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There was a silence, then he said evenly, 'How can you do this? How can you go from the brink of surrender to this— neurotic bloody resistance—in the space of a few minutes? And why issue the challenge in the first place if you can't live with the consequences?'
She didn't look at him. 'I—I thought I could. And I knew I had to try—for the sake of Gunners Wharf—for the people there. Because I was afraid that you'd cancel the agreement.'
The small hoarse whisper died away into another silence, more profound than the last.
Then Nick said softly, 'Ah, dear God.'
Cally felt him move—lift himself off the bed. Was aware of him collecting up the clothing he'd discarded.
When he spoke again, his tone was weary. 'Understand this, Cally. You're my wife, and I still have no intention of letting you go, until you've fulfilled the terms of our bargain. But I won't have my bed turned into a war zone either. Come to me when you're ready to make peace.'
'And if it never happens?' The breath caught in her throat.
'Ah, but it will,' he said. 'Out of sheer female curiosity, my sweet, if nothing else. And that's as good a starting point as any, I suppose.' He strolled to the door that led to his own room, and turned. 'And Gunners Wharf is still safe. You have my word.' His parting smile did not reach his eyes. 'I'll see you at dinner.'
Cally stayed where she was, unmoving. She wanted to cry, but she was beyond tears, her eyes and throat aching—burning.
Her grandfather had been so right, she thought wretchedly. She should have seen the danger for herself, and shunned Nick's company from die first. Instead, she'd allowed herself to be beguiled into falling in love with him. And he'd known. Known and been disconcerted by her naive reaction to his casual befriending of a lonely girl.
He must have been, she thought stonily, because why else would he have distanced himself so deliberately in those weeks before she made herself go to London to look for work?
Yes, she'd needed a job, but one word, one sign from him, and she'd have stayed.
But not to be pitied by him, she thought with sudden fierceness. Nor to run the gamut of Adele's mocking looks and snide remarks.
She'd realised just in time that she was crying for the moon, and that she had to change her life. To accept that Nick was not just unattainable, but frankly embarrassed by the sheer transparency of her feelings for him.
And then her grandfather's illness had forced her premature return, and her chance of falling out of love with Nick had been lost for ever.
Looking down at the golden gleam of her new wedding ring, she wondered, as so many times before, at what point Nick had begun to seriously consider her for the role of his wife. She'd had a lot going for her, she thought bitterly. Young, gullible, and too besotted to realise he'd never actually said he loved her.
But then he hadn't needed to say very much at all. The devastating aftermath of her grandfather's death had delivered her to him, gift-wrapped. She'd only had to say yes, believing that her love had worked some kind of miracle. That he was her paladin. Her saviour. Until, of course, she had discovered the reality of their marriage.
And she risked suffering the same kind of humiliation all over again, if she allowed Nick to guess die truth about her headlong flight from him.
I went, she thought, because I couldn't bear to stay—to know that I would never be all in all to him, as he was to me. And that I would always have to share him.
And nothing—nothing has changed.
Because no matter how hard I've tried, I've never managed to grind him out of my heart. Never given myself the chance to heal. Not yet, anyway.
But there'll be plenty of years ahead of me for that. A whole lifetime to learn to stop loving him. When all this is over...
She sat up slowly, pushing her hair back from her face.
All Nick required from her was the use of her body, she thought flatly, and in return maybe she could hope for his kindness if nothing else
Forget emotion, she told herself. Look on it as he does— lust another business transaction. And do what you've been asked without argument.
Give him what he wants, even down to wearing your wedding dress at dinner tonight. And after dinner give him whatever el e he wants
And, bowing her head, Cally began at last to weep.
Cally fastened the last of the little silk-covered buttons and stepped back to examine her reflection in the long mirror. The dress seemed to have survived being discarded on the floor of the flat, but that was about as much as she could say.
I look like my own ghost, she thought, her mouth twisting. But that could be because of the bad memories.
She was almost tempted to change. Almost, but not quite.
