Modern Romance Collection: July Books 5 - 8. Natalie Anderson

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СКАЧАТЬ is a diplomat. It is what he does.’

      ‘And he just goes ahead and does it? He doesn’t run it past anyone?’

      ‘He has a level of autonomy.’

      She could tell that was only half the story. ‘You’re just as bad as he is!’ she accused. But Sebastian was much better to look at. ‘Is there some special class where they teach you how to dodge a question?’

      ‘Actually, yes.’ He removed his eyes from the pouting outline of her lips. ‘I asked him to handle the press. I don’t micromanage but I think the brief I gave him was too...broad.’

      She rolled her eyes. ‘Finally! And you’re all right with what he did?’ Her voice shook with the sense of outrage she felt.

      He gave her a very direct look and a surprisingly straight answer. ‘I am not happy.’

      Something in the clipped delivery made her look at him. Sabrina became aware for the first time that he was actually pretty angry. She felt an unexpected stab of sympathy for the Count.

      Sebastian glanced at the blank screen of the television. ‘It was...tasteless. He overstepped the mark, but that’s politics for you.’

      She subsided with a sigh into a chair. ‘I don’t like politics.’

      He flashed a bleak grin. ‘It’s not going to go away any time soon.’ He walked across to the table and picked up the bottle from the ice bucket. ‘You look like you need a drink.’

      She shook her head automatically and wrapped her arms around herself, squeezing tight until her fingers dug into her ribcage, hard enough to bruise. Her chin rested against her chest as she closed her eyes.

      ‘Well, I do.’ He put both the champagne flutes he had filled down on the polished surface.

      ‘Do you ever have flashbacks...?’ she asked. He looked at her as she shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

      His frown deepened. ‘How do you mean flashbacks?’

      ‘The accident.’

      ‘Do you?’

      ‘It’s got better. The therapist said—’

      ‘You have seen a therapist?’

      ‘My parents insisted.’

      ‘Does anyone else know this?’

      ‘Anyone?’ she countered, her brow pleating into a puzzled frown.

      ‘Anyone other than your parents?’ he pressed. ‘Did you discuss it with friends or—?’

      Her sudden shocked laugh cut him off. ‘You think there is some sort of stigma attached to having counselling for post-traumatic stress?’

      ‘What I think is not relevant.’

      She felt her anger and, yes, disappointment, swell a tight knot in her chest. ‘Actually I think it’s very relevant.’

      ‘In our position it pays to be aware, anticipate the effect our actions will have. We must always be conscious of how the public perceive them. From this point on our lives, everything we do, is going to be scrutinised.’

      ‘What do you mean,’ she asked, ‘from this point on? You have spent your life playing for the cameras.’

      Spasms of irritation flickered across his face. ‘Mental health is a sensitive issue and the press can spin—’

      ‘You’re afraid that people will say you’ve married someone unstable? You know something, Sebastian? I actually don’t care what you think,’ she shouted. How much simpler her life would be if that were true! ‘I had a problem. I couldn’t sleep and I got help.’ She drew a slicing motion with her hand. ‘End of story.’

      ‘Don’t overreact!’

      His dismissive attitude made her jaw quiver. ‘I’m not the one overreacting. You can’t deal with it—tough, Sebastian! But you know what I think? You’re the one with the problem,’ she charged, her brown eyes sparking with contemptuous accusation.

      He watched, jaw clenched, his anger slipping away as Sabrina bent and picked up the slingback heels she had been wearing, pulling the silk across her deliciously rounded bottom tight before she straightened up and flung him a look of contempt over her shoulder. Then, shoes dangling from the fingers of one hand, her slender back rigid, she flounced in a dignified fashion from the room.

      He winced at the sound of the door slamming.

      Eyes squeezed closed, he lifted one of the glasses he had filled to his lips. The fizz slid smoothly down his throat but didn’t produce any lightening of his mood as the bubbles seeped into his bloodstream.

      With a curse he slammed the glass down, before he began to pace across the room. He was furious with her for being unforgivably right. He exhaled, his chest lifting as he came to a halt, eyes closed, a low grunt of self-directed anger rumbling in his chest.

      She was right and he had never felt more ashamed of himself. What the hell was wrong with him? He had responded to her confidence like the sort of narrow-minded bigot he despised. She wouldn’t be doing any confiding in him again in a hurry.

      Maybe that was why he’d done it, as another way to push her away?

      How many times had he sneered when his father had adopted a similar attitude? Truth was disposable; unfairness could always be spun in your favour.

      After a moment he walked towards the recently closed door.

      The room was empty. One lamp beside the bed was switched on, illuminating the darkness. He could hear the sound of running water in the bathroom. Calling Sabrina’s name, he walked across the room. The bathroom door was open and she stood barefooted in a silk slip at the marble washbasin, her hands under the running tap as she stared at her reflection in the mirror.

      ‘Sabrina.’

      She reacted to the sound of her name like a startled deer and spun around, wary-eyed, to face him. Their eyes connected and her chin lifted to a haughty angle, despite the blue-veined pulse he could see leaping at the base of her creamy throat. ‘Do you mind knocking before you come into my room?’

      ‘Yes, as a matter of fact I do, and I’m damned if I’m going to start off this marriage with sulks and closed doors.’

      She switched off the water and stalked past him. ‘Fine, next time I’ll lock it. And I’m not sulking.’

      ‘I’m sorry...’

      She had been ready to counter anything he threw at her except that...an apology! It crossed her mind she had misheard him. ‘What did you say?’

      ‘I’m sorry. That was...’ He hefted a sigh and dragged a hand back and forth across his already mussed hair. ‘I’m so busy pretending to be the Prince everyone wants that it’s hard to switch off.’

      That was the way he operated. He focused on the task at hand. It had never mattered СКАЧАТЬ