Ryan's Revenge. Lee Wilkinson
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‘Were you thinking of having an early night?’
Shaking her head, she explained, ‘I didn’t bother getting dressed again after my shower.’
‘Then if you’re not off to bed, why don’t you have some coffee with me?’
‘Yes, I’d like to. There’s something I want to tell you.’
He hung up the jacket of his suit, and was starting to follow her into the kitchen when she said hastily, ‘I’ll bring it through to the living-room.’
The kitchen was still uncomfortably full of Ryan’s presence.
When she had filled the cafetière and had put the coffee things on the tray, she carried it in and set it down on the low table.
The west-facing room, always pleasant in the evening, was full of low sun, which threw a distorted pattern of oblong window panes and leafy branches onto the magnolia walls.
She poured the coffee, stirred sugar and cream into his, and handed it to him.
‘Thank you. I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve being waited on,’ he remarked humorously.
Too tense to sit still, she left her own cup untouched and, wandering over to the window, stood looking out while the silence lengthened.
Now the moment had arrived, she had no idea how to broach the subject.
Watching her and guessing her difficulty, he said, ‘What was it you wanted to tell me?’
Still she hesitated. Suppose he’d had second thoughts about his proposal? Decided it had been a mistake?
Well there was only one way to find out. Turning, she took the bull by the horns. ‘When you asked me to marry you, you said if I ever changed my mind the offer would still be open…’
Thrown, because it was the last thing he’d expected her to say, it was a second or two before he assured her, ‘It is.’
As she let out the breath she’d been unconsciously holding, his blue eyes filled with a dawning hope, he asked urgently, ‘Have you changed your mind?’
‘Yes. I will marry you, if you still want me to.’
‘Darling!’ He was on his feet and gathering her close, eager as a boy. ‘Believe me, I’ve never wanted anything more.’
He held her firmly, with no sign of diffidence, and his kiss was pleasant, almost exciting.
After a while he stopped kissing her to ask, ‘What made you change your mind?’
‘Well, I…I got to thinking… I’d like a husband and a home and a family… You do want children?’ she added a shade anxiously.
‘I’d never actually thought about it,’ he answered honestly. ‘But if that’s what it takes to make you happy… How many were you thinking of?’ He sounded like a man on a high, a man who could hardly believe his luck.
‘At least two, possibly three or four.’
‘Why stop at four?’ he teased.
‘Charles… You are quite certain this is what you want? A wife and family, I mean?’
‘Quite certain. Forty-three isn’t too old.’
‘No, of course it isn’t.’
‘But I’m not getting any younger, so how soon will you marry me?’
‘As soon as you want.’
‘What kind of wedding would you like?’
‘A quiet one.’
‘You don’t want a white dress with all the trimmings?’
Knowing she must tell him the truth, she said flatly, ‘White is the sign of virginity.’
‘And you’re not a virgin?’
‘No. I’m sorry if that bothers you.’
‘My darling, I’m not Victorian enough to support the old double standard. Though I’ve been fairly circumspect in my dealings with women, I certainly haven’t lived like a monk, and I wouldn’t expect a woman of twenty-four never to have had lovers—’
‘Not lovers in the plural,’ she said quietly.
‘One special one?’
‘Yes.’
His heart sank. Several lovers that didn’t really matter was one thing… One special lover that, judging by her face, mattered a great deal was another.
Remembering Virginia’s reaction to the dark, powerful-looking man who had come into the gallery that afternoon, he said, ‘It was Ryan Falconer, wasn’t it?’
Moistening her dry lips, she nodded.
He drew her over to the settee and when she sank down on the soft cushions, took a seat by her side. ‘I think you’d better tell me about him.’
The last person she wanted to talk about just at that minute was Ryan, and half hoping for a reprieve, she stammered, ‘I—I don’t know where to start.’
‘Start at the beginning,’ Charles suggested quietly.
Seeing no help for it, she gathered herself, and began. ‘It’s getting on for three years since we first met. I’d left art school and was working in the Trantor Gallery, when late one morning a man came in…’
While she told him the bare bones of it, memory fleshed out the details and she relived the past as though it was the present…
The gallery was quiet, as it usually was towards noon, just an elderly couple browsing, and a small group of men in business suits discussing the relative merits of two abstract paintings.
Sitting behind the polished-wood reception desk, Virginia was checking the contents of a catalogue when the smoked glass door opened and a man came in and strolled across.
Tall and well-built, with thick dark hair that tried to curl a little, he was dressed in the latest smart-casual De Quincy jacket and handmade shoes.
As he got closer she could see he was somewhere in his early thirties, with a tough, masculine face, strong features and a beautiful mouth.
He was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. No, more than just attractive, he was what Marsha would have termed drop-dead gorgeous.
‘Miss Adams?’ The most incredible blue-violet eyes, with faint laughter lines at the corners, smiled into hers.
Virginia found it quite impossible not to stare into those eyes and, instantly captivated, her mouth went dry, and her heartbeat quickened.
Wits scattered, she stammered, ‘Y-yes.’
‘My name’s Ryan Falconer. I’m acquainted with your parents.’
‘They live in New York,’ she said stupidly.
White teeth flashed in a smile. ‘Yes, I know, I had lunch with them a couple of days ago, and they told me where to find you…’
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