That Devil Love Page 7

  ‘Let us know when the wedding’s going to be,’ Helen broke in.

  Matt groaned. ‘You know what this will mean…a new outfit and an outrageously expensive hat…’

  Smiling, Zan said, ‘Make it a matron of honour’s dress… And get moving. We’re being married in four days’ time by special licence.’

  Annis felt as though she’d been pushed from a plane at thirty thousand feet without a parachute. She had hoped for some breathing space; she hadn’t expected it to be this soon.

  Amid exclamations of surprise and excitement, they were escorted across the hall.

  At the door the two men exchanged a few words in an undertone before Zan settled Annis in the car and turned to wave.

  During the short journey home he whistled softly, melodiously, while, pale and tense, staring straight ahead, Annis tried to still the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

  It was incredible to think that only that morning she’d awakened in her own bed feeling relatively cheerful, without a notion of how the day would end.

  When they got back, she went straight through to the kitchen while Zan garaged the car. The clock on the mantelpiece showed it was still barely nine-thirty, but she felt bone-weary.

  She was sitting staring blindly into the fire, wondering how on earth she was going to cope, when Zan strolled in and remarked, ‘We ought to let your brother and sister-in-law know.’

  Reaching for the phone, he dialled the number of the nursing home. Then, sitting on the arm of her chair, so close he brought her out in gooseflesh, he passed her the receiver.

  After a couple of rings she heard Linda’s clear voice answer, ‘Hello?’

  Her mind whirling with conflicting thoughts, she stammered, ‘I-it’s Annis…’

  ‘Hi!’ Linda sounded on top of the world. ‘Just after you’d left this morning the doctor came round. He told me if I keep improving at this rate I should be out of here in a couple of days. Home. Isn’t that wonderful?’

  ‘It certainly is,’ Annis agreed.

  ‘I can hardly believe things have turned out so marvellously… Just imagine, if Mr Power hadn’t—’

  As though he’d been waiting for his cue, Zan took the phone from Annis’s nerveless grasp and said, ‘Make it Zan. In the circumstances we can dispense with formality… Annis and I are going to be married.’

  ‘Married!’ Linda’s excited squeal could easily be heard. ‘Our congratulations to you both. Have you a date fixed yet?’

  Zan told her, adding, ‘We’d like you to be a matron of honour, even if you have to follow the bride with your arm in a sling.’

  Linda said something Annis didn’t catch.

  Laughing, he answered, ‘Sorry… Neither of us wanted to wait… Yes, you could say that. We’ll be in touch about the arrangements. Take care of yourself.’

  Replacing the receiver, he remarked with some satisfaction, ‘Your sister-in-law sounded pleased, and not unduly surprised…’

  Of course he’d planned ahead, laid the ground well, Annis conceded bitterly. And she’d gone where he’d led, like a lamb to the slaughter.

  ‘It appears she’s a great believer in love at first sight.’ Watching Annis’s expressive face, he queried sardonically, ‘Or were you intending to tell them the truth?’

  ‘No, I wasn’t,’ she said baldly. There was no way she could do that. It would put a terrible burden of undeserved guilt on their shoulders…

  Noticing the effort she was having to make not to droop, he said, ‘You look all-in. I suggest an early night.’

  There was a taut stillness, the air all at once filled with sexual tension.

  He sighed. ‘So now you’re going to panic?’

  ‘I don’t need to, do I?’ She strove to speak coolly. ‘You did agree to separate rooms?’

  ‘Of course.’ He gave her a glinting look. ‘Until you change your mind and want to move in with me.’

  Dismissing the possibility, she said with cool disdain, ‘If that happens I’ll tell you.’

  ‘When it happens you won’t need to tell me, I’ll know.’

  His absolute certainty made her break out in a cold perspiration. She wanted to scoff, to call such confidence overweening. But in a very short time, clearing all known obstacles from his path with ferocious speed, he’d got her practically where he wanted her.

  Not only had she accepted his terms and his ring but in just four days they would be man and wife.

  So hadn’t he every reason to be confident?

