Claiming His Wedding Night. Lee Wilkinson
‘If you don’t let me pass, I’ll be forced to scream.’
‘Dear me,’ he said mildly. ‘We can’t have that. Though Henry may look a little like a gigolo, he’s really quite sensitive and easily upset.’
Knowing he was laughing at her, Perdita gritted her teeth. ‘I mean it.’
Without moving, he queried, ‘How is your father’s health these days?’
‘What?’
‘I understand he’s recently undergone delicate heart surgery. Can he afford any further stress?’
When, white to the lips, she merely stood and stared at him, he went on, ‘So suppose you take the sensible option and stay and talk to me?’
‘It wouldn’t do any good.’
‘Let’s have breakfast and see, shall we?’
While he was speaking there was a knock, the door slid aside and the steward put his head round. ‘Excuse me, sir, but the Captain asked me to let you know we have a slot and will be taking off in a minute or so.’
‘Thanks, Henry.’
As the man disappeared, Jared turned to Perdita. ‘It looks like breakfast will have to wait until we’re airborne.’
Airborne.
Her paralyzed brain clicking into gear, she tried to push past him. ‘I must leave before it takes off. I must!’ she cried frantically.
Catching her wrist, not hurting, but keeping her where she was, he said, ‘I’m afraid you’ve left it much too late.’
‘No, no, you have to let me get out! I can’t possibly go with you!’
‘Once again, you have no option. The outer door’s secured and we’re at the top of the runway. We need to be seated for take off.’
As she strove to come to terms with this latest development, Jared urged her into the small forward cabin, where the steward was already buckled into one of the jump seats.
Recognizing the futility of arguing, she submitted to being pressed into one of the seats. Then Jared fastened her belt and tightened it, before taking his place beside her.
A few moments later the plane began to move down the runway, gathering speed.
Take-off seemed quick and effortless and, as soon as they had climbed steeply to the required height and levelled out, the steward disappeared through a curtained doorway.
Perdita, who had sat like a statue, her thoughts in chaos, burst out, ‘I don’t know what you hope to achieve by this—’
Jared put a finger to her lips, stopping her breath and sending a shiver running through her. ‘I’ll tell you what I hope to achieve as soon as we’ve had breakfast, but in the meantime we don’t want to upset Henry.’
He unfastened their seat belts and shepherded her through to the lounge area.
‘I really don’t want to eat,’ she protested. ‘In the circumstances, I’d prefer to know just what you’re playing at.’
His voice holding a quiet authority, he said, ‘I’ll be happy to tell you, once breakfast is over.’
When, biting her lip, she was once again seated at the table, he stood for a moment or two looking down at her before taking the chair opposite.
He was dressed in oatmeal-coloured trousers and a well-cut lightweight jacket, with a navy-blue silk shirt and a matching tie loosened at the neck. His crisp dark hair was parted on the left and cut and styled conventionally.
But even as the thought struck her, she knew there was nothing remotely conventional about Jared.
Unable to look away, she found herself staring at his handsome face. He was the same, yet not the same. Any trace of the younger, carefree Jared she had first met was gone. This man was altogether harder, tougher, with a mature width of shoulder and lines of pain etched beside his mouth.
Meeting those brilliant eyes and glimpsing a cold purpose in them, she shuddered and tore her gaze away just as the steward wheeled in a breakfast trolley loaded with several silver dishes.
He was about to serve them when Jared said briskly, ‘Thank you, Henry. We’ll help ourselves. But perhaps you’d be good enough to fetch Miss Boyd a clean cup and saucer?’
‘Certainly, sir.’ The dirty crockery was whisked away and immediately replaced by fresh. Then, with a slight inclination of his gleaming head, the steward withdrew silently.
‘Coffee?’ Jared enquired politely.
Subduing a sudden desire to laugh hysterically, Perdita answered with equal politeness, ‘Please.’
He filled both their cups before lifting the lids of the various dishes and enquiring, ‘What’s it to be? Bacon and eggs? Sausages? Kidneys? Mushrooms?’
‘Nothing, thank you. I couldn’t eat a thing,’ she told him stiltedly.
‘Try. You’re too thin as it is.’ Looking at her set face, he added, ‘Starving yourself isn’t going to solve anything and, if I remember rightly, you used to enjoy bacon and eggs.’
She sat in tight-lipped silence while he served her with a generous amount of crisp bacon and fluffy scrambled eggs before helping himself to the same.
Then, his eyes fixed on her face, he waited.
His willpower proved to be stronger than hers—as it always had been—and finally she gave in and picked up her knife and fork.
He waited until she put the first forkful of food into her mouth before starting on his own.
Once Perdita began to eat, in spite of all the trauma, she found that her normal healthy appetite was back and she cleared her plate.
Jared made no comment, but he swapped the plate for a clean one and put the toast-rack within easy reach.
When she sat unmoving, he helped himself to some toast and spread butter and marmalade on it in a leisurely fashion.
Seeing he had no intention whatsoever of saying anything until he was good and ready, she threw in the towel and followed suit.
She had just taken her first bite when, with a glance from beneath long dark lashes, he remarked slyly, ‘The last time we had breakfast together like this, we were in Las Vegas.’
Her eyes on her plate, she kept chewing in silence.
‘But perhaps you don’t remember?’
She remembered only too well.
All her life Perdita had been cosseted and cared for, guarded as well as any chaperoned miss from the Edwardian era.
Naturally quiet and a little shy, and loving her father as much as he loved her, it had never occurred to her to feel caged and stifled by so much care and affection.
That was, not until she met Jared and wanted enough freedom to spread her wings.
At first everything had gone well. Her father had been prepared to both like and respect him until Martin had mentioned that Jared had a bad reputation with regard to women.
Suddenly waking up to the fact that his beloved daughter might be in danger, John had ordered her to give, ‘that young Dangerfield’ a wide berth.
She would certainly have rebelled but, as her father had recently suffered his first heart attack and his doctors had warned against worries or stress of any kind, she had, outwardly at least, complied.
For several months she and Jared had been forced to meet in secret, snatched moments together that had left both of them dissatisfied and bitterly unhappy.
He had begged her to marry him and present her father with a fait accompli, but she had been afraid to chance it while his recovery was still uncertain.