His Blackmail Marriage Bargain Page 13

  Yorke didn’t look up when she walked in.

  ‘You can leave the coffee there, Mrs Jacobs,’ he said curtly.

  In the autumn sunshine his face looked lean and stern, and something turned and moved inside her, anguish shaking her as she thought how it could have been if he had loved her. But he did not.

  ‘It isn’t Mrs Jacobs, it’s me, Yorke,’ Autumn said coolly. At all costs she mustn’t let him think that last night had changed things. ‘I’m afraid I couldn’t manage the safety chain of my necklace, and I wondered if you could help?’

  ‘In anyone else I might take that as an invitation,’ he said with harsh sarcasm as he stood up. ‘Why didn’t you ask Mrs Jacobs?’

  ‘Because I didn’t want her wondering why I didn’t ask you.’

  ‘Noble to the last,’ he jeered unpleasantly. ‘What are you trying to do to me, Autumn? Make me feel guilt and regret?’

  His fingers brushed her neck and she stiffened, unconsciously holding her breath until she felt the necklace drop away.

  When she turned round, she held his eyes resolutely. ‘I never attempt the impossible, Yorke,’ she told him steadily. ‘We both know that you’re incapable of compassion or generosity. You drank your revenge to the dregs. What a pity you didn’t let the wine mature, though. We’ve a whole three months ahead of us. If you hadn’t been so impetuous you could have dragged out my humiliation over them. That would have been a vintage to savour, wouldn’t it?’ she said calmly, watching dispassionately as the thin, dark colour rose under his skin in an angry tide. As though she hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary, she added. ‘I take it that the play must go on and that Beth and Richard are to think we’re happily reconciled?’

  ‘Get out of here, damn you!’ Yorke snarled, walking back to his desk. He was wearing a thin knitted shirt and it clung to the long muscles of his back. A curious ache began deep down inside her and she had to stifle the longing to go up to him and press herself against him.

  ‘And if you give one hint of the real situation to either Beth or Richard, so help me, I’ll really teach you the meaning of degradation!’

  * * *

  Beth had barely altered at all, but then why should she? Autumn thought as the older woman hugged her affectionately. Two years was not, after all, a lifetime.

  ‘You don’t know how glad I am to see you back,’ she whispered to Autumn, releasing her so that Richard could greet her. Autumn extended her hand, but Richard, with more self-confidence than she remembered, ignored it, taking her in his arms and kissing her on the cheek.

  ‘That’s my wife you’re kissing,’ Yorke reminded him silkily behind them, and Richard released her with a grin.

  ‘Sorry, boss. Don’t let him get too possessive,’ he warned Autumn teasingly, and although they all laughed, Autumn sensed that behind his smile Yorke was still furious with her.

  Yorke, Beth and Richard were closeted in the study until lunchtime, but over lunch Autumn was surprised when Yorke directed the conversation into general channels instead of concentrating purely on business.

  Even so, when Richard did raise some points about the aviation industry generally, Autumn was surprised by the amount of pleasure she got from being able to join the discussion intelligently, remembering how once she had dreaded Yorke talking about his business, in case she made a fool of herself by revealing her lack of knowledge.

  ‘Umm, that was delicious,’ Beth exclaimed, finishing the last of her sweet. ‘I think I’ll need about an hour’s sleep to get over that lot. How men survive so many business lunches I’ll never know!’

  ‘Why don’t you take a stroll round the garden instead?’ Yorke suggested. ‘I want to go over some figures with Richard, and won’t need you for a while.’

  ‘I’ll come with you,’ Autumn announced. ‘We’re giving a small party over Christmas and I want to pick your brains about who should and should not be invited.’

  They walked together for several minutes in companionable silence and then Beth indicated a wooden seat set into the sunken part of the garden out of the wind.

  ‘I really am pleased that you and Yorke are back together,’ she said seriously once they were sitting down. ‘I must admit when he married you I had my doubts—partially because of the age gap between you and partially because Yorke needed so much from the woman he married. When you left him I wasn’t really surprised. But I was sorry. He’s missed you badly, Autumn. These past two years have been a long, dark winter for him.’

