LITMIR.BIZ

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stone hearth, and a couch was drawn up before the blaze. Waiting on the coffee-table was a tray with cups and saucers, cream and sugar.

      When Madeleine was seated at the table Rafe turned to a massive sideboard, where on a hotplate a glass jug of coffee was bubbling away next to an array of silver dishes.

      Removing the covers, he began to fill two plates with roast chicken and vegetables. Then, setting one of them in front of her, he sat down opposite, poured the Chablis and waited pointedly until she picked up her fork and began to eat.

      His remark about her having to get used to his touch had sounded very much like a threat and, afraid to ask, she wondered nervously just what he’d meant by it.

      ‘Worried that you’ll end up in my bed?’ His voice was laced with intent.

      Glancing up, she answered with spirit, ‘Not when you have a wife.’

      ‘I don’t have a wife.’

      Wits scattered, she stammered, ‘Y-you said your wife wasn’t here.’

      ‘Well, as I haven’t got one, she wouldn’t be, would she?’ he countered reasonably.

      ‘You’re not married?’ She could hardly believe it.

      ‘No, I’m not married,’ he said patiently.

      ‘But I thought…’

      ‘What did you think?’

      For a second or two she floundered, then, gathering herself, said, ‘That with a house like this you’d be married and starting a family.’

      ‘It isn’t mandatory,’ he responded drily.

      ‘Neither is ending up in your bed.’

      He saluted her spirit. ‘But you will.’

      ‘Is that misplaced confidence, or merely conceit?’

      ‘Try fate.’ He laughed.

      Teeth clenched on her bottom lip, she returned her attention to her plate.

      Rafe said nothing further, and for a while only the sound of the wind roaring in the chimney and the mellow tick-tock of the casement clock in the corner broke the silence.

      While she made a pretence of eating, Madeleine’s thoughts tumbled about like ringside clowns. Why wasn’t he married after more than a year? Fiona had made it sound as if the wedding was practically a fait accompli.

      Was he still hedging? Trying to wriggle out of the bargain? Meanwhile taking what amusement he could get on the side?

      Her lip curled. Well, he wasn’t going to use her again. She was wiser now. Not so vulnerable.

      Or was she?

      Though she took care not to look up, she was aware that his eyes seldom left her face. That steady regard was nerve-racking; it made her feel like some specimen on the end of a cruel pin.

      The main course over, he removed the plates and helped her to a generous portion of apple pie and a piece of white Stilton.

      So he’d remembered that she preferred cheese to cream with her apple pie, she thought as she glanced up unwarily, and met those brilliant, heavily lashed eyes. Twin candle flames were reflected in the black pupils, and, fascinated, mesmerised, she found herself unable to look away.

      After what seemed an age, he broke the spell by saying conversationally, ‘So tell me what’s been happening since I last saw you.’

      ‘I thought you were being kept informed,’ she responded tartly.

      Unruffled, he said, ‘There are some important things I still don’t know for sure. For example, why you ran away to Boston in the first place…’

      Well, if he didn’t know, she had no intention of telling him.

      ‘I presumed it was because of Noel, that the pair of you had split when he discovered how you’d been two-timing him…’

      He was a fine one to talk about two-timing, she thought bitterly.

      When she said nothing, Rafe pursued, ‘You certainly fooled me with that pretend shyness, that butter-wouldn’t-melt routine.

      ‘Though I should have realised by the way you disappeared at regular intervals with no explanation that you weren’t the sweet innocent you pretended to be, nevertheless it came as quite a shock to discover just what kind of woman you were…’

      Yes, she could still visualise his expression. He wasn’t used to having the tables turned on him.

      ‘So how many other men have you managed to fascinate and delude since then?’ Rafe’s question brought her back to the present with a bump.

      When she looked at him mutely, he said, ‘I know of at least one who wanted to marry you. Alan, I believe his name was.’

      It must have been Eve who had told him, she realised. When she had mentioned Alan in her emails to Katie, it had been simply as a colleague.

      ‘Did he get angry when he realised you’d been stringing him along? Is that why you came home?’ His voice was full of resentment.

      ‘I’m not in the habit of stringing men along,’ she said stiffly.

      ‘If you weren’t stringing him along, why didn’t you marry him?’ he asked.

      Madeleine’s eyes dropped from his gaze. ‘I didn’t love him enough.’

      ‘Not counting your husband, have you ever truly loved any man?’

      A bitter, cold, gritty feeling in the centre of her chest brought such pain that Madeleine felt tears sting her eyes, and was forced to bend her head while she blinked them away.

      He laughed mirthlessly. ‘No, I thought not.’

      ‘Well, you’re wrong,’ she flared, then, terrified he might have guessed, added with perfect truth, ‘I’ve always loved Noel.’

      ‘Clearly not enough, or you wouldn’t have been happy to cheat on him…No, I’m afraid I don’t seriously believe you’ve ever cared a jot about any man. Though there must have been plenty of men who loved you. Different men, but they were all drawn into the same old game, danced to the same old tune.’ He moved to stand closer to her. ‘But now those games are over, and, for the foreseeable future at least, I’ll be the one calling the tune.’

      ‘I—I don’t know what you mean,’ she stammered.

      His little smile was like a breath of cold air on the back of her neck. ‘I mean that everything has gone according to plan and you’re here with me. Now all I have to do is keep you with me.’

      ‘I might be stuck here for tonight because of the snow—which incidentally I don’t believe even you could have arranged—’

      With a wry grin, he said, ‘I have to admit that the snow was fortuitous.’

      ‘But I shall certainly be leaving first thing in the morning.’ She tried to sound confident.

      ‘I shouldn’t bet on it.’

      Going to the window, he drew aside the heavy red velvet curtains. Through the diamond-leaded panes she could see that thick snow, whipped along by a fierce wind, was swirling past.

      ‘The previous owner admitted that during a bad winter this area, and the hall, can be snowed up for days at a time,’ he added.

      While her skin crawled with apprehension, she made a determined effort to put the situation on a more prosaic footing. ‘Wouldn’t you find being snowed up very inconvenient?’

      ‘Just at the moment I find it the exact opposite,’ he answered smoothly.

      She ignored that, and, taking a deep breath, ploughed on determinedly. ‘What made you decide to move to the country?’

      ‘I

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