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‘Well, just so long as you’re sure. If you ask me, this was all a bit of a rushed job.’
His worried frown told her exactly what he was thinking, and she hurried to put his mind at rest on that score.
‘No, I’m not pregnant, if that’s what you’re hinting at. We haven’t even slept together yet. Ronan knew I preferred to wait. He understood…’
‘Then he’s a rare sort of man if he did,’ George declared with typical Yorkshire bluntness. ‘But that explains his haste to get you down the aisle, I suppose. If I was thirty years younger, and had a beauty like you wearing my ring, then I know I’d want to rush through the wedding pretty damn quick too. Every day I had to wait would seem like an eternity.’
‘Uncle George!’
Warm colour flooded Lily’s face from her slender neck right up under the coils of blonde hair that were topped by a delicate crystal tiara, and she lifted her bouquet of white lilies to try to conceal her blushes.
‘Now don’t you go coy on me, young madam! I know you’re twenty-six, and that’s quite old enough to know what I mean. Your Ronan would have to be dead from the neck down if he didn’t know what a treasure he’s getting in you.’
‘I think you can rest easy on that score,’ Lily assured him, some very personal memories starting up her blushes again just as they were beginning to ebb.
Ronan might have acceded to her desire to wait until their wedding night before they slept together, but that didn’t mean he had acquiesced easily, or waited with patience or restraint. They had come very close to breaking their resolution more than once in recent days, and she for one was more than thankful that theirs had been only a very short engagement. As it was, it would be barely two months from the moment they had met until their wedding day, and for Lily that was more than enough.
The sound of the organ beginning the familiar notes of the traditional ‘Wedding March’ brought her attention back to the present, making her turn towards the door into the church. With slightly shaky fingers she adjusted the sleek, elegant lines of her ivory silk dress, smoothing the long skirt down carefully. Then, lifting her head high, she turned a wide, confident smile in her companion’s direction.
‘Time to go!’
‘No second thoughts?’
‘None at all. You were right, Uncle George. Ronan is a very rare sort of man, and that’s exactly why I’m marrying him.’
The interior of the church looked every bit as beautiful as she had imagined when she had planned the designs for the floral arrangements, with creamy old-fashioned roses at the base of the stained glass windows and white freesias, lily of the valley and trailing ivy decorating the end of every pew. On the altar, two tall displays of lilies mirrored the flowers in her bouquet, their elegant height, creamy waxen petals and golden stamens making them look very similar to the traditional church candles one might have expected to see there.
But no real candles burned anywhere inside the old building. Lily had explained her feelings on that matter when she had booked the church, and the priest had understood perfectly. So the only illumination on the altar itself came from the soft light of the early spring sun that poured through the wide, arched windows behind it.
The next moment Lily’s gaze went to the man standing tall and straight before the altar, his tall frame lovingly enhanced by the perfect cut of his formal morning coat, and immediately she forgot everything else. This was Ronan, her fiancé, so soon to be her husband.
Her heart kicked sharply under the tightly boned bodice as her amber-coloured gaze drank in the power and strength of his long body, the straight line of his back and firm, square shoulders. His feet were planted firmly on the stone-flagged floor, his legs strong and steady, with no trace of the nervous tremble that had suddenly affected her own. The sun that slanted through the nearby window fell directly onto his head, making the burnished copper strands gleam amongst the silken darkness.
But that was when she noticed the change in his appearance that had made her do a double take.
His hair! Ronan had cut his beautiful hair! Where only the day before it had been thick and shining, with a strong natural wave, now the chestnut locks were clipped into an uncompromising crop that exposed the back of his tanned neck.
Lily had to bite down hard on her lower lip to hold back the small sound of disappointment that almost escaped her. She had loved to curl her fingers in that dark silk, and had looked forward to doing just that in the intimate privacy of their wedding night. Short-haired, he looked older, harder, the change in his appearance seeming to emphasise the dynamic, forceful side of his nature that had led to his reputation as a ruthless businessman but which she had rarely seen in her own dealings with him.