  Yorke was clever, Autumn admitted wearily. He must have been plotting to get her back from the first moment he knew of the possibility of the knighthood. Even Beth, who had known him for so long had been deceived. No doubt it had been less trouble to retrieve an existing wife than to go to the length of acquiring a new one—and one he could not be easily rid of when his purpose was achieved, Autumn thought cynically. But how had he known how to find her? On leaving him she had reverted to her maiden name, and had, moreover, never touched a penny of the money he had paid into her account when they were married.

  Beth, all unknowingly, supplied the answer.

  ‘I was worried when he first started getting those reports on you. I always knew when one came; he would be withdrawn for days, but when I realised it was because he hoped to get you back…’

  Because he couldn’t bear to be defeated, Autumn thought bitterly. Was Beth really so blind that she thought Yorke cared about her? She longed to disillusion her.

  ‘You’ve changed,’ Beth commented suddenly. ‘Matured.’

  ‘I’m older,’ Autumn replied dryly. ‘And I’ve learned about life in a hard school. We saw Julia the other night. She hasn’t changed.’

  ‘Umm. You’ll be better equipped to deal with the Julias of this world this time round. She was bitterly jealous when Yorke married you.’

  ‘Yes, I know. Ironic really, because if it hadn’t been for her he wouldn’t have married me at all. It was a case of risking bad publicity or doing the gentlemanly thing, and he chose the latter. Oh, don’t look so shocked, Beth,’ she said gently. ‘Surely you must have guessed it was something of the sort. The disparity in our age and experience…’

  ‘I knew only that when he returned from Yorkshire that first time, Yorke was a changed man,’ Beth said diplomatically.

  She started to ask Autumn about the party she intended holding, promising to supply lists of suitable guests, adding that if Autumn liked she could recommend the catering firm who provided the board room lunches.

  ‘I want to check with Mrs Jacobs first. She’s a treasure, and I don’t want to risk losing her.’

  Autumn had changed, Beth Talbot reflected as they walked back to the house. And more than she knew. There was no trace of the selfconscious child in her now, and it occurred to Beth that they had all underestimated her. Shyness and inexperience had made her seem a child, when she wasn’t.

  Richard and Yorke were sitting in the drawing room when Beth and Autumn returned.

  ‘Like a drink?’ Yorke asked casually, indicating the well stocked bar trolley.

  They both declined, Autumn smiling quizzically when she realised that Richard was staring at her with appreciative intensity.

  ‘Have I suddenly sprouted horns?’ she teased, laughing as he started to apologise before realising that she hadn’t been annoyed by his scrutiny.

  He had visited the Caribbean and soon the two of them fell into a discussion on the dangerous political atmosphere on the islands.

  ‘The poverty is appalling,’ Autumn claimed, ‘but there’s so little that anyone can do.’

  ‘There must be something wrong with me,’ Richard complained. ‘Here I am sitting with a beautiful woman and all she can talk about is politics! I don’t suppose you want to show me the gardens,’ he suggested with a mock leer, neither of them realising that Yorke was watching them with cold remote eyes, and when Beth stood up saying that it was time they left, Autumn was amazed by how quickly the afternoon had flown.

&
nbsp; ‘So that’s what you like, is it?’ Yorke asked her savagely when they had gone, his fingers biting into her shoulders as he came to stand next to her in the window.

  ‘Boys, whom you can tease and inflame, and hold at a safe distance. So much for all that rubbish about the necklace this morning! You weren’t above letting Richard know you were available, were you?’

  She gasped in disbelief at the unwarranted attack.

  ‘We were just talking—talking, Yorke, that’s all,’ she protested.

  ‘Is that so?’ he asked derisively. ‘Go and look at yourself in the mirror, Autumn. “Just talking” doesn’t make you look like that. You were damned well flirting with him, right under my nose. How in hell’s name do you think we’re going to convince anyone that we’re reconciled when you behave like that?’

  ‘You really are the limit!’ Autumn blazed angrily. ‘What a pity you weren’t so concerned about our reconciliation last night. Or didn’t you think anyone else noticed you and Annette?’

