Free His Wedding-Night Heir by Sara Craven Page B

compliment?'
    'Not,' she said, 'in our kind of bargain.'
    'Yet it's no more than the truth,' Nick said. 'Just look around
    you if you don't believe me.'
    She said tautly, 'If people are staring, it's only to wonder what
    the hell someone like me is doing with someone like you, and
    we both know it.'
    'I know nothing of the kind.' There was a new harshness in his
    tone. 'Why do you constantly denigrate yourself, Cally?'
    'I think they actually call it being aware of one's limitations,'
    she said. 'I learned it quite early in life.'
    'From your grandfather, I suppose,' he said with faint grim-
    ness.
    'You can hardly blame him.' She shrugged. 'After all, he didn't
    have the grandson he'd set his heart on, so the next best thing
    was a replica of the daughter he'd lost—someone beautiful,
    vibrant and glamorous, with real star appeal. I—fell a long
    way short of his expectations.'
    He said, slowly, 'My God.'
    'It's understandable.' She took a breath. 'My mother was— a
    very hard act to follow. She and my father worshipped each
    other. In a way, it was a blessing the accident took them both,
    because they'd never have survived alone.'
    'They wouldn't have been alone.' His voice was very quiet.
    'They had you.'
    'As it was, I was left with Grandfather. In the aftermath of it
    all we were both grieving, but we couldn't seem to comfort
    each other. Still, I think—eventually—he came to love me—
    in his way.' She paused. 'And he wanted me to be looked after
    when he'd gone. To have the financial security that he hadn't
    been able to provide himself at the end.' Her voice faltered
    slightly.
    'Which, of course, is where I came in.' Nick ironically sup-
    plied her unspoken words.
    'Grandfather's final act.' She forced a smile. 'To arrange my
    future. Hand me one of the glittering prizes. He even managed
    to make me believe, for a while, that it was what I wanted
    too.'
    'And then Cinderella tried on the slipper and found it was the
    wrong size,' he said softly. 'Poor Cally.'
    'What does it matter?' she said. 'I won't be wearing it for long.
    So there's really no need to pity me. Whatever you force me to
    do, I'll survive.'
    She turned deliberately in her chair and stared at the river. Its
    still waters were golden-green in the brightness, shading to
    oily darkness in the overhang of the willows that fringed it. A
    small group of ducks was quarrelling noisily over the bread
    some diners had thrown for them, and from the opposite bank
    a diminutive but stately moorhen emerged from the reeds, her
    brood of chicks strung out behind her, all paddling frantically
    to keep up.
    In spite of herself, Cally found some of the tension seeping
    out of her, her lips curving with pleasure.
    She said, half to herself, 'It's just so beautiful here.'
    'Would you like to stay the night?' Nick asked quietly. 'They
    have rooms, and it's early in the season, so there are probably
    vacancies.' His smile touched her skin, warming it in spite of
    herself. 'We could have a mini-honey moon.'
    Cally stiffened, her heart thudding. 'No,' she stated with cool
    clarity. 'I don't want to stay. Thank you.'
    'As you wish,' he said equably. 'I just wanted to demonstrate
    that force isn't an essential element of our time together.'
    There was an odd silence that Cally hastened to fill. 'Anyway,
    I thought you were desperate to get back to Wylstone.'
    'Not that desperate,' he said softly. 'After all, my love, you
    seem to have an affinity with the banks of rivers that might be
    worth exploiting.'
    Her flush deepened. 'An isolated incident,' she said grittily,
    'that I'd prefer to forget.'
    'And one of my most treasured memories,' he murmured. 'I've
    often thought since that I should have taken you then— when
    I had the chance.'
    Cally sent him a fulminating glance, and was relieved to turn
    her attention to the arrival of their coffee.
    As she filled their cups from the cafetiere, she said stiltedly,
    'Is your mother well?'
    'According to her last letter, she's