Marriage Reclaimed. Sara Craven

you away. You never know. Music might prove the common ground where we can meet without quarrelling.’

      ‘I doubt that exists.’

      ‘Well, we can try. And for starters you could stop being so uptight.’

      Joanna bit her lip. ‘I’m—sorry. As I said—you startled me.’

      ‘I don’t know why. And I’m afraid, darling, you’re just going to have to live with my arrivals and departures.’

      She said coolly, ‘I find the departures easier to handle.’

      His mouth twisted, but he made no immediate reply. Instead the tawny eyes began a comprehensive survey of her, from the tendrils of soft hair brushing her flushed face, pausing momentarily at her exposed throat, then down over the cling of the grey wool dress to her rounded breasts, to the soft folds of the skirt outlining the slender length of her thighs. And back to her throat again.

      He said softly, ‘You look like a ghost—a little grey ghost. But my mother’s pearls look good on you.’

      ‘Your mother’s?’ Joanna’s hand flew defensively to the smooth string. ‘I—I didn’t know—Lionel didn’t tell me…’

      He shrugged. ‘Why should he? He gave them to her when I was born. Under ordinary circumstances they’d have come to you anyway—probably to mark the birth of our own first child,’ he added unsmilingly.

      Her flush deepened. ‘Then I’m wearing them under false pretences.’ She put her hands up, fumbling for the clasp. ‘You can have them back now.’

      ‘Leave them,’ he directed briefly. ‘Pearls should be worn, or they lose their lustre.’

      ‘My—successor might not agree with you.’ Cynthia, she knew, had always coveted the necklace.

      ‘Let that be my problem, rather than yours.’ His tone brooked no further argument. ‘Consider them on loan, if you wish.’

      ‘After all, what’s one more thing among so many?’ Joanna muttered.

      ‘I beg your pardon?’ His brows lifted.

      She said wearily, ‘It doesn’t matter,’ wondering at the same time if he’d gone to Larkspur Cottage to oversee the disposal of his property.

      ‘I’m going to have a nightcap.’ Gabriel rose and went across to the antique corner cupboard. ‘Care to join me?’

      Prudence suggested she should refuse and go. On the other hand, she didn’t want to seem altogether churlish…

      She said sedately, ‘Thank you. I’ll have a brandy.’

      He nodded. ‘Then choose some more music for us to drink to.’

      Joanna went reluctantly to the CD player. If he imagined she was going to allow this to develop into a cosy evening tête à tête, then he could think again. Just because his rendezvous with Cynthia clearly hadn’t worked out as planned…

      A lot of the music was frankly too overtly romantic for the occasion. I need drama rather than passion, she thought, selecting Rimsky-Korsakov’s ‘Scheherazade’.

      ‘Good choice,’ Gabriel approved as he brought over their brandies. ‘This has always been one of my favourites.’

      ‘I—I didn’t know.’ Joanna cradled the brandy glass between her palms, breathing its heady aroma.

      His mouth twisted. ‘Music is just one of the many gaps in our knowledge of each other.’

      He added another log to the fire and stood up, dusting his hands.

      ‘I gather that’s Charles and Sylvia’s new tenant you were chatting to this afternoon.’ He reseated himself and picked up his own brandy. ‘Known him long?’

      She shook her head. ‘I met him just this morning.’

      ‘You amaze me,’ he said equably. ‘I took him for an old and valued friend.’

      She shrugged. ‘Perhaps one relates to some people more quickly than others.’

      ‘Clearly one does.’ His tone mocked her formal phraseology, and she stiffened. ‘As a matter of interest, how did you meet him?’

      ‘I wouldn’t have thought it was a matter of any interest to anyone except ourselves,’ she said coolly.

      ‘Then you’d be wrong.’ He studied the colour of the brandy. ‘While we remain married all your acquaintances—fascinate me.’

      She hesitated. ‘I met him this morning while I was riding. He was walking along Wellow Lane.’ She paused, mentally skating over the exact circumstances of their meeting. ‘We—got into conversation, that’s all.’ She threw him a challenging look. ‘Is there anything wrong in that?’

      ‘You tell me,’ Gabriel murmured.

      ‘Or,’ she went on, ‘has some ban been imposed on my making friends at all?’

      ‘Not in the least.’ He took a meditative sip. ‘What’s his name?’

      ‘Gordon,’ she said with exaggerated clarity. ‘Paul Gordon. If it means anything to you.’

      ‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘And I’d like to keep it that way.’

      She stared at him. ‘Meaning?’

      ‘Meaning I’m sure I can rely on you to behave with discretion.’ His tone was silky.

      Joanna put her brandy down on the sofa table with a bang that threatened to shatter the fragile crystal.

      ‘My God.’ Her voice shook. ‘Congratulations, Gabriel. You’ve just elected yourself king of the double standard.’

      ‘Meaning?’ He turned her own question against her.

      ‘Meaning your own record wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny,’ she flung back at him.

      ‘Harsh words, sweetheart. On what do you base this assumption?’

      ‘Your rake’s progress has been well documented,’ Joanna said scornfully.

      ‘Gossip columns,’ he said, ‘are not the most reliable sources—whatever they themselves believe.’

      ‘Are you saying you’ve passed the last two years in total celibacy?’

      His mouth tightened. ‘No. When you’re hungry, Joanna, you’ll take whatever crumbs are available.’

      Her voice shook. ‘And your appetite is naturally prodigious.’

      He gave her a thoughtful glance. ‘I’m sure you always thought so.’ His sigh was brief and harsh. ‘Yes, I’ve strayed, but not seriously, and not often. Is that what you wanted to know?’

      ‘Your love life is no concern of mine.’ She could feel the pulse hammering in her aching throat. ‘But the lady who follows me may take a different view.’

      ‘I hope so,’ Gabriel drawled. ‘I really couldn’t face another battery of wifely indifference.’

      Joanna got to her feet, outraged. ‘You—you hypocrite,’ she said unevenly.

      It was you, she thought, who was indifferent. You who didn’t care—who left me here, bleeding to death.

      He rose too. ‘More harsh words?’ His voice bit. He walked over to the CD player and silenced it. ‘Perhaps I should teach you some manners.’

      ‘Take some lessons yourself—in fidelity,’ she hit back at him.

      ‘Oh, I’ve already learned that, my love.’ His smile seemed to grate across her shivering skin. ‘My bride-to-be will have nothing to complain about, I promise.’ He laughed harshly. ‘Isn’t it amazing what love can do?’

      The pain