The Secret Love-Child. Miranda Lee
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of the kind. She wanted to cry some more. And to scream. She’d been so close to having her dream come true. So darned close!
‘Maybe I do and maybe I don’t,’ she grumbled, letting his lapels go. ‘I’d still marry you. I haven’t much time for the highly overrated state of being in love.’
And she’d thought he felt the same way.
‘Maybe that’s because you’ve never really been in love,’ Luke said.
Isabel’s laugh was tinged with bitterness. ‘I’m an expert in the subject. But that’s all right. You’ll live and learn, Luke Freeman, and when you do, give me a call. Meanwhile, let’s go inside, as you said. I need a drink. Not tea or coffee. Something much stronger. Dad still has some of the malt whisky I gave him for his birthday. That should do the trick.’
Isabel let herself into the house, Luke following.
‘But you don’t drink Scotch,’ he pointed out with a frown in his voice.
‘Aah, but I do,’ she threw over her shoulder at him as she strode into her parents’ lounge room, heading straight for the drinks cabinet in the corner. ‘When the occasion calls for it,’ she added, pouring herself half a glassful. ‘Which is now. Today. This very second.’
She knocked back half of it, steadfastly refusing to shudder like some simpering female fool while it burnt a red-hot path down her throat. ‘Ahh,’ she said with a lip-smacking sigh of satisfaction once it reached its destination. ‘That hits the spot. You want one?’ she asked Luke, but he shook his head.
Swirling the amber liquid in her glass, she walked over and settled in one of her mother’s large comfy armchairs, her feet curled up under her. Hooking her hair behind her ear with her left hand, she lifted the whisky to her lips and took another deep swallow. She glanced over at Luke, who was still standing near the doorway, looking startled by her behaviour.
Isabel supposed she wasn’t living up to the image he obviously had of her. Up till today it had been easy to play the role of the super-serene, super-sensible fiancée who was never fazed or upset by anything he did. Because he’d never done anything to really upset her.
Clearly, he didn’t know what to make of her as her real self, instead of Lady Isabel, the unflappable.
But did he honestly think he could roll up and tell her their wedding was off at this late stage with no trouble at all? Did he imagine she wouldn’t be hurt by his obviously being unfaithful to her last night?
The realisation that she had been mentally unfaithful to him today tempered her inner fury somewhat, and brought some sympathy and understanding for Luke’s actions. Marriages made with the head and not the heart might have worked in the past, she appreciated. But in this modern day and age, with all the abounding sexual temptations, such a union was a disaster waiting to happen.
Still, she would be surprised if it was true love compelling Luke to do this. More likely that good deceiver lust!
‘I suppose she’s beautiful, this Celia,’ she said drily.
‘I think so.’ Luke finally sat down as well.
‘What does she do?’
‘She’s a physiotherapist.’
A physiotherapist. Not only beautiful but clever and educated as well.
Isabel hadn’t embraced tertiary studies after leaving high school. Her exam results hadn’t been good enough. Oh, she wasn’t dumb, just not focused on her school work. She’d been far too interested in boys at the time, much to her parents’ dismay.
She had managed a brief receptionist course at tech. That, combined with her looks, had meant she’d been rarely out of a job. Over the years she’d become a top receptionist, computer literate and very competent.
Yet she’d never really been interested in a career as such. She’d always wanted marriage and motherhood. It irked Isabel that this Celia, however innocently, had stolen the one man who might have given her both.
‘And what was she doing, staying in your father’s weekender? Did he rent it out?’
‘No. She’s his mistress’s daughter.’
‘His what?’ Isabel’s feet shot out from under her as she snapped forward on the chair.
‘Dad’s mistress’s daughter,’ Luke repeated drily.
Isabel gaped. ‘No! I don’t believe you. Not your dad. With a mistress? That’s impossible. He was one of the best husbands and fathers I’ve ever met. He was one of the reasons I wanted to marry you. Because I believed you’d be just as good a family man.’
‘As I said…it’s a long story.’
‘And a fascinating one, I’m sure,’ Isabel mused. ‘It seems the Freeman men have a dark side I don’t know about.’
‘Could be,’ Luke agreed ruefully.
‘I wish I’d known about it sooner,’ she muttered, and swigged back the last of the whisky in her glass.
Luke shot her a puzzled look. ‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just a private joke. I have this perverse sense of humour sometimes. Come on, tell me all the naughty details.’
‘I hope you won’t be too shocked.’
She chuckled. ‘Oh, dear, that’s funny. Me, shocked? Trust me, darling. I can never be seriously shocked by anything sexual.’
Luke frowned at her. ‘Did I ever really know you, Isabel?’
‘Did I ever really know you?’ she countered saucily.
Their eyes met and they smiled together.
‘You’ll find someone else, Isabel,’ Luke said with total confidence.
‘I dare say I will. But not quite like you, darling. You were one in a million. Your Celia is one lucky girl. I hope you’ll be very happy together.’ Privately, she didn’t think they would be, but who knew? Maybe Luke was a better picker than herself when it came to falling in love. If he was really in love, that was.
‘Thanks, Isabel. That’s very generous of you. But we won’t be rushing to the altar. Which reminds me. I will, of course, be footing the bill for any expenses your parents have encountered with the wedding. I’ll send them a cheque which should cover everything, and with some left over. And I’ll be doing the right thing by you, too.’
She shook her head, then slipped the solitaire-diamond engagement ring off her finger. ‘No, Luke. I wasn’t marrying you for your money. I know you might have thought I was, but I wasn’t. I was just pleased you were successful and stable. I wanted that security for my children. And for myself.’
When she went to give him the ring, he refused to take it. ‘I don’t want that ring back, Isabel. It’s yours. I gave it to you. You keep it, or sell it if you want to.’
Isabel came close to crying again. He really was the nicest man. He’d have made a wonderful father.
She shrugged and slipped the ring onto her right hand. ‘If you insist,’ she said, using every bit of her will-power to keep it together. ‘But I won’t sell it. I’ll wear it. It’s a beautiful ring. Fortunate, though, that I didn’t find any wedding rings I liked yesterday, so at least we don’t have to return them.’
Isabel was still amazed by the fact that less than twenty-four hours ago Luke had been very happy with her. But, as they said in the classics, there was many a slip ’twixt the cup and the lip.
She sighed, then stared regretfully into her now empty glass. ‘I’d better go get you your credit card while you’re here.’ And while she could still stand. That whisky was really working now.
‘That can wait,’ Luke said before she could get up. ‘I want to finish discussing