‘GIVE me the card, Oliver,’ she managed quietly.
He shook his head.
‘It has nothing to do with you.’
‘Then why are you so agitated?’
‘I’m not. I…’ Breaking off, she could only watch in helpless horror as he opened the card, glanced at it, and then he went very, very still. He stared at it for endless moments, then moved his eyes to hers. He looked dumbfounded, then anguished. ‘It says nine weeks.’
She swallowed hard.
‘Which makes it—mine. Doesn’t it? Doesn’t it?’ he grated savagely.
‘Yes,’ she agreed thickly.
‘And you’re going to have it…’ Closing his eyes, he crushed the card in one strong fist, dragged a breath deep into his lungs. ‘Oh, dear God,’ he whispered. ‘Terminated.’
‘What?’ she queried in fright.
Opening his eyes, his face white, so very bleak, he shouted raggedly, ‘Mine! My child! And you were going to get rid of it without even bloody telling me! If I hadn’t found out…’
‘No! Oliver, no!’ Her eyes wide, she held out her hand in helpless appeal.
‘Yes!’ Straightening out the card, he shoved it at her. ‘Pregnancy termination! That’s what it says! On the eighteenth of January…’
‘No!’ Grabbing the card, smoothing it out, she showed it to him again, made him read it. ‘Examination! Examination!’ she repeated. ‘Look!’ Reaching out, she hesitantly touched his hand, then flinched when he stepped back out of her reach. ‘Oh, Oliver,’ she whispered sadly, ‘that didn’t even occur to me. I wouldn’t do that, couldn’t do that…Really, I couldn’t.’
‘Couldn’t?’ he repeated savagely. ‘Couldn’t?’ Eyes almost black, nostrils pinched, his face grey, he suddenly turned, slammed his hand violently against the wall, making her jump. Taking a deep breath, he finally looked up, raked her worried face. ‘And you weren’t ever going to tell me, were you?’
‘No,’ she whispered.
‘Why? And why pretend it was Rupert’s? Because you wished it were his?’
‘No! Dear God, no.’
‘And how the hell did you think you were going to manage?’
‘Am going to manage,’ she corrected quietly. Collapsing down on to the chair arm behind her, her eyes fixed on his forbidding countenance, she began again, ‘Oliver, I…’
‘Don’t,’ he gritted savagely. ‘Don’t tell me how bloody good you are at coping! How you had it all worked out! That I was superfluous! God,’ he exploded as he lurched upright, ‘do you have any idea how that makes me feel?’ Striding across the room, and then back, he leaned towards her, his hands clenched as though to keep from striking her. ‘And he—she,’ he castigated, ‘would have grown up never knowing that I was the father! And if it hadn’t been for the doctor, I would never have known that I was going to have a child! I could kill you!’
‘Oh, Oliver,’ she exclaimed brokenly. Reaching out, she gently touched one clenched fist, stared at his anguished face. ‘It wasn’t a question of not wanting you to know, of trying to hide it because I didn’t want you to be a part of it…’
‘Want?’ he demanded. ‘Want? I am a part of it!’
‘Of course you are, but how could I tell you?’ she asked in distress. ‘Just think about it for a minute. I didn’t know what you wanted from me—no, don’t interrupt, I didn’t. An affair? Friendship? You, a famous film star, a man who could have any woman he chose…’ Standing and putting her fingers over his mouth when he would have spoken, she continued, ‘And who was I? No one. A little interpreter. How could I have told you? It would have looked like a trap. And if not a trap, then a plea for money.’
‘And you didn’t want anything from me, did you?’ he asked bitterly.
‘I didn’t want anything you weren’t prepared to give willingly,’ she corrected. ‘I…’
‘And how the bloody hell could I give it willingly if you didn’t damn well tell me?’
With a tired, exasperated little sigh, she grumbled, ‘I didn’t not tell you because I didn’t want you to know! Because I wanted to keep you from your child! I didn’t tell you because…’ Hesitating over her choice of word, she resumed firmly, ‘because I like you too much. Respect you too much. And stop looking at me with such an expression of pained disbelief! How would it have looked? Like blackmail, that’s what! For goodness’ sake! It’s only a few weeks since Henry finished telling me about importuning women! How they follow you, write to you, give you grief. The girl in the papers! I didn’t want to trap you!’
