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For one thing, she couldn't afford to annoy Nick by contravening his express wish. For another, he had to be made to see that it didn't matter, she told herself, swallowing. That, as a garment, it held no particular meaning for her. And that nothing he could say or do to her during their time together could affect her. Whether that was true or not.
There were much bigger battles ahead of her. and she needed to save her strength for those. Unless she could persuade Nick to be reasonable, she might even find she was fighting for the upbringing—the future—of her own child...
She turned away, sinking her teeth into her lower lip. She wouldn't think about that now. It was pointless to torment herself over something that hadn't happened yet. That might never happen, she corrected herself. After all, there were no guarantees.
But, in that case, how long would it be before Nick accepted the inevitable and sent her on her way?
Nick...
He was dressing for dinner too. She'd heard him earlier, moving around in the other bedroom, and felt tension coil in her stomach. And that had to stop.
His presence—his absence—she had to learn to treat them both with equal indifference. But no one had said it would be easy.
She'd managed to bathe away the telltale signs of that terrible storm of tears. She still looked pale, but that was only natural under these impossible circumstances.
Now, she brushed her hair loose and shining on her shoulders, and applied a pale rose lustre to her lips. She'd even found a bottle of her favourite scent waiting for her on the dressing table.
He didn't forget much, she thought, with a sudden pang, as she sprayed a little on her skin.
She left it to the last minute to go downstairs. Nick was in the drawing room, standing by the open French windows, staring out into the darkness. As he turned to look at her Cally saw him stiffen, his whole attention arrested as if in shock.
Cally felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck in response to the sudden dangerous tension in the room.
Then, as if a cord had snapped, the moment passed. He said evenly, almost politely, 'You look very lovely.'
"Thank you.' Her tone was constricted. He looked a million dollars himself, she thought, in dinner jacket and black lie. The last time she'd seen him so formally dressed had been at the local hunt ball, when she'd waited hungrily, and in vain, for
him to ask her to dance, and then gone home to cry bewildered tears into her pillow.
'There's champagne wailing for us,' he went on. 'The Thurstons have clearly decided this is an occasion.' He walked to the drinks table and lifted a bottle from its nest of ice, filling two flutes.
He handed her one. He said, and drank.
'To life,' Cally repeated and lifted the other in salute. 'To life,' she raised the flute to her mouth.
Dinner was special indeed—consomme, followed by a delicate fish mousse. Then roast duck in a sharp black cherry sauce, and Floating Islands pudding to complete the meal. Frank Thurslon, a quiet, thin-faced man, waited at table, and his unobtrusive presence meant that conversation was limited to general subjects.
‘Please tell Margaret that was magnificent.' Nick rose. 'If you'll bring the coffee to the drawing room, Frank, we won't need you again this evening.'
‘Of course, sir. Thank you.' Frank Thurston was too well trained to look either knowing or indulgent, but Cally guessed he must have been sorely tempted.
She sat rigidly on the sofa, wailing for the tray to be brought in, then responding quietly as he wished them both goodnight and left.
There was a silence, then Nick said, 'Would you like some brandy?'
Cally shook her head. 'Just coffee will be fine.' She poured some of the richly fragrant brew into the cups and handed him one. 'You still take it black, I presume?'
'Yes.' He spoke with cool civility. "Thank you.'
She sat sipping her coffee, glancing at him swiftly from under her lashes as he sat opposite her. She struggled lo find the right words and. deciding there were none, thought she might as well be totally direct.
She replaced her cup on the tray and took a deep breath. 'Nick—there's something I need to say.'
'I'm listening.'
She kept her voice steady. 'I want you to know that I'm ready to—to keep the terms of our bargain.'
His brows lifted. 'Now?' There was a note of quiet incredulity in his voice. 'Tonight.'
She nodded convulsively.
There was another tingling silence. Nick got up, and went to the drinks table, pouring himself a brandy. He said, 'Cally, a couple of hours ago you were behaving as if I was the Antichrist. These about-turns of yours are making my head spin.'
She bit her lip. 'Yes, I—I'm sorry. I behaved rather badly, I know. I suppose I didn't like the sensation of being trapped all over again.'
