When Enemies Marry

He’d also sent her to a very expensive convent school where the Mother Superior had been strong-minded enough to persevere with the motherless, precocious, mischievous and often downright naughty Lucy Wainright despite the battles royal they’d had since Lucy had been placed in her care at nine and a half, and she’d continued there until she was seventeen and a half. They’d even parted on terms of mutual respect and by that time quite some mutual affection, although each was loath to admit it.

But had her father, Lucy wondered, as she stared down at his handsome likeness, never really realised how much Dalkeith, above all else, had meant to her? That even in her giddy salad days when she’d been queening it over all and sundry—her eyes flashed briefly—it, even more than her father, had been the rock to come back to. Did she have more of her Scottish great-grandparents in her than he’d ever had? A spiritual affinity with the land that was like a physical tie? Had he not known that, without him and without Dalkeith, brave, bright Lucinda Wainright, darling of society, was in fact lonely and more than a little frightened? But he had known how much she loved Dalkeith; wasn’t that why he’d never told her he’d lost half of it to Justin’s father?

She pushed off her shoes and curled up in the pink velvet armchair beside the fireplace, and stared into the flickering flames with a faraway look in her eyes.

It was ironic but true that she had hero-worshipped Justin Waite as a child. It was also true that Justin had, without her quite understanding it, achieved the status of a hallmark in her mind during her adolescent yeais. A hallmark that she had involuntarily found herself measuring other boys, then men up against, and finding most of them wanting. This had also led her, once she’d left school and on the few social occasions that they had met, to treat him with cool hauteur, yet to experience an undoubted desire to be noticed.

‘And he noticed,’ she murmured a little bitterly, her cheeks feeling warm again. ‘Although the only sign he ever gave of it was that hateful little glint of amusement in his eyes—I really do hate him now!’

She sat up breathing quickly but also feeling a curious mixture of confusion and guilt. Why hadn’t she pressed her father for details about his rift with the Waites, daspite his extreme reluctance to say more on the subject? Well, I did try, she admitted. And of course I know now that he couldn’t bring himself to tell me what was going on—the fact that Riverbend did diversity and go into breeding racehorses with spectacular success must have been an awful blow to his pride, but why couldn’t I have realised it at the time? And then what he did say, about us no longer being good enough for the Waites, set my back right up. With the result, she conceded gloomily, sinking back in the chair, that I made myself ridiculous by treating Justin the way I did. But did I really offed him enough for him to take this kind of revenge? To make me marry him although he didn’t love me and so he can get all of Dalkeith? she asked herself miserably.

And answered herself a little tartly—apart from amusing him, I doubt it. I mean, I never saw him without some beautiful woman on his arm or doing something spectacular like playing polo or crewing on some twelve-metre yacht, and of course he then proceeded to make his own fortune.

She brooded darkly for a moment on how Justin had taken a run-down saddlery business and built it into a nationwide success story—another one—and so not only did Riverbend Stud produce top-flight progeny, but Riverbend Saddlery produced saddles of the finest quality, with an international reputation and all sorts of horse products, as well as clothing—riding boots et cetera. Yes, Justin was clever and not only with horses—and there was a ten-year age gap between them, damn it!

She got up and paced about angrily. ‘So what?’ she murmured to herself, and picked up her silver-blacked hairbrush and turned it over and over in her hands. Then she stopped and looked down at it and fingered the ornate ‘W’ engraved into the handle, and drew herself upright and stared at her reflection with cold eyes. ‘Just remember what he said when he proposed. He said, “We won’t even have to change the monograms, will we? Surely that demonstrates what a practical arrangement it would be.”’

But she shivered suddenly because, in a moment of rage and panic, she had accepted. And then, in a moment of further panic on her wedding-night had made her ‘dramatic declaration’. That she’d never willingly sleep with him. Had she in fact been seriously unbalanced by grief and everything else?

CHAPTER TWO

‘I NEED you. Justin—’

‘Well, well—’ Justin Waite put out a lazy hand and grasped his wife’s wrist ‘—did my little lecture set you thinkimg, dear Lucy?’

Lucy closed her eyes, attempted to free herself to no avail and ground her teeth. ‘I need to talk to you. About this party.’

It was a bright, chilly morning but Justin had apparently been up well ahead of her, which was how she’d encountered him coming in through the kitchen door as she was on the way out. Normally she’d have kept on going.

‘Ah.’ He released her wrist. ‘Then talk away while I start my breakfast.’

