Lindsay Armstrong: Trial By Marriage

Sarah looked across at him coolly. ‘Not at all. But I would make the comment that it’s probably im- possible to know exactly what goes on between a man and a woman and only a fool would imagine he does.’

‘Ah, well, I’d be surprised if I was wrong but,’ he drawled, apparently in no way put out, ‘that’s quite a list you’re compiling, Sarah.’

She frowned. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You’ve called me a fool, an underminer of your authority—oh, and let’s not forget what an aggres- sively, unpleasantly macho type I am. But tell me something—what goes on between you and Tim Markwell?’

The unexpectedness of it caused Sarah some con- fusion and caused some colour to come to her cheeks. ‘That’s none of your business… nothing!’ she said disjointedly.

‘Then there’s no need to protest so much,’ he said lazily. ‘But I thought you’d be quite well-suited.’

Sheer anger all but took Sarah’s breath away. ‘You know nothing about it,’ she shot at him. ‘You’re just being…’

He lifted a wry eyebrow and waited a moment. ‘Another damning epithet? I don’t mind, you know. In fact I enjoy our little sparring matches.’

Sarah ground her teeth but before she could say anything he went on leisurely, ‘I’m just not quite sure why I have this—ability to enrage you so much whereas Tim apparently doesn’t. Hence my question.’

‘Every second thing you say is calculated to enrage me one way or another,’ Sarah replied coldly.

He laughed softly. ‘So it would seem. But in point of fact, for example, I’d be much happier to see Amy spending some time here with you and getting down to a few of the basics of life—now that surely has to be a compliment?’

Sarah stood up. ‘Depends which way you look at it,’ she said. ‘If you’re implying, for example, that I’m such a down-to-earth, mundane sort of person for whom moonlight and roses might never exist—’

‘Sarah—’ he stood up as well and looked down

at her gravely ‘—I think you should give Tim a bit more encouragement—I say that because it seems to me you’re exhibiting all the classic symptoms of a girl who has gone too much the other way—the opposite way to Amy, I mean—and that you’re actually dying for a bit of moonlight and roses.’

Sarah’s lips parted and she was struck speechless by his sheer effrontery, speechless but stiff with outrage that was stamped into every taut line of her body. She longed to hit him.

‘And that,’ he murmured, his gaze suddenly nar- rowed and rather intent, ‘is where you slap my face, I gather, Miss Sutherland. Now what would be a fitting finale to such a scenario? I could always re- taliate by pulling you into my arms and kissing you breathless.’

‘D-don’t you dare!’ she stammered.

‘Why not?’ he drawled. ‘I’m quite as capable as Tim Markwell of providing some moonlight and roses, I should imagine—why don’t we put it to the test?’ And, without waiting for a reply and before she could guess his intentions, he removed her glasses so that not only was she besieged by a maelstrom of emotions but she was suddenly at the acute disadvantage of having to peer up at him short-sightedly. Nor was anything relieved when he said softly, ‘That’s much better, and much more comfortable for doing this, I’m sure.’

‘This’, as she moved convulsively and opened her mouth agitatedly, was to be drawn into his arms and have his lips seek hers.

‘No, no!’ she protested. ‘You mustn’t—Mr Wyatt! Please…’

‘You’re probably quite right—I shouldn’t,’ he said against the corner of her mouth as he moved his hands on her back. ‘But the fact remains I’m going to—I don’t know why but you rather intrigue me, Miss Sutherland. Is it possible that you’re still a virgin?’

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