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  The persistent rap at the door behind them was unnerving, but belatedly Rachel remembered she had ordered coffee for both of them.

  'Um—Mrs Moffat,' she breathed, reluctantly trying to push him away from her, and with a supreme effort Matthew used the door on either side of her head to gain his balance.

  'As you say,' he said, with the precise enunciation of someone who is not quite in control of himself, and as he moved away Rachel turned to open the door.

  Mrs Moffat took in the scene she had interrupted with shrewd eyes, but if she was surprised to see Rachel she kept that particular observation to herself.

  'This room smells like a brewery,' she declared bravely, bustling in to put the tray of coffee on the table, before opening a window to allow the cold night air into the library. 'And you must be tired, Miss Rachel,' she added, turning to her with a tight smile. 'I suggest you go and freshen up, and I'll have a nice little supper waiting for both of you when you come down.'

  'That won't be necessary ' began Matthew, but Rachel overrode his denial.

  'That would be lovely, Mrs Moffat,' she averred, avoiding her ex-husband's impatient gaze. 'I'm sure Matt could do with freshening up, too.'

  'I'm sure he could,' agreed Mrs Moffat, taking advantage of Rachel's presence to voice thoughts she would otherwise never have dreamed of articulating. She looked at her employer with wary eyes. 'Is—er—is that all right, Mr Matt?'

  'Why ask me?' enquired Matthew tersely, pouring himself a cup of black coffee and raising it grimly to his lips. 'Mrs— Miss Rachel appears to be giving the orders around here.'

  Rachel sighed. 'Matt ---- '

  'No. You go ahead,' he declared harshly, putting his empty cup back on the tray. 'As you both seem to think I'm in need of some immediate restoration, I'd better go and do something about it.'

  'Matt ------ '

  But he was already walking out of the room, albeit a little unsteadily, and, meeting Mrs Moffat's eyes, Rachel decided to let him go. They had plenty of time...

  'Are you staying, Miss Rachel?'

  Mrs Moffat's question brought her eyes back to the elderly housekeeper, and, putting her own thoughts aside for the moment, Rachel inclined her head. 'I hope so.'

  'Well—thank goodness for that.' Mrs Moffat was relieved.

  'Now perhaps things can go back to normal around here.'

  Rachel smiled. 'Thank you.'

  'Don't thank me. Just don't—change your mind again, will you?' exclaimed the housekeeper fervently. 'I don't think Mr Matt could stand it.'

  After Mrs Moffat had gone to prepare the supper she had suggested, Rachel forced herself to drink a cup of coffee before going out to her car to rescue the suitcase she had left there earlier. Then she climbed the stairs to the first landing, turning instinctively towards the room she had occupied just four months ago. She had left here feeling so betrayed, she remembered, shivering. She must never let that happen again.

  Evidently, Mrs Moffat had sent up one of the maids to turn down the bed, and lamplight glowed on creamy silk pillowcases and a pale lemon quilted duvet. Obviously, the housekeeper had not been prepared to speculate as to where Rachel might be spending the night, and the room was warm and welcoming.

  Setting her suitcase on the ottoman at the foot of the bed, Rachel took off her cape and laid it over the arm of a chair.

  Outside, an owl swooped over the house, and she heard distinctly its eerie call as she peeled off the velvet jacket of her suit, and the olive-coloured blouse beneath. The skirt slid easily over her hips. Matthew was not the only one who had lost weight, she reflected, and, catching a glimpse of her reflection in the mirrors of the dressing-table, she wondered if he had noticed.

  And where was he? she wondered, extracting a deep red dressing-gown from her case, and wrapping its silken folds about her. She had thought he might have been here, waiting for her, but evidently he had gone to his own suite of rooms.

  She hesitated only a moment before opening her door again, and making her way along the corridor to where Matthew's apartments were situated. In spite of all that had gone before, she was still nervous, and it took every ounce of courage she had to open the door to his sitting- room and step inside.

