Josie looked at the other woman, the blood draining from her face, her hands clenching the edge of the crib in a death-grip. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ she managed to say between gritted teeth. ‘But I think it’s time we rejoined the others.’
‘Bravo,’ Angela jeered. ‘You’re quite an actress. I can’t say I blame you. I might have tried it myself when I lived here with Con, except I can’t stand kids; they’re death to the figure.’ She strolled past Josie, giving her a disparaging glance. ‘But in your case it probably doesn’t matter.’ And she walked out.
Josie followed Angela down the stairs and back into the drawing room, her mind in turmoil. Her husband had lived with this woman! Why was she surprised? She did not know her own past, let alone Conan’s! When she had first seen him in the hospital, she had wondered at her own good fortune to have such a dynamic, handsome husband. Only a fool would imagine he had reached his thirties without a few lovers, and Josie was the fool.
She looked at Conan as she walked into the room, but sat down next to Pamela, the pain in her head intensifying by the minute. Conan had only married her because she was pregnant, according to Angela. How could that be? she asked herself. They loved each other. She glanced at Conan again; his dark eyes were narrowed enquiringly on her face.
‘All right, darling?’ The endearment fell so easily from his lips.
‘Yes, fine.’ She forced her lips into a travesty of a smile, but she wasn’t fine; she was dying inside.
Joe Smales began to tell a joke, and everyone spoke at once. ‘No more shaggy-dog stories.’
Pamela stood up and smiled down at Josie. ’You know it’s time to leave when Joe starts his famous—or infamous—jokes. ’
Josie was struck by a sense of déjà vu. But was it...? Suddenly a stabbing pain behind her eyes made her wince in agony as a thousand memories bombarded her mind. She vaguely registered everyone was standing up to leave.
‘Are you sure you’re all right?’ Conan murmured, leaning over her and offering her his hand. She looked at him, so suave and sophisticated, and apparently concerned.
‘I’m fine,’ she repeated, ignoring his hand, her stomach churning as she rose to her feet to escort their guests out Pamela and her husband departed with a smile, and a promise to call. While Josie, bile blocking her throat, prayed silently, Don’t let me be sick, not yet.
She never knew how she made it upstairs to the bathroom. Then she was hanging over the toilet being violently sick, retching until her throat ached. She heard Conan banging on the door, his deep voice full of concern, but she did not answer him. The pain behind her eyes had intensified to such a degree she could hardly bear it, but the pain in her heart was infinitely worse.
She wanted to rant and rave at the trick Conan had played on her. How could she have been so stupid? After the accident she had grabbed at him the way a drowning man clutched a life-raft. Endlessly pouring out her love for him. Glorying in their lovemaking, wantonly eager to please him. Oh! And he had taught her the most intimate sensual pleasures, encouraging her to explore every sexy inch of him. When all the time he’d known the truth. They had never had a real marriage...
‘Open this damn door,’ she heard Conan yell, but she ignored him.
Josie wanted to weep but her eyes remained stubbornly dry. How co
nceited she had been, how confident. When she had wondered about her past, it had never once entered her head that Conan had married her for any other reason but love. Looking back over the past ten weeks, the passionate nights and sometimes days in his arms, he had never actually said he loved her. She groaned out loud in her agony and humiliation. Why should he? She had been his half-brother’s first. Charles... Charles was the father of her child. How could she have forgotten?
The tears rolled unnoticed down her cheeks as she recalled the true circumstances of her marriage. A lot of little incidents suddenly made sense: Conan’s careful avoidance of the past, while he moulded her to be his willing wife. But why? The question echoed in her brain. He’d married her to get Beeches Manor, but that had been settled at Christmas. He had had no real reason to see her again once he had the estate. He was a very wealthy, attractive man; he could have any woman he wanted, and he certainly had Angela.
Why? Why had he pretended to want her? There was no excuse for taking her to his bed, allowing her to think they had always had a passionate relationship, pretending to be the father of her child... Then she remembered. Conan had said once that his chief executive was held up in America. Of course. Angela had been in New York for two months. Josie had been a convenient body in the swine’s bed, in the absence of his lover...
A loud crash had her jumping to her feet. The bathroom door hung off its hinges and Conan stood in the opening.
‘Josie, darling...’ he said, concern lacing his tone, then he stopped. His dark eyes searched her tear-drenched face, and something in her expression made him catch his breath.
Her violet eyes clashed with his. ‘How could you?’ Her voice broke on a sob.
‘You’ve remembered, haven’t you?’
He looked so cool, so calm that Josie wanted to scratch his eyes out; instead she lurched to the vanity unit and, turning on the tap, splashed her tear-stained face with cold water, then bent lower to drink some. Her head was pounding, her eyes stinging, and she could not bear to look at Conan.
‘Josie.’ His hand closed over her shoulder. ‘Josie, darling, take it easy. You’re in shock.’
She shrugged his hand off her shoulder and staggered out of the bathroom. Shock...? Was that what he called it, when her whole life was exposed as a lie?
‘Please, Josie, lie down; I’ll call the doctor.’ Conan followed her into the bedroom.
Josie spun around to face him, her violet eyes flashing fury. ‘No doctor, not yet. Why? Tell me why you lied to me,’ she cried. ‘Why did you let me think the baby was yours? What kind of sick pleasure did you get from fooling me?’
‘It was hardly the time to tell you. You were unconscious in hospital for a week, or have you forgotten?’ he bit out grimly, and, pulling at the tie at his throat, he flung off his jacket and shirt. ‘And now is not the time to talk about it. You’re tired, you’ve had a shock and you’re not thinking straight.’
‘But I am thinking straight, for the first time in months,’ Josie snapped. ‘No thanks to you. And I’m leaving.’ She headed for the door, the only thought in her head to get as far away from Conan as possible. He caught her before she had taken two steps and swept her up in his arms, and deposited her firmly in the middle of the bed.
‘Let go of me; let go,’ she cried, but he was sprawled beside her, his hands holding her shoulders pinned to the bed.