In a few mad days, Rafe had made himself so indispensable to her that she could deny him nothing. He was the rock she clung to in the storm-wrecked destruction that had taken place inside her.
As if he knew it, he took her hand as soon as she was in reach, drawing it firmly into the crook of his arm and holding it there with his own hand.
There, you’re safe now, the gesture seemed to say, and she lifted her bruised eyes to his and smiled—albeit weakly, but it was a smile.
She didn’t hear the soft gasp her friend uttered when she saw that smile, nor did she see the hard look of triumph Rafe sent Jemma, because she had already lowered her head and was lost in that hazy world of nothing, relying totally on this man beside her for her very survival.
It was a brief civil ceremony—a relief to Shaan, who didn’t think she could have coped with anything more. Her aunt and uncle were there. They hugged and kissed her and told her to be happy, but she saw the look in their eyes and knew they were still suffering a similar shock to herself over what had happened.
Jemma was more direct. She took hold of her friend’s shoulders and made her look directly at her, taking her chance while Rafe stood across the room talking grimly to a man he had briefly introduced as, ‘Saul, my second in command.’
‘Anything,’ Jemma said urgently. ‘If for any reason you need me for anything—you just call and I’ll come. Understand?’
Shaan nodded, her eyes huge and dark and empty in her pale face. ‘Thank you.’ She leaned forward to brush a kiss across Jemma’s warm cheek. ‘Please don’t worry about me, Jem,’ she pleaded as she drew away again. ‘Rafe will look after me.’
‘Will he?’ Jemma’s sceptical gaze lifted to take in the man in question. ‘He better had, or the Danvers family will have me to contend with.’
Shaan managed to smile at that, recognising the threat for what it was—a weak one, since Jemma was in no position to do the Danvers fa
mily any harm. But the meaning was clear—Jemma was not fooled. She was puzzled, but not fooled, and she considered the Danvers family had done enough to her friend without hurting her any more.
There was no wedding breakfast. Rafe rushed her straight into a waiting limousine the moment they left the register office. He said it was because they had a plane to catch, but Shaan had to wonder if he was rushing her away because he knew their deception would not hold up to any real scrutiny.
And the irritating press didn’t help. Their flashbulbs had been exploding in their faces from the moment they had stepped out of Rafe’s house, and hadn’t stopped since. By the time the chauffeur-driven limousine sped away from the kerb, Shaan was wilting with fatigue, the act of playing the blissful bride having drained her to the very dregs.
‘All right?’ Rafe enquired, his hand covering her cold ones where they lay together on her lap.
She nodded, sighing as she leaned back into the soft, squashy leather seat. ‘Will our picture be splashed all over the papers again tomorrow?’ Her tone alone said she didn’t relish the idea.
‘That depends,’ he replied, ‘on whether there’s a disaster between now and then. We are classed as expendable news.’ He answered the puzzled look she sent him. ‘The juicy fill-in to help sell their rags if nothing better comes along—vulgar, isn’t it?’
‘How do you live under such constant notoriety?’ she asked with a small shudder.
‘I don’t—usually,’ he replied, and she shuddered again, in bleak recognition this time that it was her fault that he was having to endure it now.
‘I’m—sorry,’ she whispered.
‘Why should you be sorry?’ he clipped. ‘It wasn’t you who caused this particular sensation, Shaan. It was me.’
‘And Piers,’ she added hollowly.
‘The Danvers brothers, then.’ He nodded, and leaned forward to press a button on the console in front of him which sent the sheet of glass that partitioned them off from their driver sliding downwards. ‘Make sure you lose them before we head for the airport,’ he commanded. ‘They’ve had their floorshow; now they can take a running jump.’
The man nodded and glanced in his rearview mirror, and swerved neatly into the outer lane, taking a right turn at the next set of traffic lights, then a quick left, appearing to anyone who knew London well that he was taking them directly back to Rafe’s London address, his sharp gaze constantly checking his rearview mirror. But after a while he changed direction, sweeping them out of London and toward Heathrow.
‘You’ve just got time to change out of that suit before we board,’ Rafe told her when they’d booked into the first class departure lounge. And he handed her a flight bag before directing her to the ladies room.
She nodded and went, coming back ten minutes later dressed in a soft cream cotton shirt and a pair of buff-coloured trousers that Mrs Clough must have packed for her, because she certainly hadn’t done it for herself.
She found Rafe lounging by the wall not three feet away. He hadn’t changed, but, then, his outfit was not so obviously bridal. The red rose had gone from his lapel, though, and his face was wearing that harsh, implacable look she hadn’t seen at all that morning.
His eyes glittered oddly as they glanced over her, sprinkling her with a strange sense of intimacy that she found unnerving simply because she did not understand it.
Then he was reaching out to take the flight bag from her, and the odd look was gone. ‘We’re running late,’ he said, curving a hand around her arm to begin guiding her through the milling throng of fellow travellers. He was rushing, and she had to run to keep up with him as he strode towards the long row of departure gates linked by a moving pathway.
They entered the plane via a connecting corridor. Their seats were the best in the first class section of the 747. Feeling slightly bewildered, and not a little harassed after all the rushing about, it felt to Shaan as if they’d only just got settled when the plane was in the air.
And it was only then that she realised she had no idea where they were flying to. ‘W-where are we going?’ she questioned.