‘What have you been doing?’ she said involuntarily as she followed him reluctantly back into the kitchen where his breakfast was keeping warm on the range. He had on jeans, boots and a yellow sweater, his thick dark hair was ruffled and the cold morning air seemed to have agreed with him. In other words he looked fit, tough and capable, alert and slightly mocking, and more than a match for her. But when did he look any different these days? she wondered bitterly.

‘I’ve been out and about,’ he said idly, and carried the plate of sausages, scrambled eggs and toast to the kitchen table. There was a pot of coffee bubbling gently on the stove.

Lucy went over to it and poured two mugs which she carried to the kitchen table and sat down opposite him. ‘You can tell me, you know. Not only is the place still half mine but I’m intemted,’ she said with extreme frustration before she could stop herself. ‘Wouldn’t I under normal circumstances have some sort of voting power or some say in what you do?’

‘I’ve only been inspecting fences in the twelve-mite paddock, Lucy,’ he said mildly. ‘I made no momentous decisions other than that they need repairing.’

Lucy drew a breath and thought how much she’d have enjoyed a gallop down to the twelve-mile before breakfast instead of the lonely, aimless ride she’d been about to take. ‘What about the boundary rider’s hut?’ she asked tonelessly. ‘The last time I saw it it was a bit ramshackle. Grandad always liked to keep it provisioned and weatherproof because the twelve-mile can flood, but it’s on the only high ground, so if you did get marooned out there—’

‘That too. They’re starting on it today.’

She lowered her lashes instead of glaring at him. ‘Well,’ she said even more tonelessly, ‘tell me about the house party. You haven’t given me much notice.’

Justin spread marmalade on his toast. ‘I can get someone in to do it all if you like. I have mentioned that there’s no need for you to do so much of your own work, Lucy.’ He put the lid on the marmalade with some impatience.

‘And I’ve told you, I’d go round the bend that way, Justin, not to mention feeling as if I was on the receiving end of your patronage.’

He smiled. ‘I can assure you it’s not patronage to provide one’s wife with household help.’

‘But then we’ve agreed I’m not much of a wife. Look, I can do it. I can get Mrs Milton and her sister to come up—as I’ve done before on Dalkeith.’

‘Then do it,’ he said curtly. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘When they’re arriving, when they’re leaving, who they are and just what kind of a weekend you have in mind!’

‘Why, the kind of weekend Dalkeith is famous for, Lucy,’ he said blandly. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to tell you. There’ll be four guests and Sasha.’

She stared at him then forced herself to relax. ‘Well, if they come on Friday afternoon, we’ll have an informal dinner, a buffet and a simple evening—music, cards and so on. Saturday, a picnic at the creek, some sightseeing around the place, some target shooting or archery, a little gentle croquet for the ladies, then a formal dinner to which I could invite some locals.’ She considered. ‘Yes, I could invite the Simpsons, and Miles Graham for Sasha! That should even things up.’ Her eyes glinted. ‘Then on Sunday morning a late breakfast, and they can do what they like until they leave after lunch.’

‘And you and Mrs Milton and her sister can cope with all that?’ he queried.

Lucy shrugged. ‘They’ve got it down to a fine art. Mrs Milton does the cooking, although a lot of it is prepared beforehand, and her sister makes the beds, tidies up, waits on table et cetera. It’s all in the preparation, Justin. So long as you feed people really well, the rest seems to take care of itself.’

‘It’s Tuesday today, Lucy,’ he warned.

‘That gives me three full days, Justin,’ she said wearily. ‘Besides, I think I need a challenge,’ she murmured, and propped her chin on her hands.

He regarded her steadily then said quietly, ‘You’re making things awfully hard for yourself, Lucy.’

‘No, you’re making them hard for me, Justin.’

‘I hesitate to labour this point, but if it weren’t for me you wouldn’t be here.’

‘Perhaps. But I might have felt I’d gone down in a fair fight—who knows?’

‘How are you going to handle us in front of these people?’

She blinked, then grinned. ‘I hadn’t thought of that—yet.’ She sat up suddenly and tossed the thick plait she’d braided her hair into over her shoulder. ‘Do you mean we’ll have to put on a loving show?’

‘It’s not unexpected in newly-weds,’ he observed.

‘Oh.’

‘And I don’t expect I’d take kindly to being made a fool of,’ he added without the least emphasis, yet a curious underlay to his words that made her nerves prickle oddly. Perhaps it was something in his eyes as well, as they rested on her.

