The Flawed Marriage Page 2

  Although all his concentration was on the road and the powerful car, Amber felt his sideways glance, probing the thin skin barely covering her emotional scars.

  ‘Although my qualifications were good, as a junior housemistress they wanted something more mobile.’

  ‘Junior housemistress? That would have been a living-in position, surely, and a time-consuming one.’ She felt him looking at her ringless fingers and guessed the mental assessment he was making. Single, and likely to remain so through circumstances rather than choice: an object of pity and derision.

  ‘So what will you do now?’

  Cold and shaken by her experience both at the interview and afterwards, Amber made an attempt to shrug unconcernedly and failed pitifully.

  ‘I don’t know. God knows I wish I did,’ she muttered under her breath, not intending the words to be overheard, but his hearing was obviously as acute as a predatory hunter’s, because his head swivelled towards her, and the car slid to a smooth halt in a small layby, across the bridge from the village. Thinking that he had taken her as far as he meant to, Amber reached for the door handle, but he stopped her, reaching across her body to grasp her hand. Amber shrank from him instinctively. She had learned in hospital that although she might be an object of medical interest and curiosity to the young doctors clustering daily around her bed, as a desirable and attractive woman she no longer existed; pity rather than admiration was what she read in their eyes; a pity that she had seen time and time again in the months that had followed. From taking the vibrant beauty which had been a facet of her personality before the accident for granted, she had retreated into a world where her beauty had been dimmed by pain and loss of self-confidence. If Rob could no longer find her attractive how could any man? Unwittingly over the weeks she had adopted the mien and shrinking manners of a girl who knows herself unattractive to men, and so she shrank now; not from any fear that her companion might touch her but from his assumption that she might want him to do so and the humiliation of rejection which must surely follow.

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  There was a fine thread of amusement woven into the conventional words, a smile deepening the attractive grooves either side of a mouth which looked as though it didn’t smile often enough. ‘Having second thoughts about the wisdom of accepting a lift? Too late, fair maiden,’ he mocked. ‘I have you within my toils now, and there’s no one to stop me having my wicked way with you. Tell me about your life before this accident,’ he demanded with an abrupt change of front.

  ‘What on earth for? Look, I must go, otherwise I’ll miss my train.’ Amber reached again for the door handle, only to find the door immovable beneath her urgent fingers.

  ‘I’ve locked it.’ He motioned towards the highly technical-looking dashboard. ‘And I won’t unlock it until you’ve answered my questions.’

  ‘But why? What possible interest could you have in me?’

  ’The very natural one of a prospective employer,’ came the totally unexpected reply. ‘I need someone to look after my son.’

  ‘How old is he?’ Ridiculously it was the first question which came into her mind.

  ‘Six.’

  ‘But why should you want to employ me? Before this evening we hadn’t even met. I don’t even know your name…’

  ‘That’s easily remedied. I’m Joel Sinclair. I live about eight miles away from here.’

  ‘And you need someone to look after your son. Surely a fully trained nanny would be better? And your wife…’

  He was shaking his head.

  ‘I’ve made up my mind that you’ll be ideal. What’s your name?’

  Hesitantly, hardly daring to believe that the day might after all have have some benefit for her, Amber told him.

  ‘Amber? Because of your eyes, of course.’

  She blinked at him, surprised that he had noticed. Rob had been going out with her for over a month before he had made the connection.

  ‘Mr Sinclair, are you sure? About this job, I mean?’ she asked formally. ‘You aren’t just…’ she fumbled for the right words, hating the thought that he might have offered her the job on impulse because of some misguided feeling of pity.

  ‘Sorry for you?’ His face hardened. ‘When you get to know me better you’ll learn that there isn’t room in my life for such unnecessary emotions.’

  ‘Well, hadn’t I better meet your son before we settle anything? I mean, he might not…’ She was glancing down at her leg, and she saw that he too was looking at the frail limb.

  ‘Oh, he’ll like you all right,’ came the response. ‘So, do I take it you’re prepared to accept the job?’

