The Marriage Truce. Sara Craven

sighed. ‘Jenna—do you want to play games or talk sense?’ He paused questioningly, and when she did not reply went on, ‘Can we at least agree that this isn’t a situation either of us would have chosen?’

      ‘Your stepmother clearly thinks differently.’

      ‘Thirza is a genuinely kind woman,’ he said. ‘But sometimes her kindness leads her in strange directions.’ He shrugged. ‘What can I say?’ He was silent again for a moment. ‘Please believe that she didn’t see fit to mention to me that Christy was to be married at this time—or that you would be attending the wedding. Otherwise I would not be here.’

      ‘Well,’ Jenna said, trying for crisp lightness, ‘no one told me about you either. You’d almost think they were playing a late April Fool on us.’

      ‘And I think, unless we are careful, we could both end up looking like fools,’ Ross returned tersely. ‘So, if you’re thinking of doing a runner back to London, I advise you to forget it.’

      Jenna gasped. ‘May I remind you that you no longer have the right to dictate my actions?’

      He said gently, ‘And may I remind you that it was never a right I chose to enforce, anyway?’

      She bit her lip. ‘You realise the local gossips will have a field-day if we both stay.’

      ‘They will have even more to enjoy if we leave.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘Because they will think it means that we still matter to each other—when we know that’s not the case.’

      ‘On that,’ she said, her tone gritty, ‘we can agree, at least.’

      ‘Good,’ he said. ‘We’re making progress.’ He paused. ‘Unfortunately, it will be equally harmful if we each pretend the other does not exist—and for the same reason.’

      ‘Ye-es,’ she acknowledged, slowly and reluctantly. ‘I suppose so.’

      ‘Then I suggest that for the duration of the wedding celebrations we maintain a pretence of civility with each other.’ He spoke briskly. ‘Not for my sake, of course, or even yours, but for Christy.’ He paused. ‘I don’t want her big day to be marred by the spectacle of us making ourselves ridiculous—or an object of speculation for the whole community, either,’ he added grimly. ‘I’m sure that’s a point of view you can share.’

      ‘How reasonable you make it sound,’ Jenna said with a snap.

      ‘Fine,’ he threw back at her. ‘Then go back to London. Let them think that you still care too much to be near me, even in public.’

      ‘Now you really are being ridiculous,’ she said coldly. ‘As a matter of fact, I’d already made up my mind to stay. But I admit I hoped you’d have the decency to keep out of the way.’

      ‘Decency was never one of my virtues.’ His drawl taunted her. ‘And I gather Thirza has already told the Penloes that I will be escorting her to the wedding. So I think we’re going to have to—grin and bear it.’

      ‘By taking refuge in clichés?’

      ‘By doing whatever it takes.’ He paused again, and she was uneasily aware of that intent, assessing stare. ‘So, shall we each take a deep breath and declare a temporary truce—for the duration of the wedding?’

      Jenna bit her lip. ‘It seems there is no alternative.’

      ‘Then shall we shake hands on it?’ He walked towards her, closing the space between them, and she couldn’t retreat because the damned bench was in the way. Could do nothing about the fact that he was now standing right beside her.

      He held out his hand, his dark eyes mesmeric, compelling. Then a mischievous gust of wind suddenly lifted her loosened hair and blew it across his face.

      Ross gasped and took a step backwards, his hands tearing almost feverishly at the errant strands to free himself.

      For a crazy moment she wondered if he was remembering, as she was, the way he’d used to play with her hair when they were in bed together after lovemaking, twining it round his fingers and drawing it across his lips and throat.

      And how she would bury her face in his shoulder, luxuriously inhaling the scent of his skin …

      Sudden pain wrenched at her uncontrollably. Blood was roaring in her ears. Hands shaking, she raked her hair back from her face and held it captive at the nape of her neck.

      She said hoarsely, looking past him, ‘I—I think the weather’s getting worse. I—I’ll see you around—I expect …’

      She walked away from him, forcing herself not to hurry, across the short, damp grass.

      And if he said her name again as she went the wind carried it away and it was lost for ever. And she could only be thankful for that.

      Once safely inside the garden she began to run, stumbling a little as her feet crunched the gravel.

      She fell breathlessly through the front door and met Christy, back from her shopping trip to Truro, coming downstairs.

      ‘Darling,’ Christy’s blue eyes searched her face. ‘Are you all right? Ma was worried about you …’

      ‘I’m fine,’ Jenna said, eyes fiercely bright, cheeks hectically flushed. ‘And, for good or ill, I’m staying. But on one condition—and it’s not negotiable.’

      ‘Oh, Jen.’ Christy hugged her. ‘Anything—you know that.’

      Jenna took a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m going into Polcarrow tomorrow—and I’m having my hair cut.’ She paused. ‘All of it.’

       CHAPTER TWO

      THE wind dropped during the early hours of the morning. Jenna could have timed it to the minute, if she’d felt inclined, as she’d done little else since she got to bed but lie staring into the darkness and listening to the grandfather clock in the hall below sonorously marking the passage of the night.

      If I don’t get some sleep soon I’m going to look and feel like hell in the morning, she told herself, turning on to her stomach and giving her inoffensive pillows a vicious pummelling.

      Even so, there was no way she would look as bad as Ross had done yesterday, she realised with a pang of reluctant concern. Any doubts she might have had about the seriousness of his recent illness had shattered after the first glance. Because he’d looked as if the virus he’d picked up abroad had taken him to death’s door and back again.

      He had told her she was thinner, but he too had lost an untold amount of weight, and his dark face had been haggard, and sallow, with deep shadows under his eyes. He’d looked older, too, and quieter. And oddly weary. For a moment she had found herself confronted by a stranger.

      She could understand now why Thirza had been so worried about him, even if she did not relish the solution that worry had produced.

      She sighed, burying her face in the pillow. For a while she’d been seriously tempted to keep quiet about their encounter on the cliff, but she’d soon realised that would be impractical. Besides, the way that she and Ross planned to deal with each other would have a direct bearing on the next few days, and affect her family, so they probably had a right to know.

      She’d broken the news of their truce over dinner, keeping her voice light and matter-of-fact.

      ‘The last thing either of us wants is to make the situation more awkward than it already is.’ She had tried to smile. ‘So, we plan to be—civil.’

      There was a silence, then Aunt Grace said, ‘Oh, my dear child, how desperately sad.’ She directed a fulminating stare at her husband, who was placidly eating his portion of chicken casserole. ‘Henry—how long have