Modern Romance February Books 5-8. Jane Porter
new regular magic slot at his club, and then mentioned that he’d just finished having coffee with the woman who’d be running the shows, that he had turned and seen Teddie.
The muscle in his jaw had flexed, kick-starting a chain reaction through his body so that suddenly his heart had been pounding so hard and fast that he’d felt almost dizzy.
He studied her silently now, safe in the knowledge that his external composure gave no hint of the battle raging inside him. His head was telling him there was only one course of action. That a sensible, sane man would get up and walk away. But sense and sanity had never played that much of a part in his relationship with Theodora Taylor, and clearly nothing had changed—because despite knowing that she was the biggest mistake he had ever made, he stayed sitting.
His lip curled as he glanced down at his wrist. ‘No, still there. But maybe I should double-check my wallet. Or perhaps I should give Edward Claiborne a call…make sure he still has his. I know you were only having coffee, but you were always a quick worker. I should know.’
Teddie felt her cheeks grow warm. His face was impenetrable, but the derision in his voice as much as his words was insultingly obvious.
How dare he talk to her like that? As though she was the bad guy when he was the one who had cut her out of his life without so much as a word.
Not that she’d ever been high on his list of priorities. Six months of married life had made it clear that Aristo had no time in his life for a wife. Even when she’d moved out and they’d begun divorce proceedings, he’d carried on working as though nothing had happened. Although no amount of his neglect and indifference could have prepared her for how he’d behaved at the end.
It had been a mistake, sleeping together that last time.
With emotions running high after a meeting to discuss their divorce, they’d ended up in bed and she’d ended up pregnant. Only, by the time she’d realised that her tiredness and nausea weren’t just symptoms of stress, the divorce had been finalised, and Aristo had been on the other side of the world, building his European operations.
Although he might just as well have been in outer space.
Remembering her repeated, increasingly desperate and unsuccessful attempts to get in touch, she felt her back stiffen. She’d been frantic to tell him she was pregnant, but his complete radio silence had made it clear—horribly, humiliatingly clear—not only that he didn’t want to talk to her, but that he didn’t want to listen to anything she had to say.
It had been during a call to his London office, when an over-officious PA had cut short her stumbling and not very coherent attempt to speak to him, that she had decided doing the right thing was not going to work.
It certainly hadn’t worked for her parents.
Sometimes it was better to face the truth, even if it was painful—and, truthfully, she and Aristo’s relationship had had pretty flimsy foundations. Judging by the mess they’d made of their marriage, it certainly wasn’t strong enough to cope with an unplanned pregnancy.
But it had been hard.
Aristo’s rejection had broken her heart, and the repercussions of their brief and ill-fated marriage had lasted longer than her tears. Even now, she was still so wary of men that she’d barely gone out with anyone since they’d parted ways. Thanks to her father’s casual, cursory attitude to parenting, she found it hard to believe that she would ever be anything more than an afterthought to any man. Aristo’s casual, cruel rejection had confirmed that deep-seated privately held fear.
Much as she cared for Elliot, it was as a sister. Aristo was still the only man she’d ever loved. He had been her first love—not her first lover, but he had taught her everything about pleasure.
Her green eyes lifted to his. And not just pleasure. Because of him she’d become an authority on heartache and regret too.
So what exactly gave him the right to stand there with a sneer on that irritatingly handsome face?
Suddenly she was glad she hadn’t turned tail. Fingers curling into fists, she glared at him. ‘I think your memory must be playing tricks on you, Aristo. Work was always your thing—not mine. And, not that it’s any of your concern, but Edward Claiborne is a very generous man. He was more than happy to pay the bill.’
She knew how she was making it sound, but it wasn’t quite a lie. He had offered to pay. And besides, if it made Aristo feel even a fraction of her pain, then why not rub it in? He might not have thought her worthy of his attention and commitment, but Edward had been happy to give her his time and his company.
‘And that’s what matters to you, isn’t it, Theodora? Getting your bills paid. Even if it means taking what isn’t yours.’
He didn’t really care about the money—even before his ruthless onwards-and-upwards rise to global domination, the amount she’d taken had been a negligible amount. Now it would barely make a dent in the Leonidas billions. At the time, though, it had stung—particularly as it had been down to his own stupidity.
For some unknown reason he hadn’t closed their shared accounts immediately after the divorce was finalised, and Teddie had wasted no time taking advantage. Not that he should have been surprised. No matter how pampered they were, women were never satisfied with what they had. He’d learned that aged six, when his mother had found a titled, wealthier replacement for his father.
But knowing Teddie had worked her ‘magic’ on Edward hurt—and, childish though it was, he wanted to hurt her back.
Her eyes narrowed. ‘It was mine,’ she said hotly. ‘It was ours. That’s what marriage is about, Aristo—it’s called sharing.’
He stared at her disparagingly. The briefness of their marriage and the ruthless determination of his legal team had ensured that her financial settlement had been minimal, but it was more than she deserved.
‘Is that what you tell yourself?’
She felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as he shook his head slowly.
‘Just because it was still a joint account that didn’t mean you had the right to empty it.’
‘If it bothered you that much you could have talked to me,’ she snarled. ‘But I was only your wife—why would you want to talk to me?’
‘Don’t give me that,’ he said sharply. ‘I talked to you.’
‘You talked at me about work. Never about us.’
Never about the fact that they were basically living separate lives—two strangers sharing a bed but never a meal or a joke.
Hearing the emotion in her voice, she stopped abruptly. What was the point of having this conversation? It was four years too late, and their marriage couldn’t have mattered that much to him if all he wanted to discuss now was their bank account.
And was it really that surprising? His whole life had been dedicated to making money.
She breathed in unsteadily. ‘And, as for the money, I took what I needed to live.’
To look after our son, she thought with a sudden flare of anger. A son who even before his birth had been relegated to second place.
‘I’m not going to apologise for that, and if it was a problem then you should have said something at the time, but you made it quite clear that you didn’t want to talk to me.’
Aristo stared at her, anger pulsing beneath his skin. At the time he had seen her behaviour as just more evidence of his poor judgement. More proof that the women in his life would inevitably turn their backs on him.
But he was not about to reveal his reasons for staying silent—why should he? He wasn’t the one who’d walked out on their marriage. He didn’t need to explain himself.
His heart began to thump rhythmically inside his chest, and an old, familiar feeling of bitter, impotent