Marriage Reclaimed. Sara Craven

good wife and pour me some, will you?’

      ‘Gladly.’ She paused. ‘Let me see. You take it with cream and two sugars, right?’

      ‘Wrong.’ He rocked back gently in his chair. ‘Just plain black.’

      ‘Of course,’ she said repentantly. ‘I must have been thinking of someone else.’

      ‘You wish,’ he murmured.

      She poured the coffee with exaggerated care and put it beside him, retiring with her own cup to the seat beside the fire.

      There was a silence, then Gabriel said abruptly, ‘Thank you for sorting out Lionel’s room. It can’t have been easy.’

      ‘Very little is.’

      He gave her an ironic look. Then, ‘Did you come to any decision about Larkspur Cottage?’

      Her throat muscles tightened. ‘I followed up your suggestion, and it’s all settled. Cynthia’s on the point of moving in.’ She hesitated. ‘Henry Fortescue seemed concerned about the rent—how it was going to be paid. I—I didn’t really know what to tell him.’

      ‘I’ll talk to him.’ Gabriel made a note on a pad beside him. ‘Explain the situation.’

      ‘That—might be best,’ Joanna agreed woodenly. She hesitated again. ‘Cynthia’s suggested taking some of the furnishings from here. Do you wish to make any kind of stipulation about that?’

      He shrugged. ‘No. Let her take what she wants.’

      In other words, give her carte blanche to strip the place, Joanna thought bitterly. But why should I care?

      She took a deep breath to compose herself. ‘Perhaps you’d let me have a schedule of your movements over the next few weeks, so that I can consult Grace about meals,’ she suggested with cool politeness.

      ‘That won’t be a problem. I shall be remaining here for the foreseeable future.’

      Her cup rattled back into its saucer. She said, ‘You mean you won’t be going abroad again for a while?’

      ‘I shan’t be going anywhere.’ Gabriel gave her a cordial smile. ‘I’ve delegated the running of the company to my managers, and told them to contact me only in emergency. I have enough on my hands here as executor of the estate at the moment.’

      Joanna bit her lip. ‘This is—rather a change in policy for you.’

      ‘And probably long overdue.’ The tawny eyes rested on her meditatively. ‘If I’ve learned anything from the debacle of our marriage, Joanna, it’s been the unwisdom of sacrificing personal relationships to work. I shan’t make the same mistake again.’

      Somehow, Joanna drank the rest of her coffee, put down her cup, and rose to her feet.

      She said quietly, ‘I’m sure your future wife will be glad to hear it.’

      He smiled faintly. ‘I’ll make sure she is.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Shall we say half past three?’

      She stared at him, thrown. ‘For what?’

      ‘Our visit to Charles and Sylvia,’ he said patiently. ‘We’ll take my car.’

      She wanted to scream at him, Take your future wife instead. But she forced the words back with an effort.

      ‘Actually, I have some errands in Westroe this afternoon,’ she improvised swiftly. ‘Perhaps it would be better if I met you there.’

      ‘Perhaps.’ He rose too, coming round the desk to her. Joanna made herself stand her ground, return his gaze with apparent unconcern.

      He said softly, ‘Just as long as you don’t forget, or find yourself detained by some unforeseen circumstance. Because that, Jo, wouldn’t amuse me at all.’

      ‘In other words—your rules.’ She kept her tone flat. ‘You’ll have to supply me with a list of them, Gabriel, in case I inadvertently transgress.’

      His eyes glinted at her. ‘What—you, my little plaster saint? Impossible.’

      ‘Plaster saint?’ she exclaimed, stung. ‘That’s a foul thing to call anyone.’

      ‘Isn’t that what you want to be?’ There was no amusement in the tawny gaze now. ‘Safe in your little niche—immune from the sins of the flesh—untouchable and—untouched? Because you’ve never wanted to be a woman, Joanna.’ He paused, ‘Or was it simply being my woman that was so abhorrent to you?’

      His words were like knives, but she made herself shrug lightly.

      ‘Can’t we simply agree we were incompatible and leave it there?’

      He shook his head slowly. ‘You were one of my failures in life, Jo. And I don’t like to lose.’

      Her heart was hammering against her ribcage. His eyes were like molten gold. She felt them searing her flesh.

      She lifted her chin. ‘Not a failure, Gabriel. Just—a mistake. From which we can both learn.’

      ‘Or we could choose a different lesson.’

      One hand snaked round her, pulling her forward. The other lifted to release her hair from the confines of its prosaic elastic band.

      She found herself held against him—imprisoned by his arms.

      He said huskily, ‘Forget the pious platitudes, Jo. For once in your life kiss me as if you wanted to. As if you wanted me.’

      His mouth was so close—just a butterfly’s wing away. His hand moved on the nape of her neck, under the fall of her hair, softly, teasingly, sending a deep shiver pulsating through her body.

      He whispered, ‘Kiss me…’

      It would be so easy, she thought longingly, to yield to his persuasion. To let the desire of the moment sweep her away. To assuage the pain and the need of the past unhappy years by putting her lips against his. And by following wherever that led.

      Oh, dear God, so disastrously, fatally easy.

      She wrenched herself free. Took a step backwards, distancing herself. Out of harm’s way.

      She said, between her teeth, ‘This is not a game, Gabriel, and I am not some toy. You don’t like to fail. I won’t be used. Checkmate.’

      She turned and went out of the room, across the hall and up the stairs, without looking back and without hesitation, in spite of the scalding tears that were half blinding her.

      Tears that she dared not let him see. Tears she could not allow herself to shed, because they were a sign of the weakness she could not afford.

      And she knew with painful desperation that she was going to need all the strength she possessed—just to survive.

CHAPTER SEVEN

      ‘MY DEAREST child, what a nightmare for you.’ Sylvia Osborne’s hug was warm, but the look she directed at Joanna was searching as well as kind. ‘I can hardly believe it.’

      ‘Nor I.’ Joanna’s voice was constrained. ‘I still look up, expecting him to walk in…’

      ‘Of course.’ Sylvia drew her over to one of the comfortable, sagging, chintz-covered sofas and sat down beside her, clasping Joanna’s hands in hers. ‘If only we’d been here. Not that we could have done anything…’ She paused. ‘And now Gabriel is back.’ She let the words sink into another silence.

      Joanna bit her lip. ‘Yes. Have you heard the terms of Lionel’s will?’

      Sylvia nodded. ‘Gabriel told me when we spoke on the telephone this morning. It’s all quite unbelievable.’

      Joanna swallowed.