‘Trap? Knowing how very much I wanted to be trapped?’
‘What?’
Throwing her a look of disgust, he swung away and continued ranging angrily round the room. ‘You think I normally play housekeeper to my women friends? Do their cooking? Pay their bills?’ Coming to a halt, he turned to face her, accuse, ‘You really think I would arrange that farce of a dinner party! And you knew then, didn’t you?’
‘No,’ she denied, her voice almost a despairing wail. ‘And it wasn’t a farce, it was beautiful…’
‘Beautiful!’ he derided.
‘It was! But I didn’t think you’d be back!’
‘Don’t be so damned stupid! Of course I was coming back!’
Dumbfounded, she just stared at him. ‘You didn’t say…You left so quickly…’
‘Of course I left quickly! If I hadn’t left then I wouldn’t have bloody gone! I don’t do any of the things I’ve done for you!’ With a bitter laugh, he continued, ‘I hurried home, eager to tell you what your sister had said, ask you about Rupert, invite you to spend Christmas with me—and then I saw the doctor!’
‘I didn’t know…’ she began helplessly.
‘Yes, you did. You aren’t a fool!’
‘But you never explained! Haven’t explained now!’
‘I didn’t think I needed to! God, I don’t think I even know what to say to you any more!’ Giving her a look of savage fury, he stormed out.
Long after he’d gone, the room still seemed to echo with his words, the front door echo from his slam, the faint sound of footsteps on the gravel. Feeling numb, somehow disbelieving, sick and empty, she walked across to the window, dragged back the heavy drapes, and, her arms protectively round her waist, she stared out over the dark Alps. She couldn’t see very much, just an impression of jagged mountain peaks, the occasional flash of light as a car rounded a distant bend, headlights carving a momentary brilliance, only to fade and leave all as before. A few stars relieved the black of the sky, a misty moon, full. Happy New Year, Paris. Swallowing a sob, squeezing her eyes tight shut, her mouth twisting with pain, she fought for control. Felt ill.
Holding her breath for a moment, she slowly released it, watched it fog against the window. And if he’d felt as he said he’d felt—intimated how he’d felt—how could he accuse her of all those things? Believe things about Rupert, the bills…And what came next? Nothing? A financial arrangement?
She didn’t really know how long she stood there staring out over the distant range, an hour maybe, perhaps longer. Her mind almost blank, her body cold despite the central heating, she let the curtain drop, walked back to the fire. The light suddenly dimmed, on a time-switch perhaps, and she knew she should go, find her coat…but the thought was hazy, without energy, and, instead of making plans, she slumped tiredly on to the sofa, stared at pictures in the fire, remembered the night he had taken her to dine. Barely a week ago, and she swallowed hard, closed her eyes, allowed the tears to fall. How special could it have been if she hadn’t got pregnant? If she had been honest with him? There was no way of knowing, but still her mind continued to taunt her with visions of how it might have been. A loving couple, a baby…And nothing, nothing, could be as bad ever again, could it?
Wrapped in her own misery, she didn’t hear the front door open, didn’t hear the soft footsteps in the hall, only became aware of his return when a gentle hand touched her shoulder.
Jerking as though shot, she turned to stare at his shadowy form.
‘I’m sorry,’ he apologised, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’
Her heart still hammering, she shook her head, realised he probably couldn’t see the movement in the dark room, and whispered thickly, ‘It’s all right.’
‘Is it?’ he asked gently, and then his weight was beside her, dipping the sofa cushion, strong arms held her close, drew her against his warm body, yet his cheek against her own was cold, his hands touching hers were chilled.
‘I’ve been out walking,’ he explained raggedly. ‘Thinking. I’m sorry.’
Not sure her voice would work, she shook her head, and, afraid to relax against him, held herself stiff.
‘What does that mean?’ he breathed against her cheek. ‘No talking? No apology?’