  It was a terrifying thought.

  Determined not to let him see her consternation, head high, back ramrod-straight, she preceded him up the stairs.

  At her bedroom door, when she would have gone straight in, he lightly took her arm, turning her towards him. Softly, he said, ‘Goodnight, Annis. Sleep well.’ A finger beneath her chin, he tilted her face up to his.

  This time his kiss was light, in no way threatening. Different emotions chasing through her, she forced herself to stand quietly, without making any effort to pull away.

  Hands spanning her slim waist, he suddenly turned on the heat, the tip of his tongue running across her lips in an erotic, exploratory caress.

  Fire crackled along her nerve-ends and she gasped, her lips parting helplessly beneath the sweet, drugging demand of his.

  As his tongue teased and tormented, head reeling, she swayed towards him, her palms flattening themselves against his chest. Through the thin sweater she could feel the solid bone and muscle, the heat of his flesh.

  A torrent of passion ran through her, swift and molten. She was filled with a burning desire and her arms went around his neck and she clung to him, drowning in the scent of him, delighting in the contact with his lean, strong body.

  Stop! Stop! Suddenly sanity screamed a warning, and horror at what was happening took the place of excitement.

  Although the heated blood still rushed through her veins, her brain all at once became clear and icy-cool. If he was feeling the kind of hunger she was feeling, leading him on until he was fully aroused and then calling a halt was one way she could hurt him. Get revenge in some small degree.

  He’d promised not to force her and, whatever his faults, she believed he’d keep his word.

  But it was still a dangerous game to play, the voice of common sense warned her. Despite her hatred of him, she wasn’t immune to his powerful sexual attraction. Though she would be if she kept remembering Maya, she told herself grimly.

  Feeling her stillness, he drew back a little and looked down at her.

  In that instant she knew that if she pulled away he would let her go.

  Emboldened, she sighed and ran her fingers into his black hair, marvelling how the shorn curls, which looked so crisp, felt like silk.

  He made a sound, half sigh, half groan, and his arms closed tightly around her, pulling her slender, fragile body to his.

  ‘You’re so lovely,’ he muttered, ‘and I want you to distraction…’

  His kisses on her upturned mouth were sweeter than wine and just as heady. But she had to keep control.

  Thickly, he admitted, ‘I’ve wanted to hold you like this for what seems an age… I’ve even dreamt of making love to you…’

  Now! Now! she told herself, and, summoning all her resolve, pulled away.

  His dark face looked absorbed, almost dazed.

  ‘You promised you wouldn’t rush me,’ she said accusingly, and held her breath.

  She heard his teeth snap together. After perhaps five seconds, he admitted, ‘So I did,’ and turning on his heel, walked away.

  With a sense of triumph she went into her own room and closed the door. Yes, she could do it! she told herself exultantly.

  He was forcing her to marry him, but when they were married, instead of succumbing to his attraction, as he hoped, she would lead him on until he was almost frantic with passion and need, then spurn him as he’d spurned Maya.

  The stronger, more urgent his desire for her, the better; the hurt w
ould go deeper. And whilever he kept trying to make love to her, she would keep repeating that rejection.

  The following Wednesday, at four o’clock on a cool but sunny afternoon, they were married by special licence in the Church of St George, Mayfair.

  It had been decided that Annis should be married from Rydal Lodge, and earlier that day Zan had driven her over.

  Apart from the actual wedding-party, only Zan’s housekeeper—a sturdy, grizzled Scotswoman whose air of dourness was belied by a gleam of humour in the granite-grey eyes—was present at the ceremony.

  Everyone appeared somewhat stunned by the speed at which events had moved.

  Matt, good-looking and immaculate in morning dress, was Zan’s best man, while Richard, equally prepossessing, gave the bride away.

  Helen and Linda, clad in pale apricot silk, and excited as a pair of schoolgirls, made beautiful matrons of honour.

  If the bride—tall and slender, ethereal in an ankle-length dress of ivory lace and georgette—seemed quiet and pale, and her darkly handsome groom looked stern and formidable, it was put down to the solemnity of the occasion.

