He’d put a good face on a bad situation. No doubt about it, her husband didn’t shirk from what he believed to be his duty. Having met his grandparents, she realised he’d had responsibility drummed into him from an early age.
Something in her chest tore in an excruciating, slow-motion rip of anguish. Her heart?
‘I’m afraid things are a little up in the air at the moment. A little...complicated.’ She tried for a casual smile but knew it didn’t convince, by the sombre way Poppy surveyed her.
‘Of course. I don’t mean to pressure you. A new marriage can be challenging as well as exciting.’ Her laugh held a jarring note. ‘Orsino and I went through hell before we worked out we loved and trusted each other.’ She touched Imogen briefly on the arm. ‘Just remember, if ever you need to talk, I’m available. I know how hard it can be, married to one of these take-charge men.’
‘Thanks, Poppy. That’s kind of you.’ Imogen gulped, overcome by her empathy and kindness. She struggled for a lighter tone. ‘I suppose we’d better get back inside before we’re missed.’ She couldn’t think of anything worse. But she had her pride. She’d see the evening out then decide what to do.
Except she knew she’d run out of options.
She’d given her heart and soul to a man who didn’t love her. Who could never love her. Who couldn’t even give her his loyalty. He liked her, and he shared himself as much as he could with her, but ultimately she and their child were encumbrances, like the business he’d stepped in to save and couldn’t wait to be rid of.
Her fond dream of him returning her feelings was just that—a dream.
There was only one thing any self-respecting woman could do. It was just a pity she hadn’t done it months ago.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
‘IMOGEN?’ THIERRY FLICKED on the light switch only to find his bedroom empty.
Where was she? She’d come upstairs when the last of the guests had left. There’d been fine lines of tiredness on her face yet that stubborn streak had seen her determined to play hostess to the end, despite his suggestion she retire early.
Thierry smiled. She’d been magnificent. He’d wondered if such a big function would be too much but she’d sailed through it with ease. Every time he’d looked over she’d been the centre of some eager group.
Afterwards he’d remained chatting with Orsino, who was staying with Poppy in one of the guest suites. It had been too long since they’d caught up. It was only now as work turned from manic to manageable that he realised how little he’d seen of his friends, as opposed to business contacts.
He marched across the room and opened the bathroom door. Empty. Where was she? His belly tightened in a premonition of trouble.
A few strides took him to the dressing room, but it too was empty. He scowled, thinking of her pale features as she’d headed upstairs and cursed himself for not seeing her to their room, despite her protests.
Thierry whipped around and back into the bedroom. Flicking off the light, he stepped towards the sitting room. That was when he noticed the strip of light under the adjoining bedroom door.
His heart slammed his ribs as he stopped mid-stride. What was she doing in her old bedroom? Incoherent thoughts jostled his brain. Was she ill? Was it the baby?
He wrenched open the door. The room looked peaceful in the glow of a bedside lamp and he heard water running in the bathroom.
He was almost at the bathroom door when he noticed the laptop open on the bed. One glance sent a sucker punch to the gut.
Thierry staggered, stared, and felt the world tilt.
Diable! Imogen had seen this? He went hot then cold as wave after wave of prickling remorse hit him.
He didn’t want to, but Thierry took a step closer, then another. The photo was even worse close up. The blonde leaned into him, every line of her body taut and hungry as they kissed. From this angle, and with his hands at her waist, it looked like he’d been utterly lost to passion.
What had Imogen thought when she’d seen it? Flicking down the screen, scanning the snide little magazine commentary, he saw it was dated too. She’d have been in no doubt when this was taken.
His belly turned to lead. It was no good telling himself there’d been nothing in it. That didn’t stop the guilt.
The door opened behind him, and his head flicked around.
‘Hello, Thierry.’ Imogen looked composed but pale.
‘Are you all right?’ He started towards her but stopped at the look on her face. Closed. Shuttered. Distant. He’d never seen her like that and it made something catch hard under his ribs.