Read Without Saying a Word Online
Authors: Amanda Ward
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Without Saying a Word
Without Saying a Word
Amanda Ward
Without Saying a Word
A Books to Go Now Publication
Copyright
©
Amanda Ward
2013
Books to Go Now
For information on the cover illustration and design, contact [email protected]
First eBook Edition May 2013
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person, living or dead, any place, events or occurrences, is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.
If you are interested in purchasing more works of this nature, please stop by
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Dedication
To my darling husband Matthew Ward, all my children Kathleen, Meghan, Tony,
Matthew, Adam, Amy and Spud and to my grandson Tyler. Much love and kisses.
Huge thanks and hugs to Peggy and Peter Ward. My mother Valerie Gates, my stepdad
Eric Gates and my Aunt Flora Dawson.
Without Saying A Word is dedicated to my late Grandmother Kathleen Yates who inspired
my love of reading in the first place (and left the romance novels in her spare bedroom for
me to find when snooping!)
Prologue
Two years earlier
...
Laura slammed the door behind her.
Thank God, home at last
. She lugged her heavy plastic bag full of groceries into the kitchen, and then glanced at the clock on the wall, yawning as she switched the kettle on. Her children would be home from school soon, with their demands for snacks and help with homework.
As she put away the groceries, she remembered in her haste dropping her handbag by the front door. Laura grumbled under her breath as she dashed into the hall, noticing her husband’s leather wallet as she happened to glance down at the phone stand.
Well that’s odd,
Laura thought.
He’s normally at work this time of the day.
As she touched it, a slip of paper floated to the ground
.
She reached down to pick it up and her forehead crinkled as she read the words.
What on earth is going on?
She peered round the door into the lounge. All was fine, the room as neat and tidy as before. Laura headed up the carpeted stairs to her bedroom. As she tiptoed toward the closed door, Laura heard the muffled sound of grunting and moaning. As she opened it, the creak of the bed alerted her to the fact that her husband was not alone. The bed frame shook with the force of his thrusts as his milky white buttocks moved in and out of the woman beneath him. Shock flooded Laura’s body. Her eyes widened in disbelief. Nausea rode up in her stomach. Aghast, her hands flew to her face and her voice sounded in a whisper.
“Max. What on earth?” Laura’s body shook. She steadied herself by clutching the door, her knuckles white with strain, mentally willing herself to remain upright. This must be a dream; he wouldn’t do this to her. The whole scenario seemed unreal.
Her husband pulled himself off the woman and walked toward her his erection beginning to subside. Max’s handsome face contorted into a snarl. His lips curled, nostrils flared, and his eyes looked cold. Laura held her breath as she managed to let go of the door and back away from him. Out of the corners of her eyes, Laura glimpsed the blonde-haired woman run to the bathroom, a cream-colored sheet wrapped around her. Laura’s eyes then fixated on Max who raised his hand toward her. She desperately needed to escape, but she stumbled over a shoe, which gave him the chance he sought.
“You stupid bitch,” he spat in contempt and slapped her around the face. The gunshot crack echoed in the room. Laura screamed out loud as white-hot pain seared her cheek and caused it to throb with fire-like intensity. The metallic taste of blood filled her mouth. Heat flooded her face as Laura sobbed out loud. Black spots danced in front of her eyes, and blurred her vision. Confusion and shock overwhelmed her as her head swam.
“Stop, Max. I don’t understand,” she whimpered. Why had he hit her? What had she done to him?
“You wouldn’t, would you?” Max maintained his rant. “Lovely Laura has it all— money, a house and children. But guess what? You don’t have me. You never did,” he sneered.
His hand rose again. Laura tried to duck, but it landed on her other cheek, and knocked her to the floor. She sobbed harder, the salty tears stinging the grazes on her cheek. Laura lost her vision as her check swelled. By instinct, she curled into a ball, to protect herself from his blows. What on earth caused her loving husband to act this way?
“I should never have married you, you fertile, frigid bitch!” The hateful words rained down on Laura,
Laura, huddled on the floor, begged him to stop. Tears streamed down her face. Her eye closed. Fear and nausea racked her body, and combined with the pain from her face, Laura’s body shook. She wanted him to stop. What had she done to deserve this?