  Owing to the extremely short notice, Zan’s other sister and brothers—scattered around the globe—were unable to be present, but all had sent their warmest good wishes.

  After the ceremony Matt produced a camera and insisted on taking a whole series of photographs, before they went on to the Eden Park’s wedding-reception suite for a champagne meal.

  When they reached the hotel, throwing off his air of gravity, Zan became his smiling, urbane self and, for everyone’s sake, Annis did her best to follow his lead.

  The others hit it off well, finding plenty to talk about, while Helen’s high spirits and Mary Matheson’s dry humour added a sparkle to the proceedings.

  It was Linda, looking happy and animated despite her sling, who remarked, ‘You haven’t mentioned a honeymoon. Are you going away?’

  ‘Of course,’ Zan said smoothly. ‘But not until tomorrow morning.’ He glanced at Annis, and with a glint in his eye added, ‘I didn’t fancy spending my wedding-night on an aircraft with three hundred other passengers.’

  As Annis felt her cheeks start to burn, Helen asked, ‘Where are you going? Or is it a secret?’

  A barely perceptible glance passed between Zan and Matt, then blandly, Zan told her, ‘It’s a secret. Not even Annis knows…’

  When the party finally broke up, the housekeeper—a self-confessed member of the ‘early to bed, early to rise’ brigade—was having difficulty smothering her yawns, and as soon as they arrived home she bade the newlyweds goodnight and retired to her quarters.

  ‘Would you like a drink or anything before we go up?’ Zan asked.

  Annis shook her head. She felt exhausted and, now the necessity to appear happy in front of Linda and Richard was over, totally dejected, her spirits flat as a dead battery.

  Over the past four days Zan had neither kissed nor touched her, and apart from discussing the wedding arrangements had scarcely spoken to her.

  She should have been relieved, but somehow she wasn’t. Like the lull before a storm, the ominous calm, the sense of waiting, had only served to add to her uneasiness.

  Even Mrs Matheson had remarked on his taciturnity and, rightly guessing the cause, had said, ‘Well, I’ll no’ be sorry when the wedding’s over. I canna abide to see a grown man acting like some bairn with its nose pressed against a sweet shop window.’

  Preceding him up the stairs now, still in her wedding finery, Annis recalled how she had held her breath and waited for the explosion. But, apparently used to his housekeeper’s acid-tongued frankness, he’d just smiled grimly and let it go.

  When she reached the room she’d been using, Zan’s comment about his wedding-night sticking in her mind like a burr, Annis shot straight inside and, closing the door, turned the key in the lock.

  Then, her breath coming fast, her heart thudding like a trip-hammer against her ribs, she stood with her back to the panels and waited for his reaction.

  For a moment or two there was dead silence, then she heard his light, even footsteps carry on down the landing to his own room.

  Relaxing, she heaved a sigh of relief, and turned to get her night things.

  It came as an unpleasant shock to find that—presumably after she’d left for Rydal Lodge—all her clothes and belongings had been moved—no doubt into Zan’s room.

  Oh, well, she’d just have to manage.

  Having taken off her shoes and stockings, she removed the simple lace coronet that she had pinned into place, and let her waist-length hair tumble down her back.

  When she reached to undo her wedding-dress, however, she encountered a problem. It had a long, close-fitting bodice which was fastened right down the length of her spine with tiny covered buttons and loops. Even using a small button-hook provided by the shop, it had taken Helen quite a long time to do them all up.

  After struggling—hampered by her hair—for what seemed an age, Annis was forced to acknowledge that though she’d managed to unfasten quite a few, there was no way she was going to get the rest undone without help.

  Having weighed up the options, she balked at the thought of disturbing Mrs Matheson. She would sooner sleep in the dress…

  But already its boned bodice was uncomfortably tight, and in the morning she would still have to ask for help.

  Dreading the derision such an appeal would undoubtedly give rise to, in desperation she tried to tear the buttons free.

  The attempt proved unsuccessful, and, hot and agitated, fighting back tears of anger and frustration, she was forced to admit defeat.

