‘I gathered as much,’ Josie mumbled.
‘He has a great capacity for love, I’m sure. But there has never been anyone to love him,’ Pamela said softly.
‘Angela is more than willing by the look of it,’ Josie offered cynically.
‘Ah, the lovely Angela. Don’t let her fool you. She has a brilliant brain, but no talent at all in her personal relationships.’
Watching Angela smiling into Conan’s eyes, all breasts and thighs, Josie found it hard to believe and said as much.
‘You’re wrong. Conan has known Angela for ten years; her brother, Steve, is a very good friend of his. Conan has seen Angela through three divorces, and between each marriage she has made a play for him. But I’m happy to say he’s far too clever to fall for her very obvious charms.’
Josie stifled a gasp. ‘Three divorces? She doesn’t look old enough,’ she whispered.
‘She is; she’s a year older than Steve and Conan.’
‘Come on, Pamela, you’re hogging our hostess.’ Mr Smales’s loud voice cut across their conversation, and then he proceeded to tell a very intricate shaggy-dog story about an Irishman and a brothel, until his wife stopped him and insisted it was time they left.
Josie breathed a sigh of relief when the last guest departed, the last one being Angela, of course. Josie turned to the stairs, her shoulders drooped and she felt about a hundred years old. Her one consolation was the clever cut of her dress meant no one had realised she was pregnant. So she was spared the humiliation of Angela knowing the real reason why Conan had married her. But for how long?
‘Wait, Josie,’ Conan demanded, and, locking the front door, he strode towards her.
She stopped, one foot on the stair, and looked up at him. ‘I’m going to bed,’ she said flatly. She didn’t feel up to talking to him. It must have been obvious to everyone present that evening where his real feelings lay, irrespective of what Pamela had said.
Angela’s parting shot as she left still rang in Josie’s ears. ‘I don’t know how you tricked Conan into marrying you. Obviously I stayed away too long, but now I’m back you’d better get used to spending your evenings alone, sweetie.’ Josie had been stunned by the malice in the older woman’s eyes.
‘Not so fast, Josie.’ Conan’s hand on her back stopped her departure. ‘I want to talk to you. Come into the drawing room and have a nightcap with me.’
‘I don’t drink,’ she said flatly.
‘Of course. Your condition.’
‘I am not a condition. The word you are avoiding is pregnant,’ she said, deliberately running her hand over her gently swollen stomach. ‘The reason we’re married, remember? ’ She was tired, fed up, and badly needed to be alone.
‘How can I forget?’ Conan muttered, and, catching her arm, urged her into the drawing room. ‘But you and I need to talk.’
Shaking off his arm, she walked past him and, kicking off her shoes, sank down into an over-stuffed armchair, curling her feet beneath her, and looking anywhere but at Conan.
A minute later he stood before her, a glass in his hand. ‘This won’t harm you—it’s a St Clement’s.’
Josie glanced up and took the glass from his hand; the light brush of his fingers against her own sent a tingle of electricity zinging up her arm. Hastily she took a gulp of the drink. ‘What is it?’ To her astonishment Conan began to sing a couple of lines of a nursery rhyme completely off key.
“‘Oranges and lemons said the bells of St Clement’s. I owe you five farthings, said the bells of St Martin’s.” Surely you know the rhyme?’ Conan drawled mockingly. ‘And you about to be a mother. The drink is a mixture of orange and lemon—nothing sinister.’
A brief smile flickered across her face and she drained her glass.
‘You look like you needed that, Josie. I can’t think why. I thought the evening went very well.’
‘I’m glad you think so,’ she snapped, not at all inclined towards idle conversation. She had had enough of that for one night. ‘What did you want to talk about anyway?’ she demanded bluntly.
‘Do I have to have a reason for talking to my wife?’ Conan queried silkily.
Josie’s head jerked up at his tone of voice. His dark eyes were narrowed angrily, his mouth tight, and once again she was aware of the man of steel beneath the civilised exterior she had grown accustomed to.
‘No, no, of course not, but it has been a very long day and I am rather tired,’ she offered. The last thing she needed was to argue with him. She might find herself demanding to know about his relationship with Angela, and it had nothing to do with her. Putting her glass on the side table and uncurling her feet, she prepared to get up. But before her feet touched the ground she was swung up in two strong arms.
‘What...?’ she exclaimed, and grabbed wildly at his shoulders.
Conan, his anger replaced by amusement, chuckled at the startled expression on her small face. ‘In that case, Josie, I will take you safely to bed, hmm?’