With another long sigh, she managed, ‘No, I meant that you have nothing to be sorry for. I made the mess. Asked for all I got.’
‘Did you?’
‘Yes. I wasn’t trying to hurt you…’
‘I know.’
‘Do you?’ She didn’t look at him, couldn’t look at him, because she knew it would be her undoing. She had to be strong. ‘Oliver…’
‘No,’ he said gently. Moving slightly, resting his chin on top of her head, cuddling her more warmly against his chest, trying to melt her stiffness, his arms a solid band around her, he continued, ‘Don’t tell me how strong you are, how you can cope. Don’t tell me that I’m rich and famous, that no way must I be allowed to become involved with a little interpreter. Don’t tell me how it would ruin my reputation if it became known. Just tell me honestly, without lie, prevarication, how you feel about me. About me, the man. Forget for the moment all the worry, heartache, the baby; just tell me honestly how you feel, how you felt before all this happened, before my accusations. How you felt the night we—danced. The truth.’
The truth? Would that be best? And didn’t she at least owe him that? After all the lies? And it was no good saying she wasn’t affected by him, because he would know it wasn’t true. But she could tell him it had just been an attraction, over now…
‘The truth, Paris,’ he repeated softly.
With a little shiver, touching the hands that held her, a small contact to give her courage, so unbearably aware of the steady heartbeat against her side, the soft breaths that fractionally moved his chest, the wishes, the hopes that filled her, the pain, she stared into the leaping flames, and began to tell him. Honestly. ‘When I first saw you, it was as though everything that had happened to me before wasn’t there any more. All my hopes, values, dreams fled—to be replaced by awareness of you. And it made me angry. Who were you, to disturb me so? An actor, a man practised in deception, illusion. And so I denied it, fought against it, refused to see the man beneath. And then you kissed me—and it was as though I’d never been kissed before.’ With a little sad sigh that contained perplexity, misery, confusion, she leaned back into his embrace, clasped his hands tighter. ‘And it was all so silly. And then you started being nice to me, and that wasn’t fair, Oliver, because it polished the dream—and the dream was impossible. And even if it hadn’t been, I didn’t want to be involved with an actor again. I’d had enough of the film world when I’d been seeing Rupert…’
‘Seeing?’ he asked carefully. ‘Or living with?’
‘Living with,’ she confessed quietly. ‘I’d met him at a party that Athena and Chris had thrown, and he seemed different, nice, not shallow and egotistical like the rest. Only that too was illusion. Perhaps I was flattered, I don’t know. But he didn’t adore me, Oliver, he used me—and Athena couldn’t understand why I minded. He was just beginning to make a name for himself, getting offers from foreign producers; he needed me to translate. Because I was there, because I was handy, didn’t make waves…’
‘Didn’t? Doesn’t sound like you.’
With a faint smile, she agreed. ‘No. But I thought I was in love, you see. I wasn’t really happy in that world; people weren’t—kind. Oh, they pretended to be, but mostly everyone had an eye to the main chance, and it didn’t seem to matter who you trampled on to get to the top.’
‘We’re not all like that.’
‘I know. But I wanted you to be like that, because then it might stop the feelings.’
‘And did it?’
She shook her head. ‘And then I had too much to drink—I told myself I’d had too much to drink, and that was why I behaved as I did, but it wasn’t true. Not true at all—or not entirely. I wanted you, wanted your warmth, your love—not to keep, I knew I couldn’t have that, and I didn’t mean for it to be physical, a union—that just happened. But I didn’t regret it, or not until Athena said…’
‘She’d had an affair with me.’
‘Yes. And all I could think was—both sisters. If I hadn’t accused you, if I hadn’t been ill—if I hadn’t become pregnant. And oh, Oliver,’ she exclaimed sadly, ‘how could I have told you? I could tell no one. Loving you, how could I ever have told.’ There, it was admitted. Love. And it was a release. With a faint, sad smile, knowing he was intelligent enough to understand, not to feel guilty for her idiotic behaviour, she turned her face slightly and touched her cheek to his shoulder. ‘I knew, always knew, that it could go nowhere; that was why I fought so hard against my feelings. I didn’t want to be hurt, and knew that I would be.’
