Wife By Agreement

‘Wouldn’t have known!’ He seized on the words as if they were a guilty admission. ‘I thought as much—how many other secrets do you keep from me?’

‘Secrets, me?’ The idea was laughable. ‘If I told you everything I do in a day I’d bore your socks off.’ Not like the lovely Miranda, she thought. I bet he hangs on her every syllable.

The guilt he felt at the most unexpected moments came rushing in and his voice was harsh. ‘So your life’s drudgery, is it?’

‘Luxurious drudgery,’ she corrected sarcastically, her outstretched arms encompassing the elegant surroundings of the period-furnished drawing room. A room that was a tribute to the good taste of her predecessor. ‘What more could a girl ask for? And you accuse me of being touchy!’ she snorted.

He regarded her delicately flushed face, flashing eyes and mutinously set mouth with an odd expression. His stillness made Hannah lick her lips nervously.

Unexpectedly, he caught her chin in one hand. ‘What’s happened to you? You’re not the same person.’ Everything had been going so well. Why the hell did she have to start acting like a woman all of a sudden? And, even worse, why was he thinking of her as a woman?

‘Perhaps you’ve confused silence with lack of feelings, Ethan. I do feel.’

‘And what feelings arouse your passions?’ he wondered out loud. His eyes dropped to the rapid rise and fall of her small, high breasts, and a look she’d never seen before slid into his eyes.

‘Things,’ she replied huskily.

‘Like French classes.’ A trace of discontent had entered his voice.

‘Like French classes,’ she agreed.

‘Perhaps it would be safer for you to look closer to home to satisfy your passions.’ His thumb moved in a circular motion over the small, rounded chin.

‘Do you speak French, Ethan?’

‘It wasn’t the search for intellectual stimulation that made you do a dangerous thing like get in that car last night. The man turned out to be an idiot, but what if he’d had a more subtle approach? Would a furtive kiss in the dark have been so unacceptable to you, Hannah? Isn’t that what you secretly wanted?’

She tore her face from his grip. ‘The only person I’d like less to be touched by than Craig…is you!’ The insulting picture of herself as some sexually frustrated female desperate for male attention made her blood boil. Ironically, the only male attention she craved was his. At least he couldn’t taunt her with the truth.

‘Brave words.’

A logical assessment later would tell her she’d backed his male ego into a corner and the outcome had been a foregone conclusion. Logic didn’t come to her assistance at the time.

It was nothing like her imaginary kisses. Imagination didn’t have texture and warmth and taste. ‘Melting’ had been a word before; now it was a reality as her body dissolved in a rush of mind-numbing sensual delight. Her lips automatically parted under the imprint of his mouth. The taste of him glutted her senses.

When it stopped her disorientation was total. She felt numb and strangely dizzy. She touched the back of her hand to her parted, slightly swollen lips. The eyes she raised to his face were still clouded with a misty languor. It afforded Hannah a tiny measure of satisfaction that Ethan looked to be equally stunned by his actions.

Over the years Hannah had formulated a vague theory that for women it was easy to stop kissing—it was only men who were driven beyond sense and reason by such an essentially innocent pastime.

Innocent! Oh, dear, it looked as if she’d have to reevaluate her hypothesis. Limited research was obviously to blame for her inaccurate conclusions.

‘That was childish of me.’ He was slipping back into his cool professional persona with insulting ease. An adjustment to his gold cufflinks, a judicious twitch of the tasteful tie.

‘Childish isn’t the first word that springs to my mind,’ she returned huskily. The destructive friction of his skilful lips and wicked tongue had filled her with an entirely adult ache. It began low in the pit of her belly, but spread just about everywhere.

‘I suppose you expect me to apologise.’ From the stubborn, closed expression on his face, she concluded this was unlikely.

‘Why? I liked it.’

‘Dear God!’ he grated, his stance growing more rigid as he discovered she was examining his lips with dreamy curiosity.

The sharp exclamation brought Hannah belatedly to her senses. She bit hard on her criminally indiscreet tongue and felt the hot colour wash up her neck until her face was aflame.

‘I mean, a kiss is just…’

‘A kiss?’ he suggested.

‘Exactly,’ she said, relief making her go a bit overboard on the enthusiasm. ‘I don’t think we should mention…’

‘You liked it.’

Hannah frowned, not trusting his suddenly innocent expression. ‘Your loss of control.’

‘That’s very generous of you.’ Perversely, he found himself vaguely dissatisfied that she was suggesting what he had wanted only seconds before.

