A Little Revenge Omnibus (21 page)

CHAPTER FOUR

‘Y
OU
SIT
DOWN
;
I’ll put the kettle on and make us both a drink.’

‘No, Ward, let me do it,’ Anna insisted. They were both in her kitchen, Missie tucked up happily in her basket whilst, next to her, the huge cream and brown cat, Whittaker, stretched languidly in his.

On the point of insisting that she needed to rest, Ward suddenly remembered that he would be expected to know his way around Anna’s kitchen and the rest of her house.

‘Well, if you’re sure you’ll be okay,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll just get your stuff out of the car and take it upstairs.’

Anna had refused to put the blood-stained jacket she had been wearing back on and the hospital had also supplied her with some ointment to put on the broken skin of her scalp. On the pretext of disposing of them he could have a brief look round the upstairs of the house and familiarise himself with its layout, Ward decided.

In the morning before Anna woke up he would also have to slip out to the hotel, but that was a problem he could worry about then.

He had collected everything from the car and was halfway upstairs when he heard Anna calling out urgently to him. Dropping her jacket and the ointment, he rushed back to the kitchen.

‘What is it?’ he demanded abruptly. ‘Are you ill? Do you feel sick? Are your eyes—?’

‘Oh, Ward, I’m sorry...it’s nothing like that,’ Anna assured him remorsefully. ‘I just wanted to know how you like your coffee... I’m afraid I can’t remember...’

‘Strong, black, no sugar,’ Ward told her curtly.

Hell, for a moment he had feared... He closed his eyes and then flinched in shock as he felt Anna’s lips brush his jaw.

‘Thank you,’ he heard her whisper tenderly.

She was thanking him?

‘For what?’ he asked her almost brusquely, opening his eyes and moving back from her, determinedly avoiding her, turning his head to look into those oh, so dangerous blue-grey eyes.

‘For being here...for caring...for being you,’ Anna told him softly.

The look in her eyes, so trusting, so...so giving...made Ward gulp.

It just wasn’t possible that a simple blow on the head could so totally transform a person’s personality—was it?

* * *

‘O
H
, I’
M
SORRY
,’
Anna said, sleepily stifling a second yawn. They had finished their coffee and Ward had insisted that she was to stay where she was, sitting at the table, whilst he cleared up.

Although she lived alone, Anna’s house was a comfortable size. She came from a large extended family and when Beth and Kelly had first moved to Rye she had been only too delighted to put them up. Her house had four good-sized bedrooms and her own large bedroom had its own separate bathroom.

Downstairs, in addition to the large kitchen with its pretty dining conservatory which she had added, there was a more formal dining room, a pretty sitting room and a drawing room. Too much, perhaps, for one person, and certainly far larger than the pretty little cottage she and Ralph had started married life in.

She had bought the house with some of the money she had received from Ralph’s life insurance policies—the rest of the money, quite a considerable sum, had been invested. She had been upset at first at the thought of touching it, had even suggested that it ought more properly to go to Ralph’s parents, but both her own and Ralph’s family were comfortably off and, in the end, she had listened to them and had accepted that they were probably right in saying that Ralph would have wanted her to have the money. Although Anna suspected that neither of Ralph’s parents, especially his mother, would ever feel totally comfortable in her presence because of the memories she brought back, both of them had been genuinely determined that the proceeds of the insurance policy Ralph had taken out when they married should go to Anna.

It was a mother’s love for her child that caused Ralph’s mother to be so anguished whenever she saw Anna, not the money, and Anna, always so sensitive, could appreciate just how she must feel, just how she herself might feel in the same circumstances.

Her own father was an architect and until Ralph’s death she had worked for him as his personal assistant. He had understood why she had felt she had to leave Cornwall, even though he had told her how much he was going to miss her quiet efficiency.

The house was decorated with the same quiet good taste exhibited by her clothes and her whole way of life, and Ward, who was still trying to come to terms with the powerful surge of desire he had felt earlier on when she had touched him, couldn’t help contrasting her manner with his ex-wife’s.

