Her Secret, His Son. Barbara Hannay

that suggested they had ever been lovers—nothing in the way she slipped her hand just a little too quickly from his that indicated that they had planned to marry.

      Any second now, Tom would be turning away, walking out of her life. She knew this was best. His mission was accomplished. He’d brought the McBride family watch for Ethan and there was no more to do. Already she could sense his next move; he would execute a sharp about-turn and get the hell out of her home.

      But he didn’t move.

      Instead, he stood on her front step and looked at her for ages. The muscles in his throat worked. ‘Have you been happy, Mary?’

      Oh, help! This was the one question in the world she didn’t want to answer. And Tom was watching her so intently she feared he must see her sudden dismay. Had it shown in her eyes? Had it twisted her mouth downwards? She couldn’t be disloyal to Ed now. He’d been a good husband. There was no one better. In a flash she recovered and sent Tom a bright smile.

      ‘Of course I’ve been happy,’ she said. ‘You’ve met Ed, Tom. You know what a great guy he is. He’s a very good man.’

      ‘Sure,’ Tom grunted. ‘Ed’s top shelf—he must have been a prize catch.’

      He gave a curt nod and spun on his heel, at last eager to get away. Mary watched him and told herself she was glad he was leaving. It was best that they hadn’t made any attempt to rake up the past. What was the point? They couldn’t go back. Parting without regret or recrimination was the adult way to behave.

      But as Tom’s foot touched the bottom step she felt the cruel weight of finality sink into her bones. Tom Pirelli was walking out of her life. A picture flashed before her of the last time she’d seen him, waiting on the corner, waiting to run away with her, to marry her.

      And she heard herself calling suddenly, softly. ‘What about you, Tom? Have you been happy?’

      CHAPTER FOUR

      THE fear came the very moment Mary asked the question.

      Have you been happy? As soon as the words were out she felt a dreadful quaking terror deep inside. Why? Why couldn’t she ask the question as easily as he had? And why was Tom staring at her with such a dark, accusing shadow in his eyes, as if he were angered by her question?

      Was she imagining that sense of deep resentment that seemed to cling to him—as if it were a menacing presence that haunted him?

      Was it guilt that made her so scared?

      She had no cause to feel guilty. Eight years ago, on that night they’d tried to elope, Sonia had gone to Tom to explain why she couldn’t meet him and Mary had waited for his answer. And waited…But there had been no word. And he’d never tried to contact her afterwards.

      He hadn’t suffered the agonies of disappointment that had made her so ill. He hadn’t suffered in silent, lovesick misery the way she had. And he hadn’t been left with a terrible, frightening secret. He knew nothing of the burden he had left her with, and he’d gone off to play heroes in the SAS without a backward glance in her direction.

      Of course he’d been happy.

      ‘I haven’t been as happy as I should have been,’ he said.

      ‘Why?’

      ‘How can you ask that, Mary?’

      Her hand flew to her chest and her heart knocked. ‘I don’t understand. You can’t be suggesting…’

      Tom waited for her to finish. Mary couldn’t breathe. This was a nightmare. He couldn’t be telling her that he’d been unhappy all these years. Not because of her.

      ‘You’re not blaming me, are you?’ she whispered.

      ‘Why shouldn’t I?’

      ‘But, Tom, I didn’t think you minded that I didn’t go away with you. You just vanished without contacting me.’

      His upper lip curled into a cold smile. ‘Because that was what you wanted.’

      ‘What?’

      ‘Don’t pretend you can’t remember. You sent your cousin.’

      ‘Yes, she went to tell you what happened. My father—’

      ‘She came with the message that you didn’t want to marry me.’

      ‘No, she can’t have.’

      ‘You changed your mind, Mary-Mary.’

      ‘No!’

      ‘No?’ Tom whispered.

      ‘No way. You must have known. My father caught me and wouldn’t let me out of the house. Of course I didn’t change my mind. How could you think that?’

      They stared at each other—the woman in the doorway, clutching the door handle to keep herself from falling; the soldier on the bottom step with a face so still it might have been carved from dark granite.

      Mary’s head swam and in the next heartbeat Tom was leaping up the steps, clasping her hands in his and drawing her back into the house.

      ‘We have to talk,’ he insisted, his voice choked, breathless.

      ‘Not now, Tom,’ Mary protested weakly. ‘There’s no point.’

      The intensity in his eyes and the strength of his grip on her wrists frightened her. Talking to Tom about the past was dangerous.

      Having him hold her like this was dangerous. She’d always been so susceptible to his touch.

      No matter how hard she’d tried to forget, she remembered so much about Tom’s touch. Heavens, she could even remember the first night she’d felt it—when she’d danced with him and the music had slowed and he’d drawn her close. She’d rested her head on his shoulder and she’d felt the whisper-soft brush of his lips on her temple just near her hairline.

      How crazy that she’d remembered the electric thrill of that tiny caress through all these years. She mustn’t think about it now.

      ‘We have to talk. You owe me this, Mary,’ he said quietly.

      It was useless to pretend she didn’t understand. The moment she’d asked Tom if he was happy she’d begun a conversation that had to be completed. She’d asked the first in a series of questions that had to be asked. And answered.

      But what could they achieve besides heartache? There was no way they could go back. They couldn’t undo the past eight years. And she was afraid of Tom, afraid of the power he’d always had over her.

      Afraid he might somehow learn the truth about Ethan.

      But, without another word, Tom led her back into the kitchen. They stepped around Ethan’s castle and the scattered knights and he pushed her gently into a chair. Their empty coffee mugs were still sitting on the table where they’d left them. From the family room came the sounds of canned laughter and Mary thought guiltily that she mustn’t let Ethan spend the whole morning watching television.

      Tom sat opposite her with his elbows on the tabletop and his clenched fists pressed together. His dark eyes seemed to pierce her.

      She took a deep breath. Best to get this over with. ‘What did Sonia tell you that night my parents stopped me from going to you?’

      ‘She said that you’d changed your mind, that at the last minute you’d hadn’t been able to dredge up the courage to elope with me.’

      ‘But that’s not true. You didn’t believe her, did you?’

      Tom’s gaze held hers for the longest time. She could see the way his eyes were searching her face, trying to gauge how honestly she was answering.

      ‘No,’ he said at last. ‘I didn’t believe her. I told her that I would be in touch with you, that we needed to talk it