‘No.’ She couldn’t. She couldn’t dare to trust he meant it. ‘You haven’t been here, not in four weeks,’ she said brokenly.
‘And it’s torn me apart to keep away.’ He stroked his hand over the silky smooth skin of her cheek and she had to force herself not to turn her face into the caress. ‘Why do you think I called you every night? I was desperate to hear your voice, to have something of you, but you were so ill in England, so fragile, and I owed you the chance to think clearly. If I’d asked you to marry me then you’d have always wondered if I meant it or if you were manoeuvred.’
What was he talking about, manoeuvred? she asked herself silently. If she thought he really meant this she would have swum back to England to see him.
‘I had to give you the chance to get well and then decide, when your mind was clear and you were physically strong,’ he said quietly. ‘I owed you that if nothing else.’
Had he said marry him a few words back, or was she taking a trip on Maisie’s planet Zargos again?
She strove for calm and said, tremblingly, ‘You told me you don’t believe in love and marriage and happy families. You said you couldn’t change.’
‘I also said that when you came to me it would be knowing exactly what you were doing and because you’d decided it was what you wanted,’ he said softly, ‘and I think the phrase is “hoisted with my own petard”. I want you, Sephy, I want you so much physically it’s driven me half mad. But then you know that.’
Did she? She hadn’t known she had!
‘I want the whole caboodle, Sephy—children and dogs and cats and whatever. I came here today to tell you that I love you, that I’ve loved and wanted you always. The thought of this other guy, this David, and not knowing where he’d fitted in your life was making me want to do murder. That’s why I had to ask you that day, to find out what had happened and if you still loved him.’
‘Love him? I didn’t even know him,’ she said shakily. She could feel the tears trickling down her face, and she hated that she was crying but she couldn’t do a thing about it.
‘Can you forgive me?’ He bent and kissed the tears on her cheeks and she shuddered violently. ‘Have I ruined everything? I know you love me, I saw it in your eyes when you turned round and saw me, but can you forgive me for what I’ve done to you?’
She was trembling so much he drew her close against the hard wall of his chest, and as she felt the accelerated beat of his heart she murmured helplessly, ‘I’m frightened.’
‘So am I.’ He understood instantly and his voice was soft on the sun-warmed silk of her hair. ‘There are parts of this love thing that aren’t all they’re cracked up to be; putting the whole of your life in someone else’s hands, giving them the power to make or destroy you, thinking what it would be like if you had to live in a world without them—’
‘Don’t.’ She moved back enough to gaze up into his face. ‘Don’t say that.’
It was an answer in itself, but still he said, ‘Will you marry me, Sephy? Will you be my wife and let me love you and adore you and worship you all my life? Will you bear my children and be with me when their children are born? Will you sleep with me every night and wake with me every morning? Will you be my breath, my reason for living, the beat of my heart?’
‘Oh, my love.’ It was what she had always wanted to say but never had the right to express, and now she fell against him as he rained kisses on her face and throat in an agony of love and need. They clung together as though their bodies were already merging.
‘I love you. You’ve got no idea how much I love you,’ he murmured at long last, when she was flushed and bright-eyed, her lips swollen and her body straining into his. And then he reached in his pocket and brought out a little red velvet box, opening it to reveal an exquisite diamond engageme
nt ring. ‘For ever, Sephy.’
They were married in Sephy’s hometown, in the little parish church in the village, and it seemed as though the world and his wife had turned out to see the local girl who had snared one of the biggest catches in the country.
The day was bright, and unseasonably warm for early October, and Sephy looked radiantly lovely in a long ivory gown trimmed with tiny gold daisies, her headdress and bouquet made up of fragile white baby’s breath and a profusion of tiny gold daisies and fragile little gold and ivory orchids.
Maisie, as Sephy’s bridesmaid, looked amazingly solemn and sedate for once, in her long gold dress and carrying a smaller version of Sephy’s bouquet. She had even dyed her hair all one colour: a rather alarming shade of red, which should have clashed horribly with the dress but—Maisie being Maisie—actually looked rather good. But then with Sephy’s mother giving the bride away and little Madge Watkins as Conrad’s best man the wedding was never going to be a traditional one anyway. Just one filled with lots of love.
The winding path from the church door was thronged with well-wishers who hadn’t been able to fit into the small thirteenth-century church as Sephy and Conrad emerged to the peal of church bells.
They stood for a moment, Conrad gazing down at his bride as Sephy looked adoringly up at her handsome groom, and no one seeing them could have doubted that this marriage was anything but a love match. ‘Have I told you in the last minute that I love you, Mrs Quentin?’ Conrad whispered in her ear as they began to walk down the confetti-strewn path.
‘Yes, but don’t let that stop you,’ Sephy whispered back as the ribbon of smiling faces on either side of the path called out congratulations and good wishes. They had just reached the gnarled wooden gate at the end of the path when a red-faced, somewhat bloated man stepped straight out in front of them for a moment.
‘Remember me, Sephy?’
It was said with confidence, but as Sephy glanced up for a moment it was clear she had no idea who he was, and then Conrad had whisked her away to the gleaming white Rolls-Royce he had hired to take them to the most exclusive hotel in the district where he had arranged a reception for family and friends and half the village.
David Bainbridge’s eyes followed the car as it left the village green and his eyes, already bloodshot with the alcohol he’d consumed in large quantities daily since his father had lost all the family wealth on the Stock Exchange, were puzzled. That wasn’t the girl he remembered; this one was a beauty. And she’d ignored him! Damn it, she hadn’t even recognised him. And everyone had seen it.
But Sephy wasn’t thinking about David Bainbridge, or anyone else but Conrad, as the rest of the day unfolded hour by entrancing hour. After a wonderful meal they danced the evening away, and Conrad was mean enough not to share her with anyone. Which suited the new Mrs Quentin just fine.
And then the evening drew to a close, all the guests were gone, and it was just the two of them alone in the magnificent bridal suite the hotel boasted.
They undressed each other slowly, and Sephy was surprised to find she felt no shyness as she stood naked before him. Perhaps the wonder and love in his eyes had something to do with it.