wouldn’t give the lack of the kind of lifestyle she’d enjoyed during her marriage a second thought.
‘Of course not.’ He sounded as if he was on the point of yawning. And, moments later, did. He stood up, stretching, the fabric of his shirt pulled tight against his strong, lean torso. ‘I’m for bed. I’m surprised you weren’t tucked up hours ago, considering how desperately tired you were supposed to be.’
She ignored that, the acid tone, everything. She didn’t know why she felt so buoyant, as if she’d won a reprieve, when she should be feeling thwarted. If he’d told her he’d fallen in love, at last, found a woman he genuinely wanted to spend the rest of his life with—for all the right and natural reasons—then that would have created a way out for her.
She didn’t understand herself. She managed a cool goodnight and took herself off to her own peaceful room, and decided she was being dog-in-the-manger about it. She didn’t want him to walk out on her. That was what it boiled down to. If their marriage ended—and it had to, of course—then she needed to be the one to do it. A matter of pride, perhaps?
She fell asleep not liking herself very much but feeling strangely comforted.
However, any feelings of comfort, undeserved or otherwise, flew straight out of the window the very next morning.
Jake, as always, was up before her, his energy making her feel tired. Breakfast was prepared—eggs and fruit and coffee.
‘All I could find. The cupboard is bare. Not to worry.’ He flashed her the sudden white grin that had the mega-watt power to make unwary females quake at the knees. ‘I’ve been making phone calls. Eat—’ he gestured to the table in the immaculate high-tech kitchen ‘—before the eggs get cold, and I’ll tell you what I’ve arranged.’
In this mood, he made her feel as if she was in the middle of a whirlwind. Not a morning person herself, she’d taught herself how to handle his restless energy by simply letting it wash over her head until she’d dragged herself together sufficiently to cope with it. She would watch him with sleep-drugged eyes, rarely taking in much of what he said. But this morning he shocked her into full and definitely unpleasant wakefulness as he told her, ‘As I said, I’ve made a couple of calls. As soon as we’ve eaten we’ll drive up and visit with Liz and Sal. I know you speak to your mother regularly—’ his eyes pinned her to her seat ‘—but she’s looking forward to seeing you. Us. And tomorrow we’ll go on from there to Litherton. I’ll leave you in Emma’s capable hands until I join you for Christmas. She’ll see you get all the rest you need. And feed you up. You’ve lost weight recently.’ His dark brows rose, as if inviting her to explain why, and she suddenly felt desperately conscious of her body, even though it was adequately concealed by her heavy peacock-blue satin robe.
She put down her fork, her throat clogging up. He wasn’t stupid—far from it. He knew something was going on. He’d walked in on that phone call and didn’t believe her swift assertion that she’d been talking to her mother. So he was going ahead, making sure he found out—or forced her to tell him.
There was no doubt about his genuine wish to visit Liz, see that she was comfortable, had everything she needed, find out from Sally Harding, her mother’s companion, if the elderly lady was as well as she always assured them she was. For Jake had been wonderful with her mother. Liz had never been physically strong and the hard life she’d had meant that her health had suffered, and her future care and downright cosseting had been offered as part of Jake’s side of the marriage bargain they’d made. It, and it alone, had been the factor that had made Claire agree to tie herself to what was, in fact, a purely business arrangement.
But there was more to the visit than that. He was suspicious, and had decided to manage and manipulate her. He’d try to get to the truth through Liz, and if he didn’t—or not completely—he had made other contingency plans. Shut her away at Litherton Court, the Winter family home, where his younger sister, Emma, would keep an eye on her until he turned up for the usual family Christmas.
Christmas was two weeks away.
She straightened her spine, lifted troubled sea-blue eyes to his and said quietly, ‘I have something to tell you.’
CHAPTER TWO
JAKE put his coffee-cup back on its saucer, the tiny click of the china sounding desperately loud in the hollow silence that had followed her statement, making her feel as if she was in a vacuum, the act of breathing impossible.
Her fingers twisting together nervously in her lap, she watched him go very still, the tension coming from him like a physical blow, making her helplessly nervous. Brimming with agitation, she lifted her eyes to his and saw an uncharacteristic look of wariness there, as if he, and not she, were the one who was trapped. And then it went, hard grey steel back in place, his mouth grim as he invited, ‘So? Tell me.’
Aware that she’d been holding her breath, Claire dragged in air. What she had to tell him meant the beginning of the end of their relationship. A dreadful, draining reluctance took her by the throat but she managed thickly, ‘Liz has news. She heard last week that an uncle had died and left her a fortune. It was totally unexpected. She hadn’t seen him in years. He never married and ended up as a complete recluse. Liz was the only relative he had. I met him once but don’t really remember him. I was seven.’
It had been shortly after her father had walked out on her mother and one bleak day Liz had dressed her in her best clothes and taken her to visit her great-uncle. A dreary journey entailing three separate bus rides, an even drearier welcome. Claire recalled only one thing about that meeting—the cynical way he had said, ‘Just because your mother was my sister, don’t come looking to me for hand-outs. It’s not my fault your husband chose to run away with another woman. It’s up to him to support his child, not me.’
They’d left at once. Her mother’s mouth had trembled as they’d walked through the cold rain to the bus-stop and Claire had clasped her hand, transmitting her sturdy love, feeling the fragile bones beneath the scratchy, hand-knitted gloves. But later, during the tedious journey home, Liz had brightened and told her, ‘You have to be sorry for him. He thought I was after his precious money when all I wanted was what was left of our family. He has no one but we have each other. That’s worth far more than any amount of money. We’re the lucky ones.’
‘In the end he must have decided to will everything to his niece,’ Claire told Jake reflectively. ‘He wasn’t the sort of man who would leave anything to charity, no matter how deserving.’
‘I’m pleased for her,’ Jake said warmly, but she saw the question deep in those unfathomable eyes of his before he voiced it. ‘And that is all you have to tell me?’
His long, lean fingers were drumming silently on the table-top. Her lashes swooped down, hiding her confusion. The way he was looking at her made her feel guilty even though she had nothing to feel guilty about. And when he slid in, his voice coldly silky, ‘You don’t want to tell me about the lover you were speaking to when I disturbed you last night? Don’t be shy about it; the eventuality was provided for in our agreement, with the accent being on discretion. I take it you are being discreet?’ she bit out with brittle haste,
‘Unlike you and that Italian!’ Shocked by the stab of pain that prompted the outburst, she reined in her temper and stressed with stony-voiced patience, ‘I was speaking to Liz—as I told you. She wanted to know if I’d given you her news yet.’
‘Oh, of course!’ he countered with heavy irony. ‘It’s always nice to hear good news—I fully understand her desperate