  A tiny frown touched Amber’s forehead. He seemed to be treating the whole affair far too lightly. After all, what did he know about her, apart from what she had told him? What did she know about him, come to that? She moistened her lips, darting a quick glance up at him, dismayed to find him watching her with sardonic amusement.

  ‘It all seems so… so unconventional. I mean, you’ve just met me and you offer me the job of taking care of your son without asking for references, without…’

  ‘I know all I want to know,’ he told her, cutting her short, ‘In fact, Amber Douglas, you’re something in the nature of a gift from the gods.’ His laughter shocked and hurt her, although she tried to conceal it. Rob had thought her a gift from the gods once, but not in the same terms as Joel Sinclair, who only saw in her twisted leg a flaw which would probably make her pathetically grateful for his offer of a job.

  ‘But we haven’t discussed terms,’ she said uneasily. ‘A contract…’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ he told her suavely, ‘you’ll have a contract; and you’ll be well paid. Now, are you interested, or shall I drive across the bridge so that you can escape on the train that’s due in any moment now?’

  Well paid! Amber knew that he hadn’t missed her expression of indecision. Goodness knows, she needed all the money she could get her hands on, and presumably she’d be living all found. She wanted to ask him exactly what he would be prepared to pay her, but pride—and the look in his eyes—prevented her.

  She took a deep breath.

  ‘I’m interested.’

  ‘Good.’ He switched on the engine. ‘In that case, I’ll take you up to Lake Fyne now, so that you can meet Paul first-hand.’

  She thought about the long journey back to Birmingham, the cold, inhospitable room waiting for her, and then darted a glance at the man sitting beside her.

  ‘Any objections?’

  Without giving herself time to think she shook her head, feeling the powerful surge of the engine as the car pulled swiftly away, and the darkness swallowed them up.

  Joel Sinclair had told her that he lived eight miles from the village, but it might as well have been eighty for all the sense of direction Amber experienced on the drive. Mist swirled all around them; the odd sheep materialising in the powerful headlights as they swept the grey blankness of the road, and the now frost-rimed hillsides stretching uproads from the tarmac.

  Lake Fyne! She couldn’t remember ever hearing the name before, but then she knew that the Lake District possessed many small lakes whose names were not universally known, and she assumed this must be one of them.

  The road curled upwards, a pale grey ribbon, disappearing into the mist.

  Sitting on the edge of her seat, gripping the expensive hide cover, Amber was unaware of the fear in her eyes, until Joel turned towards her mockingly, commanding her to relax, telling her there was nothing to fear.

  What did he know? she demanded inwardly in a flash of irritation. He had never had to face people with her disability to see the expression in their eyes. She had yet to be accepted by his son and his wife. She could just picture her; a man like him would demand sophistication and elegance in the woman who bore his name; she would be blonde, almost undoubtedly; expensively dressed, an ex-model perhaps, who would raise her eyebrows pityingly when she saw the stray waif her husband had brought home
.

  They came to an abrupt halt. The mist lifted momentarily and Amber had a brief glimpse of moonlight on water—Lake Fyne?—and then they were driving through huge wrought iron gates which had opened as though at some magic command from Joel to allow the car to move smoothly down a gravel drive towards, the grey granite house slowly materialising ahead of them out of the mist.

  Joel, stopped the car. The silence was almost uncanny, heavy, and somehow waiting. There were no lights from the house, and Amber presumed that there must be rooms overlooking the back, where no doubt his wife eagerly awaited his return.

  He climbed out of the car, and for one awful moment Amber thought he intended to leave her, but even as she moved frantically towards her door, he was opening it, assisting her to alight, his fingers hard and warm beneath her elbow.

  Gravel crunched underfoot. The house was huge, Victorian and austere, and Amber shivered as she waited for Joel to unlock the door.

