Marriage On Trial

‘You struck lucky. It isn’t often something like this comes up for rent.’

‘It isn’t rented.’

‘Ah!’ Softly he observed, ‘If one’s romantically inclined, it must make an ideal love-nest.’

‘If you’re implying that Richard comes here—’ Realising that she was playing into his hands, she broke off abruptly.

‘Doesn’t he?’

‘Certainly not! Except to pick me up occasionally.’

Raising a dark brow, Quinn pursued, ‘But he did set you up here?’

‘He did no such thing!’

Quinn made no attempt to hide his scepticism. ‘I wouldn’t have expected anyone on a secretary’s salary, even if it’s an exceptionally good one, to be able to buy a place like this.’

‘I didn’t buy it. Emily Henderson, the writer I’d worked for for several years, asked me to take care of it…’

After living in a cramped and dingy bedsit above a seedy video shop, having the opportunity to move into Cantle Cottage had seemed like a miracle.

‘She’s gone to Australia for a year to stay with her son and his family,’ Elizabeth added flatly, and wondered why she was taking the trouble to explain.

But she knew only too well why. It was a hangover from the past, when Quinn had so badly misjudged her. Well, the past was long gone, she reminded herself briskly, and she no longer had to justify anything.

Frowning, as though he could read her thoughts, he harked back, ‘So where do you and Beaumont meet when you have your…shall we say…trysts? Obviously not his apartment… And I can’t see the family home being at all suitable.’

Losing her temper, she snapped, ‘And I can’t see what makes where we meet any of your business.’

‘Then you do sleep with him…’ Though the words themselves were triumphant, there was a kind of weary acceptance in the low-pitched voice, rather than satisfaction. ‘And he wants the Van Hamel as a carrot to keep you where he—’

‘You’re quite wrong,’ she broke in furiously. ‘Richard wants the Van Hamel for its own sake… And whether or not I sleep with him is entirely my affair.’

A look that seemed to hold both anger and pain crossed Quinn’s dark face, but a split second later it was gone, and Elizabeth knew she must have imagined it.

After a moment, his expression thoughtful, he pursued, ‘Though you clearly weren’t at home in the apartment, I got the distinct impression that you were intending to stay the night?’

‘What if I was?’ She tried to sound offhand.

‘Yet you seemed to be unprepared, not even a sponge bag, which leads me to believe that it hadn’t been planned in advance…

‘It’s my guess that he only proposed to you this evening, perhaps on the way to the sale, and that he asked you then to go back with him.’

Her expression telling him more clearly than words that he was right, he smiled sardonically.

When she remained determinedly silent, he went on, ‘He was certainly expecting you to stay, and though he did his best to act like a gentleman he was furious when he realized you really were going to leave…’

Then, like a cobra striking, he asked, ‘Why did you change your mind? Was it because of me?’

‘Why on earth should it be?’ She made an effort to sound dismissive.

‘You tell me.’

‘It was nothing to do with you,’ she lied hardily.

‘Then why?’

‘I had a headache. Now, I really would like to go to bed, so if you could finish your coffee…?’

Picking up his cup, he drained it, before remarking, ‘My, but you seem uncommonly eager to be rid of me.’

When she made no effort to refute that statement, he turned to look at her, his green eyes gleaming. ‘Bearing in mind that I still have the Van Hamel, I’m surprised you can’t bring yourself to be a little more gracious.’

It was a threat, however subtly worded.

‘I don’t care a damn about the Van Hamel.’ The retort was out before she could prevent it.

‘You may not, but your fiancé certainly does. In fact, judging by the amount I was able to push him to tonight, I’d say he’s set his heart on having it…’

Once again Quinn was one hundred per cent accurate.

‘So if you don’t want to see him disappointed…’

She didn’t.

Possibly because of his nature and privileged upbringing, Richard wasn’t a good loser. Like a spoilt child, he was unable to forget a failure. Losing the Van Hamel now would rankle, and could end up souring their whole engagement.

No matter what other precious stone he chose for her ring, Elizabeth knew quite well that, in his eyes at least, it would always be second best, and every time he looked at it he would feel angry and dissatisfied.

Gritting her teeth, she made an effort to be civil. ‘I’m sorry if I’ve been ungracious…’

‘That’s better,’ Quinn murmured encouragingly. ‘Now perhaps you could make me some supper and another cup of coffee? Oh, and please do join me. I dislike eating alone.’

Though politely framed it was undoubtedly an order.

Knowing only too well that he was playing with her, deliberately provoking her, she felt a fierce desire to smack his mocking face and tell him to get out.

