Dangerous Temptation (36 page)

Still, she could hardly blame Marshall or his secretary. They were not to know that she didn't know where Nathan was. Or that he'd been out since early this morning. According to Mrs Spriggs, he'd left the flat soon after she'd gone to the shop.

Consequently, she'd been in no mood to welcome visitors, particularly not Marshall O'Brien. Although, in the event, he'd proved rather likeable. And Nathan had evidently had second thoughts about him, too. The two men had behaved like old friends, not old enemies, and she'd found herself re-evaluating everything Nathan had said about him.

If it hadn't been for that niggling doubt as to why he should have been visiting a travel agent's, Caitlin thought she might have enjoyed the evening. Even knowing that Nathan was using Marshall to avoid any intimacy with her was not enough to spoil her mood. Her relief at knowing he was safe and well had tempered much of her resentment, and although she was still indignant, it could wait.

Nevertheless, she hadn't been able to prevent herself from watching Nathan across the table. She'd wondered what he was thinking as he picked at his food. Unlike Marshall, her husband had eaten little, and there was a strange kind of tension about his actions that she didn't remember noticing before.

But that didn't dissipate her feelings, or the taut reaction she felt every time he was near. She couldn't understand it, but that didn't make it any the less disturbing. She was falling in love with her husband. So what on earth could be wrong with that?

Still, on the rare occasions when he looked her way, she made sure her eyes were averted. She had no wish for him to see how he affected her until she knew how he really felt. Just because they'd slept together—made love together— was no reason to imagine she had any real claim to his affections. She might be inexperienced in some ways, but she knew sex didn't mean the same to a man.

In consequence, she had welcomed the opportunities she'd had to escape to the kitchen. When her hands were busy, it was easier to distract her mind. But she'd noticed she was trembling as she'd forked the various cheeses onto the board, and Nathan's face was waiting behind her lids when she closed her eyes in an effort to reinforce her will.

Nathan had had some cheese, and once again she'd found herself watching his hands as he'd put the cheese into his mouth. He had nice hands, very attractive hands, she'd thought uneasily, and when he'd opened his mouth, she'd been able to see his tongue. It had appeared to lick a crumb of Caerphilly from his lip, and her stomach had hollowed almost uncontrollably. Was it two nights since he'd pushed his tongue into her mouth? The memory was still potent enough to turn her knees to water.

Which was why she was sitting down when Nathan returned from seeing Marshall to the door. They'd phoned for a taxi to take him back to Fulham, and Nathan had offered to go down with him when the cab driver rang from the foyer. By this time, the two men were on easy terms, and she guessed Marshall must be as confused as herself. However, like her, he seemed prepared to welcome the change and deal with it accordingly.

She sighed. She didn't know why, but there was something reassuring about Marshall noticing the change in her husband. It reinforced her own opinion, made her feel as if she wasn't going mad after all. And, if nothing else, this evening had broken the ice between her and her father's assistant. She had been guilty of judging him by other people's standards. Her mother's fault, perhaps.

The door slammed, and her nerves tensed. As her husband walked back into the living room, it took an enormous effort of will to look as casual as he appeared. Her hair was mussed from where she had been slumped against the cushions, but that was hardly an advantage. And although she'd been determined to confront him with Janie's accusation as soon as they were alone, her mixed emotions had diminished her inner strength.

Meanwhile, Nathan looked infuriatingly confident. He had shed the jacket of his dark suit earlier, and loosened the knot of his tie. Now, with his sleeves rolled back over his forearms, and the waistcoat of the suit providing a contrast to the crisp whiteness of his shirt, he looked almost unwarrantably attractive, and Caitlin's resentment rallied at his obvious lack of remorse.

"Interesting guy," he said by way of an opening, and Caitlin felt her resentment growing at his conceit. Did he think that because he had decided Marshall wasn't such a bad guy, she should follow his lead regardless? What did he think she was? Some kind of clone? Didn't he think she had opinions of her own?

When she didn't answer, he seemed to realise that perhaps he had been rather insensitive, and halting in the middle of the floor, he hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his trousers. "I guess you didn't think so," he remarked. "Though I have to say you seemed to be getting along just fine in the kitchen earlier. What was he saying to you? Was he apologising for arriving unannounced?"

