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Lovemaking, she thought numbly, with no pretence at love.
Not that she could blame him. She'd hardly been a challenge, she derided herself bleakly, remembering Adele's jibe. More a total push-over.
Now she felt strangely lost, and was suddenly aware that tears were not far away, tightening her throat and tingling behind her eyelids. Because for him it had simply been a means to an end, with any attendant pleasure merely a bonus. And one day she would be left with only the memory of that pleasure to haunt her—hurt her. Along with so much else, she thought with desolation.
'Haven't you anything to say?' Nick's tone was lazy as he reached out a long arm and scooped her towards him.
The conqueror, Cally thought. Reviewing yet another triumph. She pulled away a little.
She said in a small, quiet voice, 'If you've finished with me, I thought I'd have a bath.'
'I'll get some champagne,' he said softly. 'And we'll take one together. During which we'll discuss whether or not I've finished with you.'
She could hear the smile in his voice and resented it. How many women did he need, begging for his favours? she asked herself wildly. He'd made her behave like—like an animal.
Aloud, she said, 'I think I'd prefer to be on my own.'
There was a pause. 'Cally,' he said, 'what's the matter?'
She rolled away, presenting him with her back. What do you want to hear?' she asked tautly. 'The sex was amazing— mind-blowing. On a wow factor of ten. All those things. Or would you prefer a round of applause?'
There was another silence, this one frankly ominous. Then, 'Oh, I think any plaudits should come from me,' he drawled. 'You clearly have a great natural talent, sweetheart, which I look forward to exploiting. And bloody soon too.'
'That may not be necessary,' she said. 'After all, I might have beginner's luck and already be pregnant.'
'It's possible,' he said.
'So,' she added, 'we'll just have to—wait and see.'
'An interesting suggestion,' Nick said, too pleasantly. 'But I've waited long enough. Besides, we can't guarantee to reach the target first time around, and I would hate to think I'd taken all that trouble just to be disappointed.'
Every word bit, and Cally found herself wincing inwardly.
She said, 'Meaning?'
'Meaning,' he said icily, 'that you'll continue to share a bed with me, with all that entails, until that possibility you mentioned becomes a bloody certainty.'
He swung himself off the bed. reaching down for his robe. 'And now take your bath, or your shower. Scrub yourself all over with carbolic, if you think it will help. You won't keep me away.'
She made herself turn—look up at him. 'Nick—please...'
'Yes,' he said. 'I do please. I want you, Cally, and I intend to have you whenever and however I desire.' His smile was like the lash of a whip laid across her shaking body. 'You see, my sweet, you still have a lot to learn, and I'm going to enjoy teaching you. How you feel about it is entirely up to you.'
He strode over to the communicating door, and went out, slamming it behind him. Cally was left staring after him, one hand pressed to her mouth. She'd gone too far, and she knew it, and wished the words left unsaid.
She'd spoken out of a kind of bravado, in a belated effort
to protect herself. To justify, if it was possible, her abandoned, passionate surrender to him.
Why hadn't she obeyed her first instinct and curled up in his arms to bask in their mutual satiation? she wondered despairingly. Instead, she'd tried to salvage some remnants of pride, and it had rebounded on her badly.
She was almost tempted to follow him, but what could she say without betraying all those things that must not be said?
Things like—I love you, Cally thought, and wanted to weep.
It was beginning to look like rain. The July morning had started brightly, but now grey clouds were massing in the west and a chill wind had risen, sighing among the trees in the Home Wood.
Cally supposed she should turn back to the Hall. Baz hated wet weather, and she'd come out without even a jacket for protection. But this couple of hours each day, when she wandered round the countryside on Baz's amiable, elderly back, was her own personal time, when she could get away, just for a while, from the burden of being Lady Tempest. The downside, of course, was that she also found herself alone with her increasingly unhappy thoughts. And problems that would not go away.
It was as if her life with Nick was split into two separate and distinct halves, proceeding on parallel lines, but never touching.
There was the daytime life where, among other things, she was being gently inducted by Frank and Margaret into the efficient running of the Hall. Where she picked flowers from the garden and arranged them in vases and bowls. Where she entertained visitors to tea, some of them genuinely friendly, others merely curious to take a look at Sir Nicholas's errant bride. Where she dealt with correspondence with the help of Janette from the village, a former City secretary now living in rural bliss with her husband and young family.