Instead, she rose to her feet without a word, and, picking up his empty cup, carried it through to the kitchen.

This time she got out the cafetière and warmed it, before taking a wholegrain loaf from the bread bin, and ham and cheese from the fridge.

She was cutting bread, when a movement in the doorway distracted her and the knife slipped and nicked her finger, making her gasp.

‘Let me see.’ Quinn was by her side in an instant. Lifting her hand, he examined the cut where a blob of red blood was welling.

‘It’s nothing,’ she assured him.

All at once her stomach clenched and fire flashed through her, as he put her finger in his mouth and sucked. While he kept it there, his green eyes met and held hers, as though assessing her response.

It seemed an eternity before, head spinning, she was able to tear her gaze away.

Inspecting the now bloodless cut, he asked, ‘Where do you keep your sticking-plasters?’

Trembling in every limb, and feeling as though she’d narrowly survived some disaster, she said jerkily, ‘There’s a first-aid box in the cupboard.’

When, with deft efficiency, he’d put a plaster on her finger and replaced the box, he remarked, ‘You look shaken.’ He sounded smug and self-satisfied, as if he knew perfectly well that it had nothing to do with cutting herself. ‘Perhaps I’d better make the sandwiches?’

‘No, I’m quite all right, really.’ It seemed easier to be occupied.

While he leaned against one of the oak units and watched her, she finished making the sandwiches and filled the cafetière.

When it was assembled on a tray—and remembering his ‘do join me’ she’d added an extra plate and cup—he straightened. ‘Let me carry that.’

With a sense of unreality, she followed him back to the living room.

She was about to take a seat in one of the armchairs when, having put the tray on the low table, he motioned her to sit beside him. Then, as though he owned the place, he pressed the plunger and poured coffee for them both.

Passing her a plate, he urged, ‘Won’t you have a sandwich?’

‘Thank you.’ Elizabeth took a sandwich she didn’t want and toyed with it, while he began to eat with a healthy appetite.

She had presumed that, in asking for supper, he was simply demonstrating his power, but he seemed to be genuinely hungry.

Catching her look of surprise, he said, ‘I missed dinner tonight.’ Then he added wryly, ‘You thought I was just practising being obnoxious, didn’t you?’

‘I didn’t think you needed any practice.’ The words were out before she could prevent them.

‘Oh, well, I suppose I asked for that.’

To her amazement he was laughing, white, healthy teeth gleaming, deep creases appearing at each side of his chiselled mouth.

She felt her heart lurch then begin to race as she remembered the feel of that mouth touching hers…caressing her throat…finding the soft curves of her breasts…closing on a taut nipple…bringing a pleasure so exquisite it had been almost pain… Arousing a hunger that had made her shudder against him in an agony of need…

Perhaps she made some small sound, because he turned his head to look directly at her. In an instant her face flooded with scalding colour.

‘Erotic thoughts?’ he asked quizzically.

Knowing it was useless to deny it, she lied huskily, ‘In spite of the headache I was just wishing I’d stayed with Richard.’

Hoping desperately that Quinn would believe her, she knew he had when his face tightened.

But why should he be angry? What she did was nothing to do with him.

Slowly, he said, ‘If you can look like that when you think of him, your feelings must be a great deal more passionate than I’d imagined. I doubt if I’ve ever seen such naked longing on any woman’s face…’

She bit her soft inner lip until she tasted blood, before saying with what equanimity she could muster, ‘It’s getting very late…’

Desperate for him to be gone, she jumped to her feet and, walking to the window on legs that felt like chewed string, drew back the curtain.

A grey blanket of fog pressed damply against the glass, thick and smothering, allowing no glimpse of the outside world.

As levelly as possible, she went on, ‘And I’m afraid the conditions aren’t improving…’

‘No,’ he agreed, coming to stand behind her shoulder.

Awkwardly, she went on, ‘So don’t you think it would make sense to—?’

‘You’re quite right,’ he broke in smoothly. ‘Rather than risk an accident, it would make more sense to stay here.’

‘N-no, I didn’t mean that,’ she stammered. ‘You can’t possibly stay here. There’s only one bedroom.’

‘I’m quite willing to sleep on the couch.’

Panic-stricken, she cried, ‘No, I don’t want you to do that…’

His brows shot up. ‘I see! Well, if you want me to share your bed, I’ll be happy to stand in for Beaumont.’

‘That wasn’t what I meant!’

He sighed. ‘Pity. For a moment I thought—’

‘And you know quite well it wasn’t.’

His grin confirming that he’d just been baiting her, he said with mock resignation, ‘So the couch it is.’