When the doorbell rang later that afternoon Hannah squared her shoulders and steeled herself for a dose of Alexa. She glanced at the clock on the mantel and frowned—she was early. Hannah was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, playing with Tom, and she smiled wryly as she pulled the child onto her lap, aware she was using him almost as a shield against the battery of criticism she knew was about to be lobbed at her head.

‘Mrs Kemp, it’s a Mr Dubois.’

‘Jean-Paul!’ Hannah exclaimed in pleasure as the figure behind Mrs Turner stepped forward.

‘Hannah, forgive the intrusion.’

‘It’s no intrusion—come in. Would you like tea, coffee?’

‘Coffee would be nice.’

‘Would you mind, Mrs Turner?’ She smiled at the housekeeper. ‘Sit down, please.’ She couldn’t understand what her night-class tutor was doing here, but, having stealed herself to face the dreaded Alexa, it was marvellous to see a friendly face. You’re a coward, Hannah, she told herself angrily. Show a bit more backbone!

Jean-Paul Dubois settled himself in an armchair and looked admiringly around the room. Hannah saw his glance dwell on a framed picture of Ethan with Catherine: two beautiful people, the perfect couple. He was too polite to comment.

‘You have a lovely home.’ He pushed his wire-framed glasses up the bridge of his nose. They were the only vaguely intellectual thing about the young Frenchman’s appearance. He looked more like a male model than a university lecturer, which was his daytime job.

‘Home’ had an optimistically permanent ring to it. ‘It’s been in my husband’s family for a long time.’ Ethan had inherited the place years ago from his father, and though his mother had first stayed on in her marital home she had left shortly after Ethan’s first marriage. Hannah had only met Faith Kemp once, at their own wedding, and the lady hadn’t bothered hiding her disapproval of the match. Hannah had heard with her own ears Faith read a scalding lecture to her son on the subject.

‘He is a beautiful bébé,’ Jean-Paul, said, laughing as Tom lobbed a pink elephant at his head.

‘Thank you.’

Jean-Paul nodded at the question in her eyes. ‘You are wondering why I am here?’

‘It’s very nice to see you.’

‘You are a very talented student. Some people have a natural talent for languages—you are one of them.’

Hannah flushed with pleasure. She’d certainly enjoyed the classes, but she hadn’t thought she was anything special. ‘I’ve had a good teacher.’

‘That’s why I wish you’d reconsider your decision to leave the class. I know there are many pressures when you have a family… The unfortunate accident—’

‘Stop right there,’ Hannah said, holding up her hand. Tom wriggled off her knee and went over to Jean-Paul, who took the theft of his spectacles in good part. ‘What makes you think I’m leaving the class? How did you know I’d had an…accident?’ She flushed a little as she said this.

‘Your husband spoke to me earlier,’ he explained.

Hannah drew a wrathful breath. ‘He did, did he?’ she said quietly, with a brilliantly false smile.

‘I did tell him how sorry I would be to see you go. I know our classes are light-hearted, but I was hoping you could go further.’

‘Further?’ she said, startled for a moment from her contemplation of a suitable punishment for her over-bearing husband. So long as she made the children happy, he had no right to interfere so blatantly in her life. One night a week to herself wasn’t too much to ask for.

‘Have you ever thought of doing a degree?’

‘Me?’ Hannah shook her head. ‘I couldn’t do that— I’ve no formal schooling to speak of. I left school at sixteen.’ That was when the State had stopped being responsible for her, and she’d woken up to the fact that taking care of herself and being in full-time education weren’t compatible.

‘Your family did not mind?’

‘I had no family,’ Hannah explained briefly. Her mouth tightened at the sympathetic light she saw in his eyes. She hated pity! ‘I trained as a nursery nurse.’ A job that gave her both an income and a roof over her head had seemed a practical compromise.

‘I know you are very young, Hannah.’

‘Twenty-three.’

‘But you would still be classed as a mature candidate for university entrance. There is quite a lot of flexibility for the right candidates.’

‘And you think I’m the right candidate?’

Jean-Paul smiled as he heard the hint of wistfulness creep into her voice. ‘The perfect candidate. Some mature students find the finances a drain, but you…’ His Gallic gesture took in the undoubted affluence of the surroundings.

‘I don’t know what to say.’ Could she? Ethan would never agree. All the same, the idea did take hold. Over the years she’d seen people much less able than herself go to university. It had been something that had seemed always tantalisingly out of reach.

‘Say yes, chérie.’ Satisfied he’d presented his case, he didn’t labour the point. ‘Where, bébé, are my glasses? You must lead me by the hand, Hannah. I am blind.’

