Marriage of Convenience

Chapter Sixteen

He wouldn't listen, not now, not in this mood. Freya dragged herself to the sofa and dropped to her knees, her fingers shaking as she began to push the piled Notes together in a bunch. He didn't consider that anything she could say could explain or justify the situation he had walked in on. He couldn't trust her. But then, he didn't love her, so why should he?

From the corner of her eyes she saw him move, bend to pick up a scrap of paper from the floor, and his voice was iced over with contempt as he crumpled the hotel receipt and dropped it to the floor again.

'A souvenir, I take it. Been reliving old times, have you? God, he must have something if the affair's been going on that long!' His mouth curled bitterly and she had never seen his eyes so cold. 'So why didn't you marry him to gain access to the money you obviously intend to pour all over him? And don't bother to answer, let me tell you!

Because there was no way your guardians would have approved your marriage to him and so your considerable financial assets would have been frozen for another year. Tough on him, that He likes to spend, I take it!' His mouth thinned, displaying cruelty she hadn't seen before. 'Was he getting restive?

Threatening you to tell your guardians? Was that why you hatched a plan to marry someone your guardians would approve of? And so, as I heard him saying when you'd invited him to my house, two days after becoming my Wife, in order to get your hands on one fortune, you married another. Mine. Sweet heaven did you imagine I'd sit by and let you lavish mine on him once you'd run through yours?'

Things were going from bad to worse, and she couldn't bear it because what he was saying, accusing her of was nothing like the truth. And now, if ever, was the time to make him see that. She was crazily in love with him and she wanted him to love her, and if she couldn't put things straight then this morning's disaster would put the possibility of that ever happening back a hundred years.

She scrambled to her feet; the notes pushed all anyhow back in the package, and he held a hand out, wordlessly, his eyes midnight ice as they swept dismissively over her. 'It isn't what you think,' she began, her courage almost deserting her under that cruelly look.

'Save your breath,' he cut in tonelessly. 'The scene I walked in on was explicit enough, and the hotel receipt confirms that you had no intention of losing a lover of some long-standing.' His hard eyes impaled her, making her feel ill. 'He must be sensational in bed. So much so that you couldn't stand the deprivation. That's why you asked me to make love to you on the island. Any port in a storm.'

'No!' Appalled, she put a hand to her mouth to stop the words from tumbling out. She had asked him to make love to her because she had just realized how much she loved him. But he wouldn't believe that, not now, and if she tried to make him believe it he would end up despising her even more because he'd think she was trying to wheedle her way around him! 'No?' A black brow arched disbelievingly. 'I can't think of any other reason.

And I've no intention of listening to any fairy story you might try to invent.' He tossed the package around in his hands as if trying to evaluate the exact amount. 'I'll pay this back into your account. You are free to do as you like with your own money,' he commented savagely, 'except to give massive handouts to your lover. Like it or not, you are my wife, and, as my wife, I expect certain standards of behavior.' He turned from her dismissively, staring out of the small-paned window. 'Get your coat. I'm taking you home. And don't ever think of trying to see that jerk again or I'll keep you under lock and key.

' Staring at the rigid line of his shoulders, the arrogant tilt of his head, a hot tide of pure rage flooded through her, burning her up, and she turned on her heels to fetch her jacket from the kitchen, her voice shaking with anger as she spat over her shoulder, 'Who the hell do you think you are? God? Well, I hope you find the judgment throne comfortable although it's probably too small for your massive ego!' She wasn't waiting for any reply, and she wasn't even going to try to tell him the truth! He had sat in judgment, condemning her, without hearing her side of the story, saying things, horrible things, things that cheapened the love she had felt for him, the ecstasy she had found in his arms. And she had her pride; she wouldn't go down on her knees and beg! But the heated rush of anger fell away, draining her, and her eyes filled with tears as she saw the carton he must have dropped on the table near the door as he'd walked in and found his wife sprawled out on the floor, another man's body covering her, another man's mouth on hers. 

The name of the local appetizers was plainly printed across the carton in bright yellow letters, so the contents were a foregone conclusion. And there was no mistaking the bottle of Moselle for what it was, either. He'd asked her to have lunch with him, to make his day better, and she'd told him she'd be here, working, and so he had come to her, bringing their lunch, because he'd rather picnic with her than eat off the best china in the most exclusive restaurant in town. And if he hadn't walked in and found her with Leo then she would have been the happiest woman alive because his action, even if he hadn't realized it, meant that she was at last beginning to mean something to him. But now he thought her to be a two-timing slut, and the hopes she'd had of their marriage developing into a two-way, long-term love-affair were dead as cold ashes. And no sadness could be as great as this.