“Max, stop. Please. I love you. Please stop hurting me,” she begged in a cracked, harsh voice, but to no avail. His foot swept toward the upper part of her body and collided with her chest. Her ribs cracked. Laura felt the sudden whoosh of air as her lung collapsed. As the breath left her body she tried to scream out. Her voice hoarse and mouth full of blood, she struggled for air.
He’s going to kill me
, Laura thought.
Her children— they would be left alone with this monster.
“Help me,” Laura whimpered from the floor. “Please, help me.”
“Take this, you whore!” Max yelled as his foot came toward her yet again. When it collided with her side, Laura’s body jerked at the impact. Too weak to run, too weak to hide, Laura lay on the floor unable to move. Her mind raced with images of her children, and she willed herself to live, to protect them. She could feel herself slip into unconsciousness from her injuries, as her body shut down in self-preservation.
As blackness encompassed her Laura thought she must be hallucinating, when she heard her eldest son scream.
“Leave my mother alone, you bastard!”
Chapter One
The silence felt deafening in his cottage. Rhean Tate, Viscount Kirkleigh, heir to the Earldom of Leighton and headmaster of the local secondary school, wore his loneliness as a shroud. He was tired—tired of not being with the woman he loved. Rhean put his empty mug down, the sound echoing in the kitchen, and glanced toward the wall that separated him from the woman who he’d set his heart on. It was getting harder and harder for him to remain just friends with her without wanting more. Rhean thought back to the previous night. He’d shared the evening with Laura and her family. She had been quieter than usual, but as he’d left, Laura hugged him and kissed him gently on the cheek. Rhean’s full lips curved into a smile as he remembered the softness of her skin on his cheek, and how much he’d needed to restrain himself from turning so that her lips would brush his. He was a thirty-four-year-old virgin for goodness’ sake. When he was just twenty years old, Rhean vowed, that the only woman he would make love to, would be the one he loved enough to make his wife.
A year earlier, that woman moved in next door. But he knew she thought of him only as a friend, and for now, well, it would have to be enough. Rhean, although a patient man, knew that the situation could only be stretched so far. He sighed out loud with frustration, and looked around at the emptiness of his cottage. As he left, he thought he heard the telephone next door ring.
The breeze was brisk on the warm autumn day. Crisp golden leaves whirled around Rhean’s feet as his ebony hair tossed and tumbled in the wind. He stood inside the gate, as he greeted parents and pupils and braced himself against the elements. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his neighbor, Laura Simmons, walk fast down the hill with her three teenage children. She walked with her head down toward the pavement.
Somewhat
unusual behavior for her,
Rhean thought. She wore a knee-length fawn wool cardigan, jeans, and boots and her copper hair blew around in the breeze. Even at that distance he could tell something was wrong. Rhean’s gaze lingered on her and the children. Dressed in their uniforms, they called the usual, “Good morning, sir,” to him. For the first time since they began attending the school, their mother didn’t meet his eyes. He watched as she bade each of her children good-bye, and with her eyes cast down again, started to make the journey home. Determined to get her attention, Rhean moved deliberately in her way and she bumped into him.
“Careful Mrs. Simmons,” he said in his deep voice that held the smooth mixture of Irish and Cumberland dialects. He reached out and steadied her. She looked up at him. As her eyes met his, they snapped down again. She mumbled, “Thank you,” and hurried off toward the gates. Rhean turned to follow her to find out what was going on. However, his attention was diverted when he heard raised voices from two teenage girls and needed to deal with the problem. He would find out what was wrong with his neighbor later during their regular Friday lunch together.
****
With her head down, half-walking and half-running, Laura’s need to get home where she felt safe, made her desperate. The clammy, yet familiar coldness ran through her body and caused her to shiver and feel nauseous. Desperation pushed her onward and she only looked up to cross the road safely. Finally she saw her gate. She increased her pace, and hurried toward it up the cobblestone path. She unlocked the door and went inside, then collapsed with relief onto her soft, welcoming armchair. Automatically her hand checked her pulse. It felt fast. She panicked even more. She felt cold and shivery, and the awful acidic bile rose up. She knew she should take deep breaths into her cupped hands, as her mind raced at a hundred miles per hour.
No. No. Not again,
she thought.
I’m going to die and I’m all alone.
Tear
s
cascaded down her cheeks so she huddled into a ball on her chair, rocked back and forth, and willed herself to calm down. Laura counted slowly backward from twenty, exhaling deeper and deeper with each breath. After she’d checked her pulse again and glanced at her nails to make sure they weren’t blue, she breathed easier as she calmed down.
