Wife By Agreement

‘No, you didn’t, but it is fairly obvious you’re discontented. I had no idea.’

‘How could you?’ The retort escaped before she could censor it. Some days they barely exchanged two words. ‘I’m not discontent, just tired,’ she said dully. The loneliness of her position rushed in on her and it was more than she could bear tonight. Just go, please go! she thought miserably.

As if he detected her passionate wish, he turned abruptly. ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’

Now there’s something to look forward to, she thought, torn between tears and laughter as the door closed. In the privacy of her secret dreams she’d imagined him using that door. Usually he’d just woken up to the fact that he’d been unaccountably blind to her charms. In none of those meticulously constructed scenarios had she had a runny nose, scratches over half her body or hair flopping in her eyes.

Falling in love with Ethan Kemp was the only truly spontaneous thing she could recall doing in her life. You didn’t have to be a starry-eyed believer in love at first sight to have it happen to you; she was the living proof. Her prosaic soul had been set alight the instant she’d set eyes on him. He was tall, with an impressive athletic build, and one glance into those shrewd eyes had told her he had an intellect to match his muscles. Never one to respond to superficial beauty, she’d been inexplicably bowled over. None of these passionate cravings had been evident in her colourless replies as she’d sat through the interview. If they had she doubted she’d have got the job.

Worshipping him from afar had always made her particularly inarticulate in his presence, but, so long as the children were happy, Ethan’s interest in their nanny had been minimal. When he’d first started to show an interest in her lukewarm friendship with Matt Carter, a local primary school teacher, she had almost allowed herself to think he might have noticed her as a person.

As it had turned out, he’d just been afraid history was about to repeat itself. Emma and Tom had had three nannies in the year before she’d arrived. Tom had been one, and he’d simply responded to anyone who’d offered him love and warmth. His sister had been a different proposition—five when Hannah had first arrived, and it had been an uphill battle for Hannah to win her trust. Her short life had taught Emma it was painful to love someone only to have them vanish. Hannah could identify with her suspicion, and slowly she’d won the child’s trust, until by the end of that first year she’d become an integral part of the children’s lives.

An indispensable part, as far as Ethan was concerned. They were now confident, happy children, and he’d been prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to provide them with continuing stability. He’d been shocked to recognise the possibility that Hannah might just follow the example of the previous three nannies and do something inconvenient like fall in love or get pregnant. He didn’t actually want a wife, and, just in case Hannah had any doubts on the subject, he’d told her so.

He’d known her history when he’d offered her a home and financial security. No doubt he’d considered the bait irresistible to someone who was completely alone in the world. She’d never have to budget her meagre resources again; she’d have the family she’d always dreamed of—in short it was a fairy tale. The but was inescapable: he would never view her as anything other than a paid employee, no matter what her title. The pre-nuptial agreement he’d had her sign prior to the wedding had only served to reinforce this fact.

He had probably congratulated himself on his subtle, but clever presentation of the package when she’d appeared the next morning, looking unusually pale and subdued, and said the all-important ‘yes’. He wouldn’t have looked so happy if he’d suspected that, no matter how tempting his offer might appear to a girl who longed for roots and stability, it was love that had been the vital ingredient in the equation. Love that had made her ignore the logical part of her brain that told her that such a union could only give her pain.

CHAPTER TWO

TOM usually woke Hannah by creeping into her bed, often before six in the morning. This morning there was no solid little body against hers when she awoke. A light sleeper, she didn’t normally need to set her alarm clock, but there had been nothing normal about the previous night! A whistle-stop, vaguely panicky tour revealed the children weren’t in their rooms.

‘Why didn’t anyone wake me?’ Hannah demanded breathlessly as she ran into the kitchen still tying the belt on her robe. ‘Ouf, sorry,’ she gasped as she rushed full tilt into her husband.

‘I told them not to,’ Ethan replied calmly.

She was conscious of the intimate contact of their bodies only for a few seconds before he solicitously steadied her and stepped away. It was enough to send her pulse-rate hammering. Although he didn’t douse himself in masculine cologne, she could have recognised his presence blindfolded in any room. Her nostrils automatically flared as she got a full dose of his signature male fragrance.