But she couldn’t say anything about it now. Already the priest had moved forward to begin the ceremony, and at her side Ronan had turned to face her. Every other thought fled from her mind as he took her hand in the warm strength of his and she saw the blaze of appreciation that flared in his eyes as he took in her appearance fully for the first time.
In that moment it was as if the church and the congregation had melted into one multicoloured blur. There was only herself and Ronan and the promises they were making to each other, the vows of love, honour and faithfulness for the rest of their lives.
And all the time, in the depths of that intent grey-blue stare, burned the evidence of a desire so strong, so ardent that it set up sensations and responses in her own body that were entirely inappropriate to their surroundings and the solemnity of the occasion.
But once the service was over, and they were at the reception in a nearby hotel, Lily couldn’t hold back disappointment any longer and she turned on Ronan reproachfully.
‘You cut your hair! Why did you do that?’
‘And happy wedding day to you too, my love,’ was the swiftly sardonic response. Ronan’s straight, dark brows drew together in a faint frown. ‘What happened to, I love you, darling husband. I’m so happy to be your wife?’
Hearing an unexpected and perturbing fervour behind his words, Lily caught herself up on what she had been about to say and substituted instead a careful echoing of his own phrase.
‘I love you, darling h-husband.’
To her consternation her tongue tangled round the word, turning it into a stumbling and gauche hiccup.
Was it real? Could Ronan really be her husband? After all the days of impatiently counting the hours, the nights of dreaming of just this moment, it seemed impossible that at last those dreams had finally come true.
‘I’m so happy to be your wife.’
‘Are you?’
It was there again, that worrying emphasis, a sharpness that edged his words with steel. His eyes were silver fire, seeming to want—to need—to drag the response from her, rooting it out of her very soul.
‘Are you happy? Truly happy?’
‘Of course I am.’ Reaction to the unexpected ferocity of his questioning put a small quiver into her voice. ‘Ronan, what is this, the Spanish Inquisition?’
‘I just wanted to be sure.’
‘Sure!’
Ronan’s sudden and uncharacteristic need for reassurance sent a rush of delight and excitement through her, flooding her heart with renewed love for him. The thought that even a man as self-contained and assured as Ronan had proved himself to be could feel insecure where she was concerned spoke of such a depth of emotion that it brought hot tears to her eyes.
‘Oh, Ronan, how could I not be sure? I’ve just married the man I love in front of all my friends. Everyone I know is here…’
‘Except Davey,’ Ronan inserted almost harshly.
‘Except Davey,’ Lily agreed solemnly.
This time the tears that stung so sharply stemmed from a very different source. It would have made her day perfect if her brother could have been there.
‘I wish I’d been able to get in touch with him.’
‘So do I,’ said Ronan, with such feeling that Lily looked up at him in some surprise.
‘I didn’t know it mattered so much to you.’
‘Well, let’s just say that I would have preferred to have met your brother before today.’
His eyes drifted away from her to stare out across the crowded room, but Lily got the distinct impression that he saw nothing of the brightly dressed guests, laughing and chatting in small friendly groups. Slowly he drew a deep, uneven breath, and when he turned back to her his expression had altered in some subtle, indefinable way. And when he spoke again she had the strangest feeling that he was not pursuing the topic that had been uppermost in his thoughts.
‘After all, we’re not exactly well off for family, either of us. We’re two adults of not exactly ancient years, and yet we can’t muster even a single relative between us.’
‘I know…’
It was a sigh of sorrow and regret as her thoughts went to her own parents, killed in a tragic accident when she had been seventeen and Davey six years younger. They would have loved to be here today, to see her as a happy bride, and she had no doubt that they would have approved of this tall, handsome, successful, but above all loving man she had chosen as her husband.
Sadly, Ronan, too, was on his own. When she had asked him which of his relatives she should invite to the wedding, his reply had been short to the point of curtness.
‘No family. There’s no family, but I can give you a list of friends if you like.’
And the number of his friends had gone a long way towards making up for the shortfall on the family side, she reflected. Not only that, but some of them had already created quite a stir in this small northern town, one that would persist long after the wedding celebrations were over. As an extremely wealthy businessman, whose extensive interests amounted to an empire, Ronan had contact with equally rich and well-known people, many of whom were here today.
