“Can’t you just leave things alone?”

“By ‘things,’ I take it you mean you?” Blade smiled coldly. “You are still my wife, Amy!”

“You don’t scare me,” Amy lied bravely. “And I don’t like threats.”

“Then take it as a warning—one you can pass on to interested parties. You are my property as far as I see it, and no one steals what is mine!”

HELEN BROOKS lives in Northamptonshire, England, and is married with three children. As she is a committed Christian, busy housewife and mother, her spare time is at a premium but her hobbies include reading, swimming, gardening and walking her two energetic, inquisitive and very endearing young dogs. Her long-cherished aspiration to write became a reality when she put pen to paper on reaching the age of forty, and sent the result off to Harlequin Mills & Boon®.

Lovers not Friends
Helen Brooks

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ONE

‘YOU know I’ll never let you go, don’t you? I’d rather kill you than let anyone else have you.’

‘Blade—’

‘Don’t Blade me! You’re mine, Amy, you’ll always be mine—one way or another.’

‘You’re crazy—’

‘About you? Maybe—’ the glittering black eyes were merciless ‘—but you know me well enough by now to know that I’m not in the habit of making idle threats. You’ll pay for what you’ve done. Believe me, I can make you wish you’d never been born. And when the payment is over—’ the hard handsome face could have been carved in stone ‘—you’ll still be my wife, my wife, Amy.’

‘No!’ The tortured scream that was wrenched from her throat brought her awake in one violent movement as she jerked upright in the small narrow bed. It was a dream, just a dream … She brought her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms round her legs as she let her pounding heart slow into a more normal rhythm. He wasn’t here, he hadn’t found her … yet. The dream was still too vivid to let her keep back the fears she held at bay in the clear light of day. He would find her. She shook her head with a little moan as the silky sweep of soft golden hair covered her damp face. She had been mad to run away like that; she should have thought it out properly, made plans. No one crossed Blade Forbes and got away with it, no one, let alone his young wife of six months. His power and influence stretched long tentacles everywhere; what could she do?

Nothing. She climbed out of the bed wearily, padding across the small square room and flicking the switch on the coffee-maker with a long sigh as she glanced out of the high, narrow window, her gaze moving past the old stone wall holding the overgrown garden in check, and out over the green fields rising steeply into the distance. The cold grey light of early morning was filling the small room with a dull glow, but outside the harsh sweep of sky was swept clean in readiness for a new day.

Blade. She wrapped her arms tightly round her waist as she let herself think, really think for the first time in weeks. Blade Forbes, American business tycoon extraordinaire, hard, dynamic, with a reputation for ruthlessness that bordered on the extreme, and yet … She shut her eyes tightly as her thoughts sped on. With her he had been gentle, tender, loving, displaying an understanding that she had never dreamed possible in such an arrogant, masculine man. She swayed slightly as the agony that filled every waking moment with a dull ache swamped her afresh, racking her slender body with physical pain. They had been so happy, so in love.

‘Stop it, Amy.’ She spoke out loud into the empty room, her beautiful delicate face white with strain. These endless post-mortems would do no good; it was over, irrevocably over. Loving him as she did, she had had no choice but to leave, and nothing had changed.

As she got ready for work later that morning, the dull, damp start to the day had changed with the mercurial capriciousness of English weather into bright sunshine, a fragrant wave of fresh Yorkshire air filling the small room with the scents of thick moorland turf and wild flowers from the hills beyond, reminding her that summer was just around the corner. This would have been her first summer as a married woman …

The thought was still with her as she arrived at the small restaurant just after one but, within minutes, the hectic bustle in the tiny kitchen had reduced the gnawing pain to the familiar background ache.

She had been lucky to find this job, she thought quietly, glancing round the shining room that was filled to capacity if more than a few people had the misfortune to be in it at the same time. When she had arrived in the Yorkshire Dales three months ago, stunned and shattered at the enormous step she had taken, she hadn’t had any definite thought for the future beyond hiding for a few weeks out of Blade’s reach before maybe trying to make her way abroad.

But then the calm, slow peace of the place had worked its spell on her sore heart, and when her money had run out she had heard about this job from the motherly landlady of the tiny guest-house where she was staying. She didn’t want to use a penny of the vast bank account Blade had set up for her; that part of her life was over with for good, and so it was essential she provide for herself.

The previous assistant cook, waitress and jack-of-all-trades had up and left with a visiting salesman, leaving her husband and children in the process. ‘A flighty piece if ever I did see one,’ Mrs Cox had grimaced disapprovingly, nodding her grey head like a plump, well-fed little pigeon, and the owner of the restaurant had welcomed Amy with open arms even before he had heard about the three-year course she had completed at college in catering economics.

And so she had stayed. As she ladled thick meaty home-made soup into squat earthenware bowls, she reflected on the intricacy of the web of life. It had been her job that had first brought her into Blade’s life and now it was the means of allowing her to survive away from him. She needed the long hours and hard work more than her employer would ever know.

‘All right, Amy?’ She came out of her reverie to find Arthur Kelly watching her mildly, his blunt Yorkshireman’s face enquiring. ‘Feeling under the weather, lass?’

‘No, I’m fine, Arthur. I’m sorry, I was just daydreaming.’ She smiled quickly as she placed the bowls on the tray and prepared to leave the kitchen for the dining area beyond. Arthur was typical of the average Yorkshire native, kind, forthright, but holding to the principle of minding his own business, for which she was supremely grateful. Both her landlady and employer must have wondered at her abrupt arrival into their little community, but they had asked no questions, either directly or indirectly, even when at times the deep mauve shadows under her eyes must have spoken volumes.

She had just placed the two bowls of steaming soup, along with a basket of freshly baked bread rolls, in front of the young couple who had ordered them when the old traditional bell on the front door jangled a new arrival. She felt no presentiment as she turned, no apprehension or sixth sense to warn her that her fragile equilibrium was about to be blown apart.

‘Hello, Amy.’ His voice was quiet, too quiet, and the narrowed eyes were deadly.

‘Blade …’ As her face drained of colour she was conscious, for one piercing moment, of a rush of fierce joy at seeing him again, which was quite ridiculous in the circumstances, and then, as the full horror of the situation swept in on her, she thought for one desperate moment that she was going to faint.

He obviously had the same notion because he moved quickly, forcing her roughly down on to a seat, his voice harsh. ‘Don’t look so surprised. You knew I would find you one day; it was just a matter of time.’

‘Blade …’ She found she was incapable of saying anything but his name; her mind seemed to have frozen into an icy void with no coherent thought that she was conscious of.

‘The very same.’ The glittering black eyes held her dazed blue ones ruthlessly, his arrogant, handsome face as hard as stone, just as in the dream. The dream … She caught at the thought faintly. It had been a warning; she had somehow sensed he was near. She should have been on her guard, should have known… ‘Now get up.’

‘What?’ She stared at him numbly.

