Season Of Mists. Anne Mather
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Название: Season Of Mists
Автор: Anne Mather
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
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‘And I returned it,’ cut in Abby contemptuously. ‘I didn’t want your charity!’
‘It was not charity.’
‘What was it, then?’ Abby found she was actually enjoying his evident frustration. ‘A bid to salve your conscience?’ she taunted. ‘An attempt to prove that all I really wanted was your money? Or a way to appease those feelings of guilt you couldn’t quite erase?’
‘No!’ With a face contorted by the strength of his emotions, Piers’ hand came out and closed about her upper arm, jerking her towards him. ‘Believe it or not, one of us still possessed some sense of decency,’ he snapped, his fingers digging into her flesh. ‘You selfish little bitch! When did you ever think of anyone else but yourself?’
Abby brought her hand back then and slapped him, the sound of the impact ringing round the cluttered little room. It was an instinctive reaction to what he had said, an uncontrollable impulse that she regretted almost as soon as it was done. With a sense of horror, she watched the white marks her fingers had made appear on his cheek, and sensed the iron control he was exerting not to respond in kind.
‘I should have expected that from you,’ he grated, and for a few agonising seconds, Abby thought he was about to exact revenge. His grip on her arm tightened, and she was forced even nearer, so that she could feel the hard muscles of his thigh against her hip.
With an unsteady gaze she looked up at him, close enough now to see the pulse beating at his jawline, the flaring hollows of his nostrils, and the thick curling lashes with their sun-bleached tips. He was breathing heavily, his narrow lips separated to reveal the even whiteness of his teeth, his breath mingling with hers, warm and sweet. But it was the savage brilliance of his eyes that held her gaze, those strange tawny irises, flecked with gold, and undoubtedly smouldering with the heat of his anger. They impaled her like a sword, hard and unyielding, and filled with—contempt?
She wasn’t sure any more. As he continued to hold her, as the warmth of her body against his thigh penetrated the fine cloth of his trousers, his expression changed, became fiercer and yet more malleable, his unwilling awareness of her as a woman superseding the violent revulsion she provoked.
‘I should kill you!’ he muttered, bending his head towards her, and Abby’s quivering lips parted almost involuntarily.
He was going to kiss her, she thought incredulously. In spite of his contempt, his anger, his hatred, he still had some feeling for her, and her limbs turned to water as his passionate gaze swept down to her mouth.
And then she was free. In the space of a moment, her blind anticipation of his touch became an unforgivable weakness, and she despised herself utterly as he strode towards the door.
He turned as he reached the door, and with his fingers on the handle, regarded her contemptuously. ‘I hope I never have to see you again,’ he said, any emotion she imagined she had seen in his face erased completely. ‘You’re right—I was glad of the child’s birth to escape from an impossible relationship. Our marriage was a farce from the beginning. Perhaps I should have told you the truth before I married you. Perhaps I was to blame for that. But how was I to know then what an over-sexed little bitch you were, and how little time it would take before you betrayed yourself!’
‘MUM?’
Matthew’s anxious voice from the open doorway alerted her to the fact that she was no longer alone. It took quite an effort to turn and face him, aware as she was that her eyelids were probably puffy, and the evidence of her recent bout of weeping was impossible to hide. But he had to be answered, and she held her handkerchief to her nose as she turned about.
‘You’re up,’ she said, unnecessarily, mentally noting the fact that his jeans were getting too short for him again. ‘I—did you sleep well? I expect Aunt Hannah will give you some breakfast if you ask her.’
‘She’s boiling me two eggs,’ said Matthew, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. ‘What’s the matter, Mum? Why have you been crying?’
Abby sighed, and put her handkerchief away. ‘Oh—you know how it is,’ she murmured, hoping to divert him. ‘Old places, old memories——’
‘My father’s been here, hasn’t he?’ Matthew stated flatly, shocking her out of her lethargy. ‘I heard his voice. It woke me up. Why did he come here so early?’
Abby struggled to find an answer for him. ‘Your—your father’s a busy man,’ she got out at last. ‘I expect he has things to do later.’
‘It was about last night, wasn’t it?’ mumbled Matthew, scuffing his toe. ‘He was annoyed because I broke in on his meeting with that Langton woman.’
‘Well, you did embarrass him,’ agreed Abby wearily. ‘Matt, let’s not go over that again now. You—you behaved impulsively, you didn’t think what you were doing. I’m sure your father appreciates that. Let’s forget it, shall we?’
‘Forget it!’ Matthew’s jaw jutted. ‘I don’t want to forget it. At least I’ve met him now. And I think he liked me. ‘Course, with that silly female being there, we couldn’t have a proper conversation, but when I see him again——’
‘Again!’ Abby stared at him. ‘Matt, you won’t be seeing him again.’
‘Why not?’ Matthew’s mouth took on a downward slant. ‘You can’t stop me from seeing him. He’s my father. Why do you think I was so keen to come here? After reading his letter, I knew it might be the last chance I’d get.’
‘You read your father’s letter?’
Matthew had the grace to look a little shamefaced now, but he bluffed it out. ‘Why shouldn’t I?’ he demanded. ‘You weren’t going to tell me, were you? He wants a divorce—I read that. Why? Does he want to marry that Langton woman?’
‘Oh, Matt!’ Abby shook her head helplessly. ‘I wish you’d try to understand. Your—your father isn’t interested in us, in either of us. He just wants his freedom.’
Matthew looked sulky. ‘You don’t know that. You think because he doesn’t want you, it follows that he doesn’t want me. Well, that needn’t be true. Lots of couples separate, but the kids get to see both parents—regularly.’
‘It’s not like that.’ Abby was close to telling him exactly how it really was, but compassion forbade her from destroying what little dignity he had left. ‘Matt, don’t look at me like that. It’s not my fault, honestly. But—but this morning your father told me that he doesn’t want to see—either of us again.’
‘That’s not true!’
‘It is true.’ Abby would have gone to him then and put her hands on his shoulders, but Matt backed away.
‘What did you say to him?’ he demanded, and she was dismayed to hear the choke of a sob in his voice. ‘I bet you told him to get lost. My father wouldn’t refuse to see me—he wouldn’t! You’ve done this. It’s all your fault.’
‘Matt——’
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