gifts at their marriage. Apparently these carvings were a tradition in the Michaelis family and were usually made up of symbols and images to represent the bride and groom, their families and elements from their lives. When the headboard had been given to Zarek and Penny it had all seemed to be about boats and the sea, with very little that related to her personally. When she had protested, Zarek had said that he would make sure she was added. She had come back from her wedding reception expecting at the very least to see a rose or two for her English nationality, or even a soaring oak tree as a play on her maiden name of Wood.
It had taken her a long time to find the tiny field mouse almost hidden in one corner of the ornate bed head.
‘Was that what you thought of me? As a mouse? A creeping, sneaking, terrified little mouse?’
‘Well, certainly not now,’ Zarek replied dryly, strolling over to a chair by the window and dropping down into it. ‘Right now you are—what is it that old film was called?—The Mouse that Roared.’
Was that actually a gleam of humour in the darkness of his eyes? Penny couldn’t be sure and because of that she didn’t dare risk rising to his teasing.
‘You have changed, Penny.’
If only he knew how much.
‘I’ve had to change—had to learn how to stand on my own two feet. One moment I was a new wife, embarking on a very different sort of life in an alien country—with in-laws who weren’t exactly pleased to see me arrive in their home, but with my husband by my side to help me through. The next I was…’
Breaking off, she could only shake her head, twisting the tie belt of her robe round and round her fingers, tying it in knots and then tugging them free again.
‘The next you were what?’ Zarek prompted when she couldn’t find the words to go on. ‘You didn’t seem to be struggling quite as much as you would have me believe. Certainly not with the in-laws.’
‘You think so?’
Outrage had Penny letting drop the narrow belt as she put her hands on her hips and faced him defiantly.
‘You want to try living with your stepmother complaining about every thing every minute of the day. With everything you do being wrong—and everything that dear Jason and Petros do is absolutely perfect.’
It was only when Zarek’s mouth quirked up into an unexpected and totally unguarded smile that she realised just how rigidly he had controlled his features from the time he had arrived until now. Even when he had been intent on seducing her, no trace of true emotion had shown through the tight muscles, only the burn in his eyes giving away any sort of feeling. It had been almost as if he had been determined not to show anything. So now she felt her insides twist, her heart lurch as she recognised the unexpected softening in his face.
‘I did,’ he acknowledged dryly. ‘I lived with that constant carping from the moment my father first brought Hermione home. And then when he married her and moved her and her sons into the house…’
He shook his head slowly, mouth twisting again at the memories.
‘I was glad to escape to boarding school in England.’
‘How old were you?’
Penny knew that her voice sounded slightly breathless because she was struggling with a tightness in her chest that came from the fact that Zarek had actually opened up about something in his past. When they had married he had always insisted that the past was irrelevant. That it was the here and now that mattered.
‘Seven.’
‘So young!’
At seven she had gone to the small village school just down the road. She couldn’t imagine how it would have felt not to be able to go back home at the end of each long, tiring day.
‘But I suppose you had Jason and Petros for company? No?’ she questioned when Zarek shook his head again.
‘They never went away to school. They had private tutors here on the island.’
Catching the sound of her swiftly indrawn breath, he switched on another smile, one that was totally different from before.
‘I much preferred it that way. And if I could have stayed at school through the holidays I would have preferred that too.’
The words were flat, emotionless, but all the same Penny felt that she saw something of the reasons why Zarek had always been so totally set against his stepfamily, his unyielding resolve that they would never get their hands on Odysseus Shipping.
And that perhaps was some part of the explanation why he had been so determined on having a family—an heir—as soon as possible. But it did nothing to ease the sense of being used, seen not as a wife but as a womb to carry that child, which was how she had ended up feeling in their marriage. And that was why she had resorted to taking the contraceptive pill, the discovery of which had sent Zarek incandescent with rage just before he had left for the Troy.
‘And your father?’ she asked and once more Zarek shook his head.
‘He gave Hermione whatever she wanted. He just wanted a quiet life and, to get that, he had to let her run things the way she wanted them.’
‘Then you’ll understand why I was ready to get out of here. You walk back in and assume that I’ve just been sitting here quietly, waiting for you to return. Perhaps doing a little embroidery to pass the time.’
The realisation that she had in fact been doing something like that made her heart skip a little uneven beat. She didn’t really expect an answer to her question and she didn’t get one. Instead Zarek continued to sit as motionless as a statue, even his eyes hooded and opaque.
‘How do you know that I hadn’t decided I’d had enough long ago and divorced you?’
‘On what grounds?’ Cool and swift, it had a bite as lethal as that of a striking snake.
‘Desertion?’ she parried sharply, refusing to let herself think of the way that he had never meant his marriage vows. Never intended to love and cherish. ‘You haven’t been in contact for two years.’
Something had changed. She couldn’t tell quite what it was, only that something in the atmosphere in the room was suddenly very different. Zarek hadn’t moved or spoken but everything about his long, still body communicated a new and very different form of tension.
‘I believe that we have already established that I was hardly in a position to phone you or to send many text messages.’
The dry, slightly mocking words only added to the already strung-out way she was feeling, knocking her over from irritation into full-blown exasperation.
‘When you were captured originally, perhaps! But you got away from them. That same week, if I have it right. And after that? There are two whole years with not a word, not a message. Nothing to let me know that you were still alive.’
‘Perhaps that’s because I didn’t know that I was.’
‘What…? What do you mean? That doesn’t make sense.’
But even as she asked the questions