His mouth touched her hair, his breath feathered across her face as he spoke, but not, initially, about what she had confessed. ‘Your hair smells of apples and spices, warm, heady…How long were you with him?’
‘Rupert? A few months.’
‘And when did you leave him?’
‘Last March. What did Athena say?’
He gave a humourless laugh. ‘Before you went to Portugal.’
‘Oh, Oliver.’
‘Yes. Ambiguity. But I was angry with her, and perhaps because she saw something I didn’t want her to see she tried to pay me back. She knew, or suspected, that mention of another man would hurt.’
Hurt? Or disappoint? ‘Sharp lady,’ she murmured, remembering his words.
‘Yes.’
‘And you recognised her for the lady she was, isn’t that what you said?’
‘Yes. Because she was like so many others who try to cause me grief. Because I’m well-known…’
‘All right, famous. Wealthy, a hot property,’ he added cynically. ‘But I don’t like that world any more than you do, Paris. I don’t go to their parties, drink with them, play with them. I do my work, and go home, or back to wherever I happen to be staying. And over the years I got a reputation for being difficult, moody, hard to work with…’
‘Which doesn’t bother you at all.’
‘No.’
‘Because you have your own good friends who know you for what you are.’
‘Yes.’
‘And so Athena lied.’
‘Yes. And the truth of the matter is that I probably did meet her, briefly, at some charity do. She said I did anyway, expected me to remember her.’
‘And you didn’t. But you don’t say you had an affair with someone just because they don’t remember you!’
‘Not most people, no. Not you, but Athena isn’t like you, is she?’
‘No. She’s beautiful, and…’
‘Paris,’ he warned. ‘Don’t.’
‘What?’ she asked, puzzled.
‘If you put yourself down just once more, I shall be extremely angry. And do not compare yourself to your sister to your detriment. You’re worth a hundred of her! She’s spoilt. You probably spoilt her. Your parents…’
‘Yes,’ she admitted, ‘she was easy to spoil. She wasn’t always hard—deceitful,’ she added reluctantly. ‘But when our parents died, perhaps I tried too hard to make up for their loss, pushed her into being someone she wasn’t…And I wasn’t putting myself down. She is pretty, and, I suppose, I was always proud of that. My lovely little sister.’
‘Lovely on the outside,’ he corrected. ‘And perhaps you all gave her a need to shine, be important; perhaps she would have been like that anyway. Some people are. But not you. You seem to think that your star never even got born. Don’t you?’
‘No,’ she denied with a lofty tone that chased brief amusement across his face. ‘I’m well aware of my capabilities—and limitations.’
‘Are you? Then why do you always expect people to prefer your sister to yourself?’
‘I don’t.’
He gave a disbelieving grunt. ‘Anyway, that’s why she lied. She’d seen me come out of your room, and it was pretty obvious I hadn’t been cleaning it, learning any lines. I’d shown her up in front of the film crew, in front of you, the one person she always needs to impress.’
‘Impress? You make it sound as though she’s jealous of me, and that’s absurd!’
‘No, it isn’t. I hadn’t given her the adulation everyone else was giving her. I was the star, you see. The important one.’ His mouth twisted for a moment, before he continued, ‘I’d made love to her sister, and that couldn’t go unpunished, because, you see, I had never made love to her. And then I compounded the error. I ignored her. As, apparently, I ignored her once before—and then I walked across to speak to you…’
‘Shout at me.’
‘Shout, but she didn’t know that, did she? And it couldn’t be allowed, could it,’ he asked gently, ‘for the pretty sister to be ignored and the plain one not? She had an image to keep up, that she was special, important; she had to promote the lie that famous film stars found her irresistible. Especially in front of you.’
Turning so that she could see his face, recognising that there might be some truth in that statement, she murmured thoughtfully, ‘She didn’t expect me ever to ask you? See you again? And so the lie was safe?’
‘Something like that. Certainly she didn’t expect to see me again, didn’t expect me to go and ask her, specifically, why she had lied. And perhaps it was inconceivable to her that I might, at some future date, actually look you up, want to see you. I don’t think she stopped to consider what might happen if I did, just wanted to make herself appear important in your eyes.’
