it, Yorke,’ she warned him. ‘I’m not your possession. And I’m not coming back to you.’
‘Afraid?’ he taunted. ‘You haven’t changed at all, Autumn. You’re still running scared, still terrified of facing up to life.’
She tried to block out his words, but they held a core of truth which echoed bitterly through her.
‘I’m not afraid of you, or any man!’ she lashed back angrily. ‘The past is past for me, Yorke.’
‘But it isn’t, is it?’ he said softly. ‘How can it be while you’re still my wife—and that’s just what you are,’ he reminded her suavely. ‘No matter how much you’d like to deny it or forget it you can’t, can you? And how you hate it!’
His taunts made her writhe with mingled rage and anguish.
‘You’re a coward, Autumn,’ he said coolly. ‘You think you can escape from what happened by pretending not to see it, instead of facing up to it. Or is it something else you fear?’ he taunted softly. ‘Perhaps you’re not as indifferent to me as you pretend?’
‘Indifferent!’ She went white with anger, unable to prevent the highly charged surge of emotion his accusation aroused.
‘I’m not indifferent to you, Yorke,’ she told him bitterly. ‘I hate you, and I’ll go on hating you until the day I die. Does that satisfy you?’
She was panting slightly, her eyes glittering as she threw the words at him. ‘And as for our marriage… Get out of here, Yorke!’
She turned her back on him, fighting for self-control. They had played this scene so often before. Her defiant; him taunting, sure of her ultimate capitulation, which had always been forthcoming, but she was not going to allow her bitterness to give him victory now. The ardent passion which had once held her in thrall to him had been tamed and the searingly painful lessons his humiliation of her pride had inflicted upon her mind acted as a curb upon her senses. She felt like a laboratory mouse trained to react to light and heat, as the sensual softness of his voice reminded her of the bitter pain which had followed her abject surrender, freezing her emotions behind a wall of ice.
‘I’m not the floor show, Yorke,’ she said coldly. ‘I know you get a kick out of baiting me, but you aren’t going to get a reaction. Those days are gone, and I’m immune—you saw to that. Another two years and I’ll be free of you for good, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.’
She hadn’t heard him come up behind her, and when his hands grasped her wrists, pulling her back against the hard male warmth of his body, she froze instantly.
‘So, you’re immune, are you?’ he whispered savagely, turning her towards him and imprisoning her against him, his mouth feathering tormentingly against her throat, reawakening aching memories of how she had once responded to that light caress.
Her mouth felt dry, every muscle tensed against his deliberate and calculated assault upon her senses. So many times before he had broken her self-control like this, but this time she was not going to give way.
She knew the exact moment when his cool amusement gave way to hard anger. She could feel it in the sudden changed pressure of his mouth as it moved against her skin, trying to prise her lips apart as they remained stubbornly closed to him, her eyes open and defiant as they met the smouldering rage in his.
When at last he raised his head, his eyes were murderous.
‘Finished?’ Autumn asked sweetly, enjoying her victory.
‘Like hell!’ Yorke responded, bending his head again and taking her still parted lips in a kiss of searing brutality, from which she automatically withdrew, closing her mind to what was happening and standing within the circle of his hard arms like a stuffed doll, and still it went on, punishing, probing, ripping the scars from old wounds and leaving her exposed and bleeding, her nails digging deep into the palms of her hands as she fought not to betray any emotion.
Yorke released her with a muttered oath and pushed her away, his face suffused with angry colour.
‘You little bitch, you enjoyed that, didn’t you?’ he grated.
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand.
‘No, I didn’t enjoy it, Yorke, no woman enjoys being humiliated and degraded, but I have learned to distinguish between punishment and pleasure. Now perhaps you understand what I mean when I say that nothing on this earth would induce me to live with you again as your wife.’
‘Not even if I promised you a divorce the moment the New Year Honours List is published?’ Yorke suggested softly.
She was powerless to prevent her instinctive reaction, and hope leapt to life in her eyes as they flew to meet him.
‘Think carefully about it, Autumn. I can make it easy for you, or drag you and the past all through the courts, opening up all the old scars. I can fight you every inch of the way and you’ll be the one who’s hurt, I’ll make sure of that. Remember how it was between us, and think hard before you decide whether you want it spilled out in front of strangers. All I’m asking for is four months of your time. You give me what I want and I’ll tell my solicitors to draw up the divorce papers the moment the Honours List is announced.’
She ran her tongue round lips which had suddenly gone bone dry. She knew that Yorke wasn’t making idle threats and shivered suddenly, tormented by the vivid picture he had drawn, knowing that she could not face the sort of court action he was talking about.
‘You want that divorce—and badly,’ Yorke reminded her softly. ‘Don’t bother trying to deny it. I’m even prepared to put my promise to agree to our divorce in writing if you wish.’
‘You’ll have to,’ Autumn responded crisply, checking as he pounced in triumph.
‘So you’ll do it?’
What alternative did she have? Another two years of hell, trying to hold back the past, with the ordeal and blood-bath of a court hearing at the end of it, or four months of playing the part of Yorke’s ‘wife’ in return for her immediate freedom.
She took a deep breath to steady herself.
‘Yes, I’ll do it, Yorke, but on two conditions. Your promise in writing that the divorce begins the moment the Honours List is published, and your agreement to helping Alan with this venture. That shouldn’t prove too burdensome—eventually the island will prove extremely profitable.’
‘No third condition?’ he taunted softly. ‘Banning me from your bed? A safeguard in case you forget that you’ve turned into a piece of ice and remember how it used to be with us.’
His words brought back memories Autumn would rather have remained forgotten, but she managed to breathe evenly without betraying any of her inner turmoil. He had broken through her defences once tonight; he wasn’t going to do it again.
‘I don’t need a third condition, Yorke,’ she told him quietly. ‘As we shall no doubt be living in your apartment and the bed will be yours, the problem shouldn’t arise. Or have you forgotten telling me that the only way I would ever get into it again would be if I crawled on my hands and knees and begged? My begging days are over, Yorke. I wouldn’t ask you for water if I were dying of thirst. The only reason I’m agreeing to come back to you at all
