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He drank some brandy, the silvery eyes watching her over the rim of the goblet. 'Trapped—as in marriage to me?'
‘Well—yes.' Cally managed a shrug. 'What can I say? I was young and scared, and didn't realise what I was doing. Now I just want to deal with my side of the bargain as soon as possible—get the whole thing over and done with—so I can be free to proceed with my own life.' She paused. 'Unless you've changed your mind, of course?'
'No,' he said slowly, his face and tone expressionless. 'I haven't done that.'
"Then—what do you think?'
He gave her a swift, brilliant smile, and finished his brandy. 'Sure,' he said. 'Why not? In your own classic phrase, let's get it over with.' He picked up the decanter. 'I'll join you presently, darling, after I've acquired a little more Dutch courage.'
She was taken aback. She'd expected some kind of reaction—that he would at least come to her—kiss her. The recent memory of being carried upstairs against his heart was still hot within her. But not, it seemed, for him.
She lifted her chin. 'I wouldn't have thought you needed it.'
'Ah,' Nick said softly. 'But then, you don't know me very well, do you, my sweet? At least, not yet. However, the night is young.'
Her throat tightened. 'Yes.' She turned, head high, and walked to the door, aware of his gaze following her.
‘Cally.' His voice halted her. She looked back, feeling her heart quicken in something absurdly like hope.
'Don't have another change of heart and lock the door.' There was steel below the even tone. 'Because I would not find that amusing.'
'I've given my word.' She spoke curtly, fighting a disappointment she hardly understood. 'I won't go back on it now.'
He nodded, and turned back to the brandy.
And Cally went up the wide stairs into the darkness alone.
The waiting seemed endless. As Cally paced restlessly up and down the big room, its details seemed to become indelibly printed on her mind.
Both sides of the bed had been turned down in readiness, presumably by Mrs Thurston, and shaded lamps burned on the night tables. The curtains moved softly in the faint breeze from the half-open window behind them.
Another of Cally's trousseau nightgowns—a charming piece of nonsense in flimsy white voile, with ribbon straps and a tiny bodice had been fanned out. Cally wasn't at all used to all this very personal service.
But then, as she swiftly reminded herself, she would have to. The situation was strictly temporary.
And she hoped, too, that the gentle, rhythmic movement of her hand and arm would help compose her. Because she badly needed to appear calm and in control. A woman who'd made an unwelcome but rational choice, and could deal with it.
Later, of course, as the might wore on, she could guarantee nothing.
She was no longer the eager girl of a year ago, living in a fool's paradise that promised her love and rapture in her husband's arms.
But recent experience had taught her the havoc his lightest touch could provoke in her senses. And Nick was well aware of it too, so any pretence at resistance or indifference would now be futile, she thought bleakly.
And tensed.
Because he was here. He had come into the room silently, barefoot and bare-legged in a black silk robe belted loosely round his waist, and was now standing behind her, watching her in the mirror.
'Not cowering under the sheets?' His voice was cool—almost derisive.
Cally shrugged. 'As you see,' she returned shortly.
'Are you planning to go to bed with your clothes on?'
She looked away. 'I—don't have any plans. I wasn't sure what you expected...' Her voice tailed away.
Nick leaned down and took the brush from her hand. 'I thought we agreed to get the whole tiresome business over and done with,' he said levelly. 'I mention it only because, if so, you can't spend the entire night, sitting there.'
'Of course not.' She hunched a shoulder again. 'I simply thought I'd better wait—a while.'
'Wait for what?' He sounded faintly amused. 'Do you want me to undress you? Because I'm more than willing.'
'No!' She sounded over-loud and defensive, she thought, swallowing, aware of the sudden thud of her heart. 'God—no.'
'Then you do it,' he said softly. 'And I'll watch.' He tossed the brush on to the dressing table and walked over to the bed. lounging across it with the air of a man preparing to enjoy himself. 'In your own time, of course.'
She got to her feet, her hands going mechanically to the buttons on the front of her dress, trying to fumble them free with fingers that shook.
I was fantasising about undoing them all—with my teeth.
Was it really only last night he'd said that? Or several lifetimes ago?
And did he really expect her to stand here and strip in front of him? Couldn't he realise that she'd never been even semi-naked in front of anyone before, least of all him, and this was a real ordeal for her? Or didn't he care that shyness and uncertainty were crucifying her?