‘But that doesn’t make her important!’ she exclaimed confusedly.
‘No,’ he agreed softly.
‘That’s sad.’
‘What is?’ he asked gently.
‘Needing to shine so badly that you lie. I mean, it’s not as if there was ever any need to be jealous of me… I mean, I could understand it if I were the pretty one with the enviable lifestyle…’
‘You think her lifestyle is enviable, Paris?’
Glancing up, puzzled, she shook her head. ‘No, not me, I told you how I felt about the film industry, but other people do. Friends, neighbours…’
‘Because she promotes herself, exaggerates, wants to be envied—and because, in truth, her life isn’t nearly so interesting as your own. You don’t ever boast about the people you meet, the places you’ve been—but people who’ve worked with you, met you, and who also know Athena, tend to tell her how nice you are. Kind, capable, good fun…Exceptionally elegant.’
Rupert hadn’t. He’d said she should be grateful that he’d even noticed her. Utterly nonplussed, not sure she believed his explanation, she just stared at him. ‘Do they?’ she asked, sounding almost wistful.
He smiled, nodded. ‘The crew had been telling her just that before you came into the dining-room, or so Henry said. She weren’t amused,’ he parodied softly. ‘But no one ever says that about her to you, do they?’
‘No, but they say…that she’s pretty, that we aren’t alike…’
‘And you always thought they were making comparisons, to your detriment.’
‘No, not detriment,’ she denied weakly. ‘Just making observations. Well, she is pretty!’
‘Yes, she is. And not very happy. The Athenas of this world always think the grass is greener somewhere else. Afraid that they might be missing something, and so they exaggerate, show off.’ Turning her to face him fully, his arms linked round her back, he asked gently, ‘Have we wasted enough time yet?’
‘Pardon?’ she asked shakily.
Releasing her, framing her confused face with warm palms, he stared down into her bewildered eyes. ‘I want to kiss you,’ he said softly, ‘I want to hold you in my arms, and kiss you.’
Feeling almost ill, she just stared at him helplessly, moved her eyes to his mouth.
‘You remember that moment in the hut? When you made me so irritated that I kissed you?’
She nodded. How could she forget?
‘It was like kissing—an angel,’ he said softly. ‘Heavenly. Gave me one hell of a jolt. Gave you one, too, didn’t it?’
She gave another cautious nod.
‘And I didn’t know what to do about it. Simply did not know what to do. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. You’d needled me, disrupted all attempts to get into the mood for filming, concentrate; you’d made it very clear that you disliked me, and I didn’t want to be affected by it. It was only a kiss.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed, almost mesmerised by his soft voice. ‘Only a kiss.’
‘I didn’t even like you, I told myself. Didn’t like you very much,’ he corrected humorously. ‘Pretended that that awareness didn’t exist. And then we stopped at that funny little café, stopped to help that old lady…’
‘Dragged you all in to help.’
‘Not dragged,’ he denied. ‘We were more than willing, and so I saw a different side to you. And then, sitting in the car outside the hotel, you looked little and cold and sad…’ With another of his self-mocking smiles, he added, ‘And I wanted to hold you, give you a cuddle, kiss you again. You have such a marvellously sexy mouth, did you know?’
She weakly shook her head.
‘A mouth just begging to be kissed.’ His voice thicker, Paris’s breath suspended in a tight lump in her chest, he leaned forward, just touched his mouth to hers, took his time over it, savoured the taste of her lips. ‘And then,’ he continued, his eyes still lingering on her mouth, ‘you had too much to drink at the party, and, because I was liking you, was amused by you—and aroused by you—I insisted on escorting you to your room. We fell on your bed, and, suddenly, I wanted to make love to you. But you barely knew me, had only just begun to relax with me, allow possible friendship, and I didn’t want to frighten you away.’
‘I don’t frighten easily,’ she whispered huskily, and then scolded herself for being a fool. She had to say no, break the contact now, before it was too late, before she succumbed to foolish desires.