She opened her mouth, closed it then said with dignity, ‘It’s not a pre-requisite to... I mean, some of the people I’ve known who really were in love didn’t...sort of flaunt it.’

‘Perhaps not,’ he agreed. ‘What I’m trying to get at is, are you prepared to be sensible or are you going to cook up something like yesterday to advertise to the world that we’re not in love?’

Lucy pursed her lips. ‘I might just be normal and let them work it out for themselves,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘I don’t think you can expect much more from me, Justin.’

‘When you say normal, do you mean you’ll include me in your come hither—?’

‘I don’t do that,’ she cut in sharply.

‘Perhaps you don’t realise you’re doing it. Perhaps it’s second nature now. Didn’t you notice Robert Lang going weak at the knees when you smiled at him yesterday?’ He lifted a dark eyebrow at her.

Lucy set her teeth.

He waited then gathered his plate and took it over to the sink.

‘I can’t help how I smile!’ she said in a goaded sort of voice at last.

‘No, but with a bit of age and maturity you should be able to use it with discretion. Otherwise you could find yourself in a situation you might find hard to handle one day.’

Lucy tossed her head and stood up, with not the slightest idea, as he came back to the table, what he had in mind. ‘Like this,’ he said softly, standing right in front of her so she had to tilt her head back, and taking her in his arms as her eyes widened. ‘In the position of being kissed by your sworn enemy.’

Her lips parted. ‘Justin...’

But he ignored both the look in her eyes and the incredulity in her voice, and held her closer so she couldn’t help being aware not only of the feel of his hard, muscled body against her own but of the faint tang of aftershave and sheer maleness about him—and finding it curiously heady, like some primitive assault on her senses. This both stunned her slightly and made her less able to cope with what followed. A searching, not particularly deep kiss to which she didn’t respond particularly yet which didn’t exactly repel. It was really strange, she reflected afterwards. It was as if her body had gone languid and her mind was suspended above her, recording and storing the event, monitoring her own reactions but, above all, searching for his.

And when he lifted his head at last she blinked once then stared into his eyes, with her heart in her mouth suddenly at what she might see.

What she did see was the way he narrowed his eyes immediately, and then the little laughter-lines beside them creased. ‘Well, Lucy,’ he said wryly, ‘you have got that down to a fine art, haven’t you?’

She licked her lips and said huskily, ‘What do you mean?’

His hands slid down her back to her waist and he lifted her off her feet and moved her away, and steadied her but didn’t take his hands away. ‘The art of kissing and giving nothing away at the same time.’

A tinge of pink came to her cheeks and a pulse beat at the base of her throat, a pulse of anger as it happened. ‘If that’s not exactly what you did, I’ll eat my hat,’ she retorted, and removed herself from his grasp but sat down almost immediately.

‘Then why are you so cross?’ He leant against the corner of the table and folded his arms.

‘Perhaps I’m tired of having it continually pointed out to me what a femme fatale I am.’ She picked up the lid of the sugar bowl and replaced it not gently. ‘And if that was a warning of the deluded sort you were issuing yesterday—’

‘It was a warning to behave yourself this weekend, Lucy.’

‘Listen, Justin!’ Her eyes were a deeper, decidedly stormy blue now.

‘No, you listen to me, Lucy.’ He unfolded his arms and pinned one of her wrists to the table as her hand wandered towards the sugar bowl again, and he lifted her chin in his other one, also not gently as she resisted stubbornly. And his eyes were a cold, hard grey as he said, ‘You can fight me all you like in private, but not in public, because if you do, I’ll retaliate, believe me, in a way you wouldn’t like at all, and in a way that will make your little war look like child’s play. Do we understand each other?’

It was Mrs Milton who broke into Lucy’s reverie. Mrs Milton came in daily and Lucy was still sitting at the kitchen table where Justin had left her, staring into space, as she arrived.

‘Morning, Miss Lucy,’ she said brightly and placed a parcel on the table. ‘There’s those sheets that needed mending.’

‘Oh!’ Lucy jumped. ‘Oh, thank you, Mrs Milton—sorry, I was miles away. How are you?’

‘Fine, love. Miles away where?’ Mrs Milton poured herself a cup of coffee.

Lucy grimaced. ‘Are you doing anything this weekend? You and your sister?’

‘No. Got a party on?’

‘Yes, and I want it to be—something special, Mrs Milton. Hang on, I’ll get a pen and paper.’

Whether by design or not, Justin stayed out of her way over those next three busy days, although they did meet for breakfast on the Wednesday morning.

