into a cosy evening tête à tête, then he could think again. Just because his rendezvous with Cynthia clearly hadn’t worked out as planned…
A lot of the music was frankly too overtly romantic for the occasion. I need drama rather than passion, she thought, selecting Rimsky-Korsakov’s ‘Scheherazade’.
‘Good choice,’ Gabriel approved as he brought over their brandies. ‘This has always been one of my favourites.’
‘I—I didn’t know.’ Joanna cradled the brandy glass between her palms, breathing its heady aroma.
His mouth twisted. ‘Music is just one of the many gaps in our knowledge of each other.’
He added another log to the fire and stood up, dusting his hands.
‘I gather that’s Charles and Sylvia’s new tenant you were chatting to this afternoon.’ He reseated himself and picked up his own brandy. ‘Known him long?’
She shook her head. ‘I met him just this morning.’
‘You amaze me,’ he said equably. ‘I took him for an old and valued friend.’
She shrugged. ‘Perhaps one relates to some people more quickly than others.’
‘Clearly one does.’ His tone mocked her formal phraseology, and she stiffened. ‘As a matter of interest, how did you meet him?’
‘I wouldn’t have thought it was a matter of any interest to anyone except ourselves,’ she said coolly.
‘Then you’d be wrong.’ He studied the colour of the brandy. ‘While we remain married all your acquaintances—fascinate me.’
She hesitated. ‘I met him this morning while I was riding. He was walking along Wellow Lane.’ She paused, mentally skating over the exact circumstances of their meeting. ‘We—got into conversation, that’s all.’ She threw him a challenging look. ‘Is there anything wrong in that?’
‘You tell me,’ Gabriel murmured.
‘Or,’ she went on, ‘has some ban been imposed on my making friends at all?’
‘Not in the least.’ He took a meditative sip. ‘What’s his name?’
‘Gordon,’ she said with exaggerated clarity. ‘Paul Gordon. If it means anything to you.’
‘Nothing,’ he said. ‘And I’d like to keep it that way.’
She stared at him. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning I’m sure I can rely on you to behave with discretion.’ His tone was silky.
Joanna put her brandy down on the sofa table with a bang that threatened to shatter the fragile crystal.
‘My God.’ Her voice shook. ‘Congratulations, Gabriel. You’ve just elected yourself king of the double standard.’
‘Meaning?’ He turned her own question against her.
‘Meaning your own record wouldn’t stand up to close scrutiny,’ she flung back at him.
‘Harsh words, sweetheart. On what do you base this assumption?’
‘Your rake’s progress has been well documented,’ Joanna said scornfully.
‘Gossip columns,’ he said, ‘are not the most reliable sources—whatever they themselves believe.’
‘Are you saying you’ve passed the last two years in total celibacy?’
His mouth tightened. ‘No. When you’re hungry, Joanna, you’ll take whatever crumbs are available.’
Her voice shook. ‘And your appetite is naturally prodigious.’
He gave her a thoughtful glance. ‘I’m sure you always thought so.’ His sigh was brief and harsh. ‘Yes, I’ve strayed, but not seriously, and not often. Is that what you wanted to know?’
‘Your love life is no concern of mine.’ She could feel the pulse hammering in her aching throat. ‘But the lady who follows me may take a different view.’
‘I hope so,’ Gabriel drawled. ‘I really couldn’t face another battery of wifely indifference.’
Joanna got to her feet, outraged. ‘You—you hypocrite,’ she said unevenly.
It was you, she thought, who was indifferent. You who didn’t care—who left me here, bleeding to death.
He rose too. ‘More harsh words?’ His voice bit. He walked over to the CD player and silenced it. ‘Perhaps I should teach you some manners.’
‘Take some lessons yourself—in fidelity,’ she hit back at him.
‘Oh, I’ve already learned that, my love.’ His smile seemed to grate across her shivering skin. ‘My bride-to-be will have nothing to complain about, I promise.’ He laughed harshly. ‘Isn’t it amazing what love can do?’
The pain that consumed her was intense. From some reserve of strength she hadn’t known she possessed she managed to raise her head. To smile, even.
She said, ‘That’s not something I feel qualified to judge. But—to return to Paul Gordon—I’ll be discreet if you are, Gabriel. And that’s all I’ll guarantee. So it’s up to you. Goodnight.’
She turned towards the door. He reached her in two strides, his fingers closing like a vise on her shoulder.
‘Joanna—listen to me…’
‘Go to hell.’ She glared at him. ‘And take your hands off me.’
Behind them the drawing room door opened quietly.
‘My goodness,’ Cynthia purred, her narrowed eyes flickering over them. ‘Is this a private fight, or can anyone join in?’
Joanna flashed her a glittering smile. ‘It’s the end of round one.’ Her voice sounded brittle. ‘And I’m ahead on points.’
Head high, she left the room, shutting the door behind her. Closing them in together. As she crossed the hall she could hear the murmur of voices, and Cynthia’s tinkling laugh.
The bravado seemed to ebb out of her suddenly. She leaned against the newel post, staring unseeingly into space.
What price one hollow victory? she asked herself wretchedly. When the war is already lost? And you know it.
And, slowly and defeatedly, she began to climb the stairs towards the loneliness of her bedroom.
‘THE decorator has finished, and my new bed should be delivered tomorrow,’ Cynthia said complacently. ‘So I can move into the cottage later this week.’
She