‘I said get up.’ The look on his face would have terrified her if she hadn’t been beyond feeling anything, but now she heard the young couple stir behind her and then the man appeared at their side.

‘I say, look here.’ He couldn’t have been more than twenty-one and was clearly scared to death. ‘Is everything all right, miss?’ He was speaking directly to her; his eyes had flicked once to Blade’s dark countenance which had turned his frightened face still whiter. ‘Shall I call someone?’

‘No—’

Her voice was lost as Blade’s low growl cut into the thick, tense air. ‘Don’t interfere in things that don’t concern you, sonny.’ He didn’t look at the youth as he spoke; his eyes hadn’t moved from her face since he had entered the restaurant.

‘Look, I don’t think she wants to speak to you—’

Blade cut off the young man’s voice by the simple expedient of turning the full force of that malignant gaze on to the blanched face, and even in her frozen state Amy felt a dart of admiration for the boy because he didn’t turn tail and run. ‘Go and sit down in your seat.’ His accent was very pronounced, which somehow made the softly snarled words even more chilling. ‘Or I will personally place you there.’

‘Stop this.’ As Army rose jerkily to her feet, she caught the glimpse of terror in the young man’s face and suddenly hot anger replaced the frozen calm. ‘Don’t bully him.’

‘Bully him?’ Blade’s big body stiffened, and she felt a moment of churning fear before she turned quickly to the youth.

‘It’s all right, really. Please go and have your meal.’

‘Are you sure?’ Relief was warring with male pride, but relief won as he scuttled off back to his waiting girlfriend who had been viewing the proceedings with avid interest.

‘What do you want, Blade?’ She had to tilt her head back to look into his face. At over six feet he had always dwarfed her five-foot, four-inch petite-ness, but in the flat canvas shoes she wore for a working day he seemed even larger.

‘You know exactly what I want, so don’t try and play dumb.’ The dark fury that had transfigured his face was new to her; she had never seen him angry before. Coolly cutting when someone had annoyed him, cynically mocking with a sardonic deadly bite on more than one occasion, but he had always been perfectly in control as though it were all a game. But this was no game. The black eyes blazed back at her as she met them square on. And no one knew that better than she. ‘Are you coming out of here with me of your own accord or do I have to carry you out?’

‘I can’t just leave, I work here—’

‘Oh, you can, Amy.’ The intonation his accent gave her name still had the power to make her weak at the knees, she reflected dazedly. ‘And that is exactly what you are going to do.’

‘I’m not coming back, Blade—’

‘Who asked you to?’ There was a hard grimness in his face that had never been there before when he looked at her. ‘You don’t really think I would want you back after what you’ve done, do you? That I still care? That would make me the biggest fool alive.’ Something flickered in the back of his eyes as he spoke, swiftly veiled, and his voice was even harsher as he continued, ‘But I do want to talk to you and I want to know where he is. You understand me? You are both going to learn a lesson you’ll never forget.’

‘Where he is?’ She repeated his words vaguely with the helpless realisation that she had lost her grasp on the situation. ‘Who?’

‘I told you, don’t mess with me, Amy.’ His grip on her arm was vice-like and again she heard the couple behind them stir. ‘I’ve stood all I’m going to take.’

She would have to talk with him. As she stared back into his dark face, it was stamped with the ruthless determination that had brought him from the relative obscurity of second son of a mining engineer in his native America to self-made millionaire at the age of thirty-five when she had first met him a year ago. His toughness was legendary, his inflexibility when he wanted something rock-like. Yes, she would have to talk with him, and the sooner she got it over and done with, the better.

‘I’ll just ask Arthur if I can leave for a while—my boss, he’s out there …’ She waved vaguely towards the kitchen door.

‘You do that.’ His grip lessened and she was free. ‘I’ll give you exactly sixty seconds.’

Fifty-nine seconds later, as she emerged with Blade from the warm interior of the restaurant into the ancient winding village street, she took a deep steadying breath of the pure Yorkshire air before following him to his car.

‘Can’t we just walk?’ she asked nervously, as they reached the low-slung sports car that was crouched broodingly in the grey street. ‘I’d rather—’

‘I’m not interested in what you’d rather,’ Blade said coldly as he opened the passenger door and indicated that she slide in. ‘You’ll do as you’re told.’

He had never used that tone of voice with her before, and suddenly everything in her rebelled against the arrogant authority that had been paramount since she had set eyes on him again.

‘You can’t order me about like this, Blade.’ She tried to keep her voice firm and cool, but she was unable to hide the quiver of pain in its depths. ‘I’m filing for divorce, as you know; you have no right—’

‘Damn my rights!’ His voice was vitriolic with pure rage. ‘I’ve never let “my rights” as you call them interfere with what I want before. Fortunately in this case that is not a problem. I don’t want you, Amy, if that makes you feel a little more comfortable. The only feeling you inspire in me is one of disgust and contempt. Got it?’

She’d brought this on herself and she couldn’t blame him, she really couldn’t, but the torturous pain that was constricting her chest was making it difficult to breathe. She had intended that he forget her, maybe even hate her if that made it easier, but that had been before she saw him again. She couldn’t bear this, she really couldn’t … ‘Then why—’ Her voice cracked and she swallowed before trying again. ‘Why did you find me?’

‘Because, like it or not, you are still my wife for the moment and I’m damned if I’ll allow you to walk out on me without an explanation. There is also the little matter of retribution.’ The black eyes were as hard as granite. ‘So just get in the car, Amy, and keep that beautiful, deceitful mouth closed if you know what is good for you.’ His voice was smooth and controlled and infinitely dangerous.

Once in the car he drove swiftly through the village, past the cobbled market place with its market cross and thirteenth-century church, and up the steep one-in-four hill on the other side that the powerful car took completely in its stride. He didn’t speak again, concentrating on the narrow twisting road contained within old stone walls that were as ancient as time. After long taut minutes she risked a glance under her eyelashes at the harsh, handsome profile, her stomach tightening as she took in the clear tanned skin, straight nose and heavy shock of burnished brown hair. His face had been etched in her mind with painful clarity for the first few days after she had left, but it had been three months now and the image had begun to fade. She loved him, how she loved him, she would never stop loving him—

‘Right, now we’ll have it all.’ He swung the car off the road into a small gateway that looked across a huge backcloth of walled green fields, scattered farmhouses and rolling undulating hills that seemed to stretch into infinity. ‘And I do mean all, Amy, and a word of caution.’ He turned in his seat and took her chin in his hand, drawing her face round so that her eyes met the stony hardness of his. ‘If you lie to me and I find out, I’ll make you regret the day you were born. I want the truth, however unpalatable. Do you understand?’