Laughing, Hannah reached under the sofa and retrieved the spectacles. Still on her knees at the foot of Jean-Paul’s chair, she slid them obligingly back onto his nose.

At this point the door opened and the housekeeper returned, bearing a tray laden with coffee and scones. ‘I put plenty on for everyone. I know how hungry Emma is when she comes home.’

‘Can I have one now?’ Emma skipped into the room beside the upright figure of her grandmother, whose pale blue eyes swept over the room with a look of malicious triumph. ‘Can I, Mummy?’

‘Get changed out of your uniform first,’ Hannah said, pushing back the wing of silky hair that had flopped in her eyes. ‘Hello, Alexa. It was good of you to pick Emma up.’

‘Hannah, what a delightful surprise—I half expected you to be bed-bound, from the way Ethan was talking. You look glowing, my dear. Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?’

Determined not to rise to the bait, Hannah simply nodded in Jean-Paul’s direction. ‘This is Jean-Paul Dubois, my French tutor. Jean-Paul, this is Alexa…’

Jean-Paul got to his feet and, clasping the older woman’s hand lightly, raised it to his lips. ‘Madame. No, Hannah, do not get up—you are busy with your family. Will you think about what I said?’

Hannah couldn’t help wincing as she got to her feet. The painkillers had improved the situation, but she was still stiff and sore. Gallant to his fingertips, Jean-Paul solicitously took her elbow.

‘Thank you,’ she murmured gratefully as she straightened up. ‘It was good of you to call. Goodbye.’

‘Au revoir,’ he corrected.

‘Does Ethan know you entertain your men whilst he is out working?’ Alexa settled herself into the chair Jean-Paul had vacated. She was a handsome woman who had kept a youthful figure. The permanent lines of bitterness around her mouth robbed her of what otherwise would have been beauty.

‘Man, Alexa,’ Hannah corrected calmly. ‘And I feel sure I can rely on you to tell Ethan.’ She was well aware that it wouldn’t occur to Ethan that a man like Jean-Paul would find her attractive—that was part of the reason he’d married her.

The older woman looked a little taken aback by her composure. ‘I expect you’ve been playing up a couple of scratches for all it’s worth. Catherine never let personal discomfort stop her doing what she wanted. She wasn’t afraid of anything!’

Which was why she wasn’t here now! Hannah repressed this unworthy observation. Tom had been barely a month old when Catherine had decided to ride in a point-to-point. When her horse had gone lame she had taken on a mount whose rider had been injured, even though the animal was renowned for an unpredictable temper. She had to have known the risk she was taking when she’d ignored advice—it was only because of her pregnancy that she’d missed out on a place in the British Olympic team. Hannah wasn’t in a position to speculate about what drove someone like that; perhaps it was irrelevant. Whatever the motivation, the outcome had been tragic.

‘I’m not Catherine.’

Alexa’s laugh was shrill. ‘And I’m sure Ethan remembers what he lost every time he looks at you,’ she sneered. ‘Thomas, put that down!’ she cried as the little boy lifted a porcelain figure off the lower shelf of a display case.

‘Give it to Mummy, Tom,’ Hannah said quietly, so as not to alarm the child. ‘Good boy,’ she praised as he handed it over. She placed the delicate ornament on a higher shelf. Alexa’s words wouldn’t have hurt so much if she hadn’t known they were true. She could never hope to compete with the vital, glowing creature Ethan had loved.

‘That was one of Catherine’s favourites.’

It would be, of course, Hannah thought philosophically. ‘Well, it’s safe now.’

‘I don’t know why you allow the children in this room. They ruin everything.’

Hannah sighed; they’d been through this before. ‘This is a family home, Alexa, not a showcase. It’s meant to be lived in.’ The whole place was in danger of becoming a shrine. It was bad enough that almost every room was filled with photos of its late mistress; the trophies of her sporting achievements remained as a memorial to her talent and sense of adventure. Not only had she been a top-class horsewoman, she’d been an accomplished yachtswoman, and somewhere along the way she’d managed to pack in a spot of rock-climbing. She had obviously been one of those people who found danger attractive, even addictive. Her talent hadn’t been limited to competing in the sporting world—she had founded and run a small manufacturing business which specialised in high-class sporting gear.

Hannah might not be able to alter the tastefully coordinated decor to suit her own taste, but she had been able to smuggle the odd toy box gradually into the drawing room and pin Emma’s early attempts at art on the kitchen wall, despite Alexa’s objections. A minor victory, but for Hannah a triumph. Children didn’t need the stifling atmosphere of a museum.

‘The place is looking positively shabby. I know Ethan doesn’t like to entertain much now Catherine is gone, but…’ Alexa’s aristocratic nose wrinkled in disgust.

