The pet name had come naturally to his lips, but as Victoria felt Zac tense and heard him growl, 'They ought to, Howard, if you want to stay alive,' she knew it had enraged Zac further.
'I want to go, William. We…have things to talk about, you know?' Victoria said meaningfully. 'It might as well be now.'
William understood what she was saying and nodded slowly. 'Okay, whatever you say.' And then Victoria had to hold onto Zac all the more tightly as William looked at the other man and added, 'And the strong-arm tactics weren't necessary. If she hadn't chosen to go with you no power on earth would have made me let her go. I just wanted to make that perfectly clear, okay?'
'You young—'
Victoria hung on like grim death.
But William had gone, turning swiftly with one last nod at Victoria and disappearing into the lunchtime throng, who had ignored the little drama being enacted amongst them in the cold, disinterested way peculiar to all big cities.
'Did I detect a hidden meaning in that somewhat cryptic statement regarding our proposed chat?' Zac asked with lethal sarcasm as—William having vanished—he took Victoria's arm and led her over to his car. 'I take it I won't like it, right?'
'I…I don't know what you mean,' she prevaricated weakly, hearing her words with very real self-disgust She had to tell him about the baby for goodness' sake, she told herself firmly; it wasn't exactly something that could remain hidden for long. She was almost fourteen weeks pregnant, and the fact that a tiny little person was alive inside her, growing, changing, developing, was thrilling her more and more with every day that passed, in spite of her marriage breakdown. She loved this baby. She hadn't seen it, she didn't know if it was a boy or a girl, but she loved it with all her heart. It was part of her and part of Zac, and nothing could take that away from her. Nothing…and no one.
'I mean— Oh, forget it,' Zac said curtly, glancing once at her pale face as he opened the passenger door for her to slide into the luxurious interior of the XJ220, and then, after closing the door, striding round to the driver's seat and joining her before he spoke again. 'In spite of this abandoned lifestyle you seem to have taken up with such enthusiasm, you don't look particularly happy,' he said tightly. 'What's the matter? Isn't the grass as green as you thought? Regretting your fling already?'
'My what?' she bit back furiously, her back straightening.
'What would you call it, then?' he asked grimly as he pulled out into the teeming traffic after checking his mirrors. 'An intrigue? An illicit amour meant to heap retribution on my wicked, sinful head? How far has it gone, Victoria? Have you slept w
ith this…old friend? And don't tell me the poor guy isn't crazy about you because a blind man could see it,' he finished caustically.
There was one lightning glance at her face—now suffused with burning colour—and then he concentrated on the view out of the windscreen as he nodded slowly. 'I see.' It was very bitter and very cold. 'So that's how it is.'
What did he see? Victoria asked herself confusedly. She felt awful about William, painfully guilty that she had been unaware of his real feelings for her. She would never have run to him for help if she had known, or accepted his invitation to live in his home; it must have been so difficult for him to maintain the kind, brotherly attitude he had always shown her when she was actually living with him in his own house, but he'd never faltered once.
'So.' Zac cut up an inoffensive motorist with vicious disregard. 'What do you want to do, Victoria?'
'I…I need to talk to you about something.' She couldn't tell him he was going to be a father in one breath, and that she had no intention of ever coming back to him in the other, in the midst of all this crazy traffic—there'd be a multi-car pile-up if she did. 'Could we pull in somewhere quiet for a minute or two, please?' she asked tentatively, her stomach churning.
'Ah, now why do I think I'm going to hear what you were just discussing with good old William?' Zac asked tightly. 'I am, aren't I?' he added brusquely. 'And cut the pussy-footing.'
'Yes.' She took a long hard breath and prayed for calm. He was so angry, so bitter, so furious, and it should be she who felt like this. She was the wronged one, not him, and she was blowed if she was going to explain her relationship with William any further. She had tried to do that twice in Tunisia and on each occasion he had twisted everything she'd said until even she had begun to believe black was white. It was all impossible.
He had his mistress and his nice little business deal— fine. But she wasn't part of the package, and neither was her child.
They didn't speak again as the powerful sleek car wove in and out of the traffic, the summer sun beating down outside the air-conditioned vehicle with fierce intensity. Victoria was breathlessly aware of the big masculine body so close to hers, the familiar delicious smell of him, the dark bronzed good looks and devastating presence turning her insides to jelly. How was she going to get through the rest of her life without him? she asked herself desperately. Knowing he was in the world, living, breathing, talking, laughing, and that she no longer figured in his life? Would Gina last? Would he stay with her? Or would there be other women? But there would be the baby; that, at least, would make her special. And he had married her. She had been his wife—if only for a night One night to last a lifetime.
But Gina would have him much longer. The thought came from nowhere and caused her excruciating pain, and it was all she could do not to moan out loud. She didn't want to love him, and in the first caustic days after their wedding she had told herself she hated him, but it was no good—he was part of her in a way that no other man ever could be. She resented his hold over her in view of his infidelity, and she would never let him know how much she loved him, but she would never get over him. Zac Harding was too tough an act to follow. She sat in silent misery, staring blindly through the window as the waves of bitter anguish and despair ebbed and flowed. Till death do you part…for her.
When Zac pulled the car off the road and through a pair of wide-open iron gates, Victoria didn't realise at first where she was, and then, as she came out of the dark abyss of her thoughts, she sat up straight in her seat, her voice high as she said, 'Where…? I don't want to come here.'
'You said you wanted somewhere quiet to talk,' Zac said with dangerous coolness. 'Where could be quieter or more discreet than our home? The home we chose together, the home I live in alone.'
'It's not our home.' She fairly spat the words at him, the agony that had gripped her at seeing the place where she had thought she was going to be so happy making her voice savage.
'Yes, it is, Victoria.' In stark contrast to her fevered protest his voice was silky soft, the thread of steel that underlined his words making them all the more distinct in their lack of expression. 'Yours and mine, like it or not.'
'No.' She hardly knew what she was saying, so great was her distress. 'I renounce all claim to it.'
'Victoria, this is not the Reformation and you are not Martin Luther,' Zac said with mordant cynicism as he watched her face with cruel eyes. 'No one has to renounce anything.'
'Well, I do.' She had faced the fact that she was never going to live here as a married woman some weeks ago, but she could still picture each room in her mind's eye. They had had such fun choosing the carpets and curtains, the wonderful antique furniture and new fitted kitchen. It had been such a beautiful dream…
The Victorian white-washed house had had an abundance of wisteria draping gracefully over the walls in May, but now, at the beginning of July, a cascading ramble of velvet-petalled roses were wafting their delicious perfume into the car as Zac opened his door, the tranquillity at odds with the tumult in her soul.
Victoria had fallen in love with the small but exquisite front garden before she had even set foot inside the house some months ago when she and Zac were searching out a property. It was full of flowers nestling in informal beds, but the snowdrops and crocuses of spring had given way to peonies, crimson poppies and fragrant roses of all colours that blazed out a riotous welcome now.