  After waiting a moment or two to regain some degree of composure, she took the only option open to her. Head high, she walked barefoot along the landing and tapped at Zan’s door.

  There was no answer.

  He wouldn’t be asleep already, so he must be in the bathroom, or taking a shower.

  Turning the handle quietly, she opened the door and peeped in. The lamp on the chest of drawers was still burning, casting a pool of bright light which left the rest of the room in shadow.

  Leaving the door ajar, she slipped inside, mentally rehearsing how she would handle it. A casual ‘I can’t quite reach the middle ones…’ Or, ‘Can you just undo these…?’ then she could retreat with her dignity intact.

  ‘I wondered how long you’d be.’ His soft remark made her almost jump out of her skin.

  He was in bed, hands clasped behind his black, curly head, leaning back indolently against the pillows.

  Waiting for her.

  As the thought crossed her mind, he got up with that cat-supple agility she had come to know so well and, padding over to the door, shut and locked it with a flourish.

  He was stark naked. Broad shouldered and lean-hipped, muscles rippling beneath skin like oiled silk, he looked a magnificent male animal.

  Her throat closing up tight, she croaked, ‘What are you doing?’

  Calmly, he replied, ‘Locking the door. And before you object, may I remind you that you set the precedent?’

  There was such leashed passion, such sensuality and grace in the lines of his virile body, that a combination of excitement and fear tied her stomach in knots.

  ‘Well, you can just unlock it.’ She managed to sound a great deal more confident than she felt. ‘I only came to ask you to—’

  ‘Help you out of your dress? I’d be delighted to.’ His voice, with that fascinating hint of foreign origin slightly more pronounced, was a purr. Smiling tigerishly, he advanced on her.

  ‘Don’t come any nearer,’ she said sharply, backing away despite herself.

  He stopped in his tracks and pointed out, ‘I can hardly undo buttons from this distance.’

  Hair slightly rumpled, tawny eyes gleaming, he looked so devastatingly, hatefully attractive that he took her breath away.

  Distrusting the satisfaction in his eyes, the barely hidden triumph, she wished fervently that she hadn’t come.<
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  ‘Just don’t get any ideas,’ she warned. ‘I’ve no intention of sleeping with you.’

  ‘It’s quite usual for the bride and groom to sleep together on their wedding-night.’ He spoke soothingly, as though to some dim-witted child.

  As she ground her teeth, he went on, ‘In fact most people don’t consider they’re really man and wife until the marriage has been consummated.’

  Her voice sounding hoarse, she said, ‘You forced me to marry you, but you can’t make me sleep with you.’

  His expression hardened, and glimpsing the icy determination behind his mocking smile, she faltered, ‘You won’t…?’

  ‘No, I won’t. As I told you when we made our bargain, force of that kind has never been on the agenda. Now, about those buttons.’

  Suddenly he was close. Much too close. Overpowering in his sheer maleness. Confident, maybe, that he didn’t need force.

  She retreated a step, saying agitatedly, ‘I wish you’d put something on.’

  Lifting a dark brow, he pointed out, ‘I am your husband. And surely you’ve seen naked men before?’

  Not in the flesh. Not this close. And never with the kind of physical beauty that sent her temperature soaring and made her whole body zing into life…

  ‘But if it bothers you…’ He reached for a short navy-silk robe and, pulling it on, tied the belt loosely, before suggesting, ‘Suppose you turn around.’

  She turned obediently, gathering her long silky hair and pulling it forward over one shoulder.

  With a sure, light touch he dealt unhurriedly with the recalcitrant buttons. Inevitably his fingers brushed her skin, and she quivered.

  The last one undone, he eased the dress from her shoulders and arms and, as it slipped to the floor, touched his lips to the nape of her neck while his hands came up to cup her breasts.

  With a muffled protest she tried to move away, but the froth of material around her ankles made walking impossible.

  He drew her back against the warmth of his body, imprisoning her there. Before she could regain either her wits or her balance, his mouth was travelling up the side of her neck and across the soft skin beneath her chin, making her shiver with pleasure.