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The Wrong Kind Of Wife
Roberta Leigh
I stopped being interested in him years ago. Lindsey and Tim Ramsden were married - but in name only these days. Their once passionate relationship hadn't survived a bitter understanding. Now they had met again. Was it possible to recapture the love they had shared?Or should Lindsey accept that what she felt for Tim was over and it was time to move on? Would her past always haunt her, or was life offering her a fresh chance at love?
The Wrong Kind of Wife
Roberta Leigh
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE (#u73f20e28-6d92-53f2-8761-fa7db27d4de9)
CHAPTER TWO (#uffdbac7f-e671-516f-bf7e-b2e4ec63590c)
CHAPTER THREE (#u930ad35f-3ba3-5404-84c0-aae488c94c6d)
CHAPTER FOUR (#u6cb3a06e-2911-5b3d-946d-fdc64e5cbf34)
CHAPTER FIVE (#u538f6c63-b291-5d1a-97dc-de9fa01d2d05)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER THIRTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FOURTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIFTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIXTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINETEEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
AS LINDSEY handed over her charge card at the supermarket checkout, her thoughts were not centred on the bill but on how she was going to tell her husband she had to go to Paris again. It was the second time this month, and Tim had barely got over his annoyance at her last trip.
It wasn’t as if she enjoyed going, but travelling to interview celebrities was part of her job as a television researcher, and if she wished to further her career there was no way she could refuse. Because of this she had just splashed out on an expensive bottle of wine, instead of the usual plonk, to accompany tonight’s meal. Tim would appreciate it, and hopefully would be in a better humour when she broke the news.
Balancing the carrier bags in one hand, she unlocked the front door with the other. A smell of burning fat greeted her and she sighed. Tim was cooking again!
Hurrying into a kitchen so tiny one couldn’t swing a cat in it, she saw him in the act of pouring a soggy black mess down the drain.
‘Hello, sweetheart,’ he greeted her, one hand raking back the errant lock of blond hair that was always falling across his forehead. ‘I thought I’d make the supper for a change, but I guess I misread the recipe!’
‘I wish you’d leave the cooking to me,’ Lindsey retorted. She was tired, cold and hungry, and her temper was at flash-point. With an effort she controlled it and moved towards the sink. ‘Fix me a drink, darling, and I’ll clean up,’ she said more gently.
‘Let’s have dinner out,’ Tim said, putting his arms around her.
As always, his touch excited her, even though she found his suggestion irritating. Had he forgotten they were supposed to be economising?
‘I’ve bought a stack of food,’ she pointed out.
‘It won’t go to waste. Come on, sweetheart, it will do you good to relax.’
‘I can relax better here. I’ve been out with a questionnaire the whole day.’
Tim frowned. ‘I hate the thought of you tramping round the freezing streets while I sit in a warm office doing nothing.’
‘Don’t be silly. I’m only “tramping the streets” until I’ve finished my survey. And you don’t do nothing all day—you work damned hard.’
‘As dogsbody to a drunk! Beats me why Turlow hasn’t been fired.’
‘He’s considered an institution,’ Lindsey said drily. ‘Though I heard a whisper that he’ll be through in a year. And if you play your cards carefully—’
‘I still won’t get his job. I haven’t enough experience to be political correspondent on a national daily.’
‘Turlow wouldn’t have chosen you as his assistant if he didn’t think you capable of taking over from him. What’s happened to your confidence? If you—’
Tim’s mouth on hers silenced her, and though she was still cold and tired she responded to his touch.
‘How hungry are you?’ He nuzzled his face in her neck and breathed in the scent of her.
‘For food, or—?’
‘For or.’
‘Getting hungrier by the second,’ she murmured, relaxing as he swung her into his arms and carried her into the bedroom, the one place where they were assured of perfect harmony.
Their coming together was quick and intense, expressing the fierce need they still aroused in each other, and with Tim’s manhood inside her Lindsey revelled in being the woman he loved, marvelling, as she so often did, that she was the one he had chosen to make his wife.
‘I love you,’ she whispered, running the tips of her fingers down his sweat-slicked skin. His sharp intake of breath and the swell of him inside her excited her, and she pressed her lips to the golden whorls of hair on his chest that arrowed down to his stomach.
