‘I’m sorry,’ he said quietly, and a totally new ex- pression came into his face.
She rushed on, not wanting to be affected by the sympathy which had softened the dark eyes. ‘My mother is on her own—she lives in Devon. Her health is—frail. The journey would be too much for her.’
‘Even if I arrange for a private jet?’
Jade swallowed. Even if he arranged for the re- ception to take place in the presence of the Queen, it would make no difference. ‘Thank you, but no.’ She saw the puzzlement darkening his eyes, and suddenly she wanted the score evened—why had he never talked about his own family? ‘And your family?’ she challenged. ‘Will they be attending?’
‘No,’ he said determinedly. ‘Just Stavros, as witness.’
‘I see.’ She put her cup and saucer down, under- standing immediately his own reasons for not wanting a family celebration. Because why bother when the wedding was nothing but a farce? To have his family come dance at it would make further mockery of it. And yet, didn’t it hurt more than a little bit to imagine a cold little signing of papers in some anonymous little register office some- where, when she’d once imagined an enchanting union with them whispering their heartfelt vows to each other?
Jade rose to her feet, feeling drained, and knowing that her face was blanched of all colour. ’If that will be all,’ she said, in the manner of a secretary speaking to her boss, rather than that of a prospective bride speaking to her husband-to-be. ‘Then I’ll go to my room.’
He inclined his dark head, but said nothing, and Jade, with the prospect of another long, empty evening ahead of her, found herself wishing that he had asked her to join him tonight, at his business dinner.
She would have said no, of course, but it would be nice to have been asked.
CHAPTER NINE
JADE, refusing to cower in her bedroom as though she’d done something wrong, was sitting in one of the armchairs watching the television—though she couldn’t have described a single second of the pro- gramme she had been watching—when Constantine emerged from his room, ready for dinner. He had showered and changed and was wearing the most exquisitely cut suit in deepest blue, and a dark blue and white spotted tie of raw silk knotted around the strong sinews of his neck. The dark wavy hair was almost dry, but a tendril had fallen on to the wide and aristocratic forehead, and this one untidy deviation in an otherwise immaculate appearance somehow added even more to his physical appeal. As if he needed anything to do that, thought Jade ruefully.
He stood looking down at her for an instant, the lean face indifferent, but not as cold as before. ‘Get some sleep,’ he instructed. ‘There are dark shadows beneath your eyes. Goodnight, Jade.’
She watched as the door closed quietly behind him and found herself again wishing that he had asked her to have dinner with him. But what would have been the point? Too many cosy get-togethers like the one they had shared this afternoon over tea would surely be detrimental? That way spelt danger, and the threat of her succumbing to the subtle web of charm he could spin. And painted a false picture of him. Because the way he’d behaved while sharing scones with her was about as far removed as it was possible to be from the man who had ruthlessly seduced her, then taken over the newspaper and threatened to boot out half the staff if she didn’t agree to his proposal of marriage.
Jade continued to try and concentrate on the documentary before giving up; and, going into her bedroom, she had a quick shower, then changed into an Edwardian nightgown of fine lawn, brushing her newly washed hair and leaving it hanging loose all the way down her back. She read a book, rang down for a salade Nicoise and a glass of milk, and after she’d eaten and brushed her teeth she took the book to bed with her to read.
It was a story which a few weeks ago she would have thoroughly lost herself in, but tonight the words on the pages bobbed around like midges, and eventually she gave up the struggle and turned out the light.
She thought she’d crash out as soon as her head hit the pillow, but sleep was surprisingly slow in coming. Behind closed eyes, she kept seeing Constantine’s face in its many guises—stark with passion, dark with a fiercely controlled rage, exhausted and weary, and—this afternoon—like a rare jewel, the sight of his uninhibited laughter again. Pathetic really, to think how much that had warmed her in response.
Sleep came, but it was the deep yet restless sleep which accompanied a troubled mind. Jade found herself far away from the comfort of her luxury hotel bed, poised instead in the doorway of an empty house, her panama school-hat on her head, the sunlight streaming in from the bright day behind her, even though the house was strangely dark. And cold.
‘Mummy?’ she called out tentatively into the silence. ‘Mummy?’ But the silence continued, growing more vast and more awesome by the second as she realised the implication of the sealed letter addressed to her father which lay on the hall table. ‘No!’ she screamed. ‘No!’
‘Jade!’
The deep voice penetrated her consciousness. Warm, strong hands were on her shoulders, shaking her awake.
‘No!’ she screamed again, and then fell into the blissful safety of an embrace, but a masculine em- brace, not her mother’s embrace. Her mother had never embraced her…
‘Sssh.’ His voice was strangely comforting, but it seemed to come from a long way away. ‘Sssh. It’s a dream, agape mou,’ he murmured into her hair. ‘Nothing but a dream.’
But if this was a dream, then she never wanted to wake up. Here, half awake in his arms, existed a kinder reality, an infinitely more attractive reality than the true circumstances of why they were together. In dreams, wishes could come true…
She didn’t want to open her eyes; she wanted her dream to stay, never wanted to leave it. She allowed his arms to tighten around her, knowing that she had found what she wanted. She wanted this: Constantine’s protection and Constantine’s possession.
But he was breaking into the tender and blissful disorientation she felt at being within the strong circle of his arms. Breaking in with a question she didn’t want to even acknowledge, for to do that would be to resurrect the unbearable pain of her childhood.
‘Jade,’ he whispered softly. ‘What is it that troubles you? Is it the marriage?’
The marriage? Right at this moment, with her emotions swamping her senses, marriage to him seemed like a bedrock of heavenly security. If only the rock didn’t happen to be built on sand…
‘Is it the marriage?’ he asked again, and she shook her head, her silky hair fanning over that warm, strong neck as she did so, and she heard him sigh.
‘What, then?’
She shook her head.