From Waif To His Wife

the change of seasons?’

So Maisie had acquired a new wardrobe of specifically designed clothes to suit her condition, clothes that made her realise she was growing at last even if it wasn’t visible in the right clothes.

They hadn’t even had to go out to do this. Several calls from Sonia plus an astute fashion sense and, almost as if she’d waved a magic wand, a selection of clothes came to them from a variety of her favourite boutiques and department stores.

Maisie had had to marvel at the powers of wealth, then she’d had to smile when Sonia had the nerve to drive a hard bargain at the same time.

Unfortunately, she’d been hard put to throw herself heart and soul into this exercise because she’d found herself feeling a bit like Cinderella, and not at all sure that she wanted to be on the receiving end of such largesse from Rafe.

But when Sonia had divined this she’d pointed out that the clothes were props really and, if Maisie was going to marry Rafe and have the whole world believe it, she needed to look and feel the part.

‘There’s nothing worse than feeling out of place, clothes-wise,’ she said stringently. ‘Now for the wedding outfit. White?’ she went on to query.

‘No. I’m not entitled to wear white.’

‘Oh, phooey, who cares about that old tradition?’

‘And I wouldn’t even if I were,’ Maisie persisted, ‘because I look dreadful in white.’

Sonia laughed. ‘OK! I give up! We’ll look for something else.’

The result had been a beautiful silk tapestry suit in a pale peppermint-green, so artfully designed you wouldn’t have known she was pregnant.

In between putting together a wardrobe, Jack Huston had come to see Maisie several times.

She liked him. He was quiet, tall and gangly, he treated her with deference whatever his feelings on this out- of-the-blue marriage of his boss’s-though did she but know it, he’d been shocked into utter, unblinking silence on hearing the news.

Then he’d got another shock when she’d made her wishes known to him when he brought up the subject of her house.

‘Yes, I’ve been thinking,’ she said. ‘I-’

‘Rafe doesn’t want you to sell it,’ he broke in.

‘Rafe…’ Maisie hesitated and changed tack. ‘No, I won’t, at the moment. But I’d like to rent it out until, and if, I do decide to sell it. That way any repairs, and the rates, would be taken care of, so, well, they wouldn’t be a drain on Rafe.’

A drain on Rafe Sanderson? Jack Huston thought incredulously.

‘Would you be able to arrange that, Jack?’ she asked anxiously.

‘Yes, of course. Um-I believe there’s also a boat?’

Maisie fought a private little battle with herself. ‘I-I would like to sell it.’

He told her that he could arrange that for her as well, then he produced some papers. ‘If you could let me have your passport and sign these I could get it changed to your married name. I could do the same for your bank accounts et cetera.’

She agreed but she drew the line at anyone but herself severing her connection with the band, or resigning her job for her.

‘I think,’ Jack said carefully when she voiced this opinion, ‘it’s important for them to know you’re getting married and to whom. You could emphasise that because he is who he is, to protect you from any unwelcome publicity, it’s been a behind-the-scenes matter.’

She agreed again after a long moment but that was when it dawned on her that Jack Huston knew more about her than she’d realised, perhaps all there was to know but specifically that this exercise in marrying Rafael Sanderson was designed to protect her name.

And she’d appreciated all the more his practical, deferential manner, but the deep reservations she had about marrying Rafe Sanderson hadn’t gone away.

Then Rafe had come home and, without quite knowing how it started, they’d had their first row the moment they’d laid eyes on each other again, two days before the wedding…

It was about five o’clock in the afternoon and Maisie had spent most of her day trying on clothes, hats, shoes- everything, really.

When Sonia left to go and see her children she decided to have a shower, and when she came out of it she tied her hair in a bunch on top of her head with a green ribbon and put on a new outfit she’d acquired for her trousseau.

She had no idea whether it was unlucky to wear your trousseau before the wedding but the long-sleeved, loose wool top the colour of heather and gun-metal satin trousers, with an expanding waistline, seemed to suit her mood.

‘Well, Maisie,’ Rafe strolled into the apartment, using a key she didn’t know he had, and found her in her bedroom, ‘has Sonia been looking after you?’

She jumped and dropped a pile of gorgeous lingerie she’d been sorting. ‘I didn’t hear-How did you get-? Don’t do that, Rafe! You don’t own me yet.’

It wasn’t what she’d planned to say, it seemed to come out of its own accord, but her heart was still banging with fright and, if she was honest, her usual reaction to Rafe Sanderson when she hadn’t seen him for a while.

He raised his eyebrows. He was casually dressed in jeans and a round-necked grey jumper she recognised. And he took in her bunch of curls and the ribbon, the droplets of moisture still sliding down her slender neck and her bare feet.

‘Who said anything about owning you?’ he drawled. ‘And why so jumpy?’

She licked her lips-why so jumpy? ‘You accused me of it once but you must have a remarkably short memory! Thanks to you I’m in hiding, I’m scared to show my face and I’m not enjoying it.’

‘Thanks to me is debatable,’ he shot back. ‘You were the one who snuck aboard the Mary- Lue and nearly drowned me, which actually, whatever you might like to think, presaged all that followed.’

She opened her mouth to fire back an angry retort but he added coldly, ