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‘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 the sole purpose of inconveniencing him! Ethan could be mind-bogglingly selfish at times.
‘Don’t worry, I don’t need a nursemaid. You don’t have to waste your time at home for my sake.’
‘Nursemaid!’ he scoffed. ‘I’m beginning to think you need a minder. As for staying at home, I’m in court this afternoon. Alexa has agreed to pick Emma up from school.’
Hannah didn’t have time to hide her dismay from him.
‘I do think you might make a little bit more effort with Alexa—she is the children’s grandmother.’
Effort, me? thought Hannah. She grated her teeth at the sheer injustice of this criticism. Alexa Harding had been horrified when she’d learnt that the nanny was to take her daughter’s place. Having any woman take Catherine’s place would have been hard for her to accept, but the fact that Hannah was, in her eyes, menial household help made the situation unacceptable to the older woman.
At first Hannah had thought she might come round, if she saw the children were happy, but, if anything, the closer Hannah had become to the children, the more bitter their grandmother had become. She never missed an opportunity to belittle Hannah in front of Ethan—she was about as subtle as dripping acid. Hannah longed for Ethan to side with her—just once. Only he never did. He remained aloof from the petty squabbles.
‘It’s very kind of her,’ Hannah said in a expressionless voice. Anxiety crowded out the appearance of calm as she rushed on. ‘You didn’t tell her what actually happened, did you?’ Alexa would have a field-day with that sort of information.
‘Does it matter?’
Hannah grabbed his wrist, her fingers digging into his skin. ‘Yes, it does,’ she persisted urgently.
Ethan looked from her pale fingers to her flushed face with a quizzical expression. ‘I stuck to the accident story.’
Hannah heaved a sigh of relief. ‘Thank you.’ Realising she was still clinging, she abruptly released her grip.
‘The truth isn’t the sort of story I’m likely to spread around.’
‘Are you trying to imply that by getting into his car I was inviting…?’
‘My God, don’t be so touchy!’ he exploded. ‘I’m not implying anything of the sort. Hopefully you’ve learnt something from the experience, but that might be asking too much.’
Didn’t he ever make a mistake? ‘I’ve learnt not to expect any sympathy from you.’ She flushed at the implication that she desired sympathy from him.
‘Not when you act like a naïve schoolgirl,’ he snapped back crisply. ‘Get in the car. Not this one—mine,’ he added as she reached for her car keys. ‘No, don’t put those away,’ he said, catching her hand. ‘You’d better lock it first. Do you make a habit of leaving a welcome card for car thieves?’
‘I thought I had locked it. I always lock it.’ His sceptical sneer made her want to scream.
Ethan drove a high-powered black BMW. He parked at the end of a tree-lined avenue and told her tersely he’d only be ten minutes. He didn’t explain where he was going, but then he never did. Whatever his business was, he looked pretty grim.
Ethan was always punctual, and it was barely ten minutes later that he returned. He opened the door and threw in her brown leather shoulder bag.
‘I thought you’d like this back. You’d better check everything is there,’ he advised, sliding into the driver’s seat. ‘It won’t bite; you take a look.’
‘Where did you get it?’ she asked hoarsely.
The engine purred into life. ‘Where do you think?’
‘How do you know where he lives? What did you do…?’
‘The college was very helpful when I explained good old Craig had left his wallet in my car last night. Shocking security,’ he observed mildly.
‘What did he say? Did he just hand it over?’
‘He said too much,’ Ethan observed curtly.
‘About me?’ she asked miserably. She could just imagine what sordid lies he’d wheeled out to justify his actions. She felt sick just imagining that Ethan had believed any of it. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him.
‘Don’t worry, he admitted the truth eventually.’
‘Eventually?’ She looked at his grim, hard-edged profile and realised she was being pretty slow. Ethan wasn’t the sort of man people intimidated, but he was more than capable of doing the intimidating if he felt the situation justified it. His next words confirmed her dawning suspicions.
‘Craig is now personally acquainted with fear. That was what you wanted, wasn’t it? I forget how long you had in mind, but I always think it’s quality not quantity that counts.’
His thin-lipped smile made her shudder. This wasn’t the indulgent father; this was a ruthless man—a dangerous man. She’d never actually appreciated before just how daunting Ethan could be.
‘You didn’t…didn’t hit him, did you?’
