The Faithful Wife

Bella knew she was acting irrationally, but how could she think straight when he was around, looking at her with those black, contemptuous eyes, making it plain he believed she had instigated this unholy mess?

Walking out of here would show him just how wrong he was about that! And remove her from the disastrously growing temptation to try to make him believe she still needed him, that she only had to see him, hear his voice, to crave the touch of his lips, his hands—because for her the wanting had never stopped.

And even if he did believe her—which was highly unlikely—his vaguely contemptuous pity would be the best she could hope to achieve. He would tell her to control her libido until she could get back to Guy. And that she could do without!

Because of the wind direction there was less snow piled up in front of the cottage than there was at the rear. The sun shone brightly from a clear blue sky, and that was a heartening omen. She’d go carefully, she promised herself, sucking in lungfuls of the cold, cold air, pick her way until she came to the nearest habitation.

She’d show him she hadn’t planned this sick farce! By taking this initiative, she’d damn well prove it!

By the time he’d split enough dry logs to last for twenty-four hours, Jake’s temper was high. And rising. He’d long since discarded his sheepskin coat, the heavy exercise keeping him warm, but his trousers were wet through to well above his knees—the unpleasant result of wading through the drifts to get to the shed to look for a shovel to clear the damn stuff!

He replaced the axe and shovel in the shed, flung his coat over his shoulder, gathered up an armful of logs and set off along the track he’d cleared from the shed to the cottage. He’d hoped for a rapid thaw, but it looked as if he wasn’t going to get one. Great snow clouds were gathering ominously now, blocking out the sky.

He had never threatened physical harm to a woman in his life, but right now he felt like shaking Bella until her teeth fell out!

Why wouldn’t the woman come clean and tell him exactly what she’d wanted to achieve when she’d ganged up with the sisters from hell and tricked him into coming here? The frustration of not knowing was almost worse than the deed itself.

There was no sign of breakfast, and the coffee-pot was cold. He told himself he wasn’t surprised, and went through to dump the logs on the hearth, eyeing the cold ashes grimly.

She was probably holed up in her room, painting her nails and doing her face, expecting him to do all the donkey work!

He took the stairs two at a time, his black frown deepening as the wet fabric of his trousers clung clammily to his legs. If they were going to survive this damned incarceration without coming to blows there was going to have to be some give and take around here!

It took him less than five minutes to discover she was nowhere in the cottage, and mere seconds more to check out the front and verify what he’d sinkingly begun to suspect.

Footprints heading out of there, imprinted in the deep snow. Had the woman gone completely mad?

He collected his coat, glowered at the sky and slammed the cottage door behind him. Attention seeking, that was what this latest crazy stunt was all about!

He’d made his irritation with the situation pretty clear, refusing to play along with her game—whatever it was. So she’d trudged out into the snow, knowing full well he would feel obliged to fetch her back, thereby forcing him to give her his undivided attention.

When picking out this cottage for their ‘unexpected’ reunion, she’d have made good and sure it was remote, far enough from any other habitation to make getting out on foot anything but easy—and totally impossible in these conditions.

And if he didn’t have a conscience he’d sit back and let her get on with it, leave her to come crawling back when she realised that playing the injured heroine wasn’t getting results!

By his reckoning, he’d spent around half an hour clearing the path and splitting wood. Even if she’d shot out of the front door the moment he’d exited the back, she couldn’t have gone far in that small amount of time. And when he caught up with her he’d haul her back and lay down a few firm ground rules. By hell, he would!

Half an hour later he’d followed her trail to the rim of the valley and over, zig-zagging to avoid obvious drifts and on across the flanks of the now trackless mountains. Trouble was, it had started snowing again almost as soon as he’d set out, and it was rapidly becoming a blizzard.

The powdery snow was being blown around in ever-thickening flurries, filling in the marks of her passage. If he gave the storm another ten minutes, he wouldn’t have a clue how to track her down. If he didn’t find her soon, he never would.

Anxiety quickened his heart rate and he forced himself to move faster, cursing the elements. Despite her height, she was too fragile to last long in these desperate conditions.

He thought of the slenderness of her bones, the delicate grace of that ultra-feminine body, and groaned, pushing himself harder. His breathing was ragged now, more from the persistently clawing anxiety than from the very real exertion.

If anything happened to her he would never forgive himself.

When a rent in the swirling clouds of snow revealed a figure up ahead, gallantly trying to get up off her knees and pathetically failing, the sense of relief he felt forced him to face what he’d tried so hard to hide—he still cared deeply for the little witch. If he’d lost her out here his life wouldn’t have been worth living; his future wouldn’t have been worth having.

It took him two desperate minutes to reach her, to scoop her up from her knees and hold her as tightly as he could without crushing her slender bones.

‘Oh, Jake—’

Her voice was a whispery thread of sound against the wail of the wind, but he heard it, and it reached deep inside him and touched him where it hurt. It hurt like hell.

‘Don’t talk,’ he commanded gruffly, his heart twisting inside him as his hands went to steady her shoulders to allow him to search her face.

White skin was transparent with fatigue; lips were tinged blue with cold. But her eyes were clear bright pools, pools he could drown in, and the barriers went crashing down, each and all of them, as she spoke to him.