Carole Mortimer Romance Collection. Carole Mortimer
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reproval. ‘Maybe,’ she conceded tautly.
James grinned at her now, obviously elated at having his marriage back again, his avowals of love for Silke only a week ago completely forgotten, and his anger at her rejection too. ‘Not maybe, Silke, definitely!’ he teased. ‘And he obviously feels the same way—’
‘No, he doesn’t,’ she cut in determinedly.
‘No?’ James questioned derisively. ‘Then why does he act like a jealous lover every time he sees me?’
Colour warmed her cheeks at having Lyon described as her lover. Because that was what he had been. Her only lover.
‘Ah,’ James said knowledgeably.
Silke looked at him frowningly. ‘What do you mean, “ah”?’
He shook his head. ‘I really am sorry for behaving like an idiot last week, Silke.’ He walked to the door. ‘Send me an invitation to the wedding, won’t you?’ he added teasingly as he prepared to leave. ‘It probably wouldn’t be a good idea for me to come, but at least the invitation will tell me the two of you have sorted things out. And I would like to think of you being happy, Silke,’ he added huskily.
‘Not with Lyon,’ she told him firmly, shaking her head.
‘We’ll see,’ he returned enigmatically. ‘And the first thing you ought to do is let him know that you aren’t going away with me!’
She had no intention of telling Lyon any such thing. He would learn the truth soon enough, no doubt, but for the moment she needed a little breathing space. Time to get away. Time to get over loving Lyon...
* * *
‘What are you doing, darling?’ Her mother looked at her concernedly as they sat across from each other in the spacious sitting-room of her new home.
Silke had called in briefly to talk to her mother before going away; she didn’t want to cause her mother any more distress than she had had in recent weeks, by simply disappearing. Obviously Lyon had seen her mother first!
‘Not what Lyon thinks I am,’ she answered drily.
‘You and Lyon...’ her mother began slowly, a slightly puzzled frown on her face.
Silke stiffened. ‘There isn’t a “Lyon and me”,’ she denied determinedly.
Her mother looked at her closely. ‘Oh, I think there is,’ she said knowingly.
She shook her head. ‘No, I—’
‘Silke, I’ve talked to Lyon,’ her mother put in quietly.
Silke gave her a sharp look. What did she mean, she had talked to Lyon? What about? Surely he wouldn’t have— No, she didn’t believe for one moment Lyon would have told her mother what had happened between them.
‘We’ve both talked,’ her mother corrected herself. ‘About the past, about my meeting Henry again after all these years. I think—no, I’m sure Lyon understands what happened now.’
Silke watched her closely. ‘And?’
‘And we understand each other better now,’ her mother smiled. ‘It’s because of that understanding—’ she sobered ‘—that I don’t think history should repeat itself.’ She gave Silke a pointed look.
She stiffened, at once on the defensive. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she avoided. There was no chance of history repeating itself; she might love Lyon, but he certainly didn’t love her.
‘You’re running, Silke,’ her mother chided. ‘Just as I did. Don’t you think you should give Lyon a chance?’
‘To do what?’ she frowned.
‘Silke, I don’t know what this business with James is all about, but I do know you aren’t going away with him, as Lyon thinks you are.’ She shook her head.
Silke frowned. ‘Lyon told you about that?’
‘I told you.’ Her mother nodded. ‘We talked. About all sorts of things.’
‘Such as?’ Silke was defensive again now; what if Lyon had told her mother about their intimacy?
‘Silke, why did you let him go on believing you’re going away with James?’ her mother persisted, not answering her question.
‘Because—’ To her chagrin her voice broke. ‘Because at the time I just wanted him to leave,’ she finished more firmly.
‘Why?’
‘Mummy—’
‘This is important, Silke,’ her mother cut in determinedly. ‘I wasted thirty-five years; I have no intention of seeing you make the same mistake.’
Silke blinked back the tears, her control going now, her hands twisted tightly together in her lap. ‘Because if he hadn’t left when he did I would have broken down,’ she admitted shakily. ‘Because I love him,’ she said more forcefully, shaken at putting her feelings into words for the first time. ‘Because he doesn’t love me!’ she choked, the tears starting to fall now, blinding her as she buried her face in her hands.
‘He loves you, Silke,’ an all too familiar voice told her huskily. ‘He just isn’t very good at admitting he loves anyone. Basically because I didn’t want to love anyone,’ Lyon admitted gruffly.
Silke had turned, stricken, at the first sound of his voice, staring at him dazedly as he stood in the open doorway. How long had he been standing there? She hadn’t even realised he was here; his car hadn’t been outside in the driveway when she arrived, and—
Had he just said that he loved her?
‘I think I’ll leave the two of you alone together,’ her mother stood up. ‘Thirty-five years is a long time, Silke,’ her mother reminded her softly, squeezing her arm as she walked past her to leave the room.
Lyon watched Silke from across the room, dark and attractive in a navy silk shirt and navy fitted trousers, his expression wary now, a little uncertain. It wasn’t an emotion Silke would ever have associated with him!
She stood up slowly, smoothing her hands down her denim-clad thighs. ‘I had no idea you were here,’ she said nervously, her eyes wide as she looked at him.
‘I came down with your mother earlier,’ he shrugged. ‘As she said, I wanted to talk to her.’
Silke nodded. ‘I’m glad the two of you have sorted out your differences, that you’ve decided to accept my mother in your uncle’s life.’
The two of them were talking to each other like strangers; maybe she had imagined that he had said he loved her?
‘I think it may be a question of the other way around,’ Lyon gave a self-derisive grimace. ‘I realise now what your mother must have gone through all those years ago,’ he explained at her questioning look. ‘She had more reason to resent me rather than the other way round. If Henry hadn’t been made my guardian the two of them would have been married years ago!’
Her mother and Lyon had done some talking, hadn’t they? ‘Possibly,’ Silke acknowledged. ‘But they both put that in the past, and so I think you should too.’
He nodded. ‘That’s what your mother said,’ he told her ruefully.
The two of them continued to look at each other, neither of them speaking, neither of them moving, just looking at each other. And it was killing Silke. Had he said he loved her?
‘Of course I love you,’ he spoke huskily—and Silke realised she had said the words out loud!
Her cheeks felt hot as she stared at him. ‘I love you too,’ she finally said softly.
‘So what are we going to do about it?’ he prompted abruptly.
Silke