With growing desperation, she clutched at straws. ‘But you don’t have any night things… And surely your hotel can’t be too far away?’

‘I do have some night things,’ he contradicted her calmly. ‘What I don’t have is a hotel. You see, I hadn’t planned on staying in town. My intention was to go on to Saltmarsh.’

‘Saltmarsh?’ The word was only a whisper.

Unbidden, her mind produced a series of vivid pictures. The town of Saltmarsh, with its narrow streets and half-timbered houses, its air of time standing still… Saltmarsh Island, some mile long by half a mile wide, connected to the mainland by a causeway which was only passable at low tide… Saltmarsh House, the beautiful old house that dominated the island…

‘It’s in Essex. Have you ever been there?’ Quinn’s glance was searching.

Her mind still full of images, she shook her head mutely.

‘It was once a thriving coastal town; now it’s a sleepy backwater with a population of a few thousand. My father used to live just off shore, on an island connected by a causeway.’

Used to? Henry Durville had once told her he would never willingly leave his home.

Had he become too ill to remain there? She saw Quinn’s eyes narrow, and for one frightening second thought she’d asked the question aloud.

But of course she hadn’t. Making an effort to pull herself together, Elizabeth went back to the real issue. ‘I’m quite sure you could find a hotel. There are several not too far away.’

‘I’m quite sure you’re right,’ he agreed easily. ‘But, taking everything into consideration, I’d rather stay here.’

She found herself begging. ‘No… Please…’

‘What are you so scared of? Don’t you trust me not to wander in the night?’

It wasn’t that. By his own admission he was married, and she was oddly convinced that he was a man who wouldn’t cheat on his wife.

As she began to shake her head, he went on, ‘If that’s it, I promise I won’t move off the couch.’

‘No, it isn’t.’

A gleam in his eye, he suggested, ‘You’re scared that with such a build-up of frustration you’ll wander?’

‘Nothing of the kind!’

‘Then why are you so against me staying until morning?’

She wanted him to go now. At once. Wanted never to have to see him again. The thought of him being here under her roof until morning was unendurable.

Hoarsely, she said, ‘Richard would be furious if he found out.’

‘Then we won’t tell him. Now, if you could just rustle up a spare pillow and a blanket, I’ll fetch my things in.’

Shrugging into his jacket, he went out to the car, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Feeling sick and helpless, she stood rooted to the spot, watching swirls of fog drifting into the room and disappearing like wraiths in the warmer air.

A moment or two later she heard the boot lid being closed. Only then, as though some part of her mind had just kicked in, she hurried to the door and slammed it shut. If he couldn’t see to drive, he could walk to the nearest hotel.

CHAPTER THREE

ALMOST before the thought was completed, she heard the key turn in the lock. A second later the door swung open.

Too late, she wished desperately that she’d reacted quicker and either pushed home the bolt or set the safety chain.

Closing the door carefully behind him, Quinn put the small grip he was carrying down beside the settee, and shook his head reprovingly. ‘That wasn’t very kind. It’s just as well I had the key in my pocket.’

‘Was that chance or foresight?’ she asked bitterly.

‘I try not to leave too much to chance…’

So the first time he’d opened the door he’d kept her key. She’d had so much on her mind she hadn’t given a thought to what might have happened to it.

‘Which is just as well. It’s as thick as soup out there. Even trying to walk to the nearest hotel would have been no picnic.’

Deliberately, he stepped towards her. ‘Don’t you think you owe me an apology?’

‘No, I don’t,’ she retorted with a boldness she was far from feeling. Then, standing her ground with an effort, she added, ‘I didn’t invite you in in the first place, and I want you to go.’

‘I’m afraid it’s what I want that counts.’ Though he spoke quietly, there was little doubt that beneath his air of calm he was furiously angry.

He took another step, and all at once he was much too near. She saw, as though magnified by some glass in her mind, that his dark hair was dewed with tiny droplets, his lashes were long and curly, and his green eyes had flecks of gold in their depths. At the corner of his mouth a muscle twitched spasmodically.

As she stood staring into that tough, dynamic face, he took her head between his hands.

She froze. Afraid he was going to kiss her. Wanting him to kiss her.

Even after all this time, and remembering how he’d cruelly shattered her life, part of her still hungered for him with a deep, primitive desire that frightened her half to death.

One hand dropping to cradle the warmth of her nape, the fingers of the other following the curve of her cheek and tracing the neat contours of her ear, he leaned closer.

Her lips parted and, drowning in a wave of emotion, she waited.

But instead of kissing her he tugged at first one earlobe, then the other.