"You tell me," said Caitlin stiffly, realising she might be cutting off her nose to spite her face, but unable to do anything about it. She couldn't let him treat her as if her wishes were of no importance. She'd promised herself that would never happen again.

"What do you mean?" he asked now, and Caitlin pretended to examine her fingernails.

"Well, you were eavesdropping, weren't you?" she countered. "I believe you warned me about talking about you as if you weren't there. In any case, it's none of your business. If you bring people here without asking me first, you can't blame me if I take advantage of the fact."

Her husband's mouth compressed. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Caitlin shrugged. "Whatever you like."

He sighed. "All right, I'm sorry if I upset your plans—"

"Upset my plans?" Caitlin came up off the sofa then, stung by the weary tolerance in his voice. "You have no idea how I was feeling when you sauntered in here at seven o'clock. You'd been missing since early this morning. Were you out all day yesterday, as well? Or have you forgotten?"

This last was said with a sweet sarcasm, and he scowled. "Ten o'clock is not early morning," he retorted, and Caitlin arched a quizzical brow.

"It is when you're supposed to be convalescing. Or had you forgotten that, as well? Along with your much-quoted hatred of Marshall O'Brien!"

It was amazing how much stronger she felt, thought Caitlin as she threw the words at him. When Marshall left, she'd felt tired, listless, incapable of conducting an argument with anyone. But suddenly she was alert again—invigorated, ready to take him on. Sparring with Nathan was the next best thing to making love with him, she realised. She enjoyed sparking his interest, even if it was just a mental thing.

Her husband frowned. "Why would—I—hate Marshall?" he asked slowly, and Caitlin was aware that when he looked at her with those dark, expressive eyes, she felt as if every nerve in her body came vibrantly to life. But she couldn't afford to be sympathetic. That wouldn't win her any favours. She had to remember what Janie had said: leopards didn't change their spots.

"Why would you hate Marshall?" she demanded now, rekindling her impatience. "Why do you think, Nathan? Because he's doing the job you once considered yours."

"I see." He nodded his head in understanding, as if another piece of the jigsaw had fallen into place. "I was your father's deputy." He paused. "What was Marshall doing then?"

"You tell me." Caitlin sighed. "He didn't come to work for Daddy until about two years ago. Before that—well, I suppose you were acting as his deputy. But Daddy's never given up running the company, even though he knows he should."

"Because of his heart attack?"

"And his age," said Caitlin quickly. "He is almost sixty, you know. Lots of men have retired before then."

"So—why was N—I—demoted?" he asked. "What did I do to lose your father's confidence? Was I negligent, or what?"

Caitlin shrugged. "I don't know," she admitted, and seeing his frustration, she felt a reluctant sense of compassion. Despite all her efforts, he'd got under her skin again.

She sighed. The exhilaration she had felt earlier had all dispersed now, and she just felt tired. Too tired to broach the reasons why he had been visiting the travel agency, she realised wearily. She wasn't even sure she wanted to know.

She was about to leave the room when he stopped her. Almost involuntarily, it seemed, he had taken up a position beside the rosewood bureau that supported the row of decanters he liked to keep on show. He used to say they were for his friends, but so far as she knew, he had never invited anyone back to the flat—until tonight. Unless, her lips tightened, he had brought Lisa Abbott here, while she was safely out of the way.

"We need to talk," he said, indicating that he was offering her a drink, but Caitlin shook her head.

"I thought we had been talking," she said, trying not to feel apprehensive. Was he about to explain his reasons for not sleeping with her since they got back?

"We've been—fencing," he said quietly, pouring himself a small measure of Scotch and adding a squirt of soda. "I think I ought to tell you, I'm going back to the States."

Caitlin's lips parted. "You're going to America?" she said, hardly able to believe it. No need to ask what he had been doing in the travel agent's now. He'd been making arrangements to leave.

"Yes." He allowed a mouthful of the malt whisky to slide down his throat. "I think it's a good idea. Don't you?"

"But you don't know anyone there. How will you get about?" Caitlin was trying not to panic. "I'll come with you."

