She knew with some inner instinct she had not known she possessed that for him this was the first time he had fully possessed her without holding back, and tinging her despair that she had given way so easily to the seduction of her senses was triumph that for a few brief seconds at least he had wanted her every bit as desperately as she had wanted him.
Later, when she was on the verge of sleep, he leaned over her, cupping her face, so that he could watch her eyes.
‘Never tell me again that you don’t want me,’ he told her cruelly. ‘Please, Luke…’ The savage mimic
ry of her pleas to him made her blench. ‘Perhaps I should have recorded it, just to remind myself of what you’re like when you’re a woman. I could have played it to Bob, and let him know what he’s missing.’
Nothing had changed, Genista thought, as the tears rolled silently down her cheeks, and she had been a fool to think it might just be because they had shared a few ecstatic seconds of pleasure. For her, what she had given to Luke had been given with love, but he had taken with revenge and lust, and that was something she must always remember.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SHE was alone again when she woke up, so much so that she might have doubted that the elemental lovemaking of the previous evening had ever taken place had it not been for the faint bruises on her arms, and the memory of how her body had responded with pagan abandon to Luke’s mastery.
She and Lucy went to London after an early lunch. Lucy was enchanted with the teenage fashions in the shops, and Genista watched her indulgently, knowing that despite her outer care-free air inwardly her thoughts were on her parents.
They had afternoon tea at Fortnum’s—a treat which very much appealed, if Lucy’s wide-eyed appreciation was anything to go by—and afterwards they went back to Genista’s apartment.
‘You did get married in a rush, didn’t you?’ Lucy commented as Genista opened her wardrobe door. ‘What a gorgeous fur!’ she exclaimed enviously, spotting Genista’s fox jacket. ‘I wouldn’t have left that behind.’
‘I don’t normally have much use for it in June,’ Genista told her dryly. Seeing her winter clothes hanging in the cupboard reminded her painfully that by winter she could very well be back in this apartment—alone. Only she knew how close she had come last night to breathing her love—only she knew that she had betrayed it. Every kiss, every caress had been an open admission of her feelings, but Luke did not know it. No doubt he was accustomed to women who treated sex in much the same way as a man—as an appetite to be indulged and then forgotten, whereas for her the act of love had been a culmination of all that she felt for him.
The cream cake she had consumed at Fortnum’s at Lucy’s instigation sat rather heavily on her stomach. She had felt queasy on waking again as well, she remembered uneasily—then a sudden horrified dread almost toppled her into the nearest chair.
‘Are you all right, Genista?’ Lucy questioned worriedly. ‘You don’t look well at all.’
‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ Genista was quick to reassure her. ‘I just felt a little bit queasy—that cream cake, I think.’
If only she could believe that that was true! It seemed impossible that the dread lying at the back of her mind could turn into reality, but on the drive back to the house it kept returning, surfacing with increasing frequency despite her determined efforts to ignore it. She was being silly, she told herself more than once, and besides, surely it was far too soon…She knew so little about these things. She counted backwards slowly, her hands clenching suddenly on the driving wheel, as she realised what the events of the last few days had made her forget. She was probably imagining things, she told herself over and over again. Emotional crises often had disturbing effects upon the body. There was nothing to worry about; no point in raising spectres. Even so, by the time she was turning into the drive she was feverishly tense, and it was left to Lucy to point out the elegant BMW parked outside.
‘Visitors!’ she exclaimed. ‘Uncle Luke must be back.’
Luke had left that morning without giving Genista any clue as to when she might expect him back, and she had wondered with a pang if he intended to see the owner of the seductively husky voice. She got out of her car shakily, her mind still on the frightening possibility that she might actually be carrying his child.
The moment she entered the hall she was aware of an alien presence; it wasn’t just the smell of Opium hanging heavily on the air, or the way the library door had been left open, it was an actual physical awareness, like goosebumps.
‘Darling, at last! I thought you were never coming!’
She recognised the husky, feminine voice before its owner walked languidly into the hall, her lips parting on a small ‘oh’ of tribute to the other woman’s beauty.
She was dark-haired, tall, with the fluid elegance of a model, beautifully dressed and made up, and several years older than Genista. A huge diamond, large enough to be ‘showy’, glittered on her right hand, and her nails were painted a vivid dark red.
‘Oh!’ She paused when she saw Genista, eyeing her disdainfully. ‘The child bride, I presume. Luke really did make a mistake this time, didn’t he? Where is he by the way?—he promised to meet me here at six. We’re supposed to be going out to dinner.’
Her sangfroid took Genista’s breath away. Lucy was standing behind her, and as Genista turned she caught the look of bitter hatred on the girl’s face.
‘What are you doing here?’ she stormed furiously. ‘You broke up my parents’ marriage and now you want to spoil things for Genista! Well, Uncle Luke doesn’t want you back. He knows exactly what you are. You might have fooled him once, but…’
‘That’s enough, Lucy,’ Genista interposed gently, seeing that she was close to breaking down completely. It was as though she had known the identity of the visitor all along, and refused to acknowledge it. Even last night when she answered the phone the knowledge had been there. So this was Verity, the woman her husband had loved. And still did? Was that why he had made love to her with such savage intensity? Because of this woman!
This time her nausea couldn’t be quelled. She was violently sick in the cloakroom, adding further to her sense of humiliation. When she emerged, pale and shaken, Verity eyed her superciliously.
‘How very dramatic,’ she murmured acidly. ‘Haven’t you learned yet, you silly little girl, that Luke abhors emotionalism?’
Lucy had gone—to her room, Genista presumed. How did one entertain one’s husband’s ex-mistress and possibly future wife? It was not something she was ever likely to find in a book of etiquette.
‘There’s no way you can keep him, you know,’ Verity continued. ‘Oh, I’ve no doubt that he doesn’t want to hurt you. In fact, if you behave sensibly now you could come out of it quite pleasantly—finance-wise.’
‘But without Luke,’ Genista said, surprised at her own ability to remain so calm when inwardly she felt as though she were being torn to pieces.