Yes, she understood all right, she thought miserably as her heart pounded with fear. But the truth was the one thing she could never give him. She couldn’t bear to see the knowledge dawn on that loved face of what the future would hold, the pity, the despair he would feel for her, the desperation to put things right that were for once totally out of his control. And then the waiting for the monstrous thing to happen. No. She had been right to leave and now, somehow, she had to cement the break into place. But how could she begin? How could she look him in the face and tell him she didn’t love him, without him guessing it was a lie?

‘If it helps you start, I know about John Davies.’ The cold voice at her side was now quite expressionless, and he turned to stare out of the windscreen into the world beyond lit with sunshine. ‘The private detective I hired to find you also found out about your “friend”. Unfortunately he wasn’t there when I called,’ he finished grimly.

‘You went to John’s house?’ she asked faintly. ‘But why—’

‘Don’t give me that, Amy!’ He turned with such savagery that her stomach lurched into her mouth. ‘How long have you known him? When did it start?’

‘Start?’ She heard him literally grind his teeth in his rage, and forced her mind into gear. He thought she had left him for John? Sweet, uncomplicated John who had been her friend for years?

‘I remember his name from the wedding invitation list.’ Blade’s voice was as hard as stone. ‘But he didn’t come. Now I understand why.’

‘He didn’t come because he’s been in Spain for the last three years,’ she said tightly. ‘He’s—’

‘Dead when I get hold of him,’ Blade finished grimly.

‘John has nothing to do with this.’ She found she was wringing her hands in her anguish and forced them into tight fists in her lap. ‘He sent me a postcard a few months ago with his new address to say he was back in England, and when I left it was the only place I could think of to go. I didn’t even stay a night with him. He put me in touch with a lady in the village who takes in the occasional guest—’

‘Mrs Cox,’ Blade stated stonily. ‘Yes, I know. I also know that you see him on a pretty regular basis, so do us both a favour and cut the bull, Amy.’

She stared at him helplessly as her mind flew on. Maybe she should let him think she had left him for John? She felt his impatient movement at her side, and turned quickly to speak. The note she had left had stated only that she considered their marriage had been a terrible mistake and that she had decided, unequivocally, that it was over. That she wanted no settlement, nothing from him, and that divorce proceedings would start immediately. He was a fiercely proud, implacable man. If he thought she had left him for a lover, that knock to his male ego would be unspeakable and final. And this had to be final.

‘My relationship with John is nothing to do with you,’ she said quietly. ‘I don’t—’

‘The hell it isn’t!’ he ground out through closed teeth as he studied her set face with harsh black eyes. ‘You took me for one hell of a ride, sweetheart, and no one, no one, does that. When I get hold of him …’ His voice stopped but the look on his dark face was lethal.

‘This is ridiculous,’ she said, with as much calm as she could muster through the racing fury of her heart-beat. ‘Hurting John won’t do any good, I’ll never come back—’

‘You’ll never get the chance,’ he interrupted brutally. ‘You’re soiled merchandise and I only have the best.’ She knew he was lashing out through his own hurt, but hearing him speak like this was agonising. After all they’d shared, all the dreams for the future … ‘By the time I’ve finished with him no other woman will want him, that much I promise you.’

‘Blade—’ She caught herself abruptly. What could she say now? The hole was getting deeper and deeper, but she couldn’t let John take the brunt of this when all he had done was to offer comfort and refuge. ‘John is a friend, nothing more.’

‘Sure he is.’ He opened the car door abruptly and stepped out on to the springy coarse grass beyond. ‘I need some fresh air, something stinks in there.’

‘I mean it, Blade.’ She sprang out of the car, her voice desperate now. ‘Please listen to me.’

‘Listen to you?’ He swung round with such ferocity that she shrank back against the comforting bulk of the car, her eyes wide with fear. ‘Listen to you? Honey, you’re garbage plain and simple. You think lover-boy is in for a good hiding? How right you are.’ The black eyes were narrowed onyx slits. ‘And there hasn’t been a day in the last three months when I haven’t wished you were a man so I could exact the same punishment on you personally. But—’ he surveyed her with a bitter smile ‘—there are more ways than one to skin a rat.’

‘Blade—’ Her breath caught in her throat and she almost choked with fear. ‘Can’t you just give me a divorce and leave it at that—?’

‘You’ll get your divorce.’ A pair of rooks suddenly swooped down over their heads from a large oak tree at the side of the road, their harsh, raucous cry fitting the moment perfectly, and as Blade’s eyes followed the birds she flinched at the bleakness of his profile. But she had to do this. She had no other choice. This might hurt now, but if she stayed with him it would destroy him in the end. She had no other choice.

‘Why, Amy?’ As he turned to confront her, it was the Blade she had been dreading through long restless nights of tossing and turning and tormented dreams. In his face was a glimpse of the Blade only she had known, vulnerable, assailable, with a capacity for tenderness that was unlimited. She could cope with the fierce hostile stranger breathing fire and damnation, but not this, never this. ‘What went wrong? I thought everything was so—’ He stopped suddenly, turning in one harsh movement to stare out over the hills again, his hands clenched fists in his pockets. ‘But I didn’t know you, did I? It was all make-believe, all of it.’

Oh, my darling. As she looked at the back of his head, the sunlight turning the burnished brown gold, she knew she was experiencing the worst that could ever happen to her. The future, with its promise of a living nightmare, was nothing compared to the piercing agony that was gripping her soul in a stranglehold, killing every spark of joy, every good thing. She would exist from this day but she wouldn’t really be alive. But she loved him too much to take him with her into the pit. This way he could recover and live his life. And he would recover. He was a survivor. He’d forget her in time and there would be countless women only too ready to help him.

Her eyes were dry. This pain was too deep for tears, and she turned blindly to look at a tiny farmhouse far in the distance from which a plume of smoke was slowly rising into the blue sky. ‘It was just one of those things,’ she said slowly as she forced the words out through stiff lips. ‘Life’s like that …’

‘Amy?’ She hadn’t been aware that he had turned and was watching her, and now, as she met his eyes, she quickly schooled her features into an acceptable mask. ‘There isn’t something more, is there? Something you aren’t telling me?’

She stared at him, her heart pounding and her mouth dry. She should have been on her guard every second, she shouldn’t have relaxed for a moment. He was too intuitive, too perceptive. How many times had she seen him go straight for the jugular in the past and marvelled at his ability to see beyond the obvious, to expose every little weakness? The same attributes that made him so formidable in business were in force now and she must be careful, very careful.

‘Aren’t the facts enough?’ she said tightly. ‘Do you want more skeletons from the closet? Well, I’m sorry, I can’t oblige you, Blade. You’ll have to hate me for what you know; there isn’t more.’

He stared at her for a whole minute, his eyes searching her face with an intentness that made her breath stop, and then he shook his head slowly, his mouth a thin white line in the starkness of his face. ‘There couldn’t really be more, could there?’ he said with biting cynicism. ‘It was just that for a minute—’ He stopped abruptly and indicated the car with a violent wave of his hand. ‘Get in, I’ve had more than enough.’

