Rachel Lindsay - Forgotten Marriage Read online

  "My husband gave them to me when Adam was . born and I promised myself that one day I would give them to his bride."

  Sharon felt her colour recede. So Helen had finally achieved her ambition. With an effort she looked at Adam.

  "Congratulations! When's the lucky day?"

  " I don't know what you're talking about.''

  "Adam!" His mother reproached. "What a rude way to answer." She looked at Sharon. "It's my fault really. I expressed myself badly. Although I'd promised to give these pearls to Adam's wife, as soon as you came into my life, I knew I couldn't give them to anyone else. So this morning I asked Adam's permission to give them to you."

  "You didn't need my permission," he said briskly. "The pearls are yours to do with as you please."

  T know that. But if you'd been upset by it—"

  "No," Sharon cut in wildly. "I can't accept them. Absolutely not!"

  "Of course you can," Mrs. Peters held them out. "Please, my dear, put them on."

  Sharon remained motionless. Without being able to explain why, she felt it impossible to accept this gift that represented so much more than money.

  "I can't!" she repeated.

  Silently Adam took the pearls from his mother's hand and advanced on Sharon. "Turn around and let me fasten them for you."

  There was something about the set of his mouth that made her obey. She turned her back to him and felt the pearls cool around her throat. His fingers fumbled at the nape of her neck. Their touch was warm on her skin and she trembled and jerked away from him.

  "Let me see them on you," Mrs. Peters called and blindly Sharon stepped close to the bed. "Your skin has the same translucence as the pearls. They're exactly right for you. Don't you think so, Adam?"

  "Yes," he said expressionlessly. "Now if you'll excuse me, mother, I want to wash and change."

  "Is Helen coming over?"

  "No. She went to Paris this morning. An aunt of hers has taken ill there."

  "In that case why don't you take Sharon out dancing? She hasn't been anywhere since she came here."

  "I'm perfectly happy to stay with you," Sharon protested.

  "Well, you shouldn't be. You're a young woman and it's time you started enjoying yourself again. It isn't right for you to… to mourn Rufus forever. And he wouldn't want it, either." The voice quavered. "He was always so full of life, so charming and…"

  "You're quite right, mother," Adam interrupted. "I'll take Sharon out, and she'll be able to tell you how much she enjoyed herself!" He opened the door and waited for Sharon to go with him.

  Outside the bedroom she looked at him with hostility.

  "You can cut the pretence. I'll dine in my room and make up some story to tell your mother in the morning."

  "And where will you say I took you? You don't know the district; you wouldn't fool her for a second."

  "Can't you describe a place to me?"

  "No." He pulled her roughly away from the door. "I'm not taking you out because I want to, but because I don't want to upset my mother."

  "Nor do I," Sharon flared. "The sooner she's better the sooner I 'll be able to leave here."

  "Then we understand one another! Now get changed and meet me downstairs in an hour."

  Despite the anger he aroused in her, she dressed with great care, discarding two outfits before settling on a third. She was fifteen minutes late when she gave herself a final appraisal, happy that the black, paper- silk taffeta dress made her look lovelier than he had ever seen her.

  The bodice was severely plain, with a deep decolletage and narrow straps marking her creamy shoulders, while from the tiny, nipped-in waist, the skirt billowed into innumerable frills, each one lifting as she walked.

  "It's a dream of a dress," Monsieur Duval had said when she had chosen it. "Meant for dancing and loving!"

  Remembering this, she was tempted to change into something else, only prevented from doing so by her lateness. Picking up her bag and an emerald satin coat, she sped down the stairs.

  Adam was waiting in the hall and, hearing the rustle of her dress, turned to watch her. For a moment he was unable to guard his expression and she thrilled to see the naked desire on his face. Despise her though he did, he wanted her!

  But in an instant he was in control of himself, and his voice cold as he said, "You're late."

  She shrugged and followed him to the Bentley. She slid into the front seat and he slammed the door after her so heavily that her skirts lifted.

