Free Forbidden or For Bedding? by Julia James Page B

over.

CHAPTER THREE
    S HE could not go on cleaning the bathroom for ever. After some indefinite time she made herself stop. Made herself go into the kitchen and put on the kettle. Carefully not looking at the breakfast table. Not thinking about what had happened that morning. Not thinking at all.
    Just feeling.
    An ocean of emotion possessed her.
    After a while—a few minutes, an hour? She didn’t know, couldn’t tell and didn’t care—she started to make herself think. Started to try and seize the torn and tattered rags of her mind and sew them back together again—at least enough to make words come, make words take shape in her head. She had to force herself to say them, if only to herself.
    You knew this day would come. You knew it. You knew it had to come—could only come. You understood nothing of why he started this affair with you—what made you his choice. He, who had all the world to choose from. You understood nothing of that. Nothing of why he kept the affair going. The reasons must have been there, but they were inexplicable to you. You always knew that he would at some point, a point of his own choosing, decide to terminate the affair. End it. Finish it.
    You knew it would happen.
    And now it has.
    You have done all that you could do, all that it was essential for you to do. You accepted its ending with dignity, with composure, with your mask intact. So that never could he possibly know the truth—the truth that he can have no interest in. Because why should he? Whatever he was to me, he was not a man it was…sensible…to fall in love with.
    No… The word tolled in her brain. It had not been sensible to fall in love with Guy de Rochemont.
    It had been folly of the worst sort. A folly she now had to pay the price for. And she would pay that price.
    She had accepted his severing of whatever it was that had been between them with composure and dignity. That was essential. Quite essential. She stood stock still in the kitchen, instilling into herself just how essential it was.
    The phone started ringing.
    For a moment she could only stare at it. A name, unspoken, was vivid in her head. Then, knowing that it was not Guy—for why should he phone now that he had ended the affair as abruptly as he had started it?—she jerked her hand to pick it up.
    â€˜Alexa! I’ve just found something out that I must warn you about! You’ve got to listen to me on this!’
    Imogen’s voice sounded agitated. For a moment Alexa could not face taking the call. But she knew she would not be able to avoid Imogen.
    â€˜What is it?’ she answered. Her voice was as composed as Imogen’s was not.
    â€˜I don’t want to tell you this—I really, really don’t! But I can’t not —it’s about Guy.’
    Of course it was about Guy. How could it not be?
    It was so ironic, Alexa thought dispassionately. Frombeing someone who couldn’t have waxed any more lyrical about the attractions of Guy de Rochemont, lavish in her appreciation of all his masculine allure, Imogen had become the very opposite.
    When she had first discovered the fact that Alexa had succumbed to him, Imogen’s initial disbelief had been overwhelmed by a vicarious but wholehearted gratification. ‘ Oh-my-God! Are you serious? You and Guy de Rochemont! Oh, that is just brilliant ! Wow! It’s amazing! Awesome! Totally brilliant!’ Imogen had enveloped her in a bear hug. ‘Oh, you are just so , so lucky! You jammy, jammy thing!’
    But her views had changed completely as she came to know the circumstances of their affair.
    â€˜It’s like he’s hiding you!’ she’d accused. ‘Never being seen out with you!’
    Alexa had been unperturbed by her friend’s hostility. ‘The last thing I want is anyone staring at us,’ she’d said. ‘Besides, we don’t get much time together—why waste it going out? I’d