They didn’t speak on the return journey, and as he drew up outside Arthur’s little restaurant he leant across her and opened the door in one easy movement. ‘Goodbye, Amy.’ The tone was flat, all emotion gone.

‘Goodbye.’ She never did know how she got out of the car, but it took all the will power she possessed to walk away. She opened the door of the restaurant without looking round, hearing the car pull away with a furious roar of the powerful engine as she did so. She just made it through the kitchen door before she collapsed in a heap at Arthur Kelly’s feet, her eyes big and stunned.

‘Amy?’ Arthur pulled her to her feet, guiding her to the one and only small stool by the back door, his lined face tight with concern. ‘What on earth is it, lass? What’s happened?’ He patted ineffectually at her hands as he spoke, obviously quite out of his depth.

‘Arthur, can I go home?’ She couldn’t speak for several seconds but when she did her voice was a tiny whisper. ‘I feel awful.’

‘You look it.’ He peered distractedly through the pane of glass in the kitchen door at the customers beyond. ‘I can’t really take you now; I’ll call a taxi, yes?’

‘No, please don’t.’ The nearest taxi-cab service was in a small market town miles away and she needed to be alone now. ‘I’ll be home in ten minutes, I’d rather walk.’

‘You don’t look fit to walk, lass, let me—’

‘Please, Arthur.’ She faced him, her blue eyes enormous. ‘I’d rather.’

‘OK, lass, have it your own way.’ He wrinkled his brow worriedly. ‘But give me a call once you’re home, eh? Just to keep an old man happy.’

‘I will. And I’ll see you tomorrow as usual.’

Much later that night, as Amy sat in her darkened room filled with evening shadows, after a meal cooked by the reputable Mrs Cox of which she hadn’t been able to eat a bite, she forced herself to face the fact that had emerged from her meeting with Blade earlier. She had been hoping subconsciously against all reason and all logic that when she saw him again—and she had known, knowing Blade as she did, that she would see him again—that somehow he would work a miracle and things would be all right. It was ridiculous, insane, like a fully grown adult insisting in believing in Father Christmas when the magic had been dead for years, but a tiny part of her had clung on to the hope without her being aware of it.

In all she had had nine months with him, three of those as his wife, and it had been heaven on earth. She had been terrified that first day, as a relatively new employee of the large catering firm she worked for, when she had been called upon to liaise with the great man’s secretary about a formal dinner Blade was holding that weekend. She had ventured into the massive office block with the warnings and admonitions of the other staff ringing in her ears.

‘He’s incredibly difficult to please, so make sure you get every little detail down on paper.’

‘He never tolerates mistakes; go through things with his secretary at least twice to make sure you’ve got it right.’

‘Don’t question anything he asks for; his word is law.’ The list had been endless and had reduced her to a nervous wreck before she knocked on the door to his secretary’s office, which was more luxurious than her own little flat.

The room had been empty, and as she had stood in the midst of the ankle-deep carpeting, the hushed atmosphere reaching out to intimidate her still more, the catch to her case containing all the firm’s literature had broken and the whole mess of papers cascaded out on to the floor. She had been on her hands and knees retrieving them with frantic haste when a deep cool male voice from the doorway froze her in her tracks.

‘Miss Myatt? From Business Catering?’ She raised doomed eyes to the laconic unsmiling figure leaning lazily in relaxed scrutiny as her brain had died on her. ‘My secretary is indisposed today, Miss Myatt; I’m afraid you will have to talk to me.’

He was afraid? She had followed him weakly into the sumptuous office beyond the interconnecting door, setting the case down quickly, which caused it to spill open again in a repeat of the fiasco.

‘Miss Myatt, this is not your day …’ He moved round the desk to help, dark eyes filled with wicked amusement at her discomfiture.

Later he told her he’d fallen in love with her at that moment. ‘Like a bolt of lightning,’ he’d said seriously, his eyes following the smooth pure profile of her face topped by its mass of rich golden hair. She had been twenty-one and hopelessly naïve; he had been thirty-five and anything but.

He was successful, wildly handsome, with a string of much-publicised affairs credited to his account, but when he told her he had never been in love before she believed him. If it had been different he would have told her. He was that type of man. They had laughed together, loved together—and now it was over. Because Blade Forbes was an action man. Their honeymoon had been spent scuba diving and hang-gliding with long, warm nights of passionate love. He hardly knew what it was to be still. And she had loved that too along with everything else about him.

But how would such a man, hard, dynamic, with a zest for life that was unquenchable, cope with a wife who would be confined to a wheelchair by the time she was thirty and a hospital bed five years after that? Unable to move, breathe by herself?

The impersonal brutality of the stark medical facts came back to her as though she were reading them for the first time. The doctor’s report she had been shown hadn’t pulled any punches; indeed the clinical outline of the effects of the disease that was lying dormant in her body till it was matured enough to rear its head in a few years’ time had seemed almost savage on that first reading. But then, how many ways were there to impart news like that? She twisted in the darkness, a pale slender figure in the shaft of moonlight from the uncurtained window.

The cold, typewritten report was engraved in her memory word for word; she only had to close her eyes for the small black letters to be there in all their severity. Her heart pounded as she ran over them again in her mind, their message of a living death as hard to take now as when she had first read it.

She had been right to leave Blade, she had. She caught her breath on a sob of pain; she had had no choice. But, oh—she gazed round the dark room almost wildly—that didn’t make it any easier.

CHAPTER TWO

‘GOOD morning, Amy.’ She stood transfixed, halfway out of the kitchen door, as Blade sauntered across the small restaurant after shutting the front door quietly behind him.

‘What do you want?’ she breathed softly, her eyes drinking in the sight of him even as her logic repudiated the thrill that had shot through her whole body.

‘Lunch? If that’s not too outrageous? I did assume this was a working restaurant?’ The sarcasm was cold and biting and she blushed hotly as he seated himself at a table, his whole demeanour lazy and relaxed.

‘Why are you here?’ She moved to stand by his chair, her voice a low hiss.

‘I am here to eat,’ he said slowly, with exaggerated patience. ‘You do remember that I do all the things a normal man does? Some with more enjoyment than others,’ he finished silkily, his voice dark and rich and his eyes hard and mocking as she blushed hotly.

Thank goodness John would be away for another twenty-four hours yet; she had to get rid of Blade before that somehow.

‘You know exactly what I mean,’ she flashed back tightly. ‘We said all that could be said yesterday—’

‘We did not,’ he said sharply. ‘And please cut the naïve and stupid act because we both know that you are neither. We still have arrangements to make and matters to discuss. And my movements are my own affair, remember that, Amy. You have waived the right to question me in any way.’

‘I see.’ She glared at him angrily. ‘It’s the muscle-man approach, is it? Forcing your way in—’

‘It was barely twenty-four hours ago that you accused me of being a bully in this very place,’ he interrupted her coldly, his words falling like small pieces of ice into the heated atmosphere. ‘I’d drop the insults if I were you, sweetheart. I don’t like them and I have no intention of tolerating any more. Now, get the menu and do the job I assume the proprietor is paying you to do.’