His charcoal-grey suit was pristine and his silk tie lay smoothly against the white background of his shirt. He didn’t look like a man who’d just been brawling. Her eyes went to his knuckles as his hands lay lightly on the steering wheel—no tell-tale marks.
‘Nothing so crude. I just told him what I’d do to him if he ever touched you or any other woman again.’
‘And that scared him?’
‘You had to be there.’ His smile was savagely silky. It made Hannah shudder. It made her realise how little she knew this man she’d married.
‘Are lawyers supposed to behave like that?’ she asked doubtfully.
‘I didn’t go in there wearing my wig, Hannah. I went in there as your husband. I didn’t lay a finger on him—of course, if he’d tried…’ He shook his head rather regretfully. ‘I knew he’d cave in. I’ve seen his type often enough—inadequate bullies.’ His grey eyes were filled with contempt as he flicked her a sideways glance. Happily the contempt was intended for the loathsome Craig.
She looked away and pretended to go through the contents of her bag. ‘It’s all here,’ she said, not actually registering what was before her eyes. The words ‘as your husband’ kept going through her mind. The warm glow was a ludicrous response; she knew he hadn’t meant anything by it. All the same…
‘Aren’t you stopping for lunch?’ she asked, trying to sound as if it didn’t matter one way or the other. She’d had a lot of experience; she could hear what sounded like authentic lack of interest in her voice.
‘I’m meeting Miranda. She’s assisting me this afternoon.’
Miranda, the newest recruit to Ethan’s chambers, was everything Hannah would have liked to be. Not only was she beautiful, she had brains which had earned her respect in a male-dominated world.
Hannah often wondered if Miranda was the reason Ethan didn’t get home until so late—suspiciously late on Friday nights. It wasn’t really reasonable to suppose he remained celibate; he was a virile, attractive—very attractive—man. Even if he was still hopelessly in love with Catherine, he was still human. She knew he’d always be discreet; it wasn’t in his nature to humiliate her by flaunting his affairs. All the same, the thought of him with the beautiful redhead tortured her.
‘That’s nice.’
‘Is it?’
‘I wouldn’t know,’ she said in an exasperated tone. ‘I was just being polite.’ She tried to slip back into their old relationship, and the only thanks she got were his snide comments. There was no pleasing some people.
‘Now I know why I married you—for your lovely manners.’
What she’d done to deserve his mockery she didn’t know. She’d grown accustomed to his indifference over the past year, his occasional irritation, but he actually looked as though he disliked her this morning.
‘No, you married me because you wanted a low-maintenance wife who would make as little impact as possible on your life!’ The resentment bubbled up and overflowed into these unwise observations before she could stop it.
He flinched as the accuracy of her husky accusation hit him. ‘Well, I’d hardly call your antics over the last twenty-four hours low maintenance.’ The unvarnished truth sliced uncomfortably through his rationalisations, and, not unnaturally, made him as mad as hell.
Ethan had managed to convince himself that his motives in marrying Hannah, whilst not being totally altruistic, hadn’t been completely selfish. She’d had so little and he’d been offering her a standard of living that she could never have aspired to. It was a sound business arrangement. She’d always given the impression of being content. Her affection for the children was indisputable, as was theirs for her.
Until he’d been faced with the prospect of losing her, he hadn’t realised how much this quiet girl had become part of the household. The part that had given it the first breath of normality and stability in a long time. It was incredible how someone so unobtrusive could make such a difference. Unobtrusive? Looking at the angry belligerence that tightened the soft contours of her face, he decided the label seemed singularly inappropriate.
‘If I’d had my way you wouldn’t have known at all about last night. It’s your fault for being an insomniac!’
‘Wouldn’t have known!’ He seized on the words as if they were a guilty admission. ‘I thought as much—how many other secrets do you keep from me?’
‘Secrets, me?’ The idea was laughable. ‘If I told you everything I do in a day I’d bore your socks off.’ Not like the lovely Miranda, she thought. I bet he hangs on her every syllable.
The guilt he felt at the most unexpected moments came rushing in and his voice was harsh. ‘So your life’s drudgery, is it?’
‘Luxurious drudgery,’ she corrected sarcastically, her outstretched arms encompassing the elegant surroundings of the period-furnished drawing room. A room that was a tribute to the good taste of her predecessor. ‘What more could a girl ask for? And you accuse me of being touchy!’ she snorted.
