Diana Hamilton - The Last Illusion

There were tiny dancing lights in the brooding blackness of his eyes, and the graceful, upward lilt of one arched black brow reinforced his wicked amusement, the machiavellian satisfaction he derived from gaining the upper hand.

‘So, mi esposa , you have another full year to wait before you can even begin divorce proceedings.’

He placed his palms flat against the wall, on either side of her head, and she was trapped, and frightened, yet determined not to show it. And she told him fiercely, ‘Call yourself a man? You’re nothing but a spiteful little worm!’ and had the satisfaction of seeing him stiffen, his proud features frozen over as he dropped his hands and stepped back, his shoulders high and hard.

‘Explain yourself!’ He looked as if he would like to kill her where she stood, and she didn’t even care. She was beyond being frightened, even by a man who had committed the ultimate crime—slaughtering his own brother for financial gain!

She hurled at him defiantly, ‘What reason could you have for wanting to delay our divorce? You don’t want me. You never did! But you don’t want me to be happy with another man. That makes you spiteful!’

She sprang away from the wall, side-stepping him. Another year in an extinct marriage wouldn’t mean a thing to him. Olivia was content to wait for just as long as it took; she had openly said as much. The two of them had been lovers for ages, well before he had conned her into hurtling into marriage, and they would be lovers as long as they both drew breath, whether or not Olivia bore his name and wore his ring! And she told him witheringly, making for the door again, ‘Don’t think a year’s postponement of our marriage will make a scrap of difference to Greg and me. It won’t.’

She was sure of that, at least. Greg was a pragmatic soul. He could be patient. But her cheeks went very hot when he tossed at her, almost idly, ‘I am not in the least concerned about Gregory Wilson. He is no threat. He is, in fact, beneath notice.’

She glared at him hotly, her worst fears confirmed. She hadn’t mentioned Greg’s surname; his spies would have discovered that and reported back. So she’d been right when she’d half hysterically decided that he’d ferreted out every fact about her life, known precisely when she and Greg had met, how often they’d dated. It made her feel besmirched!

‘If you want to marry a middle-aged small-town accountant with a pot belly, an aversion to parting with his money and a fixation on his mother, then I can only mourn your lowered standards. I can’t prevent you, if such is your ultimate wish. But don’t ask me to make it too easy for you.’

‘Oooh!’ Charley couldn’t begin to express the disgust she felt. Her mind was reeling. How did he have the gall to accuse her of lowering her standards when he was the cruellest, most heartless, wickedest man she had ever had the misfortune to meet?

And Greg wasn’t middle-aged! He was thirty-seven, a mere three years older than Sebastian. And he did not have a pot belly—he was cuddly! And if he was careful with his money it wasn’t to be wondered at. His father had died before he’d left school, and his mother, with whom he’d continued to live until her death from a stroke almost a year ago, had had to scrimp and scrape to support him while he got his qualifications and even afterwards, while he struggled to get started up on his own. So it was little wonder he had been a devoted and grateful son, averse to throwing his hard-earned money around, because he had known what it was like to count every penny.

‘At least he doesn’t promise me the moon and stars wrapped up in gold ribbon,’ she managed at last, hating him, ‘then hand me something poisonous!’

‘And what does he promise you?’ His menacing body tensed, his mouth like a steel trap, his eyes boring into her head as he uttered, ‘ No importa ! It is of no consequence.’ The hard, white-clad shoulders lifted imperceptibly, then he swung on his heels and pressed the bell push near the door. ‘I have summoned Teresa. She will either show you to your room, or she will show you to the door. You have the choice.’

‘I can find my own way out. I used to live here, remember?’

No way was she staying under this roof, even for one night. He had to be off his head even to suggest such a thing! But she knew his sanity was not in question, only the depths of his deviousness, as he told her softly, ‘I am willing to meet you part way, Charlotte. Agree to stay here for four weeks, and if, at the end of that time, you still wish to marry your dumpy accountant, I will agree to a divorce and will ensure that all goes through as swiftly as possible. Go, and you wait a further year. And be warned, I am well able to make sure that the proceedings crawl along at less than a snail’s pace. Believe me, I can make it happen.’

‘HE WANTS you to do what ?’

Greg sounded as if he couldn’t believe his ears, and Charley gripped the receiver more tightly and repeated, ‘Stay put for four weeks. If I do, he’ll agree to the divorce. If I don’t, he won’t.’ She lowered her voice, even though she was alone in the book-lined room Sebastian used as a study. ‘We would have to wait another year before I could even start proceedings. I thought it was worth it,’ she added quickly, although she wasn’t too sure about that.

‘What’s he up to? Does he want a reconciliation?’

Greg’s tone was suspicious, and she couldn’t blame him. But the very idea was laughable, and she assured him, ‘Of course not.’ He had never wanted her, except as a body upon which to get an heir. When he’d claimed that he’d fallen in love with her, almost on sight, he’d been lying. Sebastian Machado was good at lying.

But there was no way she could reassure Greg, because she didn’t know what lay behind her unwanted husband’s stipulation. A downright refusal to agree to a divorce she could have understood and put down to spite. But his promised agreement after four weeks of her company was beyond her comprehension. Something devious and tricky, no doubt...

‘Well, something’s going on,’ Greg said peevishly. ‘When Glenda and I got our divorce there was no trouble. She walked out on me, and as there were no children...’ The word was bitten off and then he asked warily, ‘You don’t have children, do you?’

‘Do you think I’d have kept it from you if I had?’ Charley snapped. If there had been children, then Sebastian would have instigated divorce proceedings himself as soon as the mandatory two years had passed, and made good and sure he got custody—she would have been lucky to get even limited access! And she could understand Greg’s unease about this turn of events, but he had no call to be suspicious where she was concerned!

‘Of course not, darling,’ he soothed. ‘I’m sorry, but the whole thing looks suspect from where I’m standing. Are you sure that living with him again won’t prejudice everything?’

It hadn’t entered her head, and she bit her lip, frowning at the window-panes, which were reflecting the fiery descent of the sun. And she answered slowly, ‘I don’t think so. It isn’t as if I’ll be sharing his bed.’ The very thought of sharing his bed made her whole body clench with a huge, painfully intense spasm which she quickly translated as revulsion, and, gathering herself, she went on quickly, if a little hoarsely, ‘I’ll phone my boss in the morning and explain the need for extra leave.’

‘Dev won’t like it.’ Not any more than he did, Greg’s sharp tone implied, but Charley silently excused him, because the circumstances were exceptional.

‘He’ll manage. There weren’t any problems or upheavals on the horizon, and Dawn’s very competent.’ Dawn was the secretary she shared with Mark Devlin, the manager of the complex, and as she, Charley, had been Dev’s personal assistant for over three years and never once used her full holiday entitlement she couldn’t foresee any great problems where extra leave was concerned.