The second, more unexpected realisation was the fact that the sun was blazing in through the curtains in a way that had her reaching for her watch in near panic.
‘Ten-thirty! But it can’t be!’
She was still staring at it, trying to make some sense of what she saw, when the door was pushed open sharply and Ronan came into the room, a laden tray in his hands.
‘Good morning, birthday girl. Breakfast is served.’
‘Breakfast—but I can’t. I—’
‘Back into bed!’
Depositing the tray on the dressing table, Ronan restrained her firmly when she flung back the quilt and would have swung her legs to the ground.
‘Ronan, I can’t! Look at the time. I should have been in work hours ago. I have to—’
Once more she broke off as he shook his dark head at her worried urgency.
‘You have to do nothing but sit back and enjoy yourself.’ Still that firm hand on her shoulder held her when she tried to wriggle free. ‘Hold still, woman! No one’s expecting you at work. I rang and told them that you wouldn’t be in.’
‘You did what?’
Astonishment knocked all the fight out of her and she subsided back onto the pillows, staring up at him in blank bewilderment.
‘But why?’
Even as she framed the question something registered in her mind. Something Ronan had said as he came through the door but she had been too anxious to notice. His next words confirmed that she had heard what she’d thought.
‘Everyone should have a day off on their birthday,’ he tossed over his shoulder as he turned back to pick up the tray again. ‘And besides, I have plans for today that don’t include sharing you with a bunch of florists—sorry about the pun.’
‘Ouch!’
Lily managed an exaggerated grimace of amused disgust even as her heart clenched at that possessive ‘I have plans…’ But the next moment a degree of confusion was back again.
‘How did you know it was my birthday?’
The tray was dumped on her lap with such force that she didn’t have to look into Ronan’s face in order to know his mood had changed for the worse.
‘I was there when we applied for the marriage licence.’ His voice was clipped and taut. ‘We both had to give our dates of birth then.’
Of course. Lily sighed inwardly as her hands went out to steady the cup of coffee that had been rattled in its saucer by such rough treatment. She should have remembered. But, knowing that their marriage had meant so little to him, she had never expected that any part of it would have registered as being of any importance—least of all a minor detail like the date of her birthday.
This was how life with Ronan had been throughout the past week or so. One moment he was relaxed and approachable, seemingly at ease, the next he could switch to being icily distant and hostile. It was as if he was a weather vane that suddenly swung from one compass point to another in response to any change in the direction of the wind.
‘Your cards.’ Ronan tossed a bundle of brightly coloured envelopes onto the bed beside the tray. ‘Nothing from Davey,’ he added nastily as she gathered them up. ‘I checked.’
And if there had been one he would most likely have noted the postmark and got straight on the phone to tell his private detective just where Davey had been when he’d sent it, Lily reflected miserably. It left a sour taste in her mouth to think that even today Ronan couldn’t forget his private vendetta against her brother.
‘We never made a big deal of birthdays in our family,’ she said with a sigh. The truth was that her parents hadn’t lived to see Davey reach his eleventh birthday, and after that there had been precious little money for presents or special treats.
‘All the more reason for you to do so today. Everyone should have at least one day on which they feel really special. I remember that Rosalie used to say—’
Intent on opening one of the cards, Lily didn’t notice his abrupt silence until it had dragged out to an unnerving length of time. Then, disturbed by the sudden tension that seemed to close around her, she lifted her head and frowned enquiringly.
‘Rosalie?’ she questioned, worried by the way those changeable eyes had no warmth in them but were the bleak, threatening grey of the North Sea on a winter’s day.
‘Someone I—knew.’ His voice was as ravaged as his eyes.
‘Someone special?’
He had cared for her; that much was obvious. The way he had spoken her name had left her in no doubt of that.
‘Very special,’ Ronan confirmed curtly.
He had no intention of expanding on his minimal response, it was clear, and Lily didn’t dare to press him.
This Rosalie was probably some ex-girlfriend, she decided. That would explain his reluctance to talk about her. The thought that he might actually have loved the unknown woman, in a way he had never cared for her, brought a rush of burning tears to her eyes so that she had to blink hard to drive them away.