‘What are you doing here?’ She instantly wished the words unsaid. Ethan didn’t want or need her interest, and any suggestion of interrogation would be met with a sharp rebuttal. Now was the time to get their relationship back on its neatly designed unchallenging lines. Last night had been a blip in normality not a new chapter.

One dark brow quirked. ‘I live here, remember.’

His dry tone brought a flush to her cheeks. ‘Shouldn’t you be in work?’ There I go again.

As she spoke Hannah was conscious of the fact that they weren’t alone; despite appearances, at least one pair of ears was undoubtedly taking in every word. The housekeeper had never made any comment on her employer’s odd choice of bride, but she wouldn’t have been human if the situation hadn’t intrigued her.

Hannah sometimes wondered what she said about them to her husband when she returned home in the evenings. She’d been in situ when the first Mrs Kemp had been alive, and Hannah had half expected her to keep the sort of suspicious, unfriendly distance many of Ethan’s friends did. To her relief this hadn’t been the case. So long as Hannah didn’t trespass on her domestic territory, she seemed perfectly at ease with the arrangement.

Ethan didn’t normally participate in the usual morning chaos of dressing and feeding the children, then ferrying Emma to school. He was generally leaving the house as Hannah fetched the children downstairs. He appeared to start the day with nothing more substantial than a cup of strong black coffee, a practice Hannah privately had serious reservations about. She had never voiced her concerns, because Ethan’s welfare was one of those things that were out of bounds. She had no doubt that with a few well-chosen words he could and would subdue any pretensions she had in that direction.

‘Not this morning, Hannah. Dear God,’ he murmured, inspecting the streak of strawberry jam he’d just discovered down the sleeve of his dark jacket with a grimace. ‘How does he manage to spread it that far?’ he wondered, casting a fascinated look in the direction of his chubby-faced son, who smiled back with cherubic innocence from his highchair.

‘I want down!’ he announced, banging his spoon on the plastic table-top.

‘Soon, Tom,’ Hannah responded automatically. She pushed her hair behind her ears and tried to work out what Ethan was doing here. A devoted father he might be, but he’d never involved himself in the more mundane of parental duties. ‘You should have woken me. I’ll be late getting Emma to school.’

‘Daddy’s taking me, Mummy.’

The ‘Mummy’ was a new thing, and it still gave Hannah a glow of pleasure to hear it. Ethan had never commented on her promotion from ‘Hannah’ in his daughter’s eyes, but she was sure he didn’t like it. His restraint only reminded her that from his point of view her role within the household would always be one of necessity rather than desire.

‘You are?’ she gasped, unable to hide her surprise.

‘You consider the task too complex for me?’

‘You just sit down, my dear, and I’ll get you a nice cup of tea. Mr Kemp has told me about the nasty accident you were in. What you need is a rest,’ the housekeeper advised.

Hannah’s eyes flew to Ethan’s face as her hand went automatically to her scratched cheek. So that was to be the story, she thought philosophically. It certainly made her appear less foolish than the truth.

‘I feel fine—just a little stiff, Mrs Turner.’

‘I want out, now!’ Patience was uncharted territory for a three-year-old.

Hannah unclipped his harness and heaved his sleep-suit-clad body into her arms. His sturdy frame made her conscious of bruises she hadn’t known she had. She wasn’t able totally to subdue the wince.

‘Give him to me,’ Ethan said, holding his arms out.

‘I’m fine.’

‘Martyrdom is an overrated and tedious virtue,’ Ethan observed in a bored drawl.

Hannah handed over her charge with as much dignity as she could muster. Normally their parental duties were strictly, if unofficially, defined, and it was vaguely disorientating to have her role so thoroughly usurped.

Ethan might well regret his chivalry when he discovered that the wet kiss his beaming son had pressed somewhere east of his mouth had left a blob of porridge adhering to his freshly shaved cheek. A wicked impulse made her keep this information to herself.

‘Will you do my hair?’ Emma slid onto Hannah’s knee and solemnly passed her a comb and ribbons.

‘With your permission?’ She shot Ethan a challenging look. She sounded cranky and didn’t much care. She knew he was watching her again and it made her feel uncomfortable.

