Comparative Strangers (16 page)

All the time I’ve been afraid, she thought won-deringly, but of what? There’s nothing left in me for Nigel—nothing at all. And yet he was my whole life.

She closed the windows and locked them, her hands shaking. There had to be a reason why she’d fallen so completely out of love with Nigel. And suddenly, shatteringly, she knew what it was.

She looked almost bewilderedly round the quiet room. She’d fled here for sanctuary, to this beautiful, tranquil house, or so she’d thought. But the house, however lovely, had only been a shell.

I didn’t know it, she thought, but I was running here to Malory all the time. Even then, I must have loved him, long before I knew I wanted him. Before I even knew what wanting could be.

She looked at the bowl of flowers, and it blurred into a mass of indistinct colour.

Well, she knew now, and the knowledge was like an open wound in her soul, because she was neither loved nor desired in return. And she had to live with that for the rest of her life.

The reception was at its height. Amanda moved between the laughing, chattering groups of people, her outward smiling serenity belying the torrent of emotion within her. Her life might be in tatters, but the evening was a success, and she had to be satisfied with that, as Malory undoubtedly was.

She was conscious of his presence all the time— aware of every move he made. His understated elegance in dinner-jacket and black tie took her by the throat. She wondered almost hysterically how she could ever have thought him ordinary. Or had she, even then, been fighting an attraction she did not wholly comprehend?

‘Hello, Mrs Templeton.’ A familiar face materiat her side, smiling at her. ‘I’m Peter Wilton. We met at the company dinner.‘

‘I remember,’ she said instantly. ‘You told me about Chromazyn. How’s it going?’

He looked momentarily astonished. ‘Hasn’t Dr Templeton told you? The monitored tests are proceeding extraordinarily well. No unexpected side-effects, or any other disasters, touch wood.’

Amanda laughed. ‘Now there’s an unscientific reaction,’ she teased.

‘Oh, I’m all for a little superstition,’ he said, grinning back at her. ‘All medicine has an element of magic, after all. And sometimes we need all the help we can get. And a fair amount of luck, too’ He paused. ‘So many drugs have been hailed as breakthroughs—miracles one day and condemned the next, often with damaging lawsuits attached. Hopefully, that won’t happen to Chromazyn.’

They exchanged a few more words, then Amanda turned away, to find her path blocked by Malory, who had been standing a few feet away from her.

He’d been late back from the laboratories that evening, and had only arrived downstairs in his evening clothes in time to greet their first guests, so they’d hardly had a chance to say two words to each other. And he hadn’t been able to pay her the pleasantly distant compliment on her appearance that he usually did on these occasions.

Now, suddenly, they were face to face. His eyes were narrowed as he surveyed her in the square-necked midnight-blue dress which she knew, without conceit, gave her the look of a medieval princess, moulding itself to her slender figure down to the hips, where the floor-length skirt flared slightly, the effect heightened by a draped sash belt, embroidered in gold. Her uncertain, rather shy smile died on her lips, as her stunned mind registered the swift, dark stain of colour along his cheekbones, the stark, burning hunger which blazed momentarily in his face, then was hidden behind the normal polite mask.

As he turned on his heel, and walked away, she found she was gasping. He wasn’t indifferent to her, she thought shakily. He wasn’t. That brief, unguarded moment had been too revealing. He still wanted her. After all—in spite of everything—he did want her. She grabbed a glass from a passing tray, and took a swift gulp of champagne.

Then why,
why
, she wailed inwardly, had he kept her at more than arm’s length all these endless weeks? And what guarantee was there that he wouldn’t continue to do so? Just because he’d let the mask slip a little didn’t mean that he would allow his body to dictate to his mind. He was, she knew, far too fastidious for that.

And, besides, he had no means of knowing about her own moment of self-revelation. No means at all, unless she let him know—somehow.

‘Lovely party,’ an American voice said, and her smile flashed as if it was on auto-pilot.

In a way, she wished the reception was a dismal failure. That way, they would all leave, and she could be alone with him.

No, she thought. She would just be alone. When the house was empty, Malory would excuse himself courteously, as he always did, and leave her to her solitude. And if she threw herself at him, as she’d done that last disastrous time, he might well throw her back.

I can’t risk that, she thought, exchanging hesitant banalities with a Japanese couple. But what other choice do I have?

She didn’t care if she was being a lousy hostess. She had to find him. Eventually, she tracked him down in his study, seated in a group around the fire.

Taking her courage in both hands, she sat down on the arm of his chair, sliding her arm intimately across its back, leaning sideways towards him so that he was aware of her warmth, her scent. To a casual observer, she was being an ordinary, affectionate wife. Only Malory knew differently, and she could feel his awareness in his sudden tension, although he continued to talk with outward calmness to his guests.