She had never, so far as he could recall, voluntarily reached out to him in the way that Anna had just done, and when he had tried to bring a little tenderness into their relationship she had pushed him away, declaring, ‘Don’t be so soft.’

Soft. Him. Well, he might have been then, but he certainly wasn’t any more. And he most definitely wasn’t soft enough to forget just exactly what kind of woman Anna Trewayne really was.

‘You’re tired,’ he told her shortly as she stifled another yawn. ‘Why don’t you go to bed?’

‘What about you?’ Anna asked him uncertainly.

‘I’ll be up later,’ Ward told her, deliberately turning away from her so that she couldn’t see his face.

It was so obvious that Anna assumed they would be sharing a bed, and just as obvious that there was no way he could allow that to happen. For one thing...well, he lived alone and normally slept in the raw, and he was used to having the whole of his large king-sized bed to himself. If he rolled over in his sleep, Anna, tiny little thing that she was... And besides— But he didn’t want to allow himself to think the highly personal and explosively dangerous thoughts that were crowding his brain—thoughts which were of a far, far too intimate and sensual nature.

He heard Anna’s chair scrape over the floor as she got up. Even with his back turned he knew that she was walking towards him.

‘Good—goodnight, then,’ he heard her saying a little breathlessly. Automatically he turned round. Anna was smiling tremulously up at him, lifting her face, her mouth towards his, plainly expecting to be kissed.

Who the hell was he trying to kid? Ward asked himself angrily. This was the reason why he didn’t want to share a bed with Anna... The harshly guttural sound of protest he had been about to make was lost as he wrapped his arms around her and bent his mouth to hers.

‘Mmm... Oh, yes...’ Anna breathed delightedly as she wriggled closer to him. ‘Oh, yes... Oh, Ward!’ Blissfully she leaned into him. How could she possibly have forgotten this? She could feel her whole body reacting to Ward’s kiss, right down to her toes which were curling sensuously into her shoes.

Experimentally she caressed his bottom lip with her tonguetip, her own body trembling with excitement as she felt him shudder. She suddenly felt like someone who had discovered undreamed-of treasure. Ralph, love him though she had, had never made her feel like this, but she felt no guilt. The relationship she had with Ward had already passed through those turbulent, traumatic waters, such feelings obviously resolved before they—she—had committed themselves to one another as lovers.

Anna might not be able to remember how or when they had met, or the nature of their courtship, but she knew herself and she knew just how powerful her feelings, her love must be for her to have become so intimate with him.

She must have experienced this rapture, this intensity, this total compulsion to abandon herself to him sexually and emotionally with him before, many times, but right now she couldn’t recall those times, which must be why what she was feeling was so headily thrilling and exciting. She wanted desperately to touch him.

Touch him? She practically wanted to tear his clothes off, she acknowledged ruefully, but he was already lifting his mouth from hers, his voice satisfactorily strained with emotion and desire as he told her thickly, ‘The consultant said you had to rest...’

‘Did he? I don’t remember,’ Anna teased him mischievously, but she still obediently let him go and started to make her way out of the kitchen, pausing only to fuss Missie and Whittaker.

Ward didn’t dare to allow himself to relax until he was sure she had gone.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt like this.

No, he didn’t think he had ever felt like this. She had caught him off guard, that was all, he assured himself, and he’d have had to be made of stone not to respond to her. She was, after all, an extremely attractive woman, an extremely sensual woman—an extremely sexually experienced woman?

She had been instantly responsive to him, her body language making it plain just how much she wanted him, but earlier on this afternoon, despite what he knew about her, he had somehow gained the impression that she was not someone who was sexually promiscuous. There had been an innate feminine fastidiousness about her, a delicate hint of determined hauteur. And yet just now in his arms...

It had been all he could do not to show her just what she was doing to him, and there had even been a moment when, if he hadn’t let her go, the urgency and intensity of his desire for her would have had him practically tearing the clothes off her—and that was something he had most certainly never come anywhere near wanting to do...ever...with any woman...

