Emma Richmond - Marriage For Real

Past thinking about what he wanted, needed, only knowing that it was what she wanted, Sarah ran to him and buried herself against his chest.

Slowly, really quite slowly, his arms came around her, and with gentle soothing motions, he held her against him.

Scooping her up, he carried her to the bed and laid her gently down. Lying beside her, he pulled her back into his arms.

“I haven’t known what to do,” she mumbled against him. “How to talk to you, what to say.” She compulsively ran her hand up and down his chest. “Let me kiss you.”

She continued to stare at him with worried eyes until he slowly lowered his head and gently kissed her mouth.

Emma Richmond was born during the Second World War in north Kent, England, when, she says, “farms were the norm and motorways nonexistent. My childhood was one of warmth and adventure. Amiable and disorganized, I’m married with three daughters, all of whom have fled the nest—probably out of exasperation! The dog stayed, reluctantly. I’m an avid reader, a compulsive writer and a besotted new granny. I love life and my world of dreams, and all I need to make things complete is a housekeeper—like, yesterday!”

Books by Emma Richmond

HARLEQUIN ROMANCE®

3505—ONE BRIDE REQUIRED!

3580—A HUSBAND FOR CHRISTMAS

Marriage for Real

Emma Richmond

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

EPILOGUE

FIGHTING back tears, Sarah watched the tall figure below her limp awkwardly down the steps. John Erskine Dane. Jed. Her husband. There would be a look of determination on his face, a grim fierceness not to give in to the pain in his leg; the weakness. How far would he get today? To the crossroads?

I love him, she thought. I love him so much it hurts—but loving him didn’t take away the pain of what had happened, the anguish. She didn’t blame him for the way he was behaving, of course she didn’t. None of it had been his fault. Tomorrow would be better, she promised herself. Tomorrow. Or the day after. And then everything would be all right.

As he disappeared from view, she stared out over the lake. Loch, she mentally corrected. Rain pitted the pewter surface, dripping forlornly off the naked trees. Be patient, the doctor had said. But it was six weeks now, nearly seven, and still the tears kept coming. No warning, no control, just suddenly tears, and that tight ache in her chest. Perhaps they should have returned to Bavaria to be with their friends, but she had thought it would be so hard to weather the sympathy, the kindness. She knew no one here, and no one knew her, or what had happened. They knew Jed, of course. He’d spent part of his childhood here.

‘Will you be wanting anything else, Mrs Dane?’

The soft Scottish burr took her by surprise, and Sarah gave a little start. Refusing to turn, she shook her head. ‘No, thank you, Mrs Reeves.’

‘I’ll be away, then.’

‘Yes.’

Sarah heard the door close and then resumed her contemplation of the loch. No monsters in this one. All the monsters were in her head. And if she didn’t pull herself together soon…Mrs Reeves probably thought she was a pale, weepy little thing; and felt sorry for Jed for having such a wife. Sarah wanted to tell her that she wasn’t really like this, but words seemed to have gone the way of her wits.

There would be other babies she tried to tell herself. Next time would be all right—but how could there be a next time when her husband slept in a separate room? How could there be a next time when he couldn’t seem to even bring himself to talk to her? Hold her? Kiss her? All the warmth and laughter seemed to belong to another life. And yet, she could remember how she had been. She could see herself so clearly: laughing, happy, confident. Young? Immature? she wondered. Perhaps, but for all her slenderness, her seeming fragility, she had always been so strong. Her light brown hair had curled enticingly round her small face, deep brown eyes always so full of mischief. She had always known what she wanted—and she had wanted Jed. Not in a dark, calculating sort of way. She hadn’t set out to woo him, trap him, but from the first moment she had seen him awareness had sprung between them, tension.

With three months left of the year she had taken off after gaining her degree, she had visited all the places she had so long wanted to see. With the funds generously given by her grandmother, she’d visited North America, the Far East, China, Columbia, Australia, and then returned to Europe. With her brown hair lightened almost to fair by the Antipodean sun; her skin tanned to gold, she’d flown into Bavaria—and found Jed.

‘I’ve won a what?’

‘Balloon trip.’

‘Balloon trip?’

‘Mmm-hmm.’ The young man smiled at her, his blue eyes amused. ‘Ready?’

‘Ready?’ she echoed. ‘What, now?’

‘Certainly now.’

‘But I’ve only just arrived!’

‘I know.’ Taking her knapsack, he walked towards a blue Land Rover with the picture of a balloon on the side. A bemused Sarah slowly followed, and then burst out laughing. This was crazy!

‘Nervous?’ he asked as he helped her into the vehicle.

‘No,’ she denied. ‘Bewildered, astonished, flabbergasted…And how on earth do I know you’re who you say you are?’

‘Because in a moment you will see the field, and the balloon and all the people.’ He grinned, put the car in gear and drove off. Five minutes later he pulled into the field.

‘You can leave your kit in the car; it’s the support vehicle.’

Meaning, she assumed, that it was going to follow the flight. Still puzzled, still bewildered, she collected her camera, made sure her bumbag with her money and passport was safely strapped round her waist, and climbed down. ‘I didn’t buy a raffle ticket or anything…’ she began hesitantly.

‘No,’ he agreed, ‘but we had a spare place and we thought it would be nice to offer it to someone. We watched you get off the coach and we thought you looked like someone who might enjoy it.’

‘I will, but…’ With a small grin, a little shake of her head, she followed him towards all the activity round the slowly inflating balloon. It was a lot bigger than she’d expected.

She was introduced to the other passengers, the female navigator and the pilot, all of whom spoke excellent English, which was fortunate, because her German was virtually non-existent. They were given instructions on what to do in the event of this or that, including the position to adopt if there should be a crash-landing, and then, before she was sure she was ready, she was boosted into the basket. They were told to duck down as the burner was fired, which was very hot, she discovered. No wonder the pilot and navigator wore hats—she was sure she could smell singed hair! And then, without drama, just as the sun nestled against a distant peak, they began to rise. Gently, almost imperceptibly, the basket left the ground.