The Secret Wife

‘Rosie...what are you thinking about?’ He said the abbreviated version of her name for the very first time and somehow it sounded so different the way he said it. That honey-dark drawl made her stupid heart skip a beat.

Studying her champagne glass, Rosie drew in a deep, steadying breath. ‘I was thinking about Maurice,’ she lied, shaken that she had so easily forgotten what had hurt so much only hours earlier.

‘Theos...’ Constantine breathed with flaring impatience. ‘The throwback haunts us!’

Her head tilted back, eyes bright with anger. ‘He may not have your education or your status but when I needed him Maurice was always there for me.’

‘Only not when your needs conflicted with his avarice.’ Lounging fluidly back in his chair, Constantine slung the reminder at her with contempt.

‘You can’t expect anyone to put you first all the time... even Anton didn’t,’ Rosie conceded with difficulty. ‘But when I most needed Maurice he didn’t let me down...’ Her voice trailed away and in a nervous movement she drained the champagne in her glass.

‘I’m still listening,’ Constantine prompted drily.

Her face stiff with strain, Rosie swallowed hard. ‘When I was thirteen, two boys forced their way into my room and tried to assault me... Maurice stopped them and because there were two of them he took a hell of a beating doing it.’

Constantine had paled but his gleaming gaze was veiled in the thunderous silence, his sensual mouth twisting. ‘Do I start calling him St George instead of the throwback? Maybe you should answer one question before I decide... How long was it before he took with your agreement what the others tried to take by force?’

Rosie flinched as though he had struck her. ‘Why...is that how you would have behaved?’

Registering her distress, Constantine frowned and abruptly stretched a hand across the table to reach for her tightly coiled fingers. ‘Rosie, I—’

In stark rejection of that gesture, Rosie trailed her fingers free and said starkly, ‘I reminded him of his kid sister. When he was a child, he had to look after Lorna because their mother was an alcoholic. But after they went into care Lorna was adopted by her foster family and Maurice was left out in the cold. They let them stay in contact but it wasn’t the same. So if you want an explanation for why he stuck his neck out for me that night think clean—or would that be too much of a challenge for you?’

Tears brightening her eyes, Rosie didn’t even look at him as she thrust her chair back and walked out of the dining room. He caught up with her in the foyer, a lean hand curving round her rigid spine and settling on her waist to still her. ‘Rosie—’

‘Constantine!’ a female voice shrilled ecstatically.

Constantine froze and winced as Rosie’s head spun round. The blonde bombshell in the unbelievably tiny black dress was bearing down on them, full breasts heaving, voracious blue eyes glittering with satisfaction. ‘When did you arrive?’ she demanded, literally wrenching him free of Rosie to plant an intimate and lingering kiss full on his mouth. ‘Doesn’t this bring back memories of Monte Carlo, darling?’ she moaned throatily, running caressing hands over any bit of him she could reach and trying for a place or two that no lady should aim at in public.

Constantine detached himself with distinct hauteur, the faintest colour accentuating the hard slant of his cheekbones as his black eyes skimmed with curious expectancy to Rosie.

‘Justine... this is my wife, Rosalie,’ he drawled with supreme self-command.

‘Oh, don’t mind me,’ Rosie said sweetly. ‘I’m not the tiniest bit possessive about you.’

‘You’ve got married? You?’ Justine looked thunder-stuck and finally took Rosie under her notice. ‘To her?’ she gasped in stricken incomprehension as she gawped at Rosie. ‘But why?’

‘If you get me in the right mood, I even loan him out,’ Rosie imparted with a slanting smile beneath which she boiled with rage. Then she turned on her heel and stalked out into the night air. Momentarily her head reeled and she knew that she had drunk a little too much champagne.

But no wonder Constantine hadn’t looked at the blonde bombshell falling out of her dress! Been there, done that... and the creep had had the neck to call her a tart! Rosie did not flaunt herself half-naked and she would cut off her hands sooner than make such a blatant pass at any man in front of an audi

ence of interested spectators.

Several steps beyond the doors, Constantine reached her and closed a hand over her forearm. ‘Christos ... how dare you refer to our marriage and to me in such terms?’ he gritted rawly.

‘Let’s get this straight, Constantine...’ Rosie stopped dead, her oval face flushed with equal fury. ‘We are not married. Got it? If ever I do get married, I will get married in church and the groom will be someone I at least like and respect. He will not be a hypocritical, insensitive, conceited swine who can’t think beyond the level of a one-night stand! So go take a hike!’

‘Don’t speak to me like that!’ Constantine seethed.

‘And your taste in women is pitiful!’ Rosie seethed back, unable to restrain her overwhelming need to pass on that opinion. ‘So why waste your time being nice to me all evening? You must have had a far better time in Monte Carlo, darling Constantine! You’re a womaniser and I wouldn’t touch you with a barge-pole!’

‘Theos... is that a fact?’ Constantine roared.

‘Yes, that is a fact, darling!’ Rosie mimicked with vicious pleasure.

A flash of bright light temporarily blinded her and she blinked in bewilderment, straining to focus on a man in a white shirt darting away with a camera. Constantine took advantage of her stasis to grab her with two furiously angry hands and bring his mouth down hotly on hers. Whoosh! It felt as if the top of her head was flying off, closely followed by the rest of her startled body taking off into orbit with it. I lied, was the last thought she had as her angry fingers knotted fiercely into his thick black hair and held him to her, wanting him, hating him, needing him with a savage passion that was utterly outside her control.

Afterwards, she didn’t remember getting into the car. Dmitri had looked suitably grave head-on but from the back seat and through the thick glass separating them Rosie watched his big shoulders give a betraying little quiver and looked hurriedly away again, mortification eating her alive.