Wife By Agreement. KIM LAWRENCE

I’ll be late getting Emma to school.’

      ‘Daddy’s taking me, Mummy.’

      The ‘Mummy’ was a new thing, and it still gave Hannah a glow of pleasure to hear it. Ethan had never commented on her promotion from ‘Hannah’ in his daughter’s eyes, but she was sure he didn’t like it. His restraint only reminded her that from his point of view her role within the household would always be one of necessity rather than desire.

      ‘You are?’ she gasped, unable to hide her surprise.

      ‘You consider the task too complex for me?’

      ‘You just sit down, my dear, and I’ll get you a nice cup of tea. Mr Kemp has told me about the nasty accident you were in. What you need is a rest,’ the housekeeper advised.

      Hannah’s eyes flew to Ethan’s face as her hand went automatically to her scratched cheek. So that was to be the story, she thought philosophically. It certainly made her appear less foolish than the truth.

      ‘I feel fine—just a little stiff, Mrs Turner.’

      ‘I want out, now!’ Patience was uncharted territory for a three-year-old.

      Hannah unclipped his harness and heaved his sleep-suit-clad body into her arms. His sturdy frame made her conscious of bruises she hadn’t known she had. She wasn’t able totally to subdue the wince.

      ‘Give him to me,’ Ethan said, holding his arms out.

      ‘I’m fine.’

      ‘Martyrdom is an overrated and tedious virtue,’ Ethan observed in a bored drawl.

      Hannah handed over her charge with as much dignity as she could muster. Normally their parental duties were strictly, if unofficially, defined, and it was vaguely disorientating to have her role so thoroughly usurped.

      Ethan might well regret his chivalry when he discovered that the wet kiss his beaming son had pressed somewhere east of his mouth had left a blob of porridge adhering to his freshly shaved cheek. A wicked impulse made her keep this information to herself.

      ‘Will you do my hair?’ Emma slid onto Hannah’s knee and solemnly passed her a comb and ribbons.

      ‘With your permission?’ She shot Ethan a challenging look. She sounded cranky and didn’t much care. She knew he was watching her again and it made her feel uncomfortable.

      ‘I’d say that constitutes light duties,’ he conceded. Whilst playing a tickling game, which Hannah thought might well result in his small son throwing up, he watched Hannah’s expert fingers twist Emma’s fluffy golden locks into the desired design. Emma was a beautiful child who looked remarkably like a miniature version of her mother. Hannah was sure Ethan didn’t need the constant reminder to keep Catherine’s memory fresh—several people had lost no time telling Hannah how passionately in love he’d been, how he’d worshipped her.

      Hannah had been astounded the first time she’d seen Ethan with his children. Who would have guessed that behind the austere, rather daunting façade there lurked such a warm and humorous man? She’d thought his attitude towards her might bend a little over the months, but he’d never actually dropped the formality with her. She’d never been in any danger of forgetting her position in this household.

      It wouldn’t be long before Emma at least began to notice that her parents weren’t like other people’s: no hugs or teasing, no shared history of private jokes. Ethan didn’t appear to have taken this aspect into account in his calculations. Children were sharp; nothing much escaped their observant eyes. It would be interesting, and probably uncomfortable, Hannah reflected, to see how he dealt with the inevitable questions.

      ‘I’ll be back shortly,’ he said as he stood, the open doorway framing the sight of daughter and father hand in hand.

      ‘Work…?’ she faltered.

      ‘I’ve cancelled my appointments for this morning. Cal Morgan will see you at ten. I’ll take you to the surgery—for that tetanus jab,’ he added as she stared at him blankly.

      ‘Quite right, you can’t be too careful,’ the housekeeper observed approvingly. ‘Tom will be just fine with me. I’ll take him for his bath, won’t I, darling? Kiss for Mummy.’

      When Hannah emerged from the grubby embrace Ethan had gone. This new personal interest in her welfare obviously stemmed from his opinion that she wasn’t capable of taking care of herself. It was frustrating to realise that she had nobody to blame for the situation but herself. If only he hadn’t caught her last night. It had been an inconvenient time to discover the man she’d married was either an insomniac or a secret drinker, possibly both. The idea brought a whimsical smile to her lips. She couldn’t imagine Ethan indulging in weaknesses of any variety!

      She’d just have to reestablish herself in his eyes as being more than capable of taking care of herself. Driving herself to the doctor’s surgery was step one of this process. He’d be glad to be relieved of this tedious chore.

      That view took on a rapid sea change when she emerged from the surgery to find Ethan standing beside her Volvo. His long fingers were rapping an impatient tune on the bonnet. He appeared to be muttering under his breath at regular intervals. He straightened up at the sound of her feet crunching on the gravel. His dark brows met over the bridge of his nose as he recognised her.

      ‘What the hell are you playing at?’

      Whilst his attitude to her lacked warmth, she couldn’t remember any occasion when his manner towards her hadn’t been faultlessly polite. The flash of anger in his grey eyes and the unmistakable message his whole body language was shouting threw her totally off balance. What had she done?

      ‘I’m not playing at anything, Ethan.’

      ‘Don’t waste that “butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth” look on me, Hannah Smith… It won’t wash any more.’

      ‘Kemp, I’m Hannah Kemp.’ He might like to pretend this weren’t true sometimes, but it was.

      He rubbed a hand through his dark hair, disrupting the sleek silhouette. ‘You were less trouble as Smith,’ he reflected after a thoughtful pause. ‘I offered to drive you because you’re very obviously not fit to sit behind a wheel. What are you trying to do—smash the parts you missed last night?’

      ‘That’s a ridiculous overstatement!’ she protested. ‘And don’t think you’re the only one regretting this marriage,’ she yelled wildly.

      His expression hardened into one of icy disdain as his cold glance whipped up and down her slender figure. Under the scrutiny she forced herself to straighten up, even though the ache in her ribs intensified.

      ‘Marriage to me is one of those decisions you’d better learn to live with.’ The unspoken ‘or else’ was clearly there in capital letters.

      ‘Save your intimidation for the courtroom,’ she told him with uncharacteristic steel.

      ‘I’d never make that mistake—strong-arm tactics with someone who looks as vulnerable and fragile as you do right now would lose me the jury’s sympathy.’

      ‘I didn’t mean to wound your professional pride.’

      Her sarcastic murmur sent his dark brows towards his hairline. ‘Happily we’re not in the courtroom right now, so I’ll continue to behave like a bully—you’re obviously very at home with that image of me,’ he observed tautly. ‘Have you seen the way you’re moving, woman? It’s obvious every step hurts.’

      She grimaced—that was almost exactly what Cal had said before he’d insisted on examining her. She gazed at her husband resentfully. ‘My ribs are bruised, not broken, and Cal has given me a prescription for some painkillers.’

      ‘Well, the next time you decide to get in a car with a maniac try and remember you’re a mother, not a bloody stunt woman!’

      Anyone would think she’d done this for