  Closing the door again, she leaned back against it, and as she did so she heard the sound of running water. Obviously he was taking a shower, and, although her instincts urged her to go through the bedroom and into the bathroom, there were some things she just could not do. It had been ten years, after all, she reminded herself unsteadily. And just because she was swamped with painful memories, there was no reason to suppose Matthew felt the same.

  All the same, she could not remain glued to the bedroom door, and, taking a deep breath, she stepped away from the supporting panels. Matthew's rooms, the rooms they had once shared, had changed, too. Whereas, when they had lived together, there had been some feminine influence in their design, now they were almost starkly masculine, and she wondered why Barbara had never imprinted her personality upon them.

  But thinking about Barbara was still too painful to bear, and instead she moved on, through the plain gold and brown austerity of his sitting-room, to his bedroom door.

  Like the sitting-room, the bedroom was decorated in shades of beige and brown, the only splash of colour the multicoloured pattern of the quilt that covered the enormous king-sized bed. It was the bed they had chosen together when they'd first got married, and thinking of him sharing that with Barbara was almost unbearable.

  She was standing there, staring at the bed, when Matthew appeared in the bathroom doorway. Evidently he had not heard her come into his apartments, and his eyes met hers with obvious wariness, before the awareness of his own lack of covering caused him to step back.

  'Don't—don't go!' exclaimed Rachel hastily, her eyes shifting from his face, and the light covering of dark hair on his chest, to the flat planes of his stomach, where more hair arrowed down to his sex. It was the first time she had seen Matthew naked for so long, and although he was painfully thin he was still the most beautiful man she had ever seen. 'Oh, Matt,' she breathed, as his body shifted revealingly beneath her eyes. 'I love you. I love you so much.'

  She covered the space between them in milliseconds, and when his arm closed around her, imprisoning her against his hard body, she knew a marvellous feeling of homecoming.

  Winding her arms about his waist, she pressed herself against him, and his hardening body fitted naturally against the yielding softness of hers.

  'I want you,' he groaned, his tongue sliding between her lips to ravage the trembling contours of her mouth. 'God—you don't know how much!'

  'I have some idea,' she breathed huskily, slipping her hand between them and touching his throbbing hardness. 'Oh, Matt, make love to me, please! I need you. I need you so much.'

  The quilt that covered the bed was soft and cool against her bare back as Matthew knelt over her. The red silk dressing-gown had been discarded on to the warm beige carpet, and Matthew was gaining a certain amount of satisfaction from divesting her of the remaining items of her clothing. She had not been wearing a bra, but she was still wearing lacy bikini briefs, and gossamer-fine black tights, and, although Matthew was as eager as she was to consummate their loveplay, as he peeled her tights off her legs he followed them with his lips.

  'Soft—so soft,' he breathed unsteadily, finding the sensitive skin of her inner thigh and probing the soft curls at the junction of her legs. 'Dear lord, Rachel, this is not going to be a prolonged seduction, I'm afraid. I need you now. This minute!

  Oh, God, you're so beautiful! How have I ever lived without this——?'

  Rachel flinched a little as he slid into her. It had been so long. But it was a marvellous feeling, knowing his body was joined to hers once again, and she wound her arms around his neck to bring him closer, arching her hips up to his.

  It was over almost too soon, although the pulsating heat that shook her body long after Matthew had collapsed on top of her kept her on a
high of ecstasy for many mindless minutes. She hadn't forgotten Matthew, but she had forgotten the perfection of their love- making, and when he would have drawn away she wrapped her legs around him, and kept him where he was.

  'Do you have any idea what you're doing to me?' he groaned, burying his face between her breasts, and as he swelled inside her she uttered a contented giggle.

  'I have a pretty good idea,' she breathed, and as he levered himself up on his elbows to look down at her she laved one of his hard nipples with her tongue.

