Amber's Wedding. SARA WOOD
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woman with fiery hair and a broad, earthy face. But she was Amber Fraser, the daughter of Angus Fraser, a gillie at Castlestowe like all his ancestors before him. And the Brandons were bred-in-the-bone aristocrats.
‘We’re the same Scottish type,’ she said, dismissing the matter. ‘Well, when the old Earl dies, Stuart will be the next Earl of Castlestowe—and after him Leo will inherit the title. He should stay.’ Her face fell. Without Leo’s friendship, she’d be lost.
Jake frowned. ‘He means a lot to you, doesn’t he?’
‘Yes!’ she replied, her eyes soft with tears.
He began to stride up and down the gallery as if he felt confined, then came to a brief halt in front of her. ‘Now he’s gone, at least I won’t have to worry about leaving you here in the cottage while I go on assignments.’
Amber felt offended at what he was implying. With as much dignity as she could muster, she straightened and rose slowly, graceful in the long, rustling crushed taffeta dress despite her Junoesque stature. With her flame-coloured hair floating around her flawless shoulders and her eyes blazing, she gave the impression of a woman on the warpath. Which she might be, if Jake pursued that line of thinking.
‘Leo and I have been together since childhood. He’s like a brother to me, nothing else! I don’t understand why you’re going on about it.’
‘Because,’ answered Jake tightly, ‘people have been questioning what was going on between you two up here—’
‘On my wedding day?’ she broke in, shocked.
‘You both seemed unusually wrapped up in each other,’ he retorted. ‘My journalist friends thought your behaviour was inappropriate. I have to say I agree with them.’
Amber went scarlet. She’d recognised the journalists, who’d been based in the African camp. They would have known about her passionate relationship with Enzo. Everybody did, because Enzo had made no secret of it. Presumably Leo’s friends now thought that she made a habit of flinging herself at men.
‘I see!’ she muttered bitterly. Would her one mistake brand her for ever? ‘I can’t even hug a friend now! It’s people’s dirty minds, not my behaviour that you have to condemn!’
‘I had to come up and take steps to scotch the rumours. I don’t want any more gossip, Amber,’ he said, his voice so softly laced with anger that it slid into her like a knife. ‘We agreed that not only would you remain faithful to our marriage vows, but you’d be seen to be above suspicion. Keep to that agreement, Amber, or I’ll wash my hands of you!’
She looked at him in dismay. The man she’d known—the caring man who’d brought her out of her nightmare and whom she’d witnessed carrying out so many acts of kindness—had vanished. Was this the real Jake? A suspicious, possessive man who expected her to be grateful to him because he’d given her baby the gift of legitimacy?
Desperately she clung to the memory of how he’d cheered up a group of women in a cellar in Sarajevo with an impromptu party. He’d played the piano, beautifully, meltingly, making them all cry. And then he’d danced with every one of them, while Amber had laughingly picked out one-finger tunes.
She made herself remember the time when he’d waded in, fists flying, to a group of men taking a sack of grain from a helpless woman. But that didn’t help. It only reminded her that he had one hell of a temper when roused.
‘What’s happened to you?’ she asked unhappily. ‘We’ve got on so well together up to now. I thought we could be good friends!’ Suddenly she realised just how important that promise of friendship had been to her. Without it, the marriage would be impossible. ‘Jake,’ she went on in a soft, shaky plea, ‘don’t change! Please don’t start acting like a jealous lover—’
His head snapped up sharply, making the black curls dance. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ he demanded. ‘Of course I’m not jealous! But the last thing in the world I want is scurrilous gossip about my wife and Leo Brandon.’
His firm hand caught her chin and tipped her head up. A tongue of flame seemed to leap inside her. Sickness? No... Something different. Then what?
In case something in her eyes betrayed her confusion, she lowered her lashes resentfully. Jake’s warm breath caused the remaining petals on her breast to lift and flutter over her pillowy curves.
And, alarmingly, a small ache centred itself in her loins as if her body briefly retained the memory of what it was like to be close to a man and desire him. Appalled, she repressed that feeling and leaned against the side of the gallery for support.
‘I’m not promiscuous! You’ll have no cause to worry about the future,’ she said, her tone pleading with him to believe her. ‘I behaved out of character with Enzo. I was emotionally vulnerable at the time. You know what it was like out there.’
‘Heartbreaking,’ he said flatly.
‘Oh, yes!’ Men had wept along with the women. ‘In all the years I worked for Unite, that last assignment in Africa was the most painful. I’ve never known so many children to be separated from their parents. It drained me physically and emotionally. She bit her lip. ‘Because my mother had died shortly before I went out, I was in need of comfort and affection too. But that’s all in the past. I’m not likely to behave like that again.’
‘Is that so? Perhaps it’s in your nature to be emotionally impulsive. You’re something of an enigma.’ He studied her doubtfully. ‘Sometimes you seem very innocent. Other times...’
She gulped at the sexual implication. And her skin crawled with fear as she felt herself respond to his powerful masculinity. ‘Don’t condemn me,’ she husked.
‘I don’t. Nature is nature. You can’t hide your needs. Most of the time you shut them away, but one day they’ll surface. You’re uninhibited—’
‘I’m...what?’
‘Forget it,’ he said shortly. ‘I’m sorry I mentioned it.’
A coldness settled around her heart. He’d heard something. ‘Tell me what you mean!’ she demanded hoarsely.
There was a long pause, then, ‘All right. Perhaps then you’ll understand my reservations about you,’ he said grudgingly. ‘At the camp you had quite a reputation: a demure woman with passionate depths. Enzo boasted about you—’
‘Oh, no!’ she groaned.
‘I always walked away when he started talking about you. But once, when I was travelling in a van beside him, in convoy, with hostile gunmen all around, it was difficult to escape his reminiscences. I’m sorry,’ he said shortly, seeing her distress. ‘You did ask.’
Hidden from view in the shadowed corner of the gallery, she covered her face with her hands as her stomach rebelled and she fought valiantly to keep her dignity and not throw up. She was shaking like a leaf, appalled that everyone in the camp had been fed stories about the quality of her performance in bed.
‘Oh-h-h! I feel awful! Go away! Leave me alone!’ she muttered, feeling weak.
‘I can’t. We have a charade to play first.’
‘A charade?’ she echoed morosely.
‘I hurried up here, leaving in mid-conversation,’ he said grimly. ‘They could all see why. I’d been glaring at you and Leo for several minutes, hoping you’d get the message. As far as anyone else is concerned, we’ve had a talk and you’ve explained that there’s nothing between you and Leo. And you’re going to show you’re sorry to have worried me by flinging yourself into my arms and kissing me.’
She froze. Took one look at his sensual mouth and backed away to the shadowy rear of the gallery till her spine hit one of its supporting posts.
‘We—we don’t have to kiss.’ She swallowed as an irrational fear clutched at her vocal cords. ‘Why don’t we just