  What an evening this was going to be, she thought, watching from beneath her lashes as he took the wheel. He wore a midnight blue dinner jacket, so dark as to be almost black. Its colour was a subtle echo of his blue black hair, which, though severely flattened, had still not lost its slight wave. A curving strand fell upon his forehead and her fingers ached to touch it.

  In silence they moved down the drive. The car purred along quietly and she was lulled into a false sense of contentment, willing herself to believe she was sitting beside a man who returned her affections and would not spurn her.

  Some ten minutes after leaving Green Spinney Adam turned into the entrance of a large hotel. A long line of cars was parked outside but he stopped at the entrance, gave the keys to a waiting attendant and escorted her into a carpeted foyer.

  "If you'd like to leave your coat," he said.

  "I'll keep it," she replied. "It looks rather striking, don't you think?"

  "You're striking enough," he said curtly and steered her none too gently into the bar that lay off to one side of the lobby.

  The room was full of laughing groups of people, and there was a great deal of noise. It was not the sort of place she had associated with Adam and she was surprised he had brought her here.

  "Don't you like it?" he asked.

  "It's rather, er, garish."

  "Rufus said you liked bright lights and noise."

  She bit her lip, determined to keep her temper. "I can't believe I'd like them as bright or as noisy as 'his."

  Busy trying to catch the waiter's attention, Adam ignored her remark. "What will you drink?"

  "Champagne," she said defiantly. "I'm sure that fits your picture of me!"

  He raised his eyebrows. "Have milk if you prefer."

  "I'll stick to champagne. We might as well celebrate our first evening out. It's bound to be our last."

  Again he did not respond but gave his order to the waiter and leaned back in his chair. Of all the men in the bar he was the most handsome, and many feminine eyes were cast in his direction. He appeared oblivious to them, lost in some world of his own.

  Sharon was debating how much longer she could remain here in silence without kicking him on the ankle, when he abruptly spoke. "My mother's extremely fond of you."

  "I know. It means a great deal to me."

  "I'm sure it does."

  "Not for the reasons you think," she said flatly. "But when you're alone in a strange country, it's good to know someone cares for you.''

  "I should imagine a great many people have cared for you," he replied. "It wouldn't be difficult"

  "Wouldn't it? You seem to find it difficult"

  " I see you in a different way."

  " It could be the wrong way.''

  "I don't think so. I see the woman behind the lovely face, the true character lying behind those heavenly blue eyes." His jaw set pugnaciously. "My God! It's hard to believe you're a—"

  Just then an ice bucket and champagne was set before them, and he broke off and signalled the waiter to fill their glasses. Only as he lifted his own, did he resume talking.

  "What shall our toast be? To the future? To your memory returning? Or perhaps to your memory not returning?"

  "Not that! You surely don't think I like living in a vacuum?"

  "I don't know what you like."

  "I'm only gradually finding that out myself. But why not accept me as I am? Take me at face value."

  ''At face value you 're extremely beautiful.''

  Her hear
t leaped. "Am I really?"

  "You know damn well you are," he said harshly. "A beautiful and alluring woman." There was a pause. "How many men have you had?"

  The cold-bloodedness of the question shook her. Her fingers trembled around her glass and she was afraid she might spill some of the liquid and so give herself away. But luckily she didn't, and hoped he hadn't noticed the tremor.

  "I can't remember." How calm her voice sounded! With an effort she stared into his eyes, noticing the short but amazingly thick lashes surrounding them. "What about you? Or have you lost count of your affairs?"

  "I'm thirty-three," he stated. "Old enough to have had enough. I now find casual affairs boring."

  "So what's next? Marriage?"

  "One day it will have to be. I want a son."

  So matter of fact was the statement that she was surprised at the intensity with which it hit her. Adam and his son. If only it could be her son, too.

  "I don't think there's any point continuing this conversation, Sharon. When you've finished your drink we'll go in and eat."