His arrogance left her speechless and as she swung round, with a furious twist of her body that set the high silky ponytail at the back of her head swinging madly, she heard him laugh softly and the sound chilled her blood. There was no amusement, no mirth in the sound, just a callous, biting cruelty that brought all her fine body hairs upright in instinctive protection. Whatever game he was playing he wouldn’t be able to keep it up forever and she would just have to put up with things for the moment, but why was he here? He’d said he despised her, that he felt nothing but contempt and scorn for her, so why was he back here this morning …? To torment her? She looked him full in the face as she placed the handwritten menu on the table in front of him, and the black eyes stared back at her, their expression unfathomable. Yes, that must be it. She wouldn’t have thought he was capable of such pointless cruelty, but then she had never defied him before and after what he thought she had done maybe she shouldn’t be surprised. Some men wouldn’t have stopped at verbal abuse. And he still clearly intended to settle things with John in his own way.

‘Thanks.’ As he studied the menu she stood at his side, her eyes drawn to his bent head and a feeling of inexpressible emotion causing shivers of fear to flit down her spine in ever-increasing rhythm. His tawny brown hair gleamed richly with virile health in the May sunlight, his coal-black eyes with their thick, almost feminine lashes in impressive contrast. How often had she run her fingers through that mass of strong, coarse hair after a night of passion when she had felt as though even her toes were alive with sensual delight? He had been a magnificent lover. She forced her gaze up to stare blindly out of the window. Sensuous, erotic, but with a tender sensitivity to her own feelings that had caused the bond between them to strengthen and grow night by night. No wonder he didn’t understand why she had left. If only she hadn’t followed through on the impulse to visit Sandra that day …

‘I’ll have the soup, followed by an omelette, please.’ She jumped visibly as he spoke and a dark frown creased his forehead. ‘Daydreaming, Amy? I won’t ask who’s featured in them but for the moment would you concentrate on doing your job?’ The tone was biting.

‘You don’t have to be so thoroughly unpleasant,’ she said tightly as she wrote his order on the small notepad attached to her belt.

‘You call this unpleasant?’ he asked with a mocking, frosty amazement. ‘You don’t know the half, girl. But you will.’ The dark eyes were pure granite. ‘Oh, yes, you will.’

As she walked through to the kitchen a feeling of incredible weariness had her hands shaking. Was all this worth it? Perhaps it would be better to tell him? To let him share in the agony with her rather than bear it all alone? But then she remembered Sandra’s drawn, lined face, the sunken features and the still young body already twisted into a caricature of an old woman. Could she bear those eyes that had always blazed with love and passion dulling with pity and wretched, helpless misery? To have him look at her each day as she slowly got worse, to see— She stopped her thoughts from the destructive path they were following and straightened her back as hot rage against the unfairness of it all flooded her system with adrenalin.

Stop your whining, girl, she told herself fiercely as the doorbell in the outer room signified more customers. One day, one hour at a time. She had realised weeks ago that was the only way she was going to bear the months and years ahead. If she looked into the future she lost all her courage.

She took Blade’s bowl of soup to his table before she turned to the family that had seated themselves in a corner across the other side of the room. All the time she chatted with the two children and took the parents’ order she was aware of his gaze trained on the back of her head even though she was turned from him, but when she swung around and made her way to the kitchen he was quietly eating a bread roll, his dark eyes lazily surveying the peaceful scene outside the window.

‘What time do you finish work?’ His tone was brusque and his face expressionless as she served him the freshly cooked Spanish omelette and baked potato with a side salad.

‘What?’ Startled, she looked him straight in the eyes and then wished she hadn’t as the force of his gaze pierced her to the spot.

‘You heard what I said, Amy.’ His voice was quiet but with an undertone of iron that she knew from old. How often she had heard him use that tone in the past when he intended to get his own way. ‘We need to tie up a few loose ends so that the formalities can progress smoothly. That’s what you want, isn’t it? To be rid of me at the earliest opportunity?’

She dropped her eyes quickly, her face bleak. If he only knew … She had never wanted or loved him as much as she did now, when she was frightened and lonely and desolately aware of what the future held. To be able to lean on his strength, to rest in the knowledge of his love, to be cushioned, at least in part, by the comfort and support of his wealth … ‘I finish at eleven,’ she said quietly. ‘But I can meet you tomorrow morning, if you like?’

‘I’ll be outside at eleven.’ His tone brooked no argument and she nodded, still without looking at him, before turning on her heel and seeking the sanctuary of the steaming kitchen and Arthur’s blunt normality.

All the rest of the afternoon and evening she functioned on automatic, taking orders, smiling, engaging in conversation while her mind ticked away on a completely different plane altogether.

When she had married Blade Forbes she had never considered for a moment that it wouldn’t be forever. Her own parents had died in a car accident when she was four years old and her sister, Sandra and herself had been dispatched to different homes of distant relatives, Sandra to the wilds of Scotland and herself into the heart of London. The two sisters hadn’t been close, the eight-year age-gap proving insurmountable in view of Sandra’s raging jealousy of her beautiful baby sister, but Amy remembered crying as much for her big sister as for her parents in the early days.

It wasn’t until she had reached the age of sixteen that she learnt Sandra had purposely repudiated all contact in the intervening years, and after one shattering, stunning visit to her married sister’s home in Scotland when she had quite literally had the door banged in her face, she had determined to put Sandra out of her life as successfully as her sister had apparently done with her. But … Amy shook her head slowly as her thoughts travelled on. It hadn’t been as easy as that. Sandra was her only immediate family; the same blood ran in their veins; she had wanted, needed her love.

Weak and foolish, Amy thought grimly as she smilingly served home-made steak and kidney pie to a little Japanese couple with three cameras between them. And how she had paid for the insecure feeling of inadequacy that had always dogged her footsteps. She should have been satisfied with Blade, she shouldn’t have wanted more. What was a sister that she hadn’t seen for most of her life, after all?

The somewhat elderly aunt and uncle that she had been homed with had caused her anxiety and insecurity, she knew that now after long, deep conversations with Blade when she had poured out all her doubts and fears. They had been fanatically strait-laced, with a list of dos and don’ts that she had never got the hang of, and her outstanding beauty had alarmed and repelled their austere, bigoted minds from the word go. She had been taught that she was undeserving and wayward, that her beauty was in some way shameful, from the first day that she had lived with them, and although something in her had always rebelled against such harsh reasoning some of the poison had got through.

But Blade had changed all that. She took a deep breath as her heart pounded painfully against her chest. He’d brought out all the old festering sores, held them up to the clean, purifying liquid of logic and reason, and in the process washed the wounds clean. And because of that she had felt strong enough to try and see Sandra again. And what she had seen and heard had appalled her.