  'You said we had to talk,' he reminded her thickly, finding the parted sweetness of her mouth, but Rachel didn't want to talk right then.

  'Later,' she whispered, her nails digging possessively into his narrow buttocks. 'Mmm, Matt, do that again! I love it...'

  Evidently, Mrs Moffat had decided against reminding them that she was preparing supper. A couple of hours later, Rachel opened her eyes to find Matthew propped up on one elbow looking down at her, and it was obvious the thought of food was the last thing on his mind, too.

  'You're the only woman I know who looks just as good asleep as awake,' he murmured, lowering his head to caress her lips with his tongue, and although Rachel didn't much care for the comparison she decided to be charitable.

  'You've had a lot of experience, I suppose,' she ventured, trying to make light of it, but her pain was not as easy to hide as she had thought.

  'Not a lot, no,' Matthew replied gently, understanding her feelings. 'And since you came back into my life, there's been no one else.'

  Rachel moistened her dry lips. 'Was there—before?'

  'When Barbara was alive, you mean?' Matthew's lips twisted. 'Some, I guess. As I told you before, Barbara and I did not have a real marriage.'

  'Not—not ever?'

  'Oh...' Matthew groaned and rolled on to his back, raising his arm to shade his eyes against the warm glow from the lamp on the table beside the bed. 'Well, we had a sexual relationship for a while. But it didn't work out. That's the simple answer, at least.'

  'And the unsimple one?'

  'God!' Matthew ran weary fingers through the tumbled thickness of his hair. 'We had so many problems. Once my initial desire to hurt you was blunted, it was easy to see the holes in our relationship. We had nothing in common, for a start.

  Barbara liked travelling, spending money on expensive clothes and jewels, going to parties! I didn't. And she hated being pregnant.

  I'm pretty sure that was why she lost the first baby. But she knew that two miscarriages would look pretty suspicious, and I suppose she was prepared to do anything to secure her position.

  But, once she was pregnant again, things went from bad to worse. We used to row all the time, and she told me she had only married me because—well, because she was jealous of you.'

  'She hated me, you mean.' Rachel shivered. 'Oh, Matt.'

  She turned her face into his chest, and pressed her lips against the hair-roughened skin. His skin smelt warm and musky, and when she touched him with her tongue he tasted sharply masculine.

  He shuddered under her caressing lips, but he had to go on.

  'After Rosemary was born, she hardly saw her mother. Barbara was never there. I suspected there were other men, but I didn't care. I had no desire to start divorce proceedings, and maybe run the risk of Barbara's getting custody of Rosemary. But even that wasn't enough.'

  'What do you mean?'

  Matthew heaved a sigh. 'I don't know why she did it now.

  Maybe she already knew she was ill, and it was her way of taking her revenge. In any event, she evidently resented the love I had for our daughter, because when Rosemary was six years old she told me that I wasn't the child's father.'

  'No!' Rachel blinked and sat up. 'Why would she do that?'

  'Perhaps it was the truth.'

  'No!' Rachel was adamant. 'She was lying.'

  'Was she?'

  'Of course she was.' Rachel shifted, and Matthew's eyes darkened as the lamplight glinted on her small breasts, swollen and erect from his lovemaking. 'Rosemary's your daughter. How could you doubt it?'

  'Well

  ' Matthew expelled a breath '—lately, I have come to the conclusion that you might be right. But for months—years, even—I couldn't be certain.'

  'Oh, Matt!'

  'Weil, you have to admit, we were married for almost four years, and we never had any children ----- '

  'You know why.' Rachel stared at him helplessly. 'Besides—'

  'In any case, Barbara accused me of being incapable of siring a child, and you don't know what that does to a man.'

  'Oh, God!'

  Rachel was horrified, but now she could understand so much. Not least, why Matthew and his daughter had been so estranged.

  'I guess it was her way of hurting me. And I tried not to let it affect my feelings for Rosemary, but it did,' he muttered heavily.