  ‘Housekeeper’s night off,’ he told her with heavy irony as the door swung open and he ushered her into a large but cold hall. He saw her shiver and told her, ‘Mrs Downs is Lakeland born and bred and thinks central heating should be kept only for the depths of winter.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It’s too late for you to see Paul tonight, he’ll be asleep, so I’ll show you to a room, and then in the morning…’

  ‘But surely your wife will want…’ Amber began, only to be silenced by the look of grim mockery she saw on his face.

  ‘Ah yes, my wife. Well, you see, my dear Amber, I no longer have a wife, which is why I need you—to take her place.’

  The room reeled. Amber placed her hands to her head, telling herself that she was leaping to absurd conclusions.

  ‘You mean you need someone to look after Paul full time because you don’t have a wife? she said hesitantly, her heart starting to sink when saw him dislodge himself from the wall upon which he had been leaning and come towards her, his hands on her shoulders as he pulled her forward into the harsh overhead light of the hall.

  ‘What I mean, Amber,’ he said slowly and coolly, ‘is that I need a wife. Not just any wife, but you.’

  ‘You must be mad!’

  He seemed amused rather than affronted.

  ‘Not mad, just determined. Determined that my ex-wife won’t revoke the custody ruling which gave Paul into, my care. So determined, in fact, that I am prepared to pay you very generously for say, six months of your life… Very generously,’ he repeated significantly, his eyes resting on the tell-tale pulse throbbing in her throat.

  ‘No!’

  ‘No?’ Again he seemed more amused than annoyed. ‘I’m going to give you the night to think over your decision, Amber, and don’t forget, will you, that I saw the look on your face in the car when I said I was prepared to be generous.’

  Hating herself for the question, but knowing she just had to ask it, Amber ran her tongue nervously across dry lips and asked huskily, ‘How generous?’

  She almost missed the surprised contempt in his eyes—it was banished so quickly by mocking satisfaction.

  ‘Twenty-five thousand pounds!’

  Her heart almost stopped beating. Twenty-five thousand pounds—far, far more than she had imagined. Far, far more than she could ever envisage earning in so short a space of time, and more than enough to cover all the expenses of her operation, plus the plastic surgery she would need afterwards.

  ‘You can’t do it,’ a tiny inner voice warned her. ‘It isn’t right. You’ll have to refuse.’

  The words were on the tip of her tongue when she looked down at her leg and all her good resolutions fled. What were six months, after all?

  ‘It would have to be purely a business arrangement,’ she began hesitantly. ‘I mean…’

  ‘I think we can take what you mean as read,’ came the smooth rejoinder, ‘and certainly I can assure you that I have no sexual designs upon your person, if that’s what’s worrying you.’

  Amber flushed to the roots of her hair. Of course he hadn’t. What man in his right mind would have, never mind a man as stunningly attractive as Joel Sinclair?

  Chagrined, exhausted and defeated by her own desire to be restored to what she had once been, she gave in.

  ‘Very wise,’ Joel Sinclair told her softly. ‘I am glad we were able to reach an agreement. Tell me, the money—do you need it for any special purpose?’

  In a moment he might guess about her leg, and Amber couldn’t bear his pity. Quickly she interrupted, ‘No more special than any other woman’s. I want to enjoy life before it’s too late. I’ve always fancied a world cruise…’

  ‘With the bonus of some gullible male thrown in?’ Joel Sinclair suggested sardonically. ‘Still, why should I complain? In this instance your mercenary greed is furthering my ends as well as yours. I’ll take you to your room now,’ he told her. ‘I have to go out again—some business I have to attend to, but in the morning we’ll talk again.’

  They had reached a long landing and he had paused outside a panelled mahogany door, and Amber had almost collided into him before she realised he had stopped.

  He opened the door and stood back to allow her to enter the room. It was furnished with timelessly elegant Regency antiques, but despite the expensive furniture, the soft pale green carpet and daintily femine décor the room had a cold almost unwelcoming atmosphere, and Amber shivered as she stepped inside it.

  ‘The bathroom’s through there,’ Joel Sinclair told her, indicating another door opening off the bedroom. ‘We normally have breakfast about eight. I have business interests in Kendal and try to leave the house by nine, although recently my schedule has been somewhat interrupted.’