‘I know. Now. I didn’t then. And there was also the memory of your taunts, about another girl, that I supposedly seduced. And I didn’t, after all, know you very well, and so I tried to be cautious…’
‘You thought I might—kiss and tell?’
‘It was a possibility, and so I tried to back off…’
‘And I wouldn’t let you.’
‘Mmm. And when we woke and you were so—regretful, so mortified, at first, I thought…’
‘That I was another with blackmail on my mind?’
‘Yes, I thought I was being used.’
‘And I was so full of my own embarrassment…’ And then so full of anticipation. With a long sigh, she asked unexpectedly, ‘Have you ever been married, Oliver?’
Obviously surprised by the change of topic, he shook his head.
‘Why?’
‘Because I never found who I was looking for. Sometimes I thought I had, but it always turned out to be—illusion,’ he said softly. ‘I’m a very cautious fellow.’
‘Not always.’
‘No,’ he agreed, ‘not always. But so many of my colleagues have married, divorced, paid vast sums in settlement, and it all seemed such a waste. Sad, and so I wanted to be sure.’
‘I see.’ Still staring rather helplessly at him, remembering what Henry had said, she opened her mouth, closed it and sighed. She’d got things wrong all along the line, hadn’t she?
‘And I wasn’t sure about you, Paris. Awful to be so cynical, I know, but you weren’t like anyone I’d ever known. And anyway, it was only a brief encounter, I kept telling myself, and, as such, to be forgotten. Only I couldn’t forget it; I kept remembering your warmth, your passion—your accusations. And so I left, angry with you, and then with myself. And then I stopped to consider why. Why was I angry? I’d liked you, but it was, after all, only a temporary liaison…’ A rather wry smile in his eyes, he touched his nose to hers, but didn’t explain further, which left Paris prey to all sorts of doubts and fears. ‘And then, when I eventually got to the studio, things had been delayed so I came to see you—and then they were un-delayed and I had to go back. Filming was going to tie me up for at least another week, and then I had to go to Africa, and that was so damnably harrowing that I didn’t want to ring you, speak about it on the phone; I needed to see you face to face. And then, when I was free, I couldn’t find you.’
‘How did you know where I lived?’
‘William.’
‘Oh. And then I was ill.’
‘Yes, and so it obviously wasn’t the time to talk about it in any detail.’
‘And then you discovered that I was pregnant,’ she whispered.
‘No.’
‘What?’ she asked, confused.
‘And then I discovered that I loved you. Then I discovered that you were pregnant.’
Loved her?
‘And I was angry—no, I was out of my mind—and so I accused you…Oh, Paris, I can’t tell you how I felt. So—gutted. So I left. And now I’ve come back.’
‘Yes.’ The room was shadowy, dim, firelight flickered in his eyes masking their expression. Loved her? Had? Or did? And if it was had then she couldn’t allow herself to be beguiled, persuaded, because of the baby…
He gave a funny little sigh, as though he were—disappointed? And then he moved her hair aside, touched his mouth to her nape. ‘The fragrance of your skin is warmth and contentment…’
With a little shiver, she asked sadly, ‘What film script is that from?’
‘Book, not film,’ he said softly, his breath puffing gently against her exposed nape, making her shiver more. ‘A Wayward Life. Debner. It seemed—appropriate.’ Linking his arms back round her, folding her against him, he asked softly, ‘Do you always make up other people’s minds for them?’
Puzzled, she shook her head.
‘Put words in their mouths?’
‘No, of course not.’
‘Then why do it to me?’
Turning her head, searching his face, trying to see the expression in his dark eyes, her own quizzical and bewildered, she denied, ‘I didn’t.’
‘Yes, you did. You said you knew it could go nowhere, that you couldn’t have my love to keep.’
‘And so?’
‘And so, that’s putting words in my mouth, making assumptions about my feelings, my needs.’
Still staring into his eyes, her heart gave an erratic beat. ‘What does that mean?’ she asked carefully, her voice barely audible.
‘It means that you are a fool, that you lack intuition, that you make assumptions about yourself and other people. So now I will tell you. We will get married, as soon as…’
‘No…’
‘Yes.’
