her suspicious thoughts.
Somehow she quelled her disloyal doubts and fixed her gaze on the solemn priest. Every word was of deep significance to her. Marriage was holy. Not to be undertaken lightly…There was a clatter behind them; one of Trader’s guests had dropped something—a portable phone, by the sound of it. And he drew in a deep, harsh breath that filled his body with a rigid tension.
Stricken by her overwhelming misgivings, she steeled herself not to tremble.
‘Therefore,’ intoned the priest, ‘if any man can show any just cause why they may not lawfully be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his peace.’
There was a stifled cry behind them which made them both jump. The vicar looked up in sudden alarm as a shocked hush fell. Trader stopped breathing and prickles went down the back of Claire’s neck. Trader had tightened every muscle in his body as though he feared and anticipated a denouncement.
She felt her skin become clammy. And then she heard what she’d been dreading. A clear, ringing word that echoed accusingly in the silence…
‘Wait!’
Claire gave a low, despairing moan of horror and fainted dead away.
It seemed but a moment before the darkness that surrounded her became murky. Voices impinged on her unconscious and slowly she recovered to full awareness—but she kept her eyes tightly shut because she couldn’t bring herself to face anyone. The shame, the awful, hollowing disillusionment, rocketed through her, draining away all normal resilience.
And she tried to untangle her mind because she was no longer lying on the cold, stone floor of the church. It seemed she was sitting in an armchair; she could feel its welcome softness beneath her lifeless body.
Quite motionless, she began to gather the foggy facts together. There’d been an objection to their wedding. Her stomach did its sickening swoop. The whole scenario was so like Jane-Eyre! Trader must have a wife. In the attic? she wondered hysterically. What attic? Where? Perhaps children! Hordes of them! How dared he! She wanted to hide forever…
‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry! You know I’d never hurt you——’
Claire all but stiffened at the pathetic whimper. It was Phoenix—Phoenix, when she wanted her mother’s shoulder to cry on…
‘For God’s sake, shut up!’ rasped Trader brutally, shockingly. ‘I’m damned if I’m cancelling the marriage! It means too much to me!’
Claire barely stifled a groan of dismay at the giveaway remark and the extraordinary change in his character. He’d never been curt or angry before. Never rude. But then she’d never known the real man, had she?
‘Face up to it, darling; she’s either highly reluctant, or she’s feeling ill. You can see she’s in no fit state,’ said Phoenix gently. ‘She wasn’t exactly galloping up the aisle.’
‘She was very pale——’ conceded Trader grimly.
‘You noticed? Even under all the layers of make-up? I’m afraid it’s possible she’s discovered your plans,’ said Phoenix, forgetting to whisper.
Of course, thought Claire. Phoenix would know everything. They’d been friends for so long. And last night Phoenix’s conscience had prompted her to hint that Trader was being deceitful, even though her loyalty meant she couldn’t openly betray him. Poor Phoenix—what a dilemma!
‘Keep your voice down, for God’s sake!’ Trader growled irritably. ‘Leave this to me! I can bring her round better on my own. You can make amends by going to Brodie—Claire’s mother—and apologising on my behalf for ordering her out of here so rudely…say I was upset. Tell her Claire is fine. Make Brodie relax, or I’ll have your hide!’
‘Bully,’ said Phoenix amiably.
‘Fee, get the vicar to announce that Claire is recovering, ask everyone’s indulgence for ten minutes and get the organist to play something cheerful,’ Trader snapped, rapping out the orders like a man born to authority. Her father had ordered her mother around in a similar way, Claire remembered, appalled. ‘Now get out!’ Trader finished forcefully.
‘I don’t like what you’re doing——’ protested Phoenix.
Trader made a warning sound in his throat that apparently made Phoenix scurry out in fear, because there was the click of high heels tapping on a flagstone floor and then a heavy wooden door slamming.
The full horror of her situation finally hit Claire. She’d fallen hopelessly in love with Trader, but to him she was nothing more than a potential goldmine, to be exploited and plundered at will. And if his behaviour with Phoenix was anything to go by, he’d push her around, given half a chance, and treat her with contempt. She knew what that did to a woman. Knew what damage a dominating brute of a man could do. And she wasn’t suffering that kind of treatment.
‘Claire?’
The pulses in her wrist began to beat a fast tattoo. Trader was bending over her, she sensed that from the movement of air in front of her and the delicious shiver down her spine. She felt her veil being lifted back and his soft breath on her painfully composed face. Her own breathing deepened, lifting her breasts high, despite her efforts to remain unaffected.
‘Damn!’ He reached around her, bringing her forward, and to her astonishment his fingers closed around her zip tag!
She gasped, hearing—feeling—the movement of the zip and the lessening of the pressure of her tight bodice. Cool air met her upthrust breasts as they spilled luxuriantly from the dainty strapless basque, her lashes fluttered open in alarm and she found herself staring directly into a pair of glittering black eyes, as dark and as dangerous as a slick of tar.
‘Claire!’ he whispered softly, sensually.
Petrified, she lifted her arms to cross defensively over the luxurious material of her bodice and her hands came to rest on the sumptuously perfumed swell of her creamy breasts. Trader’s nostrils flared, his eyes lingering avidly on the rapid rise and fall of her delicately boned hands as they tried to slow her breathing by pressure alone.
‘No! Don’t touch me!’ she gasped, shrinking back into the chair and he jerked back as if from a blow, straightening up with a muttered curse.
‘Hell! What—?’
‘How dare you do that? How dare you take the first opportunity you had to…? Oh! You’re a brute! A despicable, disgusting brute!’ she whispered incoherently.
‘My God!’ he exclaimed, his face pinched with anger. ‘You think…! Dammit, Claire—your dress was tight! I thought you needed air in your lungs, darling——’
‘Don’t darling me!’ she cried in fury.
‘Hey!’ He frowned and gave her a little shake. ‘Still groggy? This is me, Trader! How far did you think I was going to go? he demanded, sounding bitterly offended.
‘That’s what I want to know!’ she muttered defiantly, her eyes fixed miserably on his.
The muscles in Trader’s jaw tightened, the insult eating into every visible inch of him. ‘Thanks for the vote
