Wife By Agreement. KIM LAWRENCE
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‘I didn’t say that.’
Right from the outset he’d insisted that she spent money from the generous personal allowance that appeared in her bank account every month. Ethan Kemp’s wife couldn’t have a wardrobe that consisted of jeans and jumpers. When he’d discovered she couldn’t overcome her reluctance to spend money, he’d sought the help of the wife of one of his colleagues.
Hannah wasn’t sure whether Alice Chambers had genuinely awful taste or she just didn’t like her. Whichever was the truth, the clothes Hannah came home with from their joint shopping expedition did nothing whatever for her slight figure, and the colours made her appear washed out and insipid.
Some of the annoyance faded from Ethan’s expression as he took in the pale fragility of her unhappy face. With her glossy hair hanging softly about her face she looked incredibly young. She was incredibly young; he was apt to overlook the age gap sometimes. Usually she had the composure of someone much older.
‘No, you didn’t, but it is fairly obvious you’re discontented. I had no idea.’
‘How could you?’ The retort escaped before she could censor it. Some days they barely exchanged two words. ‘I’m not discontent, just tired,’ she said dully. The loneliness of her position rushed in on her and it was more than she could bear tonight. Just go, please go! she thought miserably.
As if he detected her passionate wish, he turned abruptly. ‘We’ll talk in the morning.’
Now there’s something to look forward to, she thought, torn between tears and laughter as the door closed. In the privacy of her secret dreams she’d imagined him using that door. Usually he’d just woken up to the fact that he’d been unaccountably blind to her charms. In none of those meticulously constructed scenarios had she had a runny nose, scratches over half her body or hair flopping in her eyes.
Falling in love with Ethan Kemp was the only truly spontaneous thing she could recall doing in her life. You didn’t have to be a starry-eyed believer in love at first sight to have it happen to you; she was the living proof. Her prosaic soul had been set alight the instant she’d set eyes on him. He was tall, with an impressive athletic build, and one glance into those shrewd eyes had told her he had an intellect to match his muscles. Never one to respond to superficial beauty, she’d been inexplicably bowled over. None of these passionate cravings had been evident in her colourless replies as she’d sat through the interview. If they had she doubted she’d have got the job.
Worshipping him from afar had always made her particularly inarticulate in his presence, but, so long as the children were happy, Ethan’s interest in their nanny had been minimal. When he’d first started to show an interest in her lukewarm friendship with Matt Carter, a local primary school teacher, she had almost allowed herself to think he might have noticed her as a person.
As it had turned out, he’d just been afraid history was about to repeat itself. Emma and Tom had had three nannies in the year before she’d arrived. Tom had been one, and he’d simply responded to anyone who’d offered him love and warmth. His sister had been a different proposition—five when Hannah had first arrived, and it had been an uphill battle for Hannah to win her trust. Her short life had taught Emma it was painful to love someone only to have them vanish. Hannah could identify with her suspicion, and slowly she’d won the child’s trust, until by the end of that first year she’d become an integral part of the children’s lives.
An indispensable part, as far as Ethan was concerned. They were now confident, happy children, and he’d been prepared to go to extraordinary lengths to provide them with continuing stability. He’d been shocked to recognise the possibility that Hannah might just follow the example of the previous three nannies and do something inconvenient like fall in love or get pregnant. He didn’t actually want a wife, and, just in case Hannah had any doubts on the subject, he’d told her so.
He’d known her history when he’d offered her a home and financial security. No doubt he’d considered the bait irresistible to someone who was completely alone in the world. She’d never have to budget her meagre resources again; she’d have the family she’d always dreamed of—in short it was a fairy tale. The but was inescapable: he would never view her as anything other than a paid employee, no matter what her title. The pre-nuptial agreement he’d had her sign prior to the wedding had only served to reinforce this fact.
He had probably congratulated himself on his subtle, but clever presentation of the package when she’d appeared the next morning, looking unusually pale and subdued, and said the all-important ‘yes’. He wouldn’t have looked so happy if he’d suspected that, no matter how tempting his offer might appear to a girl who longed for roots and stability, it was love that had been the vital ingredient in the equation. Love that had made her ignore the logical part of her brain that told her that such a union could only give her pain.
CHAPTER TWO
TOM usually woke Hannah by creeping into her bed, often before six in the morning. This morning there was no solid little body against hers when she awoke. A light sleeper, she didn’t normally need to set her alarm clock, but there had been nothing normal about the previous night! A whistle-stop, vaguely panicky tour revealed the children weren’t in their rooms.
‘Why didn’t anyone wake me?’ Hannah demanded breathlessly as she ran into the kitchen still tying the belt on her robe. ‘Ouf, sorry,’ she gasped as she rushed full tilt into her husband.
‘I told them not to,’ Ethan replied calmly.
She was conscious of the intimate contact of their bodies only for a few seconds before he solicitously steadied her and stepped away. It was enough to send her pulse-rate hammering. Although he didn’t douse himself in masculine cologne, she could have recognised his presence blindfolded in any room. Her nostrils automatically flared as she got a full dose of his signature male fragrance.
‘What are you doing here?’ She instantly wished the words unsaid. Ethan didn’t want or need her interest, and any suggestion of interrogation would be met with a sharp rebuttal. Now was the time to get their relationship back on its neatly designed unchallenging lines. Last night had been a blip in normality not a new chapter.
One dark brow quirked. ‘I live here, remember.’
His dry tone brought a flush to her cheeks. ‘Shouldn’t you be in work?’ There I go again.
As she spoke Hannah was conscious of the fact that they weren’t alone; despite appearances, at least one pair of ears was undoubtedly taking in every word. The housekeeper had never made any comment on her employer’s odd choice of bride, but she wouldn’t have been human if the situation hadn’t intrigued her.
Hannah sometimes wondered what she said about them to her husband when she returned home in the evenings. She’d been in situ when the first Mrs Kemp had been alive, and Hannah had half expected her to keep the sort of suspicious, unfriendly distance many of Ethan’s friends did. To her relief this hadn’t been the case. So long as Hannah didn’t trespass on her domestic territory, she seemed perfectly at ease with the arrangement.
Ethan didn’t normally participate in the usual morning chaos of dressing and feeding the children, then ferrying Emma to school. He was generally leaving the house as Hannah fetched the children downstairs. He appeared to start the day with nothing more substantial than a cup of strong black coffee, a practice Hannah privately had serious reservations about. She had never voiced her concerns, because Ethan’s welfare was one of those things that were out of bounds. She had no doubt that with a few well-chosen words he could and would subdue any pretensions she had in that direction.
‘Not this morning, Hannah. Dear God,’ he murmured, inspecting the streak of strawberry jam he’d just discovered down the sleeve of his dark jacket with a grimace. ‘How does he manage to spread it that far?’ he wondered, casting a fascinated look in the direction of his chubby-faced son, who smiled back with cherubic innocence from his highchair.
‘I want down!’ he announced, banging his spoon on the plastic table-top.