‘Oliver, you——’
‘Paris, you have just confessed that you love me. Confessed it very eloquently, touchingly…’
‘I did not confess it because I expected a declaration! Oliver, you aren’t thinking…’
‘See? There you go again, assuming you’re the only one capable of making decisions…’
‘No! But you can’t marry me!’
‘I can do anything I damned well choose,’ he reproved, on the edge of laughter. ‘I’m a famous actor, you just said so.’
‘Oliver! Will you be sensible?’
‘I’m being eminently sensible. We’re going to get married. You are going to be my wife. And a very nice wife you will make, too. The mother of my child…’
‘Oliver!’ she broke in, exasperated. ‘You cannot marry me!’
‘When’s it due, by the way?’
‘August! Probably. But you cannot…’ His mouth cut off the boring repetition.
When he finally allowed her to breathe, he continued musingly, ‘If it’s a girl, we could call her Vienna…’
‘Very funny. Oliver…’
‘And if it’s a boy, what about Vladivostock?’
‘Oliver!’
He grinned, a beautiful, boyish, happy grin. ‘I forgot to wish you happy New Year.’
‘That’s not for days! Oliver…’
He laughed. Just threw back his head and laughed, hugged her tighter and looked down into her exasperated face. ‘I adore you, the future Mrs Darnley.’
‘Oliver…The future Mrs what?’
‘Darnley.’
‘Your name isn’t Darke?’
‘Nope. I was informed, when I first embarked on my crazy career, that Darnley wasn’t sufficiently memorable. My mother was very cross. But I was young,’ he sighed, ‘eager…’
‘Oliver,’ she reproved darkly, ‘stop playing silly beggers.’
‘But I was!’ he exclaimed in mock indignation. ‘When I was discovered on the front of a knitting-pattern…’
‘On the front of a what?’
‘Knitting-pattern.’
‘What were you doing on the front of a knitting-pattern?’
‘Modelling a jumper, of course.’ Linking his arms more comfortably round her back, he rested his nose on hers. ‘When I was a student at university, to make money—holiday job. Good-looking little devil, I was… Still am, of course.’ The laughter in his eyes intensified, and then he gave her a rueful grin, and suddenly sobered. ‘Oh, Paris,’ he exclaimed softly, ‘don’t you know how I feel about you? Haven’t you ever known? I adore you, you silly girl. You make me laugh, want to hold you, protect you, and when you were so ill it nearly broke my heart. So determined to struggle on alone, so stubborn, your poor little face all white and bruisedlooking… That’s when I fell in love with you.’
‘Oliver!’ she protested, ‘You asked me what sort of fool you were being…’
‘Shh. Asked, hypothetical. Anyway, I already knew that I wasn’t going to allow you to escape. And there was no time to talk, explain, I had already arranged to go out to the States; I needed to see your sister, get that sorted out. Then I had bloody Rupert in my mind! Warned myself not to jump to conclusions, and then I found out about the baby—and you hadn’t told me. I didn’t even know if it was mine!’
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, not entirely convinced she was hearing what she thought she was hearing. ‘But what else could I do?’
‘I know, I know,’ he soothed gently. ‘But there’s a cold little place inside of me, and I keep thinking, if I hadn’t picked up that card and read it, would you have ever told me? Would you have allowed me to go on thinking it was Rupert’s?’
‘I don’t know,’ she confessed unhappily. ‘I’ve been feeling so anguished, so muddled and unhappy, and I thought it would be for the best.’
Hugging her to him, smoothing one large palm across her hair, he sighed. ‘So I went for a walk, eventually calmed down, thought rationally—and realised it didn’t make any difference. Whether you still loved Rupert or not, it didn’t alter the way I feel. And then I decided that your having the baby made it better.’
‘Better?’
‘Yes, because now you would have to marry me—to protect my reputation,’ he smiled.
‘Oh, Oliver,’ she sighed.
There was a little silence, and then he asked quietly, ‘Did you love him very much, this Rupert of yours?’
