‘Spare me your moral take on things,’ he shot back contemptuously. ‘And don’t think to worm your way out by using the basis of our marriage to exonerate your behaviour!’ His voice chilled even more. ‘Let alone by trying to make out you were no worse than me! You committed adultery. I did not.’
Shock was ricocheting round her. Theo had not continued with his affairs while they were married. It was impossible to believe, and yet—
No wonder he seduced me! He had no intention of remaining celibate…
He had used her. Deliberately and callously. Used her for sexual relief…
She felt an anger that surpassed anything that she had felt for him till now. Even when he had thrown at her what he had.
‘You absolute bastard,’ she said slowly.
Something flashed in his eyes. ‘For calling you what you are? Shameless, conscienceless, without remorse or regret! Bringing shame down on your uncle for—’
Anger leapt in her again.
‘You were responsible for that! There was no need—no need at all—to tell him why our marriage had ended!’
His face darkened. ‘I did my best to avoid telling him. Unlike you.’ His voice was scathing. ‘I wanted to spare his feelings. But he persisted, insisted on knowing why you had returned to England, why our marriage was being dissolved, and in the end I had to tell him the truth. That there had been someone else, another man.’ His eyes lasered into her. ‘Perhaps in London, in sophisticated, liberated circles, adultery means little. Here, there is a different attitude. Your behaviour hurt your uncle very much—something that still completely fails to prick your conscience.’
‘My conscience is clear!’ Her retort was instant, vehement.
‘How convenient. How very convenient. You go from my bed to his in the space of mere hours! Hours! From sex with me to sex with him before the sun has set!’ His voice whipped her, lifting the flesh from her bones. Remorselessly he ploughed on, each word another crack of his cruel whip. ‘Then, when you get greedy for the money which you think—you really think!—you’re entitled to, you come crawling back to me! You sell your body back to me for cash. And you come here to tell me you are giving it to your oh-so-accommodating lover, seeing no need to tell him how you managed to get it. What a very convenient conscience you have, to be sure. But just how convenient, I wonder?’
He had started to walk towards her, down the length of the table. His voice as he spoke was smooth, but it caught at her like fine barbs. In all the hideous maelstrom of emotions inside her she could feel, quite suddenly, her heart rate start to quicken, adrenaline start to run. Fear licked through her. He was still approaching her. She started to back away. It was essential, quite essential, to back away—
His eyes were holding hers, dark and glittering. She felt her stomach hollow.
‘How, I wonder, how far will that wonderfully flexible, elastic conscience of yours stretch?’
He was getting closer. She backed away, backed against the wall. He went on coming towards her.
‘Stay away from me!’ Her voice was high-pitched, adrenaline streaming in her blood, fear—it must be fear!—jumping in her veins.
He did not stop. His eyes still held hers, immobilising her. His voice was smooth, as smooth as the devil’s.
‘Stay away from you? But that isn’t what you want, is it, Vicky? You don’t want that at all. This is what you want. You wanted it every night this last week—over and over and over again. You couldn’t get enough of it…’
He reached his hand out to her. Smoothed down the silken fall of her hair. A shiver went through her, trembling in her body. His hand cupped her face, his thumb stroking along her cheekbone. She felt it in every part of her body.
No! No—don’t let him! Don’t let him!
She wanted to move—run, hide. But she could not. She could only stand, paralysed, immobilised, the hard, unyielding surface of the wall behind her. The hard, unyielding figure in front of her.
‘This is what you want,’ he said again, and his other hand slid around the nape of her neck, his fingers slowly moving, sensuously, seductively, on the sensitive skin. She felt weak, boneless.
His eyes caressed her.
‘You want this, and you know can have it—don’t you? You don’t even need to tell yourself it’s to get the money you want. And you won’t have to tell your lover because of that convenient conscience of yours—the one that allows you to do this…’
His mouth lowered to hers. It moved on hers slowly, languorously, devastatingly. She felt her legs give, and in the same moment his fingers at her nape strengthened, holding her head as he took her mouth, opening it to his.
It was bliss. It was heaven. She could not stop, could not resist, could not do anything except give herself to the sensation firing through her.
He lifted his mouth from hers. The dark glitter in his eyes shot through her like sparks of fire. Igniting her.
‘Still more? Allow me to oblige you—’
He scooped her up. Her body was boneless, clinging. She didn’t care. Could not care. Could not do anything except lift her mouth to his as he lowered it again, striding through the room into the lounge. He didn’t bother with the bedroom, or a bed. Even as he lowered her to the sofa he was stripping off his jacket, tie, shirt. Swiftly, ruthlessly discarding what was unnecessary for the moment. Then he turned his attentions to her. Her zip was gone in an instant, her dress discarded. Blood pounded in her veins, hunger in her eyes, her mouth. Oh, dear God, she wanted him. Wanted the hard, lean length of him on her, in her. Arousal consumed her like a fire in the undergrowth.