The Faithful Wife

Turkey legs tied up with red ribbon! Cryptic notes he seemed to know all about! His attitude—oh, his attitude! Pitying yet contemptuous...

The paper was back in her hand almost before she knew it, his steely fingers closing over her own. ‘Read it,’ he demanded, his voice hard, intolerant of argument.

Hand on hand, fingers on fingers. The slight contact immediately became the core of her very existence. Every atom of her body, every beat of her pulse, was centred on his touch, the abrasive warmth of his skin, the underlying steel of sinew and bone.

A whole year, and nothing had changed—not for her. She only had to look at him to need him, and his touch—ah, his touch...

Her breath quivered in her lungs, fighting against the sudden, biting constriction of throat muscles, and his hand moved abruptly away, leaving her cold with a creeping coldness that invaded every part of her.

‘Well?’ he prompted cuttingly. ‘Don’t you want to know what it says? Or perhaps you already know? Dictated it, did you?’

Her eyes moved to his, locking with the black, glittering depths until she could no longer stand the pain. A deep shudder raked through her, and her fingers were shaking as she unfurled the note.

Despite everything, he still believed she was the prime mover, that she’d set this thing up. Well, he would, wouldn’t he? When had he ever believed a word she said?

It was the final straw, she thought, her eyes blurring as Evie’s distinctive scrawl danced around on the paper. Her hands flew to her face, hiding the scalding outpouring of silent, unstoppable tears, the paper fluttering to the floor again. And through the storm of her emotions she heard Jake move, heard him drawl, reading aloud, every word a bitter punishment.

‘You’ll forgive us eventually, I promise! But it’s all your own faults. Yes, really! You won’t see each other, talk to each other, even though you’re still crazy about each other. Yes, you are! So marooning you together was the only answer. We were driven to it! So work things out, for pity’s sake. Happy Christmas! E.’

And then silence. A long, hateful silence while the sobs built up inside her, threatening to pull her to shreds

. How could Evie have done this to her? Dumped her in this hatefully embarrassing, hurtful situation?

They’d always been so close, looked out for each other since they were children—and now this, this shattering betrayal. Oh, how could she?

She’d accepted that something like this must have happened, but she hadn’t taken it in—not properly. Not until now.

The sheer awfulness of the situation hit her—Jake plainly believing she’d masterminded the entire thing, the gut-wrenching pain of seeing him, feeling his contempt, the deep anxiety she’d gone through when her sister hadn’t returned, her imagination working overtime, dreaming up worst-case scenarios!

Reaction set in, releasing a crescendo of weeping, her whole body shaking with the force of it. Then the shock of feeling his hands on her shoulders, turning her gently to face him, made it worse. So much worse.

She would die if he offered her the comfort of his arms, and she’d die if he didn’t!

He didn’t.

He wanted to hold her, but he didn’t. Hell, if he took her in his arms he’d be a lost man! Common sense, the self-discipline of a rational human being, the primary human urge towards self-protection—all down the drain.

His hands dropped to his sides. ‘Calm down. You’ll make yourself ill.’

His shoulders rigid, he turned to make that forgotten pot of tea. Her sobs were a little less frenzied now, he noted. The Bella he had known had never cried. She’d had, in his experience, a pragmatic approach to problems. Yet she was clearly distressed now—deeply distressed—and all he could do was offer her tea?

She was distressed because he’d seen through the charade, because he’d realised she had to be the instigator, he reminded himself cynically. Had she really imagined he wouldn’t. The whole thing smacked of complicity.

Pouring tea, he recalled how she’d drawn his attention to the distant sound of an engine. He hadn’t caught it himself, but she’d obviously been waiting, ears straining, for the sound that would tell her the job had been done, and that Evie was triumphantly driving out of this winter wilderness with the rotor arm in her pocket.

She hadn’t been able to hide her pleasure so she’d dressed it up as relief at the return of her so-called missing sister. And then, and only then, had she thrown herself into the anxiety act, begging him to contact the police, safe in the knowledge that he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

Not tonight, at least. Tomorrow he’d be out of here, even if he walked the soles clean off his shoes! Although she’d said she’d go with him, he recognised that as sheer bravado. She could stay here and play the reconciliation scene to an empty house!

He turned, put two cups of tea on the central table. She was standing where he’d left her. Not weeping now, not doing anything. Her ashen face and the anguished twist of her mouth wrenched at his guts.

His mouth went dry, his throat muscles clenching. Had she wanted a reconciliation that badly? Badly enough to make her dream up this last-ditch farce?

Not allowing himself to even think of that, he said tersely, ‘Drink this; you look as if you need it.’ He went to the work surface where the bottles were lined up like an invitation to a week-long bacchanalia. He selected a brandy, noting the expense she had been prepared to go to, and poured two generous measures into glasses that he unearthed from one of the cupboards.

Bella watched him from heavy eyes. The hard, lean body was full of grace, despite all that sharply honed power. She knew that body as well as she knew her own. Better. She had never tired of watching him, of drowning in the effect he had on her—an effect that was threatening to swamp her all over again with its full and shattering force.

Her stomach twisted with unwanted excitement, her pulses going into overdrive, blood throbbing thickly through her veins. She whimpered, angry with herself, with the wretched body that couldn’t accept that their marriage, their love—everything—was over.