Passionate Retribution. KIM LAWRENCE
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the undoubted accuracy of his observation; in public, at least, her family would accept Luke.
‘Being a publicly recognisable face means more to your father than it does to me. Not only does he have to accept me publicly, he actually has to project pride.’ The smile was cruelly complacent. ‘You find it more comfortable to accept things on face value, don’t you?’ he said with contemplative distaste. ‘You’ve acquired a veneer of unpleasant hypocrisy, Emily.’
‘It’s you who continues this feud, a remnant of some childish grudge. Don’t you think it’s about time you forgot the past? I don’t care what you think of me, but none of it has anything to do with me,’ she said wearily. The constant warring repelled her; there was something so single-minded, almost malignant, about Luke’s derisive contempt.
‘While your name is Stapely, Em, you are involved,’ he said, a harsh inflexion in his voice.
‘Then the fact I’m about to change my name should please you: one less Stapely for you to hate!’ she yelled. A sudden frown. ‘You don’t seem exactly overjoyed at my impending nuptials,’ she said, puzzled, as it occurred to her that he was displaying uncharacteristic interest.
Luke shrugged, his long, lean body relaxed in contrast to her tense posture. The hooded eyelids half shielding the brilliant blue gaze gave the impression of boredom. ‘Do you require universal approval for peace of mind, Em? Surely a few home truths from me can’t matter. Can it be that there are doubts lurking in that delectable heaving breast? Are there?’
‘They don’t…You don’t…Not that they are true, of course,’ she amended somewhat incoherently. The direction of his gaze made the colour rise in her face. ‘You have a distorted view of everything,’ she protested. Something on the periphery of her vision distracted her. She tore her eyes from the ironic blue gaze. At the same instant it occurred to her that it could appear strange if she emerged from the shrubbery with anyone other than her fiancé, especially if the other turned out to be Luke. She heard the sound of said fiancés voice and gave a grimace; she wished she hadn’t waited guiltily for those few silent moments—she should have revealed her presence immediately.
She didn’t look up at Luke; she was sure he would take the opportunity to make the situation as awkward as possible. Not that Gavin would believe for an instant anything but the most innocent of explanations; unlike Luke, he didn’t have a cynical, distorted view of human nature.
‘We shouldn’t, Gavin.’
Emily froze in the act of stepping forward.
‘We’ve got to tell her, Charlotte.’ The sound of soft cries of distress and the unmistakable murmers of exchanged embraces hung in the humid air.
Emily felt strangely objective, as if what she was listening to had nothing to do with her: it was as impersonal as a radio drama. It wasn’t her fiancé and her sister exchanging what sounded like a wildly passionate embrace, but two strangers and studio effects. The sound of her own breath sounded unexpectedly loud in her ears, accompanied by the thud of her heartbeat.
‘It’s no good, Gavin, we can’t do this to Emmy… she’s my sister.’ Emily heard her sister’s soft voice crack with emotion and the sound of soft sobs filled the room.
A mental scream was building in her head; this was real…it was actually happening. Her head felt as if it would explode; there was no vocal outlet for the anguish that swiftly flowed through her ruthlessly. With my own sister…The words went around in her head. Not Charlotte, she prayed uselessly, the concept was too awful to contemplate, but it was true. Gavin’s reply left no room for doubt.
‘But it’s you I want, darling.’
‘I couldn’t, knowing I’d wrecked Emmy’s happiness. I couldn’t live with that.’
Emily touched her cheek, surprised to find it wet with tears. Teeth clamped over her lower lip, she closed her eyes. She couldn’t live with it, poor Charlotte, she thought bitterly. Charlotte was a fraud. Anger mixed with an acute nausea surged through her in violent waves. It seems a little late for regrets, sister, dear.
‘But I need you…’
She had never heard that inflexion in Gavin’s voice, she wished she hadn’t heard it now. The pain was intense, and humiliation more profound than anything she had encountered before confronted her like a solid object. It jolted into life a long-forgotten memory, just as an odour could conjure up some distant recollection of a time, a place, an event consigned to the dim recesses of memory.
‘Emily needs you.’
She shook her head free of the scarlet fingernails running through the dark hair of the tall man. The image was startlingly vivid. Her mind returned to her sister’s soft pink nails and her fiancé’s blond hair. The pain was acute; it stimulated her senses, and she was conscious of every nuance in the voices; her ears, strained to hear, could imagine every gesture, every touch.
‘Emily needs someone to agree with her.’ Bitterness was unmistakable and she bit her lip to stop the sound of distress which obstructed her throat. ’she never actually listens to me.’
The duplicity was like a physical blow. He was angry with her…The irony tasted bitter in her dry mouth. She couldn’t listen to any more; she felt as if the walls were closing in around her. With her hands clamped over her ears she ran towards the open door that led out on to the terrace, past caring if they heard her.
The soft evening air hit her after the hothouse atmosphere of the emotion-clogged room she’d fled from. She hit the turf running and didn’t stop until her lungs complained too fiercely. She sank down on to her knees and her head fell forward, spreading her honeybrown hair around her. A touch on the exposed nape of her neck made her start and raise her tear-stained, turbulent features.
‘Go away!’ she spat venomously. The last thing she needed right now was any of Luke’s barbed comments. What had happened was bad enough, but that Luke of all people had heard every humiliating syllable was the crowning glory.
He met the tear-drenched, golden-brown eyes, shot with gold as they always were when she was in the grip of strong emotion, impassively. ‘OK,’ he agreed after a short pause.
She watched as he turned, his long-legged stride, peculiarly elegant, swallowing up the ground. ‘No, don’t go…’
He turned. ‘You need a whipping-boy?’ he asked, one dark eyebrow quirking.
‘Well, if it’s sympathy I’m after I wouldn’t be turning to you, would I?’ she snapped back. She sniffed loudly; the instinctive words needed an explanation, and she was glad he’d supplied it because she couldn’t. Why cling to Luke’s company? She pushed her heavy hair back from her face and straightened the skirt of her heavy silk dress. ‘Grass stains all over,’ she said, wondering why she was discussing the state of her clothes when her whole future lay in shreds around her…
How could they? Outraged horror blinded her to her surroundings; she forgot the man standing contemplating her limp, distraught figure with enigmatic eyes. How long had they been…? They had been lovers… they were; some instinct told her this. The intimacy had been in their voices.
She recalled Gavin’s smiling face as her parents had toasted them earlier; nothing in his exterior had given any clue to the infidelity which even then he—they— must have been plotting and scheming. Had he continued with the charade because he hadn’t been totally sure of Charlotte? Am I a reserve? she wondered furiously.
Luke reached her side. He held out a hand to heave her to her feet. ‘In that dress, Emily, no one’s eyes stray as far as the skirt,’ he assured her. His eyes were fixed unapologetically on the upper slopes of her breasts, which gleamed above the stark black fabric of her strapless gown.
‘Not everybody has such a sordid mind as you,’ she told him. The sexual innuendo was peculiar: nothing like that ever entered their relationship…friendship would be stretching it to breaking-point, though he wasn’t always as unpleasant as he had been this evening. Luke