She saw him slip something into his pocket but, dazed and disorientated, it was a second or two before she realized he had deftly removed her earrings.

‘What are you…?’ The slurred words were lost and every thought went out of her head as he nuzzled her ear, exploring the neat whorls with the tip of his tongue, making her shudder.

Firm and sensual, his lips travelled along the line of her jaw to find and linger at the warm hollow at the base of her other ear. While she stood spellbound, his teeth nipped playfully at the lobe, before that marauding mouth began to move towards hers.

At last. She closed her eyes.

His lips reached the corner of her mouth and lingered there tantalizingly. She was waiting in an agony of suspense, when suddenly he lifted his head and moved away, leaving her bereft.

Her eyes flew open.

He was watching her with a taunting little smile. ‘In view of what I said earlier about not moving off the couch, it might be better to call a halt before things get too heated.’

‘Why did you do that?’ she asked jerkily.

‘Don’t you know?’

‘Because you were angry?’

He raised a dark brow. ‘You think it was meant to be a punishment?’

‘Wasn’t it?’

‘Suppose we call it an experiment.’

‘An experiment?’

‘I wanted to find out just how much you do care about Beaumont…’

Watching her bite her lip, he added softly, ‘And I’d say not a great deal.’

‘How did you reach that conclusion?’

Quinn smiled. ‘If you can stop thinking about him and react to me in that way…’

‘It hasn’t occurred to you that I might have reacted as I did because I was thinking about him?’

She had the satisfaction of seeing that mocking smile vanish and his mouth tighten.

‘In any case I don’t see that what I feel about Richard is any concern of yours.

Discarding his jacket once more, he said, ‘Well, if I’m giving up the Van Hamel, I have a kind of vested interest.’

All her earlier doubts surfaced in a rush.

Without pausing to think, she asked, ‘Are you really prepared to let Richard have the diamond? Or is this some kind of game?’

‘I’m quite prepared to let him have it,’ Quinn said evenly.

‘Why, when you went to so much trouble to outbid him? It makes no sense.’

‘The diamond doesn’t matter. It was just the means to an end.’

Determined to have some answers, she persisted, ‘Then what does matter? Why are you here? What’s the point of all this?’

‘Haven’t you guessed, Jo?’

For a second or two shock made her head spin, there was a roaring in her ears, and faintness threatened to overwhelm her.

Watching her lose every last trace of colour, Quinn said abruptly, ‘You’d better sit down.’

He steered her to the nearest chair and, pushing her into it, sat down opposite, so he could see her face. ‘Do you really believe I wouldn’t remember you?’

No, perhaps she had never really believed it. But, reassured to some extent by Quinn’s apparent lack of recognition, she had clung to a forlorn hope, played out the charade he had instigated, because she had been frightened to face the reality.

Somehow she found her voice, and answered obliquely, ‘It all happened a long time ago, and we were only together a very short time.’

‘But you remembered me.’

She’d tried hard to forget him, but she knew now she would never succeed. While ever she lived, he would be part of her very being.

Her eyes were drawn to his face and held there as though mesmerized. In looks alone, the years hadn’t altered him. The only difference was an air of added maturity, lines of control and self-discipline around his mouth, that made him even more fascinating and formidable.

If Quinn had been inordinately attractive then, now he was even more so. He would still be good-looking and charismatic at eighty.

‘See any difference?’ he enquired mockingly.

She shook her head. ‘You haven’t altered at all. I’ve altered a great deal.’

‘Including your name.’ Then he said slowly, ‘You used to be as pretty as a picture. Now you have a kind of poignant beauty… But I never doubted you were the same woman.’

‘If you recognized me straight away, why didn’t you say something?’

‘I was curious as to how things were. It was quite obvious you hadn’t told Beaumont about me.’

‘There was no reason to tell him,’ she said, and was aware that she sounded defensive.

‘I would have thought there was one very good reason.’

She half shook her head. ‘In the circumstances I decided the past was better left behind.’

That was only part of the truth. She had shied away from talking about Quinn. It was like tearing open old, but still unhealed, wounds.

‘Even though you’d agreed to marry him?’

‘You were right in presuming we hadn’t been engaged long. Richard only proposed to me on the way to Belham House. I’d had no time to think things through or decide how much to tell him.’

His green eyes thoughtful, Quinn pursued, ‘But when I appeared on the scene and Beaumont began to introduce us, why didn’t you admit then that we knew each other?’

Elizabeth looked down at her hands clenched in her lap. ‘You treated me like a stranger and I hoped…I hoped I wouldn’t need to…’

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