‘I’d say that constitutes light duties,’ he conceded. Whilst playing a tickling game, which Hannah thought might well result in his small son throwing up, he watched Hannah’s expert fingers twist Emma’s fluffy golden locks into the desired design. Emma was a beautiful child who looked remarkably like a miniature version of her mother. Hannah was sure Ethan didn’t need the constant reminder to keep Catherine’s memory fresh—several people had lost no time telling Hannah how passionately in love he’d been, how he’d worshipped her.

Hannah had been astounded the first time she’d seen Ethan with his children. Who would have guessed that behind the austere, rather daunting façade there lurked such a warm and humorous man? She’d thought his attitude towards her might bend a little over the months, but he’d never actually dropped the formality with her. She’d never been in any danger of forgetting her position in this household.

It wouldn’t be long before Emma at least began to notice that her parents weren’t like other people’s: no hugs or teasing, no shared history of private jokes. Ethan didn’t appear to have taken this aspect into account in his calculations. Children were sharp; nothing much escaped their observant eyes. It would be interesting, and probably uncomfortable, Hannah reflected, to see how he dealt with the inevitable questions.

‘I’ll be back shortly,’ he said as he stood, the open doorway framing the sight of daughter and father hand in hand.

‘Work…?’ she faltered.

‘I’ve cancelled my appointments for this morning. Cal Morgan will see you at ten. I’ll take you to the surgery—for that tetanus jab,’ he added as she stared at him blankly.

‘Quite right, you can’t be too careful,’ the housekeeper observed approvingly. ‘Tom will be just fine with me. I’ll take him for his bath, won’t I, darling? Kiss for Mummy.’

When Hannah emerged from the grubby embrace Ethan had gone. This new personal interest in her welfare obviously stemmed from his opinion that she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. It was frustrating to realise that she had nobody to blame for the situation but herself. If only he hadn’t caught her last night. It had been an inconvenient time to discover the man she’d married was either an insomniac or a secret drinker, possibly both. The idea brought a whimsical smile to her lips. She couldn’t imagine Ethan indulging in weaknesses of any variety!

She’d just have to reestablish herself in his eyes as being more than capable of taking care of herself. Driving herself to the doctor’s surgery was step one of this process. He’d be glad to be relieved of this tedious chore.

That view took on a rapid sea change when she emerged from the surgery to find Ethan standing beside her Volvo. His long fingers were rapping an impatient tune on the bonnet. He appeared to be muttering under his breath at regular intervals. He straightened up at the sound of her feet crunching on the gravel. His dark brows met over the bridge of his nose as he recognised her.

‘What the hell are you playing at?’

Whilst his attitude to her lacked warmth, she couldn’t remember any occasion when his manner towards her hadn’t been faultlessly polite. The flash of anger in his grey eyes and the unmistakable message his whole body language was shouting threw her totally off balance. What had she done?

‘I’m not playing at anything, Ethan.’

‘Don’t waste that “butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth” look on me, Hannah Smith… It won’t wash any more.’

‘Kemp, I’m Hannah Kemp.’ He might like to pretend this weren’t true sometimes, but it was.

He rubbed a hand through his dark hair, disrupting the sleek silhouette. ‘You were less trouble as Smith,’ he reflected after a thoughtful pause. ‘I offered to drive you because you’re very obviously not fit to sit behind a wheel. What are you trying to do—smash the parts you missed last night?’

‘That’s a ridiculous overstatement!’ she protested. ‘And don’t think you’re the only one regretting this marriage,’ she yelled wildly.

His expression hardened into one of icy disdain as his cold glance whipped up and down her slender figure. Under the scrutiny she forced herself to straighten up, even though the ache in her ribs intensified.

‘Marriage to me is one of those decisions you’d better learn to live with.’ The unspoken ‘or else’ was clearly there in capital letters.

‘Save your intimidation for the courtroom,’ she told him with uncharacteristic steel.

‘I’d never make that mistake—strong-arm tactics with someone who looks as vulnerable and fragile as you do right now would lose me the jury’s sympathy.’

‘I didn’t mean to wound your professional pride.’