Not that she had had much of an opportunity to talk to any of them. Ronan had kept her very much at his side so that she hadn’t had much of a chance to get to know any of his guests. She could only hope that they wouldn’t hold it against her later.
A faint frown drew Lily’s fair brows together as she recalled her meeting with one of Ronan’s particular friends. His best man, Connor Fitzpatrick, had seemed rather distant when she had been introduced to him the day before, and he had subjected her to a disturbingly close scrutiny that had distinctly unnerved her. Hannah, her own best friend and chief bridesmaid, was having much more success with him now on the dance floor, some remark she had made earning her a wide, brilliant smile.
‘Why the black look?’ Ronan had caught the change in her expression.
‘I was just thinking that I get the impression Connor doesn’t really like or approve of me.’
Those steely eyes flashed swiftly in the direction of his friend, that hint of a frown returning just for a moment. But then a second later Ronan turned back to her with a smile that dismissed her fears as foolish and unnecessary.
‘What’s not to like or approve, little silly?’ he murmured softly. ‘To tell you the truth, he’s probably far more likely to doubt my own sincerity and motives in entering into this marriage. After all, I’ve hardly been the type to settle down until now, and, let’s face it, this was something of a whirlwind romance. You knocked me right off my feet and I haven’t been able to regain my balance ever since.’
Those words had reassured her at the time, Lily recalled miserably, reluctantly coming back to the present to find herself still staring at the door through which Ronan had just disappeared. But now they rang brutally hollow, overlaid instead by the cold, callous declaration that he was leaving and never coming back.
The sound of a door opening downstairs jolted her into movement. What was she doing sitting here like this, letting Ronan go? He was her husband! They’d been married for less than twenty-four hours. Was she going to let him leave without a fight?
Frantically she flung back the bedclothes, snatching up the mint-green wrap-around robe that lay on a chair beside the bed. Refusing to allow herself to dwell on the fact that the matching silk and lace nightdress which she had worn so briefly the night before now lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, where Ronan had discarded it in the heat of his passion, she yanked it on, tugging the belt fastened as she headed for the stairs.
The front door stood wide open, letting in the sunlight and the sound of birdsong. The cheerful noise stabbed at her, bringing home the contrast between its light-hearted notes and the dark sense of dread that dulled her own soul.
‘Ronan!’
He was already outside, standing by his car as he loaded his case into the boot. The sight made her heart thud against her chest in shocked recognition that he had meant what he had said. Even now, she had still held on to the weak thread of hope that it had all just been some sick, tasteless joke.
‘Ronan, wait!’
He ignored her, his dark head turned away, the set of his broad shoulders under the tailored jacket seeming to declare unrelenting rejection of her plea without a word being spoken.
‘Oh, please, don’t do this!’ She reached the steps from the main door as she spoke. ‘Ronan, you can’t do this to me. I won’t let you!’
Slowly, deliberately, Ronan reached up and slammed the lid of the boot closed. The dull thud it made reverberated inside Lily’s head, making her think fearfully of steel doors slamming in her face, or the sound of a clock sounding an hour she had dreaded.
But then he turned, and at the sight of his face all other thoughts fled from her mind, leaving it cold and hollow with dread.
This wasn’t Ronan! This wasn’t the man she loved with all her heart, the man she had given herself to, body and soul, only the day before!
It was as if some stranger had moved in, an alien, who had taken over Ronan’s body, ejecting his spirit and leaving behind only the shell of the man to whom she had given her heart. A stranger with the same burnished hair, the same devastatingly attractive features, the same lean, strong build.
But these were not the same eyes—not her Ronan’s eyes. They were cold and hard as tempered steel, lethal as a stiletto-blade, impregnable as metal shutters.
‘You can’t…’ she began again, but her voice had lost all conviction.
The look Ronan turned on her was wintry, bleak as the coldest November day.
‘I can do anything I want,’ he flung at her. ‘Just try and stop me.’