Triggered by her touch, his thrusting movements grew stronger and he was no longer able to hold back, his body responding in a flash-flood of urgency that matched hers, sending them both spiralling among the stars, from which they seemed to descend a long time later.
Lindsey awoke first. Tim was lying on his side, an arm flung across her, his hand resting on her breast. Asleep, he looked younger than his twenty-six years. He often acted younger too, she reflected, then pushed aside the thought, feeling guilty for thinking it. Yet it was true. In every respect except years she was the more mature. Not surprising, given that she had spent most of her adolescence in an orphanage after her mother and stepfather had been killed in a motorway crash. It had been a tough grounding, and it had required determination and tenacity to escape from it and win a scholarship to university.
Even now she cringed at the memory of the raw, naïve young girl she had been. Luckily her outward appearance had not given her away. Tall and fashionably thin, with wild, dark red hair cascading past her shoulders, blazing green eyes and a naturally voluptuous red mouth that drew attention to her pale, creamy skin, she had looked every inch the confident feminist of the eighties.
Her aura of self-assurance had deceived Tim as well, and after their marriage she had made an effort to put the bitter memories of the past behind her, determined not to let them sour the happy present; and though there were occasional times when they returned to haunt her, she allowed no one to be party to her tears.
As if sensing her thoughts, Tim stirred in his sleep and pulled her close, and with a returning surge of tenderness Lindsey snuggled into the warmth of him and switched her mind back to how they had met.
It had been at a party in Cambridge—where else would two people of disparate backgrounds cross paths? Tim had grown up on the family estate in Somerset, near the town of Evebury where his father owned a successful engineering plant.
Within moments of seeing Lindsey across the room, Tim had pushed his way across to her. She had been flattered that the best-looking man in the room had eyes only for her, and felt as if she were Delilah and Jezebel rolled into one!
An hour later they were seated in a small but expensive restaurant on the outskirts of town—one that was way out of the price-range of herself and her friends—and Tim had teased her for weeks afterwards about her appearing more interested in the menu than him!
It was untrue, of course. Her concentration on the food had been a device to hide her discomfiture, for it was the first time she had been taken anywhere so elegant, and by someone who was clearly at home there. She had always dated men from her own background and avoided mixing with the rich set.
But with Tim it had been different. He had disarmed her with his warmth and natural charm, his innate good manners that made him treat her as if she were someone special. And to him she was special, her sharp tongue and fiery spirit a great contrast to the girls he usually escorted. Within days they were in love, spending every possible moment together, and regarding their hours apart as wasted ones.
‘You’re so caring about everything,’ he had commented on one occasion. ‘When I’m with you I see the world through your eyes.’
‘It isn’t such a comfortable world as yours,’ she had stated.
‘I know, and I’m sad for you. I want you to be happy always, Lindsey.’
Lindsey had wanted this too, but was afraid it was not to be, for she knew her happiness was with Tim and did not believe their relationship would turn into a permanent commitment. She had grown up in too tough a school to believe in fairy-tales, and Cinderella was strictly a story in a book. So she was dumbfounded when he’d asked her to marry him.
She had accepted instantly, and they were married shortly after they graduated, with a small reception given by Tim’s parents for their close family and a select few of their friends.
‘A big wedding wouldn’t be quite the thing,’ Mrs Ramsden had explained with a cool smile. ‘I mean, it isn’t as if you have any family to invite...’
The implication being that, even if she had, they would have felt out of place and been unacceptable. Mrs Ramsden had not expressed her antipathy to Lindsey in any concrete manner, but Lindsey had sensed it the instant they met. Mr Ramsden had tried to be friendly, but since his wife was the dominant personality she realised she would never have anything other than a constrained relationship with either of them.
To begin with the knowledge had distressed her, making her nervous of saying or doing the wrong thing. How she had envied Tim his genial social manner which enabled him to mix with people from every stratum, an ability that her relationship with him had shown her she did not possess. She felt alien with his friends, and was unable to relate to his political views and opinion of world events.
