Christmas at His Command

The arrogance was outstanding. Marigold looked him squarely in the eye. ‘Just because I don’t want to stay in your house—’ or sleep in your bed ‘—doesn’t mean there’s anything the matter,’ she said firmly, hidden desperation helping the lie to trip more easily off her tongue. ‘I’m tired, that’s all, and I want to go back to the cottage, but I’ve had a lovely time and thank you for asking me.’

She sounded for all the world like a small child primed by her mother to thank the hostess at the end of a birthday party. Flynn’s eyes narrowed as they moved over her uplifted face. ‘So you’ll be joining us for lunch tomorrow?’ he asked silkily.

‘Thank you but no. The ankle’s really sore tonight so I’ll probably spend most of the day in bed.’ Lying the second time was easier, she realised detachedly.

Flynn nodded, his face holding all the warmth of a block of cold granite. ‘I’ll take you back to the cottage.’

‘Oh, right.’ Somehow she hadn’t expected him to capitulate so swiftly. She’d won, she told herself silently as she said goodbye to everyone and made her way with Flynn to the front door, so why did it feel as if she’d lost?

Once they were sitting in the big vehicle she knew it was because she had lost. One or two couples who were obviously staying at the inn had followed them outside into the clear, icy air, and now their cars roared off into the freezing night, but Flynn made no effort to drive away after starting the engine.

Marigold turned to him after a few seconds had ticked by with excruciating slowness.

‘We aren’t budging until I get the truth,’ he said pleasantly. ‘There’s a full tank of petrol and we can sit here all night with the engine running to keep us warm. Are you warm enough?’ he added.

She was absolutely frozen but would sooner have walked on red-hot coals than admit it. ‘I’m fine.’

He didn’t actually call her a liar—reaching into the back seat and lifting over a thick car rug was eloquent enough—but Marigold didn’t put up a protest when he wrapped it round her; her teeth were chattering too much.

It was a full five minutes before anyone spoke again, and the silence had got so loud it was deafening, when Marigold—warm again, buried as she was in the soft folds of the rug—said tightly, ‘This is perfectly ridiculous, you know that, don’t you? People will wonder what on earth we’re doing out here.’

‘I’ve lived for thirty-eight years without caring what people thought; I don’t intend to start now.’ He’d shifted in his seat to face her when she had spoken and his voice was perfectly calm.

Now, that was probably the most honest thing he had said to her since they’d met, Marigold thought bitterly. ‘So you live by your own codes and values, regardless of anyone else, do you?’ she flung back, goaded into saying more than she had intended.

‘I wasn’t aware I’d said that.’

‘But it’s the truth,’ she stated fiercely. ‘Well, I’m sorry but I happen to believe in monogamy within a relationship for as long as it lasts.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘Meaning, I presume, that I don’t?’

‘Are you saying you do?’

‘Whoa, lady.’ He had been affable up until a moment ago; now the handsome male face was as cold as the scene outside the window and his eyes were steely. ‘I’m getting the distinct impression I’m being set up for a fall here, and I don’t intend to defend myself to you or anyone else.’

What a very convenient attitude, Marigold thought hotly.

‘Now, I don’t know what’s going on in that pretty head of yours, but for the record I think fidelity is the foundation for any man-woman relationship, whether the parties intend it to be a permanent one or not. Does that answer your question?’

Oh, the hypocrisy of it! Marigold was so mad she forgot all her noble intentions. ‘And Celine?’ she asked icily. ‘Does she hold to your views and still kiss every man in sight? Or perhaps fidelity in your book is something different to the dictionary definition?’

For a moment there was absolute stillness within the vehicle, her words seeming to hover in the air and echo all about them, and even before Flynn replied Marigold knew something was desperately wrong. She’d made a terrible mistake.

She braced herself for the explosion that was sure to come if the look on his face was anything to go by, her stomach muscles knotting and her mouth suddenly dry.

‘Celine?’ His voice was quiet, expressionless. ‘Who spoke to you about Celine and what was said?’ His very quietness was more intimidating than any outward show of rage.

‘No one; it wasn’t like that. They didn’t know I was there. In the cloakroom…’ Her voice trailed away; she was making a mess of this. But he hadn’t denied there was a Celine. She took a deep breath and said quickly, ‘I was in the cloakroom and two women were talking. They said…’ She stopped abruptly, trying to remember the exact words.

‘Yes?’ One word but painfully chilling.

‘They said Celine was always in the background, even when you…when you were with someone else,’ she faltered uncomfortably, wishing with all her heart she had never started this.

‘What else?’

‘Nothing, not really. Just that it sounded as though there had…well, been quite a few…’

‘Affairs?’ he put in ruthlessly.