Australia: In Bed with Her Groom. Emma Darcy

and that in itself was exciting, feeling the tug of war taking place inside him.

      She sensed the gathering of purpose. His gaze flicked to hers, and there was certainly nothing impersonal in the dark blue intensity of his eyes. She had the uncomfortable feeling that he wanted to scour her soul. Even before he spoke, she felt herself tensing defensively, knowing instinctively that he had moved beyond physical attraction to a far deeper need.

      ‘What went wrong with Roger, Ashley?’

      The shock of the question set her mind spinning. How did he know? She had never spoken of the crushing nature of her marriage. Even at the time, pride had insisted she maintain the public appearance of being happy with Roger. She had not confided her problems to her parents, let alone anyone else. She had hidden the guilty relief she had felt when Roger and his mother had died, accepted the condolences given, and closed the door on a hard-learnt experience that she never wanted repeated.

      ‘Why should you think anything went wrong?’ she countered, unaware of the guarded tone in her voice, the retreat from openness in her eyes.

      ‘What people don’t say is often more revealing than what they do say,’ he answered quietly. ‘You’ve told me a lot about your life. Roger Harcourt was your husband and William’s father, yet you did not once refer to him.’

      ‘Roger died seven years ago,’ she stated flatly. ‘I’ve spent far more of my adult life without him than with him.’

      ‘Happy times usually engender fond reminiscences.’ He shrugged and offered an apologetic smile. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude. If it’s a sensitive subject…Perhaps you miss him so much it’s still too painful to recall.’

      ‘No. I don’t miss him,’ Ashley confessed bluntly, recoiling from the idea of letting Harry think she was nursing a long grief that had never been assuaged. ‘If he was still alive, we’d be divorced.’

      ‘Why?’

      ‘I guess I stopped hero-worshipping him. I was only nineteen when we married.’ Her eyes flashed with irony. ‘A pity you didn’t come looking for an heir then, Harry. Roger would have leapt at being lord of the manor.’

      ‘He acted that way with you?’

      ‘It had its attractive side for a while,’ she acknowledged. ‘I didn’t realise I was supposed to become totally subservient to another person’s will.’

      ‘Do you fear that would be expected of you if you came to England?’

      ‘I don’t fear it because I wouldn’t accept it.’

      ‘It isn’t the situation anyway,’ he assured her.

      ‘Well, I guess you’d know,’ she said lightly, aware that any other judgement by her would be blind prejudice.

      ‘Yes, I do. I’m sorry you had that experience with Roger, Ashley. I hope you don’t judge all men by it.’

      ‘If I did, you wouldn’t be staying here.’

      As soon as she spoke the words, they seemed to hang in the air between them, gathering nuances, laying bare the fact that she thought him special as a man and that being her butler was completely irrelevant. Still he didn’t move, and Ashley felt heat creeping up her neck as she recalled the sad way he had spoken of the woman he had loved. Did the memory of her remain in his heart, keeping it closed to any other woman?

      She turned away and stared blankly at the night sky, fiercely arguing to herself that Harry had brought up Roger, so it had to be acceptable for her to ask questions that were just as personal.

      ‘What was her name…the woman you spoke of, Harry?’

      The ensuing silence shrieked of dredging into deeply private areas. Was it too sensitive a subject? Did he miss her so much it was too painful to recall? They were the words he had used in referring to Roger.

      ‘Pen,’ he said at last. ‘Penelope.’ He gave the longer version of her name a soft, lilting cadence that filled Ashley with envy. It left no doubt in her mind that Pen had been very precious to him.

      ‘How long is it since…’ She hesitated, not wanting to sound crassly insensitive to his feelings. ‘Since she was with you?’

      ‘Pen died of leukaemia three years ago,’ he stated flatly.

      Ashley closed her eyes. How awful! Bad enough for death to come suddenly. A long terminal illness had to be grief from start to finish. And afterwards…who could possibly forget it?

      ‘That must have been very harrowing,’ she said softly, her natural sympathy overriding her own interests. ‘I’m sorry it happened. To both of you.’

      He didn’t answer. Ashley was acutely aware she had driven his mind into the past. She could feel a great distance between them that had nothing to do with physical space. She waited, although part of her wanted to tear herself away and leave him to his memories. In some strange way, staying with him was like holding a vigil, paying respect to the dead.

      ‘It wasn’t like that.’

      Ashley barely caught the murmured words.

      ‘After the initial shock of the diagnosis, Pen refused to allow the situation to become harrowing,’ he went on quietly. ‘She made each day a celebration of life, finding joy and beauty and pleasure in even the smallest things. There were times when the treatment made her very sick, but she bore it so gallantly… .’ He shook his head. ‘I took it harder than she did. I hated feeling helpless.’

      ‘I’m sure you helped all you could, Harry.’

      It wasn’t a platitude. Ashley was certain he would have been a tower of strength, supportive, caring, considerate, willing to do anything to make life as easy and pleasant as he could for her. Yet as much as he might have tried to hold death at bay, it was always going to overtake his efforts. She understood his feelings of helplessness.

      ‘I guess her going must have left a terrible hole in your life.’

      ‘She was an adornment to the human race,’ he said softly.

      How on earth was she going to compete with that? Ashley thought despondently. ‘Then you were lucky to have known her,’ she said with a burst of envy. ‘Not everyone gets the chance to love and be loved by someone so special. Even if it was only for a short time, at least you’ve experienced it.’

      It jolted him out of his reverie. His head turned sharply towards her. Ashley lifted her gaze to his and gave him a full blast of truth. ‘Your Pen made part of your life beautiful, Harry. Maybe that makes the loss hard to bear, but you don’t carry the sense of having missed out on the best, the sense of an emptiness that has never been answered.’

      ‘Ashley…’ His hand swung out, ready to touch. There was something in his eyes…pity? Anguish? She instinctively backed away.

      ‘I think I’ll go to bed. I feel cooler now. Good night, Harry. And thank you for making it such a wonderful evening,’ she prattled, carefully skirting any contact with him as she moved to the sliding door.

      Somehow he got there ahead of her and pulled the door open. She stepped into the family room, giving him a nod of thanks. He followed closely on her heels. The door clicked shut. Ashley crossed quickly to the staircase. Her eyes blurred with tears as she remembered the bubbling light-heartedness with which she had started the evening. It wasn’t fair, she cried to herself. What hope did she have against a ghost who represented perfection?

      She hurried up the stairs, hoping he would stay behind and let her escape to the privacy of the bedroom before he followed to his room. She felt him watching her, but at least his footsteps stopped on the floor below.

      ‘Good night, Ashley.’ His voice softly floated after her.

      She didn’t pause or turn. She had already said good night. Tomorrow was another day, she told herself, brushing the tears from her lashes. And she did have something over a ghost. She was alive. She