"No."

"What do you mean, no?" She moistened her lips. "You can't stop me. I—I'm your wife."

"We both know that's not true," he told her flatly, and her eyes widened disbelievingly. "I mean," he said, not without some discomfort, "that I
can
stop you. I don't want you to come with me, Kate. I—need to do this on my own."

"It's Marshall, isn't it?" she exclaimed recklessly. "He's the one who's put this crazy idea into your head. All that talk about children—and whether it matters who brings them up. You imagine if you go to Prescott, you're going to have a sudden revelation."

There was a hint of colour in his cheeks now, and she wondered what she had said to embarrass him. She was the one who was embarrassed; she was the one who wanted desperately to beg him to change his mind. Or if not, to let her accompany him. She was afraid that if she let him go, she'd never see him again.

"I'd made my decision before I went to the office," he said gently. "I'm not denying I was interested in what Marshall had to say, but I've known what I have to do ever since—well, ever since last weekend."

Caitlin's lips twitched. "Since you made love to me, I suppose," she said bitterly. "Since you realised I wasn't what you needed. That whatever you said, I wasn't sexy enough for your tastes!"

"Don't be a fool!"

He was angry now, and if she hadn't known better, she might have believed he meant it. As it was, she could only think he was an incredible actor. Either that, or he really didn't remember how it had been before.

In any case, Caitlin was too distrait to care what he might be thinking. She just knew all her hopes for the future were gradually turning to dust. Once again, she'd let him get too close, and this time he'd destroyed her. She hadn't cared before; she did care now.

And, because she wasn't thinking very clearly herself, her next words were even more of a betrayal. "I suppose you'd rather take the Abbott woman with you," she taunted, forgetting for a moment that Nathan didn't know who the other woman was. "Lisa
Abbott
," she prompted, feeling sick as she realised what she was doing. "The woman who rang you when you were at Fairings? Surely you remember that."

Nathan blinked. "Lisa Abbott," he said faintly. "But how—I mean—" He broke off and rephrased what he had been about to say. "So that's who it was."

Caitlin stared at him suspiciously. "You remember her, don't you?" she said accusingly. "When I mentioned her name, you remembered who she was."

"No—"

"Oh, don't bother to lie. I simply don't believe you." She sniffed. "Just tell me. Do you remember everything?"

"No." He spoke frustratedly at first, and then seemed to make a concerted effort to calm himself. "Look, Kate," he said evenly, "it's not easy for me to explain. Can't you accept—at least for the present—that I'm still probing in the dark? I promise I'll tell you everything as soon as I know what that is."

Caitlin held up her head. "I'm tired," she said flatly, not giving him the satisfaction of an answer. "It's been a long day. I think I'll go to bed."

"Kate—"

"No. I don't want to hear that you're innocent," she retorted painfully. "I expected nothing from you—I
wanted
nothing from you—before the accident, and I'm damned if I want anything now. Just get out of my life, Nathan. Do you hear me? I never want to see you again!"

He uttered a harsh cry. "That's not true."

"It is true," she told him unsteadily. "You wanted to know what manner of man you were, what kind of marriage we had. Well, I'll tell you. It was a marriage made in hell, do you hear that? And you were its maker. I swore then that I'd never let you near me again, and I wouldn't have, if you hadn't convinced me that you'd changed, that you didn't remember what a brute you'd been, that I couldn't judge a man who couldn't even remember his own name. But I was wrong, wasn't I? I don't know what you hoped to gain by it, whether you thought you could sustain the charade long enough to get back into my father's good books, or persuade me that your affair with Lisa Abbott was over. I can see it would be attractive to you—the thought of making a brand-new start. My God, you even—what's that very appropriate word you use in your country? Suckered? Yes, that's it, you even—suckered Marshall. He was actually opening up to you, wasn't he? Believing—just like me— that the old you was gone for good."

"No—"

"Yes." She wouldn't let him say anything that might interfere with the very fine indictment she was making. She couldn't allow him to interrupt her; to say anything in mitigation of her words. She was too afraid of what she might do if he attempted to defend himself. For all she told herself she despised him, she couldn't forget what might have been.