He walked forward, she stood her ground and she would have scratched his eyes out if he reached for her (or, at least, she told herself she would).
He didn’t, instead he lifted his hand and just ran his thumb across her swollen bottom lip while she held herself frozen.
To her surprise, he murmured simply, “I’ll make you happy.”
“From current behaviour,” she snapped in return, “I find that impossible to believe.”
He smiled at her, that devastating smile then he leaned forward, brushed her lips with his, pulled away and walked out the door.
She stared at it in disgust, grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it at the door. Then another one and then another, until they all sat on the floor behind the door and she sat on the bed with her head in her hands and her mind blank to everything but the memory of his beautiful, mind-shattering touch.
Chapter Eleven
The Mistress
Julia stood surveying herself in the three-way mirror. She wore a pair of wide-legged black trousers that hugged her low on her h*ps and a skin-tight camisole, the hem of which only just reached the waistband of her trousers. Over that she wore a see-through black blouse with satin edging at the buttons, collar and cuffs. She’d put in her diamond studs and tied a black velvet ribbon tight around her throat. She kept her hair long but used a blow dryer to straighten its waves. The finishing touch was a pair of silver, strappy sandals, the straps across her coral varnished toes were braided and the heel was stacked in a high, thin, black wedge.
An hour ago Charlotte and Oliver arrived for the Thanksgiving celebrations which were to take place tomorrow. Sam followed twenty minutes later. Tonight they were going to have a light repast in preparation for the gorge-fest that was going to take place the next day.
Even Monique had condescended to join them, more than likely because Charlie and Oliver were coming.
Monique had been on her best behaviour the last two weeks since Douglas’s return. Although she hadn’t been around much to behave any way at all with her whirlwind of brunches, lunches, dinner parties and manicure appointments. When she was around, she kept to herself, not even bothering Douglas and completely ignoring Julia and the children.
Douglas, as well, had been on his best behaviour.
After his bizarre and maybe even unhinged proposal of marriage, Julia had steeled herself for the sexual onslaught that she thought would begin after she pulled herself together enough to leave her rooms to help finish the cookies. Instead, he had been the perfect gentleman, cordial, thoughtful and even, if it could be believed, friendly.
She didn’t trust him one bit, mostly because she suspected he was unhinged due to his out-of-the-blue marriage proposal which proved, to Julia, that Douglas Ashton was completely and utterly mad.
He, on the other hand, was around far more often then he used to be, which she felt under the circumstances, was most perverse.
He was at the breakfast table every morning and was home every night. She knew he went into the office and even took quick day trips to meetings elsewhere in the UK and on the Continent. He might not make tea or supper or Ruby’s bedtime but he was at least home to say goodnight to Willie and Lizzie.
But he didn’t kiss Julia, stalk her around any rooms, say anything outrageous, mention a word to the children, press a heavy, antique, heirloom engagement ring on her finger or any behaviour of the like.
And Julia was immensely relieved (and secretly disquieted) by his behaviour. Even so, she did not let her guard down.
Julia watched and noticed that the children were responding to Douglas being home, Monique being mostly absent and Julia having charge of their care. They clearly enjoyed a settled regime that was far less strict and a house that also included the presence of their uncle.
The day after his proposal, Douglas had asked Sam to arrange an appointment for them at his bank to open an account for her. He’d met her there, already in the manager’s office waiting for her when she arrived. She completed forms and put up with the manager’s oily gushing to Douglas and herself.
The whole while Douglas sat back, one foot casually resting on the other knee, one arm possessively (she knew exactly his meaning this time) draped across her chair, watching her as if witnessing the completion of forms was the height of entertainment (which meant completing the forms was far more gruelling than it needed to be).
When they were finished and standing on the pavement outside the bank, he asked her if she’d like to go for a drink.
“No thank you, I need to get home to the children.” Her voice was filled with acid-fuelled politeness.
“Julia, they won’t spontaneously combust if you’re gone for a few hours.”
She’d given him a narrow look and stalked to where Carter was waiting for her beside the Bentley.
Like the gentleman he was apparently wanting her to believe him to be, he let her go.
The only glitch in his charade was the one time Douglas did come home in time for tea. After dinner, when the children went off to their homework, computer games and television, Julia had settled on the couch in the grand entry in front of a roaring fire that Carter had made. She was reading through some paperwork Charlie had sent her on charity organisations in the UK in preparation for the consultancy she would begin the next week. To her surprise, and under her distrustful eye, Douglas joined her. He had not changed out of his suit but had taken off his tie and jacket and loosened the collar of his deep green, finely-tailored shirt. He carried with him a book instead of work. Not any book, of course not, instead it was a Russian novel, printed in Russian no less.
She surreptitiously watched him read it for awhile and determined that he did, indeed read Russian. This shocked her but she was busy ignoring him, and doing very well at it, so could not, or more to the point would not, allow herself to comment (as she very much wanted to do).
Ruby was the first to break their hesitant peace, storming in with a loud complaint that Lizzie was watching a programme different from the one that Ruby wanted to watch.
“Ruby, you don’t need to shout. Uncle Douglas and I can hear you perfectly,” Julia told her niece firmly but kindly. “And I thought we agreed it was Lizzie’s night to choose what was on the telly.”
Ruby flounced away, seemingly accepting her fate but clearly unhappy about it.
Next it was Lizzie’s turn. She wanted something to eat.
“You don’t have to ask, honey,” Julia explained. “Do you want some help?”
“No, I’m okay,” Lizzie replied and slunk toward the kitchen, still in the depths of her despair but Julia had little time to respond to it when Willie arrived.