Her sarcastic murmur sent his dark brows towards his hairline. ‘Happily we’re not in the courtroom right now, so I’ll continue to behave like a bully—you’re obviously very at home with that image of me,’ he observed tautly. ‘Have you seen the way you’re moving, woman? It’s obvious every step hurts.’

She grimaced—that was almost exactly what Cal had said before he’d insisted on examining her. She gazed at her husband resentfully. ‘My ribs are bruised, not broken, and Cal has given me a prescription for some painkillers.’

‘Well, the next time you decide to get in a car with a maniac try and remember you’re a mother, not a bloody stunt woman!’

Anyone would think she’d done this for the sole purpose of inconveniencing him! Ethan could be mind-bogglingly selfish at times.

‘Don’t worry, I don’t need a nursemaid. You don’t have to waste your time at home for my sake.’

‘Nursemaid!’ he scoffed. ‘I’m beginning to think you need a minder. As for staying at home, I’m in court this afternoon. Alexa has agreed to pick Emma up from school.’

Hannah didn’t have time to hide her dismay from him.

‘I do think you might make a little bit more effort with Alexa—she is the children’s grandmother.’

Effort, me? thought Hannah. She grated her teeth at the sheer injustice of this criticism. Alexa Harding had been horrified when she’d learnt that the nanny was to take her daughter’s place. Having any woman take Catherine’s place would have been hard for her to accept, but the fact that Hannah was, in her eyes, menial household help made the situation unacceptable to the older woman.

At first Hannah had thought she might come round, if she saw the children were happy, but, if anything, the closer Hannah had become to the children, the more bitter their grandmother had become. She never missed an opportunity to belittle Hannah in front of Ethan—she was about as subtle as dripping acid. Hannah longed for Ethan to side with her—just once. Only he never did. He remained aloof from the petty squabbles.

‘It’s very kind of her,’ Hannah said in a expressionless voice. Anxiety crowded out the appearance of calm as she rushed on. ‘You didn’t tell her what actually happened, did you?’ Alexa would have a field-day with that sort of information.

‘Does it matter?’

Hannah grabbed his wrist, her fingers digging into his skin. ‘Yes, it does,’ she persisted urgently.

Ethan looked from her pale fingers to her flushed face with a quizzical expression. ‘I stuck to the accident story.’

Hannah heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you.’ Realising she was still clinging, she abruptly released her grip.

‘The truth isn’t the sort of story I’m likely to spread around.’

‘Are you trying to imply that by getting into his car I was inviting…?’

‘My God, don’t be so touchy!’ he exploded. ‘I’m not implying anything of the sort. Hopefully you’ve learnt something from the experience, but that might be asking too much.’

Didn’t he ever make a mistake? ‘I’ve learnt not to expect any sympathy from you.’ She flushed at the implication that she desired sympathy from him.

‘Not when you act like a naïve schoolgirl,’ he snapped back crisply. ‘Get in the car. Not this one—mine,’ he added as she reached for her car keys. ‘No, don’t put those away,’ he said, catching her hand. ‘You’d better lock it first. Do you make a habit of leaving a welcome card for car thieves?’

‘I thought I had locked it. I always lock it.’ His sceptical sneer made her want to scream.

Ethan drove a high-powered black BMW. He parked at the end of a tree-lined avenue and told her tersely he’d only be ten minutes. He didn’t explain where he was going, but then he never did. Whatever his business was, he looked pretty grim.

Ethan was always punctual, and it was barely ten minutes later that he returned. He opened the door and threw in her brown leather shoulder bag.

‘I thought you’d like this back. You’d better check everything is there,’ he advised, sliding into the driver’s seat. ‘It won’t bite; you take a look.’

‘Where did you get it?’ she asked hoarsely.

The engine purred into life. ‘Where do you think?’

‘How do you know where he lives? What did you do…?’

‘The college was very helpful when I explained good old Craig had left his wallet in my car last night. Shocking security,’ he observed mildly.

‘What did he say? Did he just hand it over?’

‘He said too much,’ Ethan observed curtly.

‘About me?’ she asked miserably. She could just imagine what sordid lies he’d wheeled out to justify his actions. She felt sick just imagining that Ethan had believed any of it. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.

‘Don’t worry, he admitted the truth eventually.’