  The dining room, like the bar, was elaborately decorated. Snow-white cloths were covered with an abundance of silver and cut glass; candles and flowers added to the lavishness. The food followed the same standard and Sharon made a great effort to eat what was set before her, reluctant to let Adam guess how much his aloofness hurt her.

  Throughout the dinner he maintained a minimum of conversation and though there were long pauses while they waited for their various courses to arrive, he did not ask her to dance.

  When their coffee was served, an imp of mischief— or could it have been temper—prompted her to suggest it herself.

  "Your mother's sure to ask me if we did," she said without any expression in her voice, "and shell be surprised if I say no. Or perhaps you don't dance at all?"

  "Yes I do," he said through clenched teeth and pushed back his chair.

  As they reached the floor the tempo of the music slowed to a languorous beat. He muttered under his breath and, with a thrill of pleasure, she knew he was afraid of the emotion this type of rhythm might awaken in him.

  She moved into his arms and felt him stiffen, as if her closeness disturbed him. But of course it did. He found her an alluring woman—he had said so. And he was a virile, sensual man, his restraint but a sign of the strong passions he was holding in check. Had he been willing to let his natural inclinations come to the fore, he would now be doing everything to encourage a love affair between them.

  If she could only get beneath his guard—the way she had a few weeks ago when he kissed her—she might be able to make him revise his opinion of her, or at least make him give her a chance to show him she was not the heartless, mercenary creature Rufus had depicted.

  Involuntarily her fingers touched the back of his neck. She felt him tremble, hold back for an instant and then pull her closer. His cheek brushed her hair and she savoured the warmth of his breath on her temple, the steel like hardness of his thighs pressing upon her own, the thudding of his heart, its beat so heavy it was like insistent fingertips drumming upon her breast.

  "Let's get out of here." He drew away sharply. "I've had enough."

  She nodded. Tears were an eyeblink away and she knew if she released them, he would guess her secret. Head high, she followed him to the car.

  Though it was a beautiful starry night, she sat shivering in the corner. Adam switched on the heater and they drove down the tree-lined avenue to the highway. In silence they sped along the country lanes, twisting tortuously in and out of narrow turnings. Adam drove with a controlled violence that both excited and frightened her, his hands gripping the wheel as if gripping her throat. Intuitively she knew that he hated her for making him aware of his weakness, that he would give anything to get her out of his system.

  They rounded another bend and Green Spinney lay ahead, its outline large in the moonlight. They skirted the front of the house and pulled to a stop in the large garage at the back.

  "Damn you!" he grated and reached out for her.

  Sharon made no attempt to evade him. Instead she melted against his body, pliant as velvet beneath his searching hands. Uncaring of the consequences she opened herself to him—arms widening to hold him, lips parting to absorb the moisture of his kisses.

  In a frenzy of passion they clasped one another. He rained kisses on her face, her neck, her shoulders, gentle yet urgent kisses that made her cry out with longing. He unbuttoned his shirt and her hands caressed his chest, feeling its satiny texture and the roughness of the dark hair that covered part of it. Then she responded with kisses of her own, revelling in the strength of his body but knowing that, at this moment, her own strength was the greater.

  "I want you so much." His voice was a torment of desire, the words partly stifled as he strained her closer. "Don't say no, Sharon. Come to me, darling…"

  She'd thought herself powerless to resist him, but suddenly, without warning, she knew it was impossible to surrender. It had to be with love; it had to be with gentleness, understanding, reciprocation. Passion, no matter how strong, and technical prowess, no matter how proficient, were nothing compared with the hesitations and fumblings of tender, genuine love.

  "I… I can't,"she gasped. "Don't make me."

  As if in slow motion Adam drew back. Although she could not see his face clearly, she sensed the ebbing of his passion that, like a triumphant conqueror, had urged him on to a final victory. Now the victory was denied him and she waited fearfully for the backlash of his anger.

  But nothing came; only his voice as gentle as a drifting snowflake, and just as icy.

