Free His Wedding-Night Heir by Sara Craven

wearily. So what
    choice did I have—then or ever?
    And then, with frightening suddenness, her life had begun to
    fall apart. Inevitably, Nick had been there with his safety net,
    offering her grandfather and herself a home and a kind of
    security. It had been the perfect opportunity for him, she
    thought. Everything had conspired to bring them together, and
    he had placed her under the kind of obligation that could only
    have one ending.
    She should have realised that one day some kind of rec-
    ompense would be demanded from her—if not in cash,
    because there wasn't any, then certainly in kind. She should
    have known that Nick had marked her out from the start as his
    future bride—young, she thought stormily, and biddable. Not
    a living, feeling girl, but a puppet, easy to manipulate. Or so
    he'd considered. And she, pitifully, had totally misread his
    intentions.
    Well, at least she'd forced him to think again. To accept that
    she wasn't the naive push-over he'd originally bargained for.
    Ready to sacrifice her emotions, her self-respect and her trust
    in exchange for a roof over her head and his money to spend.
    Except that it had not been about money at all. And the
    knowledge of that had provided the basis for the private
    tragedy that was beginning to unfold.
    7 suppose you know that you're trespassing?' Those were the
    first words Nick had ever said to her, and she would never
    forget them.
    In a way, it had been a covert warning that he was forbidden
    territory and she encroached there at her peril. And she'd
    picked up on it even if it was at some unconscious level.
    Wasn't that why she'd taken the job in London—in order to
    put distance between them and recover from the threat to her
    untried emotional equilibrium?
    But where Nick was concerned her instincts had always been
    heightened, she recognised. Hence the bad dreams over the
    past year, signalling to her that his net had been spread again.
    That the search was on in earnest.
    I should have listened, she thought. Found another country to
    live in, even.
    Except, of course, that her passport had been left in her hand
    luggage back at Wylstone Hall, ready for the honeymoon that
    never was. Stranding her in Britain, within his reach. A
    mistake she would not make again once she was finally free.
    She became aware that they were pulling off the motorway,
    traversing a roundabout into a smaller country road.
    She sat up. 'Where are we going?'
    'There's a good pub not far away,' he said. 'And you need
    food.' She was aware of his swift, sideways glance. 'Or are
    you going to tell me you're not a lunch person either?'
    Actually, she was ravenous, but she wasn't about to admit it.
    She lifted her chin. 'Just as you wish.'
    'If only it were that simple,' he murmured with faint amuse-
    ment.
    They drew up a short while afterwards outside an old-
    fashioned country inn, an ancient timbered building with low
    ceilings and uneven floors, and, at the rear, well-kept gardens,
    bright with flowers, and a lawn stretching down to the river,
    offering tables shaded by parasols.
    'Will this do?' Nick halted at a table in an arbour, heavy with
    climbing roses just coming into flower.
    'Fine.' Cally picked up a menu and hid behind it.
    'They're famous here for their pies.' Nick seated himself
    opposite. 'I'm ordering steak and kidney. How about you?'
    Cally, who had no wish to enter into the spirit of the occasion,
    tried to work up an interest in the sandwich list, and failed
    utterly. 'Turkey and ham,' she capitulated, after a brief strug-
    gle. 'And a glass of dry white wine—please.'
    She watched him cross the grass to deliver their order, and
    saw how women's heads turned as if operated by strings when
    he passed by. Two pretty girls at an adjoining table were wait-
    ing, saucer-eyed, for his return.
    And it was worth waiting for. Even she had to acknowledge
    that. In a crowd of thousands, she would still be able to pick
    out that long, lithe stride. Feel the pull of