‘Eventually?’ She looked at his grim, hard-edged profile and realised she was being pretty slow. Ethan wasn’t the sort of man people intimidated, but he was more than capable of doing the intimidating if he felt the situation justified it. His next words confirmed her dawning suspicions.

‘Craig is now personally acquainted with fear. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it? I forget how long you had in mind, but I always think it’s quality not quantity that counts.’

His thin-lipped smile made her shudder. This wasn’t the indulgent father; this was a ruthless man—a dangerous man. She’d never actually appreciated before just how daunting Ethan could be.

‘You didn’t…didn’t hit him, did you?’

His charcoal-grey suit was pristine and his silk tie lay smoothly against the white background of his shirt. He didn’t look like a man who’d just been brawling. Her eyes went to his knuckles as his hands lay lightly on the steering wheel—no tell-tale marks.

‘Nothing so crude. I just told him what I’d do to him if he ever touched you or any other woman again.’

‘And that scared him?’

‘You had to be there.’ His smile was savagely silky. It made Hannah shudder. It made her realise how little she knew this man she’d married.

‘Are lawyers supposed to behave like that?’ she asked doubtfully.

‘I didn’t go in there wearing my wig, Hannah. I went in there as your husband. I didn’t lay a finger on him—of course, if he’d tried…’ He shook his head rather regretfully. ‘I knew he’d cave in. I’ve seen his type often enough—inadequate bullies.’ His grey eyes were filled with contempt as he flicked her a sideways glance. Happily the contempt was intended for the loathsome Craig.

She looked away and pretended to go through the contents of her bag. ‘It’s all here,’ she said, not actually registering what was before her eyes. The words ‘as your husband’ kept going through her mind. The warm glow was a ludicrous response; she knew he hadn’t meant anything by it. All the same…

‘Aren’t you stopping for lunch?’ she asked, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. She’d had a lot of experience; she could hear what sounded like authentic lack of interest in her voice.

‘I’m meeting Miranda. She’s assisting me this afternoon.’

Miranda, the newest recruit to Ethan’s chambers, was everything Hannah would have liked to be. Not only was she beautiful, she had brains which had earned her respect in a male-dominated world.

Hannah often wondered if Miranda was the reason Ethan didn’t get home until so late—suspiciously late on Friday nights. It wasn’t really reasonable to suppose he remained celibate; he was a virile, attractive—very attractive—man. Even if he was still hopelessly in love with Catherine, he was still human. She knew he’d always be discreet; it wasn’t in his nature to humiliate her by flaunting his affairs. All the same, the thought of him with the beautiful redhead tortured her.

‘That’s nice.’

‘Is it?’

‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said in an exasperated tone. ‘I was just being polite.’ She tried to slip back into their old relationship, and the only thanks she got were his snide comments. There was no pleasing some people.

‘Now I know why I married you—for your lovely manners.’

What she’d done to deserve his mockery she didn’t know. She’d grown accustomed to his indifference over the past year, his occasional irritation, but he actually looked as though he disliked her this morning.

‘No, you married me because you wanted a low-maintenance wife who would make as little impact as possible on your life!’ The resentment bubbled up and overflowed into these unwise observations before she could stop it.

He flinched as the accuracy of her husky accusation hit him. ‘Well, I’d hardly call your antics over the last twenty-four hours low maintenance.’ The unvarnished truth sliced uncomfortably through his rationalisations, and, not unnaturally, made him as mad as hell.

Ethan had managed to convince himself that his motives in marrying Hannah, whilst not being totally altruistic, hadn’t been completely selfish. She’d had so little and he’d been offering her a standard of living that she could never have aspired to. It was a sound business arrangement. She’d always given the impression of being content. Her affection for the children was indisputable, as was theirs for her.

Until he’d been faced with the prospect of losing her, he hadn’t realised how much this quiet girl had become part of the household. The part that had given it the first breath of normality and stability in a long time. It was incredible how someone so unobtrusive could make such a difference. Unobtrusive? Looking at the angry belligerence that tightened the soft contours of her face, he decided the label seemed singularly inappropriate.

‘If I’d had my way you wouldn’t have known at all about last night. It’s your fault for being an insomniac!’