  "I'm grateful to you, Sharon. You've saved me from despising myself."

  He opened the car door and averted his face from her as if not wishing to see her disarray.

  "I don't feel I owe you an apology," he continued. "You asked for what you got. Although praise be, in the final analysis, you had the sense not to want it!"

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Had it not been for her promise to Mrs. Peters, Sharon would not have spent another night under the same roof as Adam. How could he believe her to be so heartless when she had sufficient conscience not to leave his mother?

  He would say it was because she had her eye on the main chance and wanted Mrs. Peters to go on liking her, but Sharon knew this was untrue. She had never cared about possessions or money for herself; it was only when it came to…

  Her thoughts stopped, as though cut off by a blank wall she could not penetrate. Only when it came to what? If she didn't want money for herself, for whom had she been trying to get it?

  Was it to help someone else that she had asked for and accepted money from Adam, after Rufus had been killed? And what of her behaviour during Rufus's lifetime? Was it possible he had blackened her character deliberately? Had he wanted Adam to think she was mercenary when it had been himself all along? But that couldn't be true. For it didn't explain the letter she had written to Adam, threatening to come to England on a visit and tell his mother all about Rufus unless he sent her some money.

  In an effort to forget her inner turmoil, she put on her riding clothes and went downstairs. She knew her mother-in-law would be anxious to hear about the previous night, but could not face the lies she would have to utter. She would leave it till later, when a gallop had blown away some of her tension.

  But seeing Simon was also going to be a strain, for she still had to tell him she regarded him only as a friend.

  He was waiting for her outside the stables, the horses saddled and ready.

  "No one would think you'd had a late night," he greeted her.

  "How do you know I did?"

  He helped her into the saddle. "I saw Adam this morning. He had a vile headache and said he'd drunk too much."

  "He hardly drank anything," she protested.

  "Well, whatever it was, it went to his head!"

  Simon mounted his own horse and they trotted slowly down the drive. "It's going to be a marvellous
day. What do you say we go to Vernon Hill? You haven't seen the view from there yet, and I've been promising myself to show it to you."

  Without waiting for her answer he dug his heels into the horse's sides and cantered ahead of her. They rode across country for several miles, and the feel of the breeze in her hair raised Sharon's spirits somewhat. It was impossible to be downcast when on horseback, and she looked affectionately at the glossy neck below her.

  When at last they reached the top of Vernon Hill they drew rein. She slid to the ground, laughing breathlessly. "That was wonderful, Simon! I needed the workout as much as Gilda!"

  He took the reins from her and tied them to a nearby bush. "She hates being cooped up, and I was too busy to exercise her yesterday."

  "I saw you in the village with your sister," Sharon said casually.

  "My sister?" Simon concentrated on tying up his own horse. "Where was that?"

  "You were coming out of the Bull and drove off before I could speak to you. I wanted to ask if she needed her clothes back."

  "No, she doesn't." He turned slowly. "Jane hardly rides these days."

  "I thought her name was Joan?"

  "You must be muddling her up with someone else." He caught Sharon's arm and swivelled her around to look at the view. "Wasn't it worth the journey?"

  She nodded and followed the line of his finger to the country stretched out below. The sun shone on vivid green and gold fields, and in the far distance the motorway, tiny black cars speeding along it, was a snaking silver grey ribbon.

  "It makes one feel like a Colossus," she said. "As if you could control everything."

  "What an awful thought," he laughed. "I'd hate to be in control."

  "I wouldn't have thought so. You've always struck me as being strong, with a very rigid sense of what's right."

  "You make me sound like a bit of a prig."

  "Oh no," she disagreed. "You'd be the last person to condemn anyone.''

  "I should hope so. Live and let live is my motto."

  "It's mine, too." Remembering his conversation with Adam, she was anxious to tell him he need have no fear in confiding in her. "I don't believe one has the right to judge anyone else. A person is governed by so many inner motivations that, unless you know what they are, you can't even begin to understand."