  ‘Damn Annette,’ he swore savagely. ‘I’ve told you already…’ His grip relaxed, his face blenching suddenly as she cringed instinctively. ‘Oh God, what’s the use?’ He let her go, striding past her, and she heard the study door slam behind him.

  Autumn took a deep breath, trying to batten down her instinctive response. He only had to touch her, even in anger and her flesh yielded. And there was still nearly three months of this hell to endure!

  She went to find Mrs Jacobs to discuss the party. In the end they decided they could manage without the caterers, but that they would need bar staff and waiters.

  ‘It’s a long time since I’ve tackled anything so ambitious,’ Mrs Jacobs admitted, ‘but I’m looking forward to it.’

  The party was to be held on the Saturday preceding Christmas Day, which would mean that both Mrs Jacobs and Ben could start their holiday immediately afterwards.

  Yorke did not appear for dinner and Autumn ate alone, retreating to the drawing room afterwards with her coffee and a paperback book. The book palled and she roamed the room, unable to settle, her senses alert and on edge.

  At half past nine the study door opened and her heart leapt, but when long minutes passed without Yorke appearing the nervous anticipation left her. She heard the throaty purr of his car as he started the engine, gravel spurting beneath the wheels as it leapt forward. Where could he be going at this time of night? To Annette, to find solace and satiation in her arms? A low groan escaped her, as jealousy stabbed through her.

  She played some music, but it only disturbed her further and when she eventually went to bed she knew she would not be able to sleep. She was still awake when Yorke returned and glanced at her watch. Half past two. She heard him enter his room and then caught the staccato sound of the shower before all went silent. He wasn’t going to come in to her. Somehow she had known that he would not. He had made his point last night, and after all, what purpose was there now in his coming to her room?

  The days passed in stiff monotony. They had breakfast together in cold silence, neither addressing the other. Yorke then disappeared to his study while Autumn busied herself with plans for the party, or taking the dogs for long, rambling walks. The countryside drew her. So very different from Yorkshire, and yet in some ways the same. They were enjoying a spell of crisp, clear weather, bracken crunching underfoot as she and Samson ambled happily along the sheep tracks that quartered the hills.

  She had completely forgotten about Lady Morley’s invitation until the latter rang to remind her of it. Yorke was out, but Mrs Jacobs insisted that Ben could quite easily take her to Morley Abbey in the Rolls.

  The house was every bit as gracious as its name implied, set against the rolling backdrop of the Cotswolds, a weathered cream stone building bathed in tranquillity and peace.

  Lady Morley herself and two excited corgis welcomed her arrival.

  ‘Come into the library my dear. The hall is far too cold and draughty to stand about in. That’s the trouble with these old family houses—they need an immense fortune and battalion of servants to keep up, and the days are gone when either are readily available.

  ‘This was my husband’s favourite room,’ she informed Autumn, opening the door. Mahogany bookcases lined the walls from floor to ceiling, the wood gleaming softly in the firelight. The furniture was leather and masculine, the atmosphere imbued with the scent of rich leather and expensive cigars.

  ‘Using it is an indulgence of mine, I’m afraid. This place is far too large for me and most of the rooms are closed up. I do have a small sitting room overlooking the gardens, but when I’m feeling particularly nostalgic I come and sit in here. I married my husband when I was seventeen and he was thirty. It was just after the Second World War, and I was madly in love with him. It wasn’t all roses, though. Men endured things during that war which altered them for ever, and George was of the old school who didn’t believe in talking about them to women.

  ‘Parents who teach their sons to have stiff upper lips have a good deal to answer for, in my opinion,’ she went on. ‘There’s nothing like a sharing of emotion for bringing people together—a lowering of the barriers, so to speak. Now I’m off on my favourite hobbyhorse!’ she said with a smile. ‘Come and sit down, and I’ll ring for some tea.’

