They had arranged to have dinner together, and because her pride demanded it she was determined not to let him see how much learning the truth had hurt her.
So, instead of lying sick and hurting on her bed, she forced herself to go through the motions of preparing for his return as though nothing had happened.
In the small sitting-room, she lit the fire and closed the woven, heavy curtains against the frosty air, switching on the lamps so that the room had an intimate, welcoming warmth.
In the kitchen she set about the preparations for dinner. When she chose she could be an inspired cook, and she chose now, thanking Providence that she had been out this morning and restocked her freezer and cupboards.
Then, when planning the menu, she had thought only of being alone with Daniel, of letting him know subtly how much she had missed him and how much she wanted to be with him. And so she had planned a meal of intimate simplicity. A lovers’ meal eaten at a table illuminated only with candles in a room darkened with soft shadows.
She still needed those shadows, but now for a different reason. She had no wish for Daniel to see what she knew lay in her eyes. No wish for him to see how easily he could overrule her pride and her will-power.
No matter what he and her father might have planned, she was not going to be used by them. And to think she had almost wept when he had told her of his teenage dreams—of his supposed realisation that money and power were not the most important things in life. If only she had used her brain then, she might have guessed how deliberately that story had been invented and used. Only someone with a sure knowledge of her personality and her attitudes could have known just how much effect it would have on her. She remembered the way he had listened so sympathetically while she had told him about her past. God, how amused he must have been. Her fingers curled into tight, angry fists. Of course, her father would have told him already about her past, would have cautioned and warned him about what to say and what not to say, and yet, oddly, it wasn’t against her father that her hatred and bitterness burned so fiercely.
Her parents loved her. They probably believed they were doing the right thing. They wanted to see her married, drawn back into the ambit of their own lives. Yes, for her father she could find excuses, but for Daniel there were none.
She heard his car long before it stopped outside, marvelling at her senses’ ability and unerring instinct to pick out its now familiar sound.
She had deliberately switched off the light in the hallway so that he wouldn’t see her face. She was wearing a dress she had found at the back of her wardrobe. A dress her mother had insisted on giving her last Christmas, for the family get-together they always had on Boxing Day.
It was silk velvet, long-sleeved and very fitted, curving to the shape of her body, drawing attention to the narrowness of her hips with its soft silk peplum. The back was slashed open in a deep V to her waist, the peplum had a silk frill that ran down to the hem and a silk bow strategically placed so that it resembled a provocative mock bustle. It was a sensual rather than a sexual dress—a dress that invited a man’s touch, that hinted at the secret pleasure of its wearer’s body.
It seemed poetic justice that she should be wearing with it the silk stockings which Emma had given her for her birthday, and the high-heeled satin shoes that drew attention to her slender ankles—every bit as slender and delicate as Emma’s.
She was even wearing a subtle hint of perfume. She knew that she looked good, but there was no pleasure in the knowledge. Her appearance was a decoy—a means of keeping Daniel’s attention occupied, so that when she chose to reveal to Daniel that she knew the truth and that there was no place for him in her life he would find the discovery as painfully shocking as she had found hers this afternoon, albeit for a very different reason.
It wouldn’t be Daniel’s feelings that would be hurt. Men like him didn’t have feelings. They just had greedy bank accounts.
She let him in and stepped swiftly back into the shadows, not giving him the opportunity to greet her.
Deep inside her a nerve vibrated. If she allowed him to touch her, she would never be able to go through with it. She was still too vulnerable to him to withstand the sheer intensity of her own need.
‘Jessica, is everything all right?’
The sharp words were not the ones she had expected. She had thought he would be so triumphant, so cock-a-hoop with his own success that he would not be able to see beyond the façade she was presenting.
They were in the kitchen now, and mercifully she had her back to him.
‘I’ve missed you,’ she told him huskily, and, after all, it wasn’t a lie.
It was the wrong thing to say. She felt him walk towards her, bringing the small eddies of cold air from outside. Her spine tensed, the tiny hairs on her skin rising protectively as she willed herself not to turn round, not to do anything other than walk quickly away.
He followed her, stopping her; one hand on her shoulder firmly turned her towards him.
‘Something is wrong,’ he said quietly. ‘What is it?’
Could he really tell, or was he simply guessing?
‘No,’ she lied. ‘I was just worried that you might be late…the dinner—’
‘To hell with the dinner!’ Daniel said thickly. ‘I’ve missed you, too.’
The emotion he was projecting caught her off guard. In his absence she had allowed herself to forget what a superb actor he was. She stood still, mesmerised by the fine tremble of his hands as they cupped her face, trembling like a sacrifice on the altar and completely unable to pull herself free. The hard, demanding pressure of his kiss took her by surprise, as did the urgency with which his hands slid over her body.
For a moment she weakened and let herself respond to him, let herself pretend that this afternoon had never happened.
‘Oh God, Jess, you don’t know what you do to me.’
The words muttered against her mouth broke the spell, enabling her to pull herself free of his arms and turn her back on him.
‘Dinner’s almost ready,’ she told him shakily.
He looked at the table and said quietly, ‘It looks as though we’re celebrating.’
It was her cue, heaven-sent, and it was surely time to bring down the curtain while she still had the strength. She would have liked to drag the finale out until after dinner, to have lulled him into a false sense of security before denouncing him, but she couldn’t rely on her own strength of will to last that long.
‘We are,’ she told him, and then with a composure she was proud of she poured them both a glass of wine and handed him one, saying evenly, ‘I’m afraid it’s not vintage champagne. My cellar isn’t as extensive as my father’s,’ and then she raised her glass to her mouth and with a brittle smile said shrilly, ‘Congratulations on your partnership with my father, Daniel.’
She saw the shock darken his eyes and knew she ought to have been pleased, but instead all she felt was a rolling tide of pain.
She couldn’t prolong the farce any longer. What was the point? The very idea of revenge, or hurting him as he had hurt her, was risible.
‘It’s no use, Daniel,’ she told him bleakly, putting her glass down clumsily. ‘I know everything. Emma came to see me this afternoon. She told me—’
‘Emma?’
‘Yes, I know it all now—how you deceived me, lied to me.’
‘Jess, let me explain—’
‘Explain?’ She laughed bitterly. Why had she imagined that, once he realised she knew, he would simply walk away from her in shame? She ought to have realised that men like Daniel didn’t know the meaning of the word. Of course he would fight to hold on to what he wanted; of course he would use any means at his disposal to persuade and convince her. But she wasn’t going to listen.
‘Explain what? That it isn’t true that this morning you and my father were celebrating your joining the bank? Tell me that, Daniel, and then maybe I’ll listen to your explanation.’
He looked at her for a long time and then sai
d quietly, ‘Yes…it’s true your father and I are partners, but—’
‘No!’ Jessica cut him short. ‘Whatever you have to say, Daniel, I don’t want to hear it.You’ve already deceived me once. Lied to me—’
‘Lied?’