Her throat aching, she shook her head. ‘No. He never made me feel the way you make me feel just by looking at me, never made me feel as I wanted to feel—and when I found out about his affair, I think I hated him! He said…’
‘What did he say?’ he prompted gently.
Hesitating, not sure it was something she wanted to share with anyone, she finally confessed, ‘He said plain girls should be grateful for anything they could get, as though he’d honoured me,’ she choked in remembered anger. ‘And that I surely hadn’t expected him to be faithful! Well, I had. Naive of me perhaps, but…’
‘No,’ he broke in.
Startled by the tone in his voice, she turned to look at him. ‘No?’
‘Dear God, woman, don’t you think you have the same rights as everyone else?’
‘Yes, of course—and why are you sounding so angry?’
‘Because I am angry! But it explains why you have such a bloody awful opinion of yourself!’
‘I don’t have an awful opinion of myself!’ she exclaimed, affronted. ‘I just…’
‘Believed what he said!’
‘Half believed,’ she muttered, ‘which has nothing whatever to do with what we were—er—discussing.’
‘Yes, it does. I love you, Paris. Need you. Not words, not an—honour! Love, and all that goes with it. To cherish you, take care of you, be loved in return. So don’t say no any more,’ he pleaded gently. ‘Say yes. Yes please, yes thank you, yes whatever—but yes.’
Her eyes still searching his, tears trembling on her lashes, she whispered, ‘I can’t.’
‘You can.’
‘Shouldn’t, then.’
‘Should. You won’t have to attend glitzy parties, if that’s what’s worrying you. Won’t have to meet egotistical idiots; you can stay at home, be a mummy. I’m in the fortunate position of being able to pick and choose parts now, do only what I want to do. We won’t even need to travel, if you don’t want to. Maybe I could switch to directing, theatre work…’
‘Oh, Oliver, don’t. I think I’m going to grizzle.’
‘Say yes first. Come on, it’s not so hard. You love me, don’t you? Don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ she whispered thickly.
‘And you trust me, don’t you?’
‘Yes.’ And she did trust him now, did want him to be with her always, be with him.
‘Yes,’ he breathed against her ear.
She sighed, had barely nodded, when he scooped her up as though she were fragile, as though she were porcelain, carried her out and up the stairs to a softly lit room that had obviously been prepared for her, and laid her gently on the bed. ‘Good girl,’ he approved softly. ‘Now, how does this very elegant outfit undo?’
With a tremulous smile, she showed him. ‘Really love me?’
‘Really,’ he agreed as he carefully removed her knitted top and began on the tailored trousers.
‘Oh. Not because of the baby?’
‘Not because of the baby.’
‘A sexy mouth?’
‘Very, very sexy. I’ll do my own undressing; you seem to be having trouble.’
Removing her hands, she watched him and allowed hope, cautious acceptance to creep into her mind. ‘It seems very extraordinary.’
‘Exceptionally.’
‘The famous Oliver Darke…I’m very plain.’
‘As a pikestaff,’ he agreed cheerfully.
‘We don’t know each other very well…’
‘We’ve always known each other.’
Yes, despite the misunderstandings, it certainly felt that way. ‘I might not mind attending one film première.’
‘One sounds good.’
‘Even appear on a magazine cover…’
‘Great.’
‘I might even…Mmm, that’s nice—oh, Oliver.’
He spluttered with laughter, abandoned the explorations he was making with his mouth, climbed in beside her, above her, dragged the duvet over their heads, made a nice, warm little tent, mingled his breath with hers. ‘Can’t have you getting cold.’
‘No.’ With a little shiver that had absolutely nothing to do with atmospheric conditions, she ran her palms down his warm body, halted and dragged in a deep breath. ‘Oh, boy.’
‘Certainly am.’
With a little giggle, she burrowed closer, moved to accommodate him, gasped, sighed—and then groaned in pleasure, clasping him so very tight when his mouth met hers.
‘Is it all right?’ he asked raggedly, belatedly. ‘I mean, the baby and everything?’
‘Yes,’ she gasped.
‘Thank God.’ And then there was nothing to say for a while, because neither of them had the breath to say it. Not that words were needed, yet, because their bodies said it for them. Blissfully.