Enough, Amy, enough, she told herself fiercely as she stared out into the dark night outside. An hour to go and you’ll need all your wits to talk to Blade. Several cups of strong black coffee now and no more post-mortems.

When she emerged from the warm, cosy interior of the restaurant just over an hour later she thought for a moment that Blade hadn’t come, and her stomach lurched churningly, whether in relief or disappointment she wasn’t sure. And then she heard her name at the same time as he emerged from the shadows across the other side of the road.

‘Where’s your car?’ she asked weakly, as he reached her side. He was dressed casually in jeans and black leather jacket and he’d turned her legs to water.

‘Quite safe.’ His voice was mocking with a hard bite of cruelty. ‘I thought we would walk the short distance to your lodgings.’

‘You know where I live?’ she asked in alarm.

‘Of course.’ He looked down at her, slender and waiflike against his hard masculine bulk. ‘The private detective I hired to find you is both thorough and discreet and excellent at his job.’

‘He would be,’ she answered dully. Blade only tolerated the best.

‘Come along.’ He took her arm in a firm grip as he turned her in the direction of Mrs Cox’s little guest house, and although the contact was brief the heat from his fingers seemed to burn her arm. She had jerked away before she could check herself and as his body stiffened at her side she cursed the gesture. It would only make him angrier. It did.

‘I’m not a disease that’s fatal on contact,’ he said cuttingly, ‘and another little move like that and I warn you now I won’t be responsible for my actions. Understand?’

‘I didn’t mean—’

‘I know what you meant.’ The hard voice was inflexible. ‘And I’m quite aware that I’m not the person you wish to be with, but as I’m here and he isn’t I suggest you act accordingly.’

They walked the length of the street in silence and she began to feel almost faint with a mixture of terrified foreboding and lack of food. She hadn’t been able to force anything past the huge lump in her throat all day and she hadn’t eaten her evening meal last night. He had eaten the meal at lunchtime with every appearance of relaxed enjoyment, she thought resentfully as they turned into the quiet unlit lane that led eventually to the small row of cottages in which her lodgings were situated. But then, why shouldn’t he? she asked herself honestly. What a mess this was, what a hopeless, terrifying mess.

‘Now then.’ As he swung her round she had no idea of his intention, but as his arms closed round her in an embrace that had her arms pinned at her sides and her head thrown back he took her lips in a brutal punishing kiss that spoke of his fury more eloquently than any words could have done.

She tried to move her head, to break the hold of his mouth on hers, but his force was relentless and she was trapped as effortlessly as a tiny mouse between the paws of a big black cat. The familiar smell of him filled her nostrils and in spite of the knowledge that this was intended as a cruel exercise in submission she found herself responding to his touch in the old way, her body eager for any contact with the man she loved beyond life. He sensed her capitulation immediately, his mouth softening fractionally as his hands moved up and over her straining breasts, caressing her thoroughly and completely before he moved away in a hard movement that almost threw her from him. The whole embrace couldn’t have lasted more than a couple of minutes but as she stood swaying in the darkness, her eyes fixed on his in mute appeal, she felt as though they had made love for hours.

‘I don’t believe it.’ There was contempt and raw scorn in his voice along with something else she couldn’t recognise, something almost bordering on pain. ‘You can kiss me like that after all you’ve done. Who the hell are you, Amy, what are you?’ His eyes were dark and glittering in the single shaft of moonlight filtering down between the newly leafed branches of the huge oak trees bordering the lane. ‘I expected you to fight me, to object—something!’ He was furiously, bitterly angry, she reflected dully as she watched his contorted face in the shadows, more angry than she had ever seen him. ‘I thought I’d met the lot in my time but you sure as hell take the biscuit! Even the trashiest whore wouldn’t …’

He was still speaking as she slid into a dead faint at his feet, her hair fanning out in a golden halo under her head and her face deathly white in the still night.

She came round slowly, her head jangling with a thousand nightmarish images, to find herself held close to his chest as he knelt beside her on the thick grass of the small verge. ‘Blade …?’ She couldn’t speak very well; her brain seemed to know what it wanted to say but her tongue wouldn’t obey.

‘Keep still.’ There was a look on his face that caused the blood to pound violently in her ears, a piercing, haunting cry of burning hunger, unmitigated rage, dark fear and a terrible expectation of she knew not what. ‘You fainted. Keep still.’

‘I fainted?’ Her lips seemed wooden she reflected dazedly. ‘I’ve never done that before.’

‘No.’ He seemed about to speak and then the words were stilled as he surveyed her through veiled eyes in which all emotion was suddenly blanked. ‘Have you got something to tell me, Amy?’

‘Tell you?’ She tried to move away but his arms were rigid. ‘I don’t understand.’

He swore, softly but with deadly intensity, before lifting her up into his arms as he stood upright. ‘Let me put it like this,’ he said grimly as he stood for a moment before striding down the lane in the direction of the lights in the distance. ‘It is not unusual, in certain circumstances, for a woman to pass out round about the time of three months. Do I have to go on?’

‘What?’ She twisted so sharply in his hold that he almost dropped her. ‘You think I’m—you do, don’t you?’

‘It wouldn’t be the first time that a woman has left her husband for another man and in the first flush of unbridled passion got a little more than she had bargained for,’ he said, with a terrible lack of expression in his voice and face.

‘Put me down, Blade.’ Her voice was faint, more from the intoxicating sensation of being held in his arms again than the import of his words. Her head was muzzy and her legs felt like jelly but she knew she had to stand on her own two feet again before she disgraced herself a second time. The temptation to wind her arms tightly round his neck and kiss his face and throat was fast becoming too strong to resist, and she could just imagine his reaction. It was clear from what he had said that he had intended the kiss as a punishment and lesson in obedience; he hadn’t expected her either to enjoy or tolerate it. He was probably very disappointed his chastisement hadn’t worked as he’d envisaged, she thought miserably.

‘Can you walk?’ Even as he spoke he had placed her on terra firma again, moving back a pace swiftly as though the contact with her body had repelled him.

He loathed her, she thought painfully. Loathed and hated her. ‘I’m not expecting a baby, Blade.’ How she kept her voice steady she would never know. ‘There is no possibility of that at all.’

‘I see.’ He surveyed her coldly, eyes narrowed and hands thrust deep in the pockets of his jacket. ‘Well, at least you kept enough sanity to take care of that side of things.’

‘I don’t want to discuss it.’ As she went to walk he stepped forward abruptly to block her path, his eyes icy.

‘Don’t you indeed?’ He shook his head slowly. ‘You know, your sheer effrontery amazes me. What happened to the happy innocent girl I married, Amy?’

‘She’s dead.’ The words passed her lips before she had even thought about them, coming straight from the heart, and something in her tone of voice must have set the antennae buzzing again because his eyes searched her face slowly and consideringly, their inky depths thoughtful, before he took her arm and indicated that they continue walking.

