No Need for Love

‘The master suite takes up the entire third level.’ She swung towards him. ‘I said my rooms, Grant! You promised me I’d have my own quarters.’

His teeth bared in an unpleasant smile. ‘I’ve changed my mind.’

‘What do you mean, you’ve changed your mind? You can’t possibly think I’d——’

‘Good evening, sir.’ Hannah turned. A manservant was striding towards them, smiling politely. ‘Welcome home. And a special welcome to you, Mrs MacLean.’

Grant nodded. ‘Hodges. How are things?’

‘Very well, sir. Shall I take your luggage up?’

‘Not mine,’ Hannah said sharply. ‘Take my things to the guest room, ple…’ Her breath hissed as Grant’s hand closed tightly on her arm.

‘Take everything to my rooms,’ he said through his teeth. ‘My wife and I will be in the study. And we don’t want to be disturbed.’

‘I’m not going with you,’ Hannah whispered fiercely, but Grant was half lifting her to her toes, hurrying her through the foyer, then through a pair of carved doors that swung shut after them with finality.

He swung her towards him. ‘What the hell kind of a performance was that?’ he demanded in tight-lipped fury.

‘I am not sleeping in your bed,’ Hannah said just as angrily. ‘If you think, for so much as a minute, that——’

She cried out as his fingers dug into her flesh. ‘But you are, my beloved wife. There’s the matter of a contract to be adhered to, remember?’

Hannah flung up her chin. ‘You cannot hold me to that ridiculous arrangement, and you know it!’

‘No?’

“No! And if you try——’

‘I told you, sweetheart, get yourself an attorney. And he’d better be a damned good one, because I’ll fight him every step of the way!’ Grant let go of her and stalked across the room. ‘In the meantime, you’ll obey the rules.’

‘Rules?’ She stared at him as he threw open the doors to a mahogany secretaire, revealing a built-in drinks cabinet. ‘What rules?’

‘Actually,’ he said as he wrenched the top from a decanter, ‘there’s only one rule.’ Amber liquid splashed into a cut-glass tumbler. He raised the glass to his lips and tossed half of it down. ‘You will remember who you are——’

‘A woman who wants her freedom! You’d better remember it, too.’

‘You are my wife. And you will behave properly. At all times.’

Hannah laughed. ‘What does that mean? Am I expected to curtsy?’ She marched towards him. ‘Or will a simple kowtow do?’ Her jaw shot forward. ‘You’ll wait till hell freezes over before——’

‘You will never, ever pull a scene like that one again.’ Grant slammed his half-empty tumbler down and clasped her by the shoulders. ‘Is that clear?’

‘Why?’ Hannah tossed her head. ‘Is your poor ego so fragile that you can’t face letting the world know that our marriage isn’t a marriage at all?’

A fleeting darkness swept across his face. ‘I keep telling you, I don’t care what the world thinks.’

‘Or is it because you refuse to admit that, for once in your life, you’re not going to get what you want?’

The darkness came again, this time settling in his eyes. ‘If I don’t,’ he said, after a moment, ‘it won’t be for lack of trying.’

Hannah flushed. ‘Would you really stoop so low? Is getting your own way so important that you’d force me to sleep with you?’

His hands tightened on her. ‘Damn you, Hannah,’ he said fiercely, ‘damn you to hell!’

He pulled her into his arms and his mouth fell on hers. His kiss was harsh, a reflection of anger, not desire. Hannah struggled against it, trying to twist her face away from his, but he thrust his hands into her hair and held her fast.

‘Stop pretending you’re made of ice, dammit! We both know you’re not.’

He kissed her again, his mouth grinding against hers. She stood absolutely still, receiving the kiss as if she were made of stone, determined not to let him see how bleak her despair was.

This was the man who’d held her in his arms and made love to her with tenderness and warmth. This was the man she’d been fool enough to think she loved…

He let her go, pushing her from him, his eyes dark and cold. ‘It seems I was right about you, Hannah,’ he said. ‘You’re not a real woman at all.’

The words stabbed into her heart, but she didn’t so much as flinch. Grant went on looking at her, and then he strode to the door and threw it open. ‘Hodges!’ he bellowed. ‘Move my wife’s luggage to the guest suite.’

Without so much as a backward glance he vanished up the stairs.