Yet their physical attraction for one another had been stronger than their dissimilarities, and as Tim’s love for her had deepened and his dependence on her grown, her self-confidence had reasserted itself; not that he was ever aware of her fears and doubts, for she was adept at concealing her innermost feelings.
Tim stirred in her arms, bringing her back to the present. ‘You have the most gorgeous eyes,’ he whispered, looking into their green depths.
‘I was thinking the same about yours,’ she smiled as he drew her closer, but resisted him as her closeness made him harden.
‘Not again?’ she teased, easing away and slipping out of bed.
‘Again and again! The more I have you, the more I need you.’
‘You’re just greedy!’
‘Mmm. But at least it doesn’t make me fat!’ He studied her as she slipped into an emerald silk wrap. The skirt swung round her shapely legs and the tightly cinched belt revealed the contours of her firm, high breasts and small waist. ‘All you need to complete the 1920s illusion is a long cigarette holder,’ he teased. ‘You look like a Scott Fitzgerald heroine.’
Pushing off the duvet, he followed her to the kitchen, grabbing a bathrobe en route. ‘I thought we were going to a restaurant?’
‘It’s a waste of money,’ she replied, deftly making a salad before putting a small French bread into the oven to crisp. She hummed to herself as she did so. Sex with Tim always made her feel good.
He watched her for a moment, then methodically set the table and opened the wine. ‘For someone who dislikes wasting money,’ he grinned, studying the label, ‘isn’t this extravagant? Or are we celebrating something?’
‘I felt like spoiling us,’ she replied, and from his pleased expression knew the Australian Shiraz was going to have the effect on him that she desired. But she would wait until he had drunk a couple of glasses before imparting her news.
She put slices of gammon under the grill, then made a four-egg omelette, her movements deft with long practice.
‘Get the coffee going, Tim.’
Whistling tunelessly, he did, then set out the cream and gold coffee-cups, a present from his mother. And how like his mother they were! Lindsey thought: elegant, fragile, yet extremely durable if handled carefully. Mrs Ramsden was used to a household of servants, and her two daughters and son had been equally cosseted. Now Tim was roughing it, according to his mother’s standards, and no doubt she blamed her daughter-in-law for it, though she had not put her feelings into words.
Discarding the unpleasant thought, Lindsey divided the omelette and gammon into two while Tim took the bread from the oven and poured the wine. The meal was simple but appetising and he did justice to it, though Lindsey, rehearsing how to tell him of her forthcoming trip, merely toyed with her food.
‘Not hungry?’ he asked.
‘Lovemaking has that effect on me,’ she said, knowing this would please him, and, seeing it did, she quickly took advantage of it. ‘I have to go to Paris for a few days. I was only told today.’
‘Not again!’ he exploded. ‘That’s the second time in three weeks.’
‘It isn’t for long,’ she placated.
‘That’s what you said last time, and you were away a week. Do you have to go, Lynnie?’
‘Yes. And I wish you wouldn’t call me that.’
‘Sorry, angel.’
She forced a smile. She hated the abbreviation because it was one her stepfather had used. She had been a scrawny eight-year-old when he had married her mother, but at twelve she had started to bloom, and he had begun hanging around her in a way that had instinctively frightened her. Even now she loathed thinking about it, and had never mentioned it to Tim.
‘Why not go down to Evebury while I’m away?’ she said aloud, hoping the suggestion would placate him. ‘You have several days due.’
‘I don’t enjoy going without you.’
She knew the reason too well and stifled her irritation. It would have been an opportunity to impress on his parents that he was making his own way, but he obviously couldn’t do it unless she was there to give him moral support.
‘I can’t take my father going on at me to join the business, and mother stoically holding back the tears,’ he explained.
Lindsey sniffed. ‘Pity they don’t realise how happy you are.’
‘Happy with you, darling, not with my job.’
Morosely Tim pushed back his chair and rose, and she feasted her eyes on him. Tall, slim and strikingly handsome, he had wide shoulders and athletically co-ordinated movements. His face reflected his patrician lineage: high cheekbones, wide forehead, and finely chiselled nose and mouth. His thick, dark blond hair was soft and faintly unruly, and unusually well-shaped eyebrows marked genial grey eyes. With his bathrobe knotted casually around his waist, he epitomised the well-bred man about town.