‘You have a dirty mark on your chin, Lucy,’ her husband said after a more formal greeting had got him a cool look and a barely audible murmur in reply.

This time she responded with a raised eyebrow and a shrug, causing him to narrow his eyes and appear to drop the subject. But as they passed each other later, he stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and put his forefinger on the ‘mark’ on her chin.

‘Did I do that?’

She merely nodded.

He took his finger away and inspected the faint blue bruise. He also let his gaze wander over her mouth, innocent of any lipstick yet rose-pink and finely chiselled, the smooth lucent skin of her cheeks, the deep pansy blue of her eyes with their sweeping lashes, darker than her hair, and the escaping tendrils of wheat gold curling on her forehead. ‘My apologies,’ he said. ‘I didn’t know you bruised so easily.’

‘I don’t bruise so easily. Perhaps you don’t know your own strength. Or perhaps you do.’

‘What I haven’t known,’ he said with a twist of his lips, ‘is anyone quite as stubborn as you. I suppose you’ve now added the fact that I’m a callous brute to your list of my sins.’

‘Some of your threats left me in no doubt of it at all even before this,’ she murmured coldly. ‘May I go now? I have a lot to do.’

‘How’s it going?’

‘It’s all under control.’

‘Do you need any assistance? From me,’ he said gravely.

Her look spoke volumes. ‘All you have to do is be here, Justin.’

‘I still haven’t told you who’s coming—apart from Sasha.’

Lucy shrugged. ‘I rang Sasha myself and got it all from her. She was a mine of information, in fact. Two couples, although one unmarried couple who will nevertheless share a bedroom—’

‘Unlike some married couples I know. I wonder if it’s a new trend? Go on,’ he said politely.

‘Yes, well,’ Lucy said evenly, ‘Sasha also told me that although it’s not strictly a business weekend, they will be inspecting some yearlings at Riverbend on their way here and might be interested in buying them at the upcoming yearling sales in Sydney—she said that very significantly, Justin. In other words—don’t rock the boat, Lucy, if you can help it! And, she also gave me some helpful suggestions which—’

‘You will go out of your way to ignore,’ Justin said amusedly.

‘Indeed I will.’ Lucy’s eyes flashed briefly, recalling Sasha’s helpful advice which had included the maxim that keeping things simple might be a good idea. ‘How you put up with her I’ve no idea!’

‘I’ve told you, she’s very good at her job.’

‘She’s certainly got a superiority complex. Is that why you two get along so well?’ she asked innocently, and went on impatiently, ‘Besides, being good at your job doesn’t mean you have to be treated as a friend, necessarily.’

‘Well Sasha is both actually, Lucy. And since I moved to Dalkeith, so that you might remain in your ancestral home,’ he said and held her eyes in a suddenly cool look, ‘she is more up to date on matters relating to the stud and this crop of yearlings than I am. So she will be here in what you might call an unofficial business capacity.’ He paused then added with that same cool look. ‘Don’t upset Sasha, Lucy. She may rub you up the wrong way but she has a brain like a computer when it comes to horses, and extremely good judgement.’

‘As a matter of fact I believe you, Justin. I’ve even thought she has a certain horsey look about her—nothing less than a chestnut thoroughbred with wonderful lines, of course!’ she finished with a grin. ‘As for upsetting her,’ she added, ‘I wish you would tell me how to, because it doesn’t seem possible.’

They stared at each other—rather, Lucy found it suddenly impossible to evade his gaze or to understand why it made her suddenly feel a bit small, but it did and she said at last, ‘Oh, all right! I won’t upset Sasha—so far as it’s humanly possible for me not to!’

‘Good.’ He said nothing more but moved out of her way.

‘Am I being dismissed now?’ she demanded.

‘Why not?’

‘There are times, Justin Waite, when you irritate the life out of me,’ she said precisely. ‘And what with you and Sasha telling me what I should do and what I shouldn’t do, it will be a miracle if this weekend doesn’t turn out to be a disaster—’ She broke off and made a disgusted sound.

‘And there are times, Lucy, when it’s impossible to tell you anything—I wouldn’t be too happy about this weekend turning into a disaster, so if you have any doubts tell me now.’

‘I don’t—’

‘I suppose the proof of that will be in the pudding,’ he said drily, and studied her. ‘By the way,’ he said, flicking his gaze over her denim overalls, and the two pigtails she wore her hair in, ‘Would you mind not wearing your hair like that over the weekend?’

She blinked. ‘Why not—as if I would, anyway.’