CHAPTER TWO
LILY did the only thing she could think of.
Heedless of the fact that she was wearing nothing but the green robe, and determinedly ignoring the bite of the gravel into the soles of her bare feet, she ran out into the drive and caught hold of the sleeve of Ronan’s jacket, clinging on to it tightly.
‘I won’t let you go until you give me some sort of an explanation! You owe me that at least!’
The words were swallowed back down her throat as she met the inimical blaze of his glare, his eyes burning translucent in the spring sunlight. Ronan shrugged off her clinging hold with a negligence that was positively insulting.
‘I owe you nothing,’ he declared, fastidiously adjusting the fit of his jacket before opening the front door of his car. ‘If anything, the debts are all on your side.’
‘On my… Oh, no, you don’t!’
Seeing that he was about to slide into the driver’s seat, she lurched forward once more, this time fastening her arms around his narrow waist from behind.
She realised just how big a mistake she had made as soon as her fingers locked together above the polished metal buckle on the narrow leather belt he wore. Now her hands were resting on the taut, flat plane of his stomach, her hold bringing her breasts and hips into close contact with the firm line of his back.
She had held him like this last night, only then he had been warm and approachable, not this glacially hostile stranger. He had been wearing only a towelling robe, having got up in the middle of the night for some reason. She had woken to find him staring out of the bedroom window and had crept up behind him, coming close and sliding her arms around him just as now.
But it had been so very different then. Then she had felt his immediate response, his sudden tension, the reaction of his body betraying his hunger for her with a speed that had made her laugh out loud in delight. She had pressed up against the width of his back, sliding her fingers under the loosely tied belt of his robe, sighing her pleasure as she’d encountered the warm smoothness of his flesh.
And Ronan had sighed too, a sound that was half a gasp of pleasure, half a moan of surrender as he’d swivelled round within the confines of her arms to gather her close to him.
But under these very different circumstances such memories and the cruel stab of pain they brought were a source of weakness. If she let them they would undermine her resolve. They had already left her vulnerable to Ronan’s immediate reaction, making it only too easy for him to break free from her hold with a force that sent her spinning away, crashing painfully into the side of the car.
‘I’m going, Lily,’ he declared harshly. ‘And nothing you can do will stop me.’
This was proving so much harder than he had anticipated. She had only to touch him and every nerve in his body set up a clamorous demand, tightening until there was an ache in his groin that pleaded for the release of pleasure that he had known the night before.
When he had started out on this, he had believed he could keep all emotion out of it. He hadn’t reckoned on wanting her so much. But he had to fight that base need. It would destroy him and leave his plan in ashes if he didn’t.
It took all his strength to wrench himself away instead of turning and gathering her up in his arms, kissing her with the sort of hungry sensuality that took him with it into mindless oblivion.
Despair tore at Lily’s heart as she saw him slide into the driving seat and push his key firmly into the ignition. Despair combined with the feelings that now assailed her to make it impossible to think clearly.
She had known only one night of this man’s lovemaking, had spent just a few short hours in his arms, but her body knew his so intimately it was as if she was some slave of long ago, marked with her master’s brand. She had only to touch him and every sense sprang into vivid, throbbing life. Each nerve burned sharply, awakening, yearning, demanding the pleasure his caresses could bring.
Like a finely tuned instrument responding to the skill of a master performer, she had only to feel the warmth of his body, inhale the intensely personal scent of his skin, feel his heart beating under her cheek and she was lost. Able only to perform the tune that he decided to play.
But if she didn’t act now, and quickly, he would be gone, and she would never see him again. She didn’t doubt that he meant what he said; conviction was stamped into every hard line into which his face was set. The trouble was that she had no idea why.
A sudden blaze of panic brought a desperate clarity to her thoughts. An idea so crazy it might just work sprang into her mind, pushing her into action. Not giving herself time to lose her nerve, she swung round sharply and clambered up on to the bonnet of the Mercedes, gathering her inadequate clothing around her as she did so.
‘Lily!’ It was a bellow of pure rage. ‘Get off there!’
‘Make me!’
