she said brokenly, her breathing ragged, tears clogging her throat.
The older woman shook her head. ‘I can’t remain silent any longer, Juliet. It would be wrong. Too many people have already been hurt. And now you’re running away—’
‘Running away?’ Liam echoed sharply, looking at Juliet with narrowed eyes. ‘What do you mean?’ he prompted Janet.
‘Juliet’s suitcases are upstairs,’ she explained. ‘She was about to leave when you arrived home.’
Liam was still looking at Juliet. ‘You were going to leave without even telling me?’
She moistened dry lips. ‘I was going to tell you this evening, but—’
‘But for some reason you changed your mind,’ he derided harshly.
She had changed her mind because she had heard him discussing his affair with someone else! She loved this man, and leaving him was the last thing she wanted to do, but what choice did she have?
‘Yes,’ she acknowledged heavily. ‘I changed my mind.’
His mouth tightened angrily. ‘You—’
‘Liam, seven years ago, on the night he died, Simon tried to rape Juliet!’ Janet burst in agitatedly.
Juliet felt the colour fade from her cheeks. No one had ever…No one had ever said those words before.
Simon had tried to rape her.
‘NOW do you understand?’ Janet said impatiently to Liam as she rushed to Juliet’s side, helping her to sit back down in the chair.
‘It’s all right, Juliet,’ she soothed gently, sitting on the arm of the chair to hold her in her arms. ‘We should have talked so long ago.’ She cradled Juliet in her arms as the tears began to flow. ‘William thought it best if I left you to deal with it in your own way. But you haven’t dealt with it. How could you, after what Simon did?’ Her voice sharpened angrily with an anger directed towards the man who had hurt Juliet in this way.
What Janet had said had hurt her, had brought back all the memories of that awful night, but what had really hit her so hard was Liam’s reaction to it. She had been looking at him when Janet had made her statement, and his initial response had been a look of total disgust! She had no idea what had followed on from that; she hadn’t been able to look at him again.
What was he thinking? That she must have encouraged Simon, led him on, teased him, and then perhaps changed her mind? It hadn’t been anything like that!
She sat back in the chair, closing her eyes, shutting out the other two people in the room, not wanting to look at either of them. If she didn’t look at them, they couldn’t see into her eyes, into her innermost soul.
It had been cold and snowy that night seven years ago. She had dined alone with William, the two of them talking about the arrangements for her Christmas wedding to Simon in four weeks’ time, Simon having telephoned earlier to say that he had to go to dinner with a business acquaintance. It had never bothered Juliet when Simon called with these last-minute arrangements; she had accepted that he had a business to help run, and that very often that included being sociable with clients.
She was lying in bed reading when she heard Simon’s car in the driveway, and the front door opening a couple of minutes later. She was relieved to hear him return safely, having been worried about him driving on the icy roads, and got up to put on her robe, intending to go down and have a nightcap with him before they retired for the night to their respective bedrooms.
She had only just picked up her silken robe when her bedroom door was suddenly thrown open. Turning with alarm, she relaxed slightly when she saw that it was Simon standing there, although a frown furrowed her brow when she saw how bedraggled he looked, his blond hair wind-swept, his tie pulled loosely down his chest, his shirt collar unbuttoned, and a red splash of colour down the front of his white shirt.
‘You’re hurt!’ she said anxiously, crossing the room to his side, reaching out to touch his chest where the mark was. ‘Have you been in an accident?’ She panicked slightly. ‘What—?’ She broke off, her concern turning to puzzlement as she realised that the red mark wasn’t blood, as she had initially assumed it was.
‘It’s lipstick,’ Simon supplied tauntingly as he saw her frown.
Her hand fell away from his chest as she took a step backwards. ‘Lipstick?’
‘God, you’re an innocent!’ he said scornfully as he brushed roughly past her into the room. ‘You haven’t really believed that I’ve been to business dinners all those evenings I’ve been out, have you?’ He looked at her pityingly.
Of course she had believed him; why shouldn’t she have done?
‘Poor innocent Juliet.’ Simon cupped a hand round the paleness of her cheek, his fingers suddenly tightening painfully against the softness of her skin, the expression on his face suddenly savage, the fumes from the alcohol he had consumed making her feel ill. ‘I may be pleasing the old man by marrying you,’ he rasped sneeringly, ‘but that doesn’t mean I don’t find the charms of other women infinitely more attractive. Unfortunately I struck out tonight, so you’ll have to do!’ He pulled her roughly against him, his mouth grinding down against hers.
Juliet was so stunned by what he was saying that she couldn’t think straight. Simon was marrying her to please his father? Other women? God, she didn’t—
‘For God’s sake, Juliet.’ Simon raised his head slightly to scowl down at her. ‘It’s bad enough that I have to marry you at all; you might at least show a little response and not act like a stick of wood!’
She could taste the blood in her mouth now; his mouth had come down so savagely on hers that he had split her top lip. And she was filled with such revulsion that she wanted to be sick. She pushed against him, desperately trying to free herself, pounding her fists against his chest.
His eyes glittered with challenge as he once again looked down at her, his hands tightly gripping her wrists to stop her pummelling. ‘So you want to play rough, do you?’ he said triumphantly. ‘That’s OK with me, Juliet; I like a woman with spirit!’
Juliet glared up at him. ‘I hate you!’ she told him vehemently. Love had turned to hate in a matter of seconds—cruelly hurtful seconds that threatened to destroy her. She just wanted to get away—from Simon, from the pain he was inflicting.
‘Hate away, Juliet,’ Simon grinned. ‘I’ll probably enjoy it more if you do.’
What followed was a nightmare, a living nightmare. Her nightgown was ripped from her body, Simon’s hands and lips everywhere. Juliet wasn’t even aware of her screams until her bedroom door crashed open and a panic stricken William stood in the doorway.
He took in the scene in seconds—her fear, her dishevelled state, Simon’s sneeringly defiant attitude—and he came across to drag the young man from the room, their raised voices now filling the house.
And then suddenly there was silence.
And Simon lay