‘I could be accused of cradle-snatching, that’s all. Off you go.’

‘Perhaps you are!’

‘Now, Lucy, we both know I’m not. Don’t we?’ His grey gaze bored into hers until she reddened and turned away abruptly and angrily but without words.

Fortunately for her seething state of mind, there was enough to be done to calm her and force her to concentrate—and not only that. There was the knowledge that both Justin and Sasha had doubts about her capabilities as a hostess. In her less angry moments she recognised that it was a useful spur, in her more angry moments she told herself she would certainly show them a thing or two. And by Friday midday the fruits of her labour and Mrs Milton’s were very evident. The house was polished and shining and filled with flowers. The guest bedrooms were impeccable, with not a wrinkle in their bedspreads, and the cold room was filled with a selection of pies and pastries, cold meats, quiches, fruits and vegetables and three splendid, plump ducks hung there, ready to be roasted for Saturday night’s dinner.

It was also not long past midday when disaster struck, in the form of a distraught phone call from Mrs Milton who’d gone to pick up her sister to take up residence in the staff quarters for the weekend.

‘...Your mother? Oh, I’m so sorry, Mrs Milton,’ Lucy said into the phone and a moment later, ‘Yes, of course if it’s that serious, I do understand. Um...you and your sister must be worried sick and will want to be with her... Look, if there’s anything I can do, please—’

‘You’ve got enough on your plate as it is, pet,’ Mrs Milton said down the line in tones quite unlike her normal cheerful ones. ‘I’ve been racking my brains and all I can come up with is my niece, Shirley. How would it be if I send her up, Miss Lucy? She’s a good cook, that I can guarantee, and doesn’t mind what she turns her hand to. There’s only one problem and that’s—’

‘Oh, Mrs Milton, please do,’ Lucy said into the phone. ‘I’d be so grateful, and between us we’ve done most of it, haven’t we? What’s the problem?’

‘Well she’d have to bring her son, Adrian—’

‘That’s no problem!’

‘Mmm, I haven’t told you about Adrian, have I? Look, just...if you’re firm with him he’s fine, but his father ran off when he was two, so... And Shirley worships the ground he walks on.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll tie him up if...no, of course not, Mrs Milton, I wouldn’t dream of it, but I’m sure we’ll be able to cope with him between us. Now you just worry about your mother and give her my love—I’ll be thinking of you all.’

She put the phone down and took several deep breaths, then remembered she’d forgotten to ask how old Shirley’s Adrian was.

He was ten, with red hair, prominent blue eyes and buck teeth. He walked with a swagger and didn’t reply when spoken to. His mother had faded blonde agitated-looking hair but otherwise was clean, neat and presentable and obviously anxious to do her very best.

‘well, Shirley,’ Lucy said with a dazzling smile, half an hour before the guests were due to fly in, ‘I guess the important thing is not to panic. Everything in the buffet is either cold or only needs heating up so tonight will be quite simple, and I’ll nip in later to give you a hand.’ And she took Shirley step by step through the eventing’s requirements. Then she showed them to their room and showed Adrian the television and even fetched some of her old books and games for him.

‘He’s not much of a reader,’ his mother said with an apologetic smile, ‘but it’s lovely of you to bother, Miss Lucy. Now, Adrian, you will be a good boy, won’t you?’

At five-thirty, the long, lovely veranda room played host to the glow of lamplight, the chink of glasses and some exuberant conversation. And despite the fact that part of her mind was elsewhere, Lucy was in the thick of it.

She wore slim scarlet trousers, matching flat shoes and a cream pullover with a wonderful red, green and cream scarf worn shawlwise. Her hair was loose and she was faintly pink from some of the extravagant compliments she’d received—most on the subject of new brides and early wedded bliss. Their guests were of course all older than she was, the two women in the same mould as Sasha, elegant late twenties or early thirties, experienced and articulate and both with careers of their own. But apart from that aspect of it, it was a milieu she was very familiar with and one her father had taught her to hold her own in some years ago. She’d been hostessing his parties since she was about eighteen, after all. And if she had fewer resources to hand than she’d ever had before, plus one Dennis the Menace on hand, she was damned if anyone was going to know it. Least of all Justin, although she’d caught him looking at her once or twice with something oddly alert in his eyes. But he’s not a mind-reader, she reassured herself, and there’s no earthly reason for him to go into the kitchen tonight, anyway. The longer I can keep him in the dark and still cope, the better, she reasoned—somewhat obscurely, she realised briefly, but didn’t have the time to elaborate.