The attacks began a few months earlier when the phone calls started. At first, they came just every so often. Anonymous calls, with a hissing malicious voice that told Laura to watch out for her children, because they could be taken away from her.
The irrational side of her mind told her she needed to sleep, and hide from the overwhelming emotions that caused her distress. The couch beckoned Laura to lie down, close her eyes and escape, so she didn’t have to cope with them. Resisting, Laura knelt in front of her chair, took deep breaths and leaned into her arms until her body stopped shaking. After a panic attack, Laura knew that the best cure for her was a mug of strong, sweet tea. So, she stood up, took yet another deep, cleansing breath, and walked into the kitchen to put the kettle on. Mechanically and detached from reality, Laura made the tea.
The morning sun that glinted through the large French doors in her dining room bathed it in a mellow glow. In a corner of the room, she’d placed a large Queen Anne tapestry armchair, and she sat down there, then folded her legs beneath her and sipped her tea. A large striped marmalade cat stalked past Laura, and glared at her with his amber eyes. She attempted a pathetic smile, but to her chagrin, tears rolled down her face. To add insult to injury, instead of jumping on her lap and comforting her, the cat turned his back on her and cleaned himself.
Thanks a bundle, Tubs. Remind me next time not to give you any left-over tuna,
Laura thought as she finished her tea, picked up the basket of wash then went outside to hang it. The brisk wind chilled the tears on her face, and blew through her hair which helped to clear her mind. Feeling a little better, Laura went back inside the house.
She walked through the rooms with the empty wicker basket, picking up clothes strewn over the sofas, and the handrail of the stairs. Grumbling under her breath, Laura climbed the stairs, smiling at the photographs of her children taken over the years. How time had flown since they were smiling, gurgling, happy babies to now—teenagers with their own opinions, constant mood swings, and never-ending appetites. She reached the top of the stairs, took a deep breath and hesitantly opened the door to Theo and James’s room, glanced inside, and then closed it with a shudder. She took a sticky note from her pocket, and wrote with a black marker
Clean Me,
and stuck it on their door. The doorbell rang and Laura dropped the basket on the floor with a bang and ran down the stairs. Looking through the peephole, she saw the man she’d bumped into earlier at the school.
“Hi Laura,” Rhean said cheerfully. At six-foot-three inches tall, her neighbor needed to stoop when he entered her home. His dark gypsy curls tumbled rakishly across his forehead, and his large frame filled the small passageway. His face was ruddy from the wind, and his midnight-blue eyes twinkled with mischief. He sniffed the air as he took off his long black duffle coat and straightened his trademark comic tie. “What’s for lunch?” he asked as he walked through the house and into the kitchen.
Laura shut the door and called out, “Lunch? But it’s only....” her voice trailed off as she looked at her watch and noticed that it was 12:30 pm. “Ffffudge,” she muttered to herself. Her attack must have taken longer than she realized. Laura followed Rhean into the kitchen to put something together, only to see that he had taken matters into his own hands and was rummaging through her fridge. She leaned against the door frame and watched him, her arms crossed over her chest.
“Make yourself at home, why don’t you?” Laura said.
Rhean pulled his head out of the fridge and grinned.
“Thanks, I will. Don’t just stand there. Make yourself useful and put the kettle on. ´Tis a hungry man you have here,” he told her and went back to rummaging. Laura switched the kettle on, dried off her mug and placed tea bags in Rhean’s own personal ‘man mug,’ as he called it.
“Eureka!” Rhean exclaimed. He brought out two frozen pizzas, unwrapped and put them put them in the oven. She poured the tea, took out plates and the pizza cutter. Carrying the full mugs, Laura padded into the dining room where Rhean had made himself quite comfortable. He sat in her armchair with Tubs on his lap, who purred loudly. Rhean lived next door when they moved in, and was a great neighbor and friend. He was also devastatingly attractive. He was younger than her, and after her disastrous marriage, any romantic thoughts were far from her mind. There were times in the past year when Rhean seemed more like an annoying younger brother rather than a staid, responsible headmaster.
“Comfortable are you?” she asked with a trace of laughter in her voice, her eyes narrowing while Rhean continued to stroke Tubs under the chin. The purring increased in tempo. Tubs’s eyes were closed, his striped face pointed at the ceiling.
“Of course. Now can you tell me what happened this morning?”