  Autumn was a little surprised to discover that she was the only guest, and as though sensing her train of thought Lady Morley said forthrightly, ‘Can’t abide hordes of people about me. Only went to Giles’ do so that I could see you.’ She laughed at Autumn’s expression. ‘Oh, it wasn’t just plain nosiness. I told you, I’ve taken a keen interest in your husband. Love him, do you?’

  The direct stared admitted no falsehood and Autumn gave a small nod of her head.

  ‘You’ll need to,’ Lady Morley said frankly. ‘Until I saw you I thought he’d gone and got himself married to some avaricious social climber out for all she could get.’

  ‘You think he’d be so easily taken in?’

  The dry words caused Lady Morley to look closely at her. ‘Oh, he’s intelligent enough, I’ll grant you. But emotionally he’s like a child who’s been badly burned and terrified of it happening again. You must have seen that for yourself? I never thought he’d be able to overcome the handicaps of his childhood. I thought that if he married it would be coldly and clinically. Have you talked about having children?’

  The intimacy of the question made Autumn gasp.

  ‘No right to ask, I know,’ said Lady Morley. ‘George and I couldn’t have any, to my eternal regret. To my mind there’s no greater dimension to love than bearing your lover’s child.’

  Her words touched an exposed nerve and all at once Autumn felt an intense longing to experience Yorke’s child growing inside her. Week by week, month by month, his seed ripening to fruition to produce the living proof of their love.

  ‘What was Yorke like as a child?’ she asked.

  Lady Morley eyed her speculatively. ‘Hasn’t he told you? Umm. Did you know that his parents parted when he was six, I think it was?’

  Autumn nodded, her mouth dry, her imagination tormented by the pain the small child must have felt at having his safe little world ripped apart in such a way.

  ‘Of course, it wasn’t anywhere so near as common then as it is now—divorce and the like, and what made matters worse was that Ian, his father, left his mother to go and live with Moira Burns, the daughter of his business partner. He and Alan Burns ran a small haulage business, and Moira worked in the office. It was inevitable really, I suppose. Ellen was possessively jealous of Ian, wouldn’t let him out of her sight, and flew into a jealous rage if another woman so much as looked at him. Not that Yorke could have known anything of this.

  ‘When Ian left her we all thought that Ellen would leave the village. She was a proud, bitter woman and we none of us thought she would stay on. But perhaps in some bitter warped way it afforded her some satisfaction to stay where she was, a constant thorn in Ian’s flesh. She refused to divorce him, of
course, and God knows what she told the child. She never stopped criticising Ian. Perhaps it helped to ease her own pain, but I swear she never gave a thought to what it might do to Yorke. A most unnatural mother. You would have thought in the absence of the father she would turn more to the child—that’s what generally happens, but she almost seemed to hate him. I remember seeing them together in the village once. He’d fallen over and he was trying badly not to cry. He ran up to her, clinging to her, and I thought she was going to take him in her arms, but instead she just pushed him away. His little face—I’ve never seen anything that hurt me so much. Everyone knew what was going on, and I believe one or two people mentioned it to Ian, but he didn’t seem to care about the boy any more than she did.

  ‘Of course as Yorke got older, it got worse. He played truant from school, and ran away from home more than once. That’s how he came up in front of my husband. He’d been going to see his father, was all that he would say. Poor little scrap! He knew as well as the rest of us that his father didn’t want him. Getting a free place to Harrow was the best thing that ever happened to him in many ways, although the worst of the damage was already done. His mother died when he was fifteen.’

  ‘And his father?’

  ‘Oh, he’d died a couple of years before. Heart attack. She… Ellen tried to claim on the state, but Ian had it all sewn up too tightly. You’d have thought he’d have left the boy something, even if it was just a personal token, but he didn’t—not a single thing. I’ve never known a child with such a loveless, arid upbringing. I remember him when he came back for the funeral. You would have thought he hadn’t an ounce of emotion inside him. I thought then he’d never be able to reach past the barriers and find happiness. He’d grown in mind and body, but emotionally he was crippled and maimed.’

  Autumn felt tears start in her eyes. Lady Morley’s disclosures had explained so much. Now she could understand his driving need to vanquish her, to make her beg for his love, as perhaps he had longed to make his parents beg in the past.