  'Until—until you came back——'

  'Me?'

  'Yes, you.' Matthew closed his eyes for a moment. 'I think it was seeing you two together; realising what I had lost. I know I was jealous, at first. Jealous of you, and jealous of Rosemary. It was only when you had that fall, and I thought I'd killed you, that I realised what was wrong. I realised, too, that it didn't really matter whether Rosemary was my child or not. She thought she was, and that was all that mattered.'

  Rachel shook her head, leaning over him so that the pointed tips of her breasts were brushing his chest. 'She is your daughter,' she told him huskily. 'Anyone can see that.' She caught her breath. 'Why else do you think she's so provoking?'

  Matthew's hand behind her head brought her mouth to his.

  'So long as I provoke you,' he said unsteadily.

  'Oh, you do,' she breathed, smoothing her thumbs across his cheeks. Then she shook her head again. 'Poor Barbara! You know, I can almost feel sorry for her now.'

  'You're very charitable.'

  'Yes—well, I'm very lucky,' said Rachel shakily. 'After all, I've got both of you, haven't I? You and Rosemary.'

  Matthew bit his lip. 'And if we don't have any more children, you won't mind?'

  'But we will!' Rachel sighed, and then she added softly, 'I wasn't going to tell you this. Not yet, at any rate. But—I had a miscarriage, too. Just—just a few days after I arrived in London.'

  Matthew stared at her then, his eyes wide and comprehending. 'Our child!' he muttered disbelievingly. 'Oh, God!

  Our child!'

  'Our son, actually,' she admitted, the memory of that awful occasion still having the power to bring the tears to her eyes.

  Determinedly, she blinked them away. 'But we'll have others.

  If—if it's what you want.'

  'If it's what I want?' he groaned, rolling over so that she was imprisoned beneath him. 'God, you know what I want. But is it what you want? Downstairs—downstairs, I told you it was all—

  or nothing, and I thought you looked pretty relieved when Mrs Moffat interrupted us.'

  'Did you?' Rachel's lips twisted now. 'Oh, darling, if I looked relieved when Mrs Moffat interrupted us it was probably because I was in danger of tearing your clothes off there and then, and somehow I don't think your housekeeper would have approved.'

  Matthew buried his face in her neck. 'And— Harcourt?' he muttered, as if he was dreading her answer and didn't want to see her face when she made it.

  'He's found a replacement,' whispered Rachel gently. 'A young man called Alan Maxwell. I can assure you, he's much more to Justin's taste than I ever was.'

  Matthew lifted his head to look at her. 'Are you serious?'

  'Do I look serious?' she asked, touching his mouth with her fingers, and he caressed each one with his lips.

  'You look—beautiful,' he told her huskily. 'The most beautiful woman I have ever known.' He paused. 'You won't mind living here again, will you? I mean

  ' He

  broke off. 'I know it must have unhappy associations.'

  Rachel shook her head. 'Not now. Not now that
we're together again.' She took a breath. 'Did—did you redecorate these rooms after Barbara died?'

  'Barbara never shared these rooms,' said Matthew roughly.

  'That was one betrayal I couldn't make. We— slept in one of the other bedrooms. While we were sleeping together, that is. Long before she told me about Rosemary, I had moved back in here.'

  Rachel couldn't deny the overwhelming feeling of relief she knew right then. She pitied Barbara, and she was sorry she was dead. But she was glad that Matthew had kept their love inviolate.

  'About Rosemary,' she ventured now, 'do you think she will mind if—if I come to live here?'

  'If you marry me, you mean,' Matthew corrected her softly.

  'Let's have no more misunderstandings. I love you, and I want you to be my wife. And you know Rosemary will be delighted.

  She's very fond of you.'

  'Honestly?'

  'Honestly,' he assured her. 'And from now on that's going to be the only thing between us. Agreed?'

  'Agreed,' she conceded, somewhat unsteadily. And there didn't seem a lot more to say...

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN