'No.' She interrupted his angry voice with a sharp lift of her chin and a straightening of her body. 'I need…I need some time before I come into breakfast, and then…we can talk afterwards. I can't now; I just can't.' Her voice broke then, and as his face twisted and he would have taken her in his arms she backed away so sharply she almost fell over. She couldn't bear for him to touch her. She hated him. Oh, she hated him.
'Please, Zac,' she said with touching dignity, 'if you've ever had any feeling for me at all, let me have a few minutes by myself. I feel you owe me that at least.'
'This is crazy,' he ground out furiously through clenched teeth. 'Your damned mother wants shooting!'
'I'll see you in a few minutes.' Her voice was dismissive, and she didn't argue the point further, walking swiftly over to the lifts and entering the first one without turning her head. She had half expected him to follow, and by the time she reached their suite and realised he wasn't going to something had solidified in her heart, making it feel like a ten-ton weight.
Their bags were sitting in the corner, packed and labelled for their month's honeymoon in Jamaica, but Victoria took only her overnight case and handbag with her, leaving the hotel quietly by the back entrance through the kitchens to avoid Reception and the possibility that Zac might be there. Facing him again was unthinkable.
Once outside in the cool chill of the late March morning, she stood uncertainly looking from left to right along the side road bordering the rear of the hotel. She couldn't go to their beautiful new house in Wimbledon, or her mother's apartment in Kensington—they would be the first places Zac would look for her—and most of their friends' and relations' homes were out for the same reason. She bit her lip, her face desperate. And then it came to her. William. She could go to William.
William was the brother of one of her old schoolfriends, and she had known him since her first visit to her friend's house when she had been eight years old and terribly shy. He had teased her, played with her, and never once led her to believe he considered an eight-year-old girl beneath his fifteen-year-old notice.
For the next few years Victoria had spent most of the holidays from boarding-school with his family. Her mother had been only too pleased to be spared the inconvenience of having her around—something Coral had made abundantly clear several times—and when Victoria was thirteen, and the family had moved abroad, William had stayed in England. He had a very modern bachelor pad with enough gadgets for a James Bond movie, and she had still continued to visit him now and again before she had left England for the year in Romania.
He had a high-pressured and absorbing job in the BBC, which meant he was out of the country for weeks at a time on some assignment or other, but she knew he had been due home from the latest mission the night before. He had sent a polite note to her a couple of weeks ago to say he regretted he was going to miss the wedding by hours. So, more likely than not he would be in, and, best of all, Zac had never met him. In fact she wasn't even sure if Zac knew of the other man's existence.
William had been in—very in as it happened—and once he had got dressed and the lady had left, insisting she had been due to leave in the next hour anyway, he had let Victoria cry herself into a frenzy and then out of it again. He had held her close, murmuring soothing nothings and asking no questions until she was calmer, at which point he had made a pot of very strong coffee and they had talked the afternoon away.
At the end of that time he'd offered her unconditional sanctuary for as long as she felt she needed it, with an additional invitation of the use of his holiday home in Tunisia which he'd recently inherited from his grandmother.
And she hadn't seen Zac again.
CHAPTER TWO
There was a wonderful aroma drifting through from the kitchen, and as Victoria came out of the tangle of her thoughts she found she was sniffing the air like a child. He really could cook.
'You look about twelve this morning.'
The deep, velvety soft voice from the doorway brought her head swinging round to see Zac watching her, his eyes very intent She stared at him for a moment, and then shrugged carefully, her voice reserved as she said, 'Looks can be deceptive.' And in this case particularly so, she added silently. She was a grown woman with a child— his child—growing inside her. A bolt of something she recognised as fear shot through her, and she turned her head abruptly, hiding her face with the shining, silken veil of her hair. That piercing gaze was too perceptive by half, and it was one of Zac's strengths that he used mercilessly.
Zac mustn't know about the baby. Her mind was screaming a warning to her. In the dark days since their wedding she had come to realise she knew very little about the powerful, enigmatic man she had married so trustingly, but one thing she did know. He was the type of male who would fight tooth and nail for what was his, and he would certainly see this tiny being as belonging absolutely to the Harding empire. Her feelings would be incidental.
She had been raised in the care of nannies and chauffeurs and hired help and it had been miserable. She didn't intend to let that happen to her child. And it was hers, all hers, she told herself fiercely. It was even her mistake that meant it had been conceived at all. She had decided to take the pill several months before, but in all the furore of the wedding she had forgotten that one, vital night, and a possible pregnancy had been the last thing on her mind when she had fled the next morning. She had just wanted to put as many miles between them as she could.
'Come and eat.' His voice was cool now, cool and hard, b
ut she welcomed that It emphasised that he was a stranger, that the man she had fallen in love with, the powerful, tender lover and fascinating companion, had been a figment of her wishful imagination, nothing more. Her Zac had never existed.
They ate at the tiny marbled breakfast bar that was just big enough to accommodate two plates, and Victoria had to admit that the light fluffy omelette and grilled fish doused in lemon and herbs were delicious. Zac had opened a bottle of wine he had found in the fridge, looking slightly surprised when Victoria insisted she only wanted a glass of orange juice but saying nothing.
But once the meal was finished and they had taken their coffee through to the sitting room he said plenty.
'Well?' Victoria had sat down in the rocking chair again but Zac remained standing, darkly brooding and slightly menacing as he leant against the far wall. 'Have you punished me enough or do you intend to continue with this charade?' he asked coolly.
'Charade?' It was only the thought of the damage black coffee would do to William's tasteful furnishings that saved him. 'You think this is a charade, a game, Zac? Think again,' Victoria said tightly as she placed the mug on the table next to her before temptation overcame her. How dared he stand there and say that?
But he had seen her hand tremble, and now he said, his voice grating, 'If you act like a child you should expect me to treat you like one. How could you leave like that, without saying a word? It was the height of stupidity.'
'But I am stupid, Zac,' Victoria glared at him, her pale skin stained scarlet and her jaw setting. 'I believed every word you told me, didn't I? You can't get much more stupid than that.'
'I have never lied to you,' he stated with outrageous righteousness. And then, when she stared at him in furious disbelief, her mouth opening and shutting as she sought for a suitably cutting reply, he added, 'I can see that you disagree with that.'
'You…you said you loved me,' she managed at last.
'I do love you, Victoria.' It was as cold as ice. 'It was you who left me, remember? I didn't go anywhere.'
'And you think that unreasonable?' she asked incredulously. 'You leave me on our wedding night to go to someone else—-'