‘Now what makes me think that the course of true love is not running as smoothly as you would have liked?’ he asked coldly, with bitterly raw cynicism. ‘What’s the problem, Amy? Did lover-boy prefer having you as an extra little titbit now and again rather than you camping on his doorstep?’

She glared at him without answering as Mrs Cox’s small detached cottage drew nearer.

‘Or maybe the appeal of being a working girl again in the big bad world is less than attractive?’ He looked down at her steadily, his eyes veiled.

‘Can’t you just leave things alone?’ she asked tightly. ‘Accept—’

‘By “things” I take it you mean you?’ He smiled coldly. ‘You would like that, wouldn’t you: to be able to finish my chapter in your life as though this were all an abstract exercise? But it isn’t and we aren’t. You are still my wife—my wife, Amy.’ The emphasis and intonation of his words were exactly as spoken in the dream, and as a slow shiver crept down her spine she gazed up at him with naked fear in her eyes.

‘Do I frighten you?’ They had reached the cottage now and he leant back against the post of the garden gate as he swung it open for her, his stance lazy and laconic and his face cruel. ‘You’d be wise to fear me, Amy. People have feared me for far less than you have done.’

‘You don’t scare me,’ she lied bravely as she lifted her chin a fraction. ‘And I don’t like threats.’

‘Then take it as a warning,’ he drawled smoothly as his gaze held her eyes, their blueness dark and velvety in the moonlight. ‘One that you can pass on to interested parties. I understand John is due home tomorrow.’ The last sentence had been arctic cold, his voice chilling.

He had turned and walked off down the lane before she could react and she felt a moment’s deep thankfulness that he hadn’t seen the relief on her face. He still thought this was something to do with poor John, then? If she could just get through the next few days without betraying herself he would have to leave soon. His empire needed him at the helm and he couldn’t afford to be away for long, besides which this place would drive him mad. She would have smiled to herself if her heart hadn’t been so raw and bleeding. The swelling moorlands, deep wooded valleys, rolling hills with their trickling pure streams and crystal-clear waterfalls that spelt peace and sanctuary to her would be an enigma to the man she had married. His place was in the cut and thrust of the razor-sharp business world he inhabited. The hectic lifestyle and cynical, sceptical people he dealt with every day were what he knew. Her quiet backwater with its stolid, unexcitable Yorkshire folk who were the salt of the earth couldn’t be more different. He’d soon tire of all this and then—

‘One more thing, Amy.’ She started violently as he reappeared at her side, dark eyes glittering hotly. ‘I’ve got all the time it takes.’ It was as though he had read her mind and she stared at him, with the garden gate a small wooden barrier between them, as he smiled sardonically. ‘I’m in no rush to get back to London, and this is a beautiful part of the world. Now go in and rest; you look as though you’re going to pass out again.’ He was mocking, taunting her! She kept her thoughts hidden as the black gaze raked her face.

‘The last three months have been a little—troublesome. I could do with a nice relaxing holiday about now. What do you think?’ he finished silkily.

‘I think you’re lying through your back teeth,’ she said angrily. ‘In all the time I’ve known you you have never, ever, had a “nice relaxing holiday” of any description. It would kill you—’

‘Ah, but then that’s the crux of the matter, my sweet.’ There was no mockery in the deep cold voice now. ‘You haven’t really “known” me at all, have you? A whirlwind courtship and within months you were a blushing bride. You have no idea really of what makes me tick. If you had, you would never have had the temerity to walk out on me with another man.’ The icy threat in his words was unmistakable. ‘And don’t make the mistake of thinking that I’m staying here because I care in any way. I’ve told you before, I don’t.’ He eyed her cuttingly. ‘But you are my property as far as I see it and no one, no one steals what is mine.’

‘Your property?’ For the first time since he had come back in her life undiluted burning rage swept all the darkness out of her mind. ‘How dare you say that?’

As she raised her hand to strike him he moved swiftly, grasping her upraised hand in an iron hold at the same time as pushing her backwards while he opened the gate with his legs, joining her in the small front garden before she could draw breath.

‘You don’t like my terminology?’ he said tauntingly. ‘Well, how would you describe yourself, then?’

‘I’m your wife, not your property,’ she said hotly as she struggled against the sheer hard bulk of his body. ‘How dare you say that, how—?’

‘Ah, so you’ve remembered at last.’ As his lips descended on hers for the second time that night she began to fight, really fight, with her arms and legs kicking and writhing in desperate panic as she twisted her head this way and that to avoid his searching mouth. She heard him swear once, softly, as her foot made brief harsh contact with his shin-bone, and then he had pinned her arms at her sides as effortlessly as though she were a child, moving her backwards into the shadows of a gnarled old lilac tree that was scenting the cool night air with its heady perfume. ‘You need to be taught a lesson, my girl,’ he said thickly.

She knew, even as she continued to struggle, that it was a hopeless battle. It wasn’t really him she was fighting after all, there might have been some hope of success if it were, but it was her own weakness where he was concerned that was sending her whole system into hyper-drive.

His mouth was warm and firm and sensual on hers and she knew instinctively he was seeking to break down her resistance with persuasion rather than force. And to what end? she thought desperately. He didn’t really want her any more, he had made it perfectly clear that he considered her damaged goods. No, this was a cruel revenge of the worst kind because once it was over he would leave her without a second thought. But that was what she wanted, surely? her mind ground on as his hands and mouth worked their magic on her shaking body. She’d made the decision three months ago that she had to leave and face the fury and hatred such an apparently motiveless action would bring down on her head; she couldn’t back out now, she just couldn’t. But she hadn’t envisaged this sweet torture, not in her wildest nightmares.

‘I could kill you for what you’ve done …’ His voice was a thick frantic murmur against the smooth white column of her throat as he groaned her name before devouring her lips again in a kiss that was endless.

She was powerless to hide the shudders that were coursing through her body, the touch, the taste of him was intoxicatingly delicious and she felt drunk with the pleasure his lovemaking induced. She knew she ought to continue to fight him, that it was madness to wind her arms round his neck and return his kisses in heated desire, but nevertheless that was exactly what she found herself doing.

The light jacket she had been wearing was at her feet—how it had got there she didn’t know—and now his hands were on the silky skin beneath her open blouse, his fingers gentle but firm as they moulded the soft fullness of her breasts. There was a moment of startled protest as his head lowered to take possession of what his hands had found, and then she was lost completely and utterly in the sensations his lips drew.

She loved him, so much, but she couldn’t—couldn’t …

‘Amy?’ Mrs Cox’s voice cut into the moment like a rapier-sharp blade. ‘Is that you out there, Amy? I heard a noise …’ They were hidden from sight behind the overgrown foliage in the small front garden, but as Blade stiffened and his hands and mouth froze Amy felt a deluge of icy water wash through her veins.