When he had met his ex-wife he had been full of romantic ideals. He had put her up on something of a pedestal, respecting her. The thought of making love with her had made him go dizzy with longing, but when it had eventually happened, physically satisfying though the experience had been, emotionally it had been lacking in something.

He had told himself that the fault lay with him in that his expectations were too idealistic and unrealistic. Five minutes ago, holding Anna in his arms, he had discovered that they weren’t.

* * *

U
PSTAIRS
,
IN
HER
bedroom, Anna undressed quickly. She wanted to be showered, all clean and sweetly scented, when Ward came to her.

This might not be their first time, but it would be the first of the new memories she would make with him and she wanted it to be very special. Not just for herself, but for Ward as well. She must have given him such a dreadful fright.

In her bathroom she had found a serviceable cotton robe and beneath her pillow there was an equally serviceable cotton nightdress. Frowningly she studied them. Surely she didn’t wear these when she was with Ward?

Quickly she checked her drawers. It was odd how she knew automatically which ones held her underwear. It was all as dismally plain as her nightwear. Puzzled, she checked again. Instinctively she knew that for Ward she would have wanted to wear the most deliciously feminine things she could find, silky satin wisps of delicately coloured fabric, lavishly trimmed with lace, nothing vulgar or too provocative—she knew she wasn’t the type for that—but surely, during the course of knowing him, she must have bought something to tease and tempt him with? If so, it certainly wasn’t here.

Disappointed, she went back to the bed and climbed in. Well, if it was a choice of wearing that boring cotton nightdress or nothing, she’d take the nothing, thank you very much!

How long would Ward be? Not long, surely? A tiny shiver of nervous excitement ran through her. She felt almost like an old-fashioned virginal bride, madly in love with her husband, but also, at the same time, a little apprehensive about the intimacies that lay ahead.

* * *

D
OWNSTAIRS
W
ARD
WAITED
half an hour and then another half an hour. The house was silent. Anna must surely be asleep by now?

Very quietly he crept upstairs. Her bedroom door was half open; he could see her lying to one side of the bed, thankfully asleep. She looked oddly forlorn and alone.

His mouth dry, Ward hurried past, pushing open the door to the bedroom furthest away from Anna’s.

He had a quick shower, but no shave—his razor was still at the hotel, of course. If, in the morning, Anna questioned his desire to sleep in a different room he would tell her that the consultant had advised it—make up some story about him suggesting that it might be an idea for the two of them to put their intimate life on hold until Anna had recovered her memory.

Tiredly, Ward climbed into bed.

* * *

A
NNA
WOKE
UP
abruptly; her heart was pounding very fast and she was trembling. She had been having a frightening dream, but what about she could not remember. Her head ached a little and, whilst the nightmare fear had left her now, another much sharper fear had taken its place. What if she never recovered her memory? What if...?

‘Ward. Ward?’ She turned anxiously to the other side of the bed, only to discover that Ward wasn’t there.

Thoroughly agitated, Anna pushed back the bedcovers. Where was he? She hurried out onto the landing. Whittaker, the cat, was just about to make his way into the end bedroom through the open door.

‘Oh, no, you don’t,’ she chided him, padding after him and scooping him up. He was forbidden to sleep on the beds and well he knew it—but Whittaker’s naughtiness was forgotten as she glanced into the room and realised that Ward was asleep in the bed.

What on earth was he doing in here? Bemused, but thoroughly relieved to have found him, Anna put the cat down and hurried over to the bed. He must be exhausted, poor man. She wouldn’t wake him. Instead she slipped in beside him, cuddling as close to the warmth of his body as she could.

Mmm...he felt so good. She felt so good, so safe, so loved...so happy....

* * *

‘M
MM
...’ W
ARD
TURNED
over in his sleep, his body instinctively accommodating the slight curve of Anna’s, his arm curling round her, his leg, with genetically programmed male possessiveness and protection, moving to pin her gently to his side.