The days passed, and the weeks. Life fell into a routine. Hannah rose early, breakfasted in her rooms, then looked for ways to make the hours go by, but there were only so many art exhibitions and museums you could attend, especially when you had to feign interest to begin with. She had little interest in anything. How could she, when she lived like a prisoner, even if her prison was a beautiful penthouse filled with exquisite things?

Sally phoned once, and they met for lunch. But Sally’s usual giggles had given way to a kind of awed nervousness, until finally Hannah threw down her napkin in disgust.

‘For goodness’ sake,’ she said sharply, ‘what’s wrong with you?’

‘Well—well, it’s different now, isn’t it? I keep thinking, she’s not Hannah Lewis at all, she’s Hannah MacLean. And——’

‘That’s nonsense. I’m still me, the same as always.’

‘Sure,’ Sally said, after a moment, ‘the same as always.’

But they had not seen each other again. And that was just as well, Hannah knew, not because of any difference in status but because, sooner or later, the sharp-eyed Sally would surely have picked up on what Grant’s sister had already noticed. They had only spent one evening with Marilyn and her husband, after Marilyn had cheerfully threatened to show up at the door unannounced if Grant and Hannah turned down one more invitation to dinner, but that had been enough for the other woman to sense that something was wrong between her brother and his bride.

‘Grant can be a difficult man,’ Marilyn said softly, as she and Hannah got Tommy ready for bed.

Hannah picked up Brian the Lion and stroked his mane absently as she groped for an answer, watching as Marilyn bent and pressed her lips to her son’s tousled curls. Her throat constricted. Yes, she thought, you’re right. Your brother only married me so he could have a child. And—and I would have loved to have had that child. His child. Grant’s…

‘Hannah?’ Marilyn straightened and put her hand on Hannah’s arm. ‘Is there something wrong?’

Hannah forced a smile to her lips. ‘No, nothing. We’re just—we’re just learning to live together. You know how it is.’

Marilyn nodded. ‘So long as you love each other, everything will turn out fine.’

But we don’t love each other, Hannah thought. He doesn’t even like me. And I—I certainly don’t—I don’t…

Without warning, tears sprang to her eyes. She turned away quickly and wiped her palms across them. Grant, Grant, she thought…

And, as if her thought had summoned him, there he was, in the doorway. They stared into each other’s eyes, and then Hannah lifted he

r chin, set her mouth, and swept past him.

‘It’s late,’ she said. ‘And I’m tired. I’d like to go home.’

It was the last they saw of Marilyn and her family. Grant was busy, he said, too busy to spend much time anywhere but at the office or in his study at home, but Hannah knew he simply wanted to avoid her. He was beginning to resent her intrusion into his life. He had married her for one purpose, and she was not fulfilling it. Despite the implied threats he’d made that first evening, he had not tried to force her into his bed.

All that kept him from letting her go, Hannah was certain, was his refusal to admit that he’d made a mistake in convincing her to marry him. She told him that whenever she could, each time ending with a plea that he put an end to their marriage.

His answer was always the same. ‘I will, when I’m good and ready.’

And that would end it.

The only times they spoke cordially to each other were on those occasions when she had to go with him to a business dinner or play hostess to one in his home. She even had to endure the light pressure of Grant’s arm around her waist, the smile that seemed warm but had no meaning, the light brush of his mouth against her cheek.

Aside from those evenings, their paths rarely crossed.

It was, she thought late one afternoon, as she stepped from the lift after another empty day, as if she had ceased to exist for him. And that was just fine with her. It meant that, any day now, Grant would call her into his study, fix her with that unnerving stare, and tell her that this impossible masquerade was over.

Which was what she wanted. Exactly what she wanted. Then why did the thought bring such a sense of despair?

‘Mrs MacLean?’

‘Yes, Hodges?’

‘Mr MacLean phoned while you were out, madam. He said to tell you he’d be bringing some guests home for dinner.’

Hannah’s face fell. Another artificially cheerful evening for important clients. She felt exhausted at the thought. It was getting harder and harder to smile and pretend for strangers.

‘I’ve taken the liberty of speaking with Cook. I hope that’s all right…?’

Hannah nodded. She had no hand in running this house. It was Grant’s home, not hers; she was little more than a non-paying boarder.