Authors: Catherine George
The Second Bride
"You
want to know if I'm pregnant, and I'm forced
to
own up that
I
am
.
Rufus received the news with a moment or two of silence. "Strange, isn't it?" he said at last. "I tried for two years to father a child with Claire and failed—"
"But just one encounter with me and bingo!" said Jo bitterly.
Rufus took her hands. "So let's discuss what happens next."
She frowned. "What do you mean? Nothing happens next. Not until May of next year."
His grasp tightened. "You obviously haven't thought this through. Look, Jo. . .all I can do is try to put things right—"
"Don't dare offer me money," she interrupted fiercely.
"I'm offering something quite different. As I said before, I would very much like a child. And I would prefer that child to have a father married to his mother. Are you with me so far, Jo?"
Dear Reader,
Pennington, my favorite location, is my own creation. Having lived in the past near two attractive towns in the heart of England, I combine the best features of both, not least the picturesque buildings from olden times. My fictional town has wide streets, quaint tearooms and public gardens ablaze with flowers; there are irresistible shops with elegant clothes and
jeweiery
, while others are filled with bargains in antique furniture and porcelain. Surrounded by lush countryside, Pennington is full of charm—a place where dreams come true.
Sincerely,
Catherine George
P. S. Look out for more stories from Pennington in Harlequin Romance!
ISBN 0-373-03449-0
THE SECOND BRIDE
First North American Publication 1997.
Copyright © 1997 by Catherine George.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work In whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9. CLS
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
® and TM are trademarks of the publisher. Trademarks indicated with ® are registered in the United States Patent and Trademark Office, the Canadian Trade Marks Office and in other countries.
Printed in U.S.A.
Torrential
rain had slowed to a steady downpour as the storm receded, grumbling, leaving a power cut as its parting shot. As the taxi drove away Jo hurried up the path in total darkness, then stopped halfway, listening. Someone was following her. She swung round belligerently.
'Who's there?' she demanded.
A flash of lightning lit up a hard, masculine face above a glimmer of pale raincoat before darkness fell again.
'You?'
she said incredulously.
'Good evening, Jo,' said Rufus Grierson. 'Sorry to startle you. I waited for you in the car.'
She breathed in shakily. '
Why?
It's after midnight. Is something wrong?'
'No more than usual. Could I come in for a minute?'
Jo peered at his tall shape through the darkness while her heartbeat slowed. 'Well—yes I suppose so.' She fumbled in her bag for her key. 'But you'll have to find your way up to the top floor in the dark.'
'This must keep you fit,' he observed, close behind her as she led the way up several flights of stairs, his manner as laconic and impersonal as the last time they'd spoken, almost a year before.
'Not so you'd notice,' panted Jo, out of breath for reasons other than exertion as they reached her door. 'I'll go in first and find a torch. Wait here, please.'
Leaving her unexpected visitor on the landing, Jo felt her way through her sitting room to the kitchen area, her hands trembling as she searched in a drawer for a torch. Thankful it was still working, she found her
meagre
supply of candles, stuck them on saucers and distributed flickering lights round the room. She beckoned Rufus inside, and he closed the door behind him, standing just inside the confines of the attic flat that Jo called home.
'You'd better take off your raincoat,' she said awkwardly, removing her own. 'I'll put it in the bathroom to drip.'
'Thank you,' said Rufus Grierson. He handed the expensive garment over and ran a hand through his wet hair. 'It's later than
I
thought. I
apologise
. I lost track of the time.'
Jo took the coats away and hung them up in her tiny bathroom, feeling utterly shattered by Rufus
Grierson's
presence in her flat. For some time now she'd been sure that their last meeting, almost a year ago, had been just that—the last time they would ever meet, unless by accident. At first she'd hoped— longed—to hear from him, but as the months went by she'd gradually resigned herself to the fact that Rufus thought of her merely as a painful reminder of all he'd lost. Yet now he was here, out of the blue. Why? Jo pulled herself together and rejoined him.
'Do sit down,' she said politely. 'Coffee?'
Rufus sat on her sofa and crossed his long legs. 'Could you possibly run to something stronger?'
Jo nodded, and, torch in hand, went to the kitchen for the bottle of brandy her mother insisted on for emergencies. Jo collected two glasses, went back to her guest and asked him to pour.
'Thank you,' said Rufus. 'I take it you're having some too?'
'Just a little.' Hoping it would calm her down, she took the glass from him and sat in her usual chair. 'Stupid of me to offer coffee with no electricity to make it.'
'It seemed impolite to point that out.' He poured an equally sparing measure for himself, but left the brandy untouched beside him. He sat looking at Jo in silence, his face haggard in the flickering candlelight, with new lines carved in it since she'd last seen him. At last she could stand it no longer, and asked him bluntly why he was actually here in her flat long past a socially acceptable time for a visit.
'I was in the Mitre earlier for a meal with a colleague,' he said obliquely. 'I saw you behind the bar in the other room, but you were run off your feet. There was obviously no chance of talking to you there, so I drove round here later and waited for you to come home.'
'I might not have been coming home,' she pointed out. 'Or I could have moved.'
'I did some research on both points first, naturally.'
'I see,' said Jo. Not that she did.
'Do you know what day it is?' he asked.
Did he think she could have forgotten? She stared blindly into her glass. 'It's your wedding anniversary.'
'You remembered, then.'
Her chin went up. 'Of course I remembered.'
'I thought you might. Bridesmaids usually do.' Rufus Grierson gazed at her through the dim, flickering light, his brooding eyes dark in the olive-skinned face which always, to Jo, wore a look of superiority, as though Rufus considered himself a cut above her. Jo Fielding and Rufus Grierson had never been comfortable in each other's vicinity. Which had been awkward when he married her closest friend, Claire.
'How are you?' asked Jo after a long, difficult pause.
'I get by,' he said very quietly. 'And you?'
'The same. I work hard.'
'Does it help?'
'Yes.' She looked at him squarely. 'Tell me, after all this time why exactly are you here, Rufus? On this day, of all days, I must be the last person you want to see.'