This was a patent untruth—all the main reception rooms had been redecorated a couple of months previously. The interior decorators had duplicated all the existing decor down to the smallest detail.

Emma’s explosive return into the room spared Hannah Alexa’s more obvious displays of dislike. She knew it went deeper than dislike. It sometimes felt as if the woman had made Hannah the focus for all her grief and anger over her daughter’s death.

CHAPTER THREE

AFTER a year of marriage Ethan came knocking on Hannah’s bedroom door for the second time in as many days. This time she heard him. It was Friday night and he was home late, as usual.

‘This is getting to be habit-forming,’ she said as he stepped into the room in response to her crisp invitation.

It was a line she’d been working on all evening, and she was quite pleased with her delivery. She might have been flustered to see him if Alexa’s actions hadn’t been so predictable. She’d known he’d appear at some point, demanding an explanation.

‘You getting into trouble?’ Elbow against the wall, he loosened his tie and looked at her in a distinctly unfriendly fashion.

In her innocence she’d imagined that with love off the menu she might settle for the closeness of a special friendship. Being ignored had been a lot easier to bear than his open dislike.

‘Am I?’ She didn’t appear too bothered at the possibility, which she could see surprised him. She’d discovered a perverse pleasure in surprising him over the past day or so. It was satisfying, shaking him out of his iron certitude. It was only natural, she decided, to resent the person you loved when he didn’t even notice you existed—at least not in that way.

‘I suppose you’ve received reports of me inviting my hordes of lovers to cavort on the Aubusson carpet in the drawing room.’ The mental image of bacchanalia brought a tiny smile to her lips.

‘You don’t seem to be taking this very seriously.’ He ran a hand over the dark growth of stubble that shadowed his angular jaw.

‘I’m only amazed that you are,’ she fired back wearily. ‘No, actually I’m not, because you don’t have a very high opinion of me, do you, Ethan?’

She’d worked so damned hard to be what he wanted, but that had counted for nothing when she’d disrupted the smooth running of his life. One little slip, and he was looking at her as though she had something contagious. So her little slip had been spectacular—she hadn’t asked him to get involved personally.

‘You’ve always done what I’ve asked of you,’ he observed noncommittally. Despite his words, she didn’t detect any wholehearted endorsement in his slightly uncomfortable stance. He looked as though his wife’s bedroom was the last place in the world he wanted to be. Anger was her best response to the pain this knowledge brought.

‘You’re just wondering what else I’ve done besides.’

‘When the woman I married starts behaving like a teenager rebelling for the hell of it, I do start wondering—yes!’ he agreed in a driven voice. ‘You’re acting completely out of character.’

‘And you’d know all about my character?’

Her mockery brought an angry gleam to his narrowed eyes. ‘I’m sorry if you didn’t have the opportunity to get the rebellion out of your system when most of us do, but I’ve no desire whatever to become the focal point for your childish aggression. I don’t feel even vaguely paternal towards you.’ His lips twisted into a grimace of distaste.

‘I wasn’t looking for a father-figure when I married you!’ Please, God, don’t let him ask what I was looking for, she prayed, as she recognised the opening she’d given him. She needn’t have been concerned—Ethan thought he knew all about her motivation.

‘No, you were looking for security, which is understandable. Only now you’re discovering that there’s more to life than comfort. There’s excitement.’ Her fragile poise deserted her completely as his grey eyes raked her face. ‘And sex.’

Her chest felt so tight she could hardly breathe. ‘How dare you talk like that to me?’

‘I dare because our lives here only work because we accept certain limitations,’ he said brutally. ‘It’s a very delicate balance, and when you start flirting with French studs…’

‘I expect Jean-Paul would find the stereotyping very flattering,’ she breathed, furious that he could calmly taint an innocent friendship—God, it wasn’t even that!—with his nasty innuendo! ‘If you hadn’t tried to run my life for me, Ethan, Jean-Paul wouldn’t even have come here. You’ll be relieved to hear it wasn’t my body he was after,’ she hissed sarcastically. ‘But then I’m sure you didn’t think that. You played safe when you picked me, didn’t you?’ she accused bitterly. ‘You picked the plainest female you could find in the knowledge that, no matter how much you ignored me, there wasn’t going to be anyone else queuing up to show me a good time!’

‘If Jean-Paul wasn’t here to show you “a good time”—’ her face flamed as he quoted her heated words ‘—why did he come?’

‘He wants me to do a degree—in French.’

He gave a short, hard laugh. ‘It’s more original than wanting to show you his etchings,’ he conceded.

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