Mistress of Deception

'Were you in love with her or not?' Ebony persisted in asking. 'I think I have a right to know.'

'Why? What gives you the right to know anything about my life before I became involved with you? Why can't the past be the past?'

'Because it isn't. The past can taint the future. Is my past past for you? If so, why were you quizzing me about it just now? What would it matter if I'd screwed every man I met before you as long as I stopped after I did?'

'But you didn't, did you?' he lashed out without being able to stop himself. 'You used to taunt me with all your other lovers all the time, remember?'

Her face flushed a bright red, but she kept her chin up, her eyes proud and strong. 'I lied. I wanted to make you jealous. And why not? You gave me nothing, Alan, except your body in bed. Not a kind word or a scrap of love. I needed to see your jealousy to soothe my own love, to keep clinging to the thin hope that you did care about me. He wouldn't be jealous, I used to tell myself, if he didn't love me a little.'

Alan jumped up, shaking inside with emotion. 'And were you trying to make me jealous last night when you went to Stevenson's hotel room, when you made love to him for hours on end, when you let him kiss you goodnight in front of everyone, including me?'

Ebony's mouth dropped open, her shock overwhelming. And then she

crumpled.

'Oh, God,' she groaned, her head dropping into her hands. 'God...'

'No speech in defence?' he jeered. 'No claim of total innocence or mistaken identity?'

She shook her head, muttering something he couldn't hear.

Well, he'd blown it now, all right. And he didn't care. Goddamn it, what man could have been that noble to forgive and forget such treachery? He certainly wasn't. His crazy idea of marrying her and saving her from herself had been just that. Crazy! Worry over her faithless nature would eventually have torn his guts out.

Just looking at her bowed head—her obvious guilt— was sending a raging fury along his veins, making his blood boil and his head pound.

'Look at me, you two-timing bitch!' he spat.

Her head jerked up, her eyes blurred with tears.

'Oh, no,' he mocked with a harsh bark of laughter. 'That won't work this time, honey. I've been there, done that. This time I want to hear word for word what you did with that bastard. I want to hear you explain how you can sleep with him last night and claim you love me today. I've tried to understand it. Maybe I even do, but I can't live with it. I thought I could. I even thought if we had a baby together, then we might have been able to make a go of it, that you would settle down and stop craving sexual excitement. But that wouldn't have stopped you, would it? There would always be a Stevenson in one form or another. You're just like your father, aren't you?

'Aren't you? he screamed at her, thumping the table with a balled fist.

He watched her rise, watched her blink away the tears, watched her gather that steely inner strength that he'd always admired, however reluctantly.

'No,' she denied vehemently. 'I'm not like my father. Not in the least. Not that I expect you to believe me. As for what I did last night with Gary, I'll tell you. I had dinner with him in his hotel room because he's my friend and he's going away. I didn't go to a restaurant because I was afraid someone might see us together and jump to the wrong conclusions, something that has plagued me for years. We ate, we talked—about you, actually,' she added with a sardonic laugh. 'Ironic, isn't it?'

She laughed again, then slumped back down in the seat, her shoulders and head drooping. She felt utterly devastated and totally defeated. Who would have believed Alan would see her and Gary together? What twist of fate would have brought him to the Ramada at that time of night and at that precise moment? God, but life could be cruel...

'Do go on,' Alan snapped. 'Don't stop now. I can see you're as good at lying as you are in bed.'

Ebony looked up at him with desolation in her eyes.

'I have very little else to say. There are some people who don't wish to believe, no matter what the evidence or explanations may be. You're one of those people, Alan. Oh, I appreciate I have played a role in the opinion you've formed of me, but only a very small role. You've always been happy to believe the worst. I could slap a private-detective report in front of you, proving that I was as pure as the driven snow when I wasn't with you, and you wouldn't believe it. Yet it is the truth, Alan. I've never touched another man in a sexual sense since we became lovers.'