Wife By Agreement. KIM LAWRENCE
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he observed drily.
‘I didn’t think that…’ Her instinctive rejection of a more intimate touch had been no reflection on Ethan’s intentions and she was mortified at the conclusion he’d drawn. She knew he didn’t find her attractive. Even so, his next words did hurt.
‘You’re too thin.’
‘I know.’ In her teens she’d fantasised about waking up one morning and finding her awkward angles had been transformed into lissome curves. Now she knew better.
‘Do you eat?’
‘You know I do—’ She stopped. In actual fact, it was rare that they ate together, only socially on the occasions they dined out together or had guests. Normally she ate with the children and Ethan ate alone later. He commuted to the City, and being a successful barrister seemed to keep him away from home a lot. He was tipped to be the next head of chambers when Sir James retired next year—the youngest in the chambers’ long history.
Actually she didn’t mind these absences; she was a lot more comfortable when he wasn’t there—not that she found his company oppressive, exactly. She was always acutely conscious in his company of her deficiencies. When he looked at her she was always sure he was comparing her unfavourably with his first wife As always, the thought of the sainted Catherine made her wince.
‘Mrs Turner will confirm the fact I could probably eat you under the table.’ He wouldn’t consider the children impartial witnesses—they doted on her—but the housekeeper was another matter.
‘I’ve only ever seen you pick at your food. That’s it.’ He pulled up the towel. ‘They’re not deep; you won’t scar.’
Should she tell him she was usually so nervous of making a social faux pas on the occasions he referred to that she couldn’t stomach anything? On reflection she decided not to. Inadequacies—at least, hers—made Ethan impatient.
‘I think that under the circumstances these French classes aren’t such a good idea,’ he mused slowly.
His words filled her with deep dismay and the first stirrings of rebellion. ‘But Thursday is my night off, Ethan.’
‘Night off?’ he repeated coldly. ‘You’re not the nanny now, Hannah. You’re my wife.’
‘Of course I still work for you, Ethan. I just call you Ethan, not Mr Kemp.’ And that had taken some getting used to! ‘The contract’s more permanent, and less flexible,’ she added thoughtfully. ‘That’s all.’
He couldn’t have looked more astounded if she’d popped him one on the nose. He breathed in sharply and the slab of his belly muscles became more noticeably concave. Hannah had heard girls on the beach in Nice commenting on his ‘great pecs’ these too were visible, because even though he’d slipped on a blue top that matched his trousers he hadn’t bothered to fasten it. She was no expert, but she didn’t think their enthusiasm for his body had been misplaced.
‘There is no need to think of yourself in that way,’ he said, his colour heightened.
‘Then as your wife I don’t necessarily have to take your…advice.’ Advice had a more tactful ring than order.
A combative light had entered his grey eyes. Possibly it was due to the unusual events of the evening, but Hannah found the circumstance more exhilarating than alarming.
‘Perhaps you should consider your track record in the decision-making arena before throwing my advice back in my face.’
‘Did you have a particular decision in mind?’
Despite the fact that she had remained meticulously polite, there was no mistaking the obstinate set of her rounded jaw. He viewed said jaw with serious misgivings.
‘Getting into a car with a perfect stranger? Only a complete idiot would do anything so grossly irresponsible,’ he said scornfully. ‘Emma, at seven, would have more sense.’
She’d been stupid to imagine she could win an argument with Ethan. ‘You wouldn’t say that if I was a man,’ she complained belligerently.
He blinked: she was pouting, actually pouting—Hannah! The sight of her rather full pink lips had the most unexpected effect on his body. ‘Well, you’re not a man,’ he snapped. ‘And in that outfit it’s patently obvious.’
Hannah went bright pink and, after a furtive glance down at her body, began to tug the towel higher, but the material would only stretch just so far.
‘I’m sorry if my skinny body offends you, but I didn’t invite you into my room.’ Even a fluffy bunny rabbit could get aggressive if you backed it into a corner, and she wasn’t actually as weak and pliable as Ethan thought.
Early on she’d decided confrontation wasn’t her style, but to survive ten years relatively unscathed after her spells in assorted foster homes, interspersed by the inevitable return to the children’s home, wasn’t the sign of a weak character. It wasn’t an advantage in life to be brought up in care, but Hannah had never allowed herself to grow bitter, just as she’d never allowed herself to be influenced by the less savoury influences she had been surrounded by.
‘I’ll keep that in mind in the future,’ he observed stiffly.
‘I didn’t mean…’ She gave a sigh of frustration. ‘The French classes mean a lot to me,’ she admitted.
‘Very obviously,’ he drawled. With growing dismay she observed the pinched look around his nostrils.
It had been a waste of time appealing to his softer nature! ‘I need to get away, be…I don’t know—me!’
‘Does that usually involve removing your wedding ring?’
Hannah could only stare at him in astonishment. He couldn’t actually believe… ‘I lost my ring.’ It had always been too big; if she hadn’t hated asking him for anything, she’d have told him so.
‘You seem awfully passionate about a night-class.’
His faint condescending sneer really made her see red. ‘Just a class to you!’ she yelled. ‘But then you have dozens of friends. You go out every day and meet people. I see the children—’ And, as much as she loved Emma and Tom, the children weren’t always enough. She broke off, breathing hard. Though one part of her felt appalled at her outburst, another part—a small part—felt relief.
‘We have an active social life. My friends…’
‘Your friends despise me. They only put up with me because I’m your appendage. Actually—’ she smiled briefly, amazed at her daring ‘—I don’t much like them, at least not most of them.’
The colour that suffused the pale, perfect oval of her small face was quite becoming. ‘Colourless’ was the adjective he most frequently associated with this girl he’d married—it sure as hell wasn’t applicable now!
‘Then why haven’t you seen fit to mention it before?’
‘I didn’t think it was relevant. I’m quite prepared to take the rough with the smooth.’ But I won’t give up the French classes. It wasn’t necessary to add this; Ethan wasn’t dense.
‘That’s very tolerant of you. Do you consider there to have been much that is rough for you to endure over the past year?’
‘Next you’ll be saying I was in the gutter when you found me,’ she cut in impatiently. She ignored his sharp inhalation of anger and continued firmly. ‘You can expect my loyalty, but not my unstinting gratitude, Ethan. If you remember, I did warn you I wouldn’t be the world’s best hostess, but I’m a good mother.’
‘Mother substitute.’ She flinched, and his expression seemed to indicate he regretted his hasty response. ‘The children love you.’ This was meant to soften his sharp correction but only served to bring a lump of emotion to Hannah’s throat. ‘Do you find me such an ungenerous husband?’