She glanced down at her dishevelled clothing. What on earth had she been thinking of! What she’d been thinking of moved quickly, his voice light and pleasant with just the right touch of embarrassed warmth in it to appeal to an old woman’s motherly instincts. ‘It is Amy, Mrs … Cox?’ Blade moved out of the shadows and walked a few steps into the shaft of light from the open front door. ‘I walked Amy home from the restaurant, Mrs Cox. We were just saying good-night.’

‘Is that right?’ Mrs Cox’s normally slow Yorkshire drawl was tight with suspicion. ‘Where is she, then?’

‘Here, Mrs Cox.’ Amy moved out of the shadows as she pretended to tidy her hair, her clothing now in place.

‘You know him?’ The plump little woman gestured towards Blade’s large masculine figure that dwarfed her by a good foot, looking for all the world like a fat little ruffled hen prepared to face an intruder that had threatened one of her chicks.

‘He’s an old friend, Mrs Cox.’ Amy’s cheeks were burning so fiercely they hurt and she was careful to stand just out of the light. ‘Just popped down from London.’

‘Now that isn’t quite right, Mrs Cox.’ Blade’s voice was infinitely pleasant and warm and the expression he had stitched on to his face made Amy want to hit him, hard. It was one of innocent candour and honest guilelessness, his eyes wide with ingenuous frankness and a desire to please. Amy had never trusted him less. ‘In actual fact I am Amy’s husband, albeit estranged. We separated three months ago,’ he added with just enough unspoken regret to make it clear who had left whom.

‘I see. Well, that’s none of my business,’ Mrs Cox said stiffly, but even from her place in the shadows Amy could see that the little woman’s face had mellowed and her bright button eyes were a good deal warmer as they held Blade’s dark glance. He’s done it again, Amy thought with equal amazement and resentment. Melted all opposition with just two well chosen sentences and a good deal of old traditional charm. Mrs Cox wasn’t really going to fall for this line of artless simplicity, was she? It appeared she was. ‘Perhaps you’d like to come in and have a cup of tea before you leave?’ the little Yorkshirewoman continued quietly. ‘I’ve just made a pot.’

‘That’s really very kind of you.’ As he followed Mrs Cox into the house he turned once at the threshold, allowing Amy to precede him into the hall, and as she glanced at his face it was as hard as iron.

What was all this about? Amy thought helplessly. He had never willingly drunk tea in his life, preferring strong black coffee, and she knew him well enough to know that he never did anything on impulse. But of course … As she sat down by the heavily banked coal fire in the small sitting-room and listened to Blade charm Mrs Cox out of the trees, the reality of what he was about came to her in a blinding flash. This was her bolthole, her refuge, and he wanted to destroy it for her. He had spoken of punishment, retribution, hadn’t he? He was going to let Mrs Cox, and everyone else who had befriended her in the small village, know that she had left him for another man after a few months of marriage. This was a small community and a highly moral one with certain codes and rules that were adhered to as strictly now as at the beginning of the century. She would still be treated politely, with the well-mannered courtesy that was an integral part of village life here, but Blade would have stamped her as ‘that’ type of woman, on a par with her predecessor at the restaurant who had run off with her lover and left a desolate husband and children. And in a few days, maybe one or two, he would leave. Fait accompli!

It came to her, as she sat there in the dim warm light that reflected the glowing fire’s flickering shadows on the old, highly polished furniture, that all this wasn’t going to be as straightforward as she had imagined. And the thought terrified her because he mustn’t, he mustn’t, find out the truth. She would do anything, anything at all, to prevent that.

She glanced at his hands as they rested on the old leather arms of the chair. Solid gold watch on one tanned wrist, the signet ring inset with a single large diamond in one corner that she had given him on their wedding day, all the trappings of fabulous wealth that had surrounded her from their first meeting.

But all the opulence, the rich affluence, had been no protection against the long hand of fate. It had reached out through all Blade’s hard-won assets, the cleverly amassed fortune, and touched her with its icy fingers.

That had been one of the things Sandra had snarled at her that day, she remembered with a painful thudding of her heart, as she pictured her sister’s twisted angry face in her mind.

‘You thought you had it all, didn’t you? A millionaire and a handsome one to boot.’ Sandra’s voice had been shaking with rage and bitterness. ‘But you’ve got nothing now, little sister, nothing at all, in the end you’re just as naked and cold as the rest of us. Your looks will mean nothing once the disease strikes. Look at me, have a good hard look. This is you in a few years’ time. And he won’t be able to do anything, if that’s what you’re thinking. All the money in the world can’t. I know, I’ve asked.’

Sandra’s tormented face had glared at her with raw frustration in every pore. ‘He thought he was getting a beautiful little doll to show off to all his jet-setting friends and instead you are going to be a millstone round his neck! That’s really very funny when you think about it. Can you see the joke, Amy? Can you?’

‘You’re sick in more than body, Sandra,’ Amy had whispered faintly as she stared back into the maddened eyes. If it weren’t for the fact that her sister was a prisoner in the wheelchair, she was sure she would have leapt at her face like a small demented goblin. As it was, her hands were gripping the arms of the wheelchair in a claw motion that was infinitely chilling.

‘What do you know about it?’ Sandra had screamed bitterly. ‘You were always the favoured one, so pretty, so perfect. You’ve had a charmed life so far with everything going your way. Not like me!’

‘No, I haven’t.’ Amy had stood for a moment poised on the threshold of Sandra’s room in the old terraced house in the heart of Glasgow, her hand clutching the chilling medical report Sandra had given her a few minutes before, her sister having watched with fiendish satisfaction as she absorbed the portent of the doctor’s statement. ‘I had a miserable childhood with Aunt Alice and Uncle Julian. The only real happiness I’ve known has been since I’ve met Blade.’

‘Well, excuse me if I don’t shed any tears for you.’ There had been something truly malignant in Sandra’s dark eyes. ‘I hate you, Amy. I’ve always hated you. I shall die hating you.’

She had left then, stunned and broken, still clutching the damning evidence in nerveless hands, and it had been a miracle she had ever reached London safely the way she had been feeling. She couldn’t remember the journey at all.

She had stumbled into the beautiful city garden, her face white and stiff and her whole body shaking, and sat for hours as her tired mind screamed back and forth as she tried to come to terms with what she had read. In a few years she was going to die.

She shook her head blindly. Slowly, very slowly, Sandra had emphasised. Day by day, week by week, month by month, her strength would ebb and her muscles wither as her body gave up the fight to go on. She was going to die. She had ripped the report into tiny tiny pieces but had found each word was imprinted on the pages of her mind.

Blade’s deep voice suddenly cut into her thoughts as he replied to something Mrs Cox had said, and she came back to the present with a little jerk of her body, amazed to find herself in the small room with its old heavy furniture and glowing fire.

Yes. She would do anything, anything, to keep the truth from him even if it meant he would leave this place hating the very sound of her name.

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