But he knew, and she knew that he knew, he would only have to turn his head slightly for his cheek to graze the curve of her breast—move his hand a fraction for it to rest on her thigh.

She stayed long enough to etch her acceptance, her readiness, on his consciousness, then drifted away again.

And this time, he followed her. As she talked and laughed, and made sure plates and glasses remained filled, Malory was there on the edge of her vision, watching as if he could not bear to take his eyes off her. And she used his regard quite shamelessly, every turn, every movement of her body totally deliberate, designed to inflame him beyond all bearing.

What she could not gauge was the extent to which she was succeeding. She dared not look at him directly, because she knew if she did that her gaze might plead, and that wasn’t what she intended at all. Tonight they would meet, if at all, on equal terms.

She was no longer the complete innocent. She had been allowed a glimpse of the extent of her own sensuality. Now, her body was awakened, urgent, seeking to test those limits to the full.

The only glances she sent his way, were brief, and loaded, under demurely lowered lashes.

The evening seemed endless. It was long past midnight when people began reluctantly to take their leave. She shook hands, and smiled, and pantomimed a regret she did not feel. The Templeton executives at the reception lingered endlessly, their mood clearly euphoric. It was difficult concealing her impatience to see the back of them.

I shall just, she thought, have to concentrate on something else. And, in turn, she began to watch her husband overtly, allowing her eyes to slide down his body, as if mentally reminding herself of what he looked like without his clothes. She was perfectly discreet, of course. Only Malory knew what she was up to, and the taut lines of his face revealed the effect it was having on him.

Peter Wilton was among the last to leave. Amanda had already given instructions that any clearing up was to be delayed until the following morning. Now, knowing that Malory was outside, saying goodnight, guiding the last cars out of the drive, she went swiftly and noiselessly upstairs. She went straight to Malory’s room, switching on one of the big lamps which flanked the bed. Then she kicked off her shoes, unfastening and taking down her stockings, before beginning without haste to undo her dress.

She didn’t hear Malory’s approach up the stairs, and she didn’t look towards the doorway, yet instinct told her that he was there, watching her as if in a trance.

She let the midnight dress fall in a shimmering pool round her feet, and stood motionless for a moment in the silken teddy which was all she wore beneath it, before putting up her hands to unpin her piled-up hair, letting it fall round her shoulders.

Then, and only then, she looked at him, her body poised in a challenge as old as mankind.

He might have been carved out of stone. Only the blue eyes flared with an icy flame. When at last he made a movement, it was a brief, imperative gesture that told her without words that even the fragile veiling of the teddy was too much of a barrier to his eyes.

She obeyed instantly, dealing with the simple fastenings, slipping the ribbon straps down from her shoulders so that the flimsy garment joined the remainder of her clothing on the floor.

He came to her then, and, as he lifted her into his arms, she pressed her lips to his throat with a little sigh of surrender.

He put her down on the bed, and knelt above her, wrenching his clothing apart. He kissed her once, his lips parting hers with demanding mastery, then their bodies joined in a tense, trembling silence.

Amanda had prepared herself for more pain, but there was none—only a sense of total, almost overwhelming completion. She drew him down, drew him into her ever more deeply, every sense attuned to this miracle they were making together.

Almost before she had believed it possible, she was seized, rent apart by a pleasure so intense it bordered on agony. She heard herself crying out her incoherent delight against his mouth as the spasms tore through her, then ebbed, leaving her adrift on some tideless sea of languid contentment.

For a few moments Malory lay cradling her in his arms, then he moved, withdrawing from her, and her eyes opened in panic. He laid a finger on her lips, silencing her protest, before beginning to undress, his movements urgent and rapid, his eyes never leaving her face.

When he came back into her arms, he started to kiss her very gently, his lips bestowing a tracery of magic on her face, throat and breasts.

The breath sighed between her lips, as, incredibly, she felt the hot, slow excitement begin to build in her again.

That first time, she realised, had been born of mutual desperation. This time, it would be very different. This time, she was being seduced.

Malory’s mouth travelled without haste down her body, exploring every curve and crevice, his tongue flickering fire across her tumescent nipples, circling her navel with teasing eroticism. He kissed the length of her thighs, the soft inner bend of her knee, her insteps, her pink-polished toes. Every nerve-ending she possessed seemed to be vibrating to the leisurely brush of his lips.

For the first time, she understood the words from the Marriage Service—
with my body, I thee worship
.

Malory was worshipping her, she realised dazedly, with a warm and tender sensuality which left her breathless. And the staggering thing was that he hadn’t yet sought any satisfaction for himself.

She tried to speak, but again he silenced her, this time with his mouth. His hands were moving on her now, caressing and arousing, and her body twisted restlessly, mutely demanding appeasement.