‘Eat your breakfast before it gets cold.’
Lily struggled to obey Ronan’s instruction, but the food stuck in her throat, impossible to swallow.
What had happened between Ronan and this Rosalie? Had she ended their relationship, because it seemed that he still had some strong feelings for her? Or…
The disturbing thought slammed home so hard that she actually caught her breath in shock. Had this Rosalie, too, been sacrificed to the black hatred of Davey that drove Ronan? Could he have put the other girl aside to marry Lily herself? Was it possible that once their travesty of a marriage had served its purpose he would cut himself free and go back to his former love?
‘You’ve been staring at that card for more than a minute.’ Ronan’s voice broke into her thoughts, making her start like a nervous cat.
‘I—was reading the verse,’ she managed, knowing full well from the look of contempt that he turned on the four lines of doggerel she held up that he was not convinced by her explanation. Needing to distract herself, she reached for the next one.
It was from Ronan himself, she realised, recognising the forceful confidence of the writing. That thought made her fingers unsteady, the rapid beat of her heart impossible to control as she opened the envelope.
For a couple of seconds her eyes blurred, making it impossible to focus on the picture on the card. But at last they cleared and she recognised a copy of a painting she had said she loved.
‘It’s beautiful—thank you.’
What had you expected, stupid? she berated herself. That he would have bought some elaborately romantic card—‘For my darling wife with all my love’? Whatever else he was, Ronan was not such a hypocrite as to be party to a lie like that. But she had to admit that just for a moment she had hoped, allowed herself to dream.
‘So, what would you like to do today?’
‘I thought you had plans.’
‘They’re mainly for this evening. I thought you’d like to choose how to spend your time before then.’
‘Could we go out? Onto the moors, perhaps?’
‘Whatever you like.’ Ronan eased his long body off the bed, collecting the discarded envelopes from her cards as he went.
‘Why don’t you think about it while you’re dressing and let me know what you’ve decided? Today, your wish is my command.’
If only she could believe that, Lily reflected as the door swung to behind him. If only she could truly tell Ronan what was on her mind and in her heart, as she might have done if that uncomfortable distance hadn’t come between them with the mention of Rosalie’s name and if she had been able to speak openly.
The thought of just how he might have reacted if she’d told him that what she wanted most was for him to strip off the denim shirt and jeans he was wearing and join her in the bed made her shift uneasily under covers that had suddenly become uncomfortably warm. What she had needed was for him to slide in beside her, draw her to him and make wild, passionate love to her until she was unable to think about this Rosalie, or Davey, or anything. Until she was reduced to such a state of pure feeling that nothing else mattered but Ronan and herself and the powerful force they had created between them.
Showered and dressed, in a green floral top and skirt, she was on her way downstairs when the phone rang in the hall. Taking the last couple of steps in a single jump, she reached it in seconds, snatching it up just as Ronan appeared in the doorway opposite.
‘Hello?’
Her heart missed several beats as an all too familiar voice spoke her name.
‘Oh, Dav—’
Frantically she swallowed down the rest of the name that would have revealed the identity of her caller to the dark, watchful observer at the other side of the hall.
‘Daisy,’ she amended carefully. ‘How lovely to hear from you.’
‘Daisy?’ her brother echoed in obvious confusion. ‘Lill, what the hell…?’
‘It’s Daisy Marchant, Ronan.’ Lily deliberately emphasised the last name. ‘An old friend from school.’
‘He’s still there, then?’ The despair in Davey’s voice tore at her heart. ‘Is that what you’re trying to tell me?’
‘That’s right!’ she improvised, with what she hoped was airy gaiety. ‘It must have been last year! I— No!’
Her sentence ended on a cry of shock and horror as the receiver was snatched from her hand. Some look, gesture, or intonation must have given her away. Ronan, clearly not deceived at all, was now glaring at the instrument as if he believed it was Davey himself, his hand clenched as tightly as he obviously wished he could fasten it around the younger man’s throat.