on you, my sweet.'
Ah, but that's not true, she thought. Or how did you so easily persuade me to marry you—against all my better judgement? I wasn't proof against your smite either—or the way you looked at me. Or the kisses and caresses that always left me aching for more.