He regarded her delicately flushed face, flashing eyes and mutinously set mouth with an odd expression. His stillness made Hannah lick her lips nervously.
Unexpectedly, he caught her chin in one hand. ‘What’s happened to you? You’re not the same person.’ Everything had been going so well. Why the hell did she have to start acting like a woman all of a sudden? And, even worse, why was he thinking of her as a woman?
‘Perhaps you’ve confused silence with lack of feelings, Ethan. I do feel.’
‘And what feelings arouse your passions?’ he wondered out loud. His eyes dropped to the rapid rise and fall of her small, high breasts, and a look she’d never seen before slid into his eyes.
‘Things,’ she replied huskily.
‘Like French classes.’ A trace of discontent had entered his voice.
‘Like French classes,’ she agreed.
‘Perhaps it would be safer for you to look closer to home to satisfy your passions.’ His thumb moved in a circular motion over the small, rounded chin.
‘Do you speak French, Ethan?’
‘It wasn’t the search for intellectual stimulation that made you do a dangerous thing like get in that car last night. The man turned out to be an idiot, but what if he’d had a more subtle approach? Would a furtive kiss in the dark have been so unacceptable to you, Hannah? Isn’t that what you secretly wanted?’
She tore her face from his grip. ‘The only person I’d like less to be touched by than Craig…is you!’ The insulting picture of herself as some sexually frustrated female desperate for male attention made her blood boil. Ironically, the only male attention she craved was his. At least he couldn’t taunt her with the truth.
‘Brave words.’
A logical assessment later would tell her she’d backed his male ego into a corner and the outcome had been a foregone conclusion. Logic didn’t come to her assistance at the time.
It was nothing like her imaginary kisses. Imagination didn’t have texture and warmth and taste. ‘Melting’ had been a word before; now it was a reality as her body dissolved in a rush of mind-numbing sensual delight. Her lips automatically parted under the imprint of his mouth. The taste of him glutted her senses.
When it stopped her disorientation was total. She felt numb and strangely dizzy. She touched the back of her hand to her parted, slightly swollen lips. The eyes she raised to his face were still clouded with a misty languor. It afforded Hannah a tiny measure of satisfaction that Ethan looked to be equally stunned by his actions.
Over the years Hannah had formulated a vague theory that for women it was easy to stop kissing—it was only men who were driven beyond sense and reason by such an essentially innocent pastime.
Innocent! Oh, dear, it looked as if she’d have to reevaluate her hypothesis. Limited research was obviously to blame for her inaccurate conclusions.
‘That was childish of me.’ He was slipping back into his cool professional persona with insulting ease. An adjustment to his gold cufflinks, a judicious twitch of the tasteful tie.
‘Childish isn’t the first word that springs to my mind,’ she returned huskily. The destructive friction of his skilful lips and wicked tongue had filled her with an entirely adult ache. It began low in the pit of her belly, but spread just about everywhere.
‘I suppose you expect me to apologise.’ From the stubborn, closed expression on his face, she concluded this was unlikely.
‘Why? I liked it.’
‘Dear God!’ he grated, his stance growing more rigid as he discovered she was examining his lips with dreamy curiosity.
The sharp exclamation brought Hannah belatedly to her senses. She bit hard on her criminally indiscreet tongue and felt the hot colour wash up her neck until her face was aflame.
‘I mean, a kiss is just…’
‘A kiss?’ he suggested.
‘Exactly,’ she said, relief making her go a bit overboard on the enthusiasm. ‘I don’t think we should mention…’
‘You liked it.’
Hannah frowned, not trusting his suddenly innocent expression. ‘Your loss of control.’
‘That’s very generous of you.’ Perversely, he found himself vaguely dissatisfied that she was suggesting what he had wanted only seconds before.
When the doorbell rang later that afternoon Hannah squared her shoulders and steeled herself for a dose of Alexa. She glanced at the clock on the mantel and frowned—she was early. Hannah was sitting cross-legged on the carpet, playing with Tom, and she smiled wryly as she pulled the child onto her lap, aware she was using him almost as a shield against the battery of criticism she knew was about to be lobbed at her head.
‘Mrs Kemp, it’s a Mr Dubois.’
‘Jean-Paul!’ Hannah exclaimed in pleasure as the figure behind Mrs Turner stepped forward.
‘Hannah, forgive the intrusion.’
‘It’s no intrusion—come in. Would you like tea, coffee?’
‘Coffee would be nice.’