  Amber stared up at him, wanting him to leave and yet reluctant to be abandoned in a strange house.

  ‘Something wrong?’ he enquired dulcetly, watching the shadows chase across her golden eyes. ‘Or are you waiting for me to seal our bargain in the traditional manner?’

  It was several seconds before Amber realised what he meant, and she cringed inwardly wondering if he thought she had been mutely hoping that he would kiss her.

  ‘Certainly not,’ she told him with as much cool composure as she could muster. ‘You’re buying my time, not my body.’

  His suave, ‘Perhaps that’s just as well,’ left a bitter aftertaste long after he himself had gone, reminding her yet again that she was no longer a girl men would want to hold in their arms or kiss. For several totally irresponsible seconds she allowed herself to wonder what it would be like to be kissed by Joel Sinclair. His kisses wouldn’t be like Rob’s, she thought instinctively; there would be nothing tentative or rushed about them. He would know exactly how to arouse a woman’s desire; how to fan it until it threatened to become a raging inferno. Horrified by the train of her thoughts, she started to undress, realising almost too late that she had nothing to wear. Shrugging wearily, she decided that she was too tired to care whether she slept in a nightdress or the nude. Fortunately the bathroom, unlike the bedroom, was adequately heated, and she was able to wash out her undies and tights and place them on the hot towel rail to dry ready for the morning.

  CHAPTER TWO

  IT was the sound of a child crying that eventually roused Amber. She sat up in bed, listening in the darkness preceding dawn, and stretched her ears for the sound which had disturbed her slumbers. It came again—bitterly hopeless sobs; not the normal cry of a young child, and strangely moved, she slid out of bed, intent on discovering what was happening.

  She was halfway across the room before she remembered she had no robe. The bathroom afforded a huge bathsheet which she wrapped sarong-wise around her too thin body, before opening her bedroom door.

  It wasn’t hard to find Paul’s room; but what did surprise Amber when she opened the door was that the little boy was all alone, curled up in a small foetal ball in the middle of a rumpled heap of bedclothes.

  ‘Paul.’ She whispered his name, and had the satisfaction of seeing his tears stop as he registered her
presence.

  ‘Who are you?’ The words were wrung from him between sobs.

  Amber walked awkwardly towards the bed and switched on the lamp, her breath catching in her throat as she saw the small boy’s features properly for the first time. He was a perfect miniature replica of his father!

  ‘My name’s Amber.’ she answered matter-of-factly. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘I’m Paul Sinclair, and this is my daddy’s house.’

  ‘Were you having a bad dream?’ Amber asked him conversationally.

  The small face closed up. ‘Sort of.’ The reply was deliberately uncommunicative.

  ‘Horrid, aren’t they?’ Amber sympathised, pretending she had not noticed his withdrawal. ‘Would you like me to get you a glass of milk?’

  ‘I’m not thirsty. What are you doing here?’

  ‘Your daddy brought me,’ Amber explained, starting to smooth the crumpled sheets. As she did so, she accidentally revealed the thin child’s body, dressed in over-large pyjamas which had ridden up to reveal a scarred and very frail-looking leg.

  She could feel Paul going rigid when he knew she was looking at him, and her heart went out to the small child. She knew exactly what he was feeling. A thought suddenly struck her. Was this one of the reasons why Joel Sinclair wanted to marry her, because he thought she would have something in common with his son? But no; he had stipulated that their marriage was only to last six months, and besides, he didn’t strike her as the kind of man who would marry simply because of emotion.

  Paul had turned away from her and was lying rigidly in the bed, his stiff little back expressive of all she herself had felt and never been able to say. She could almost feel him wishing her away.

  She touched his arm gently. ‘Paul… You don’t have to hide your leg away from me, you know.’

  If anything the little boy became even more stiff.

  ‘Look,’ she said lightly, ‘my leg’s the same.’

  At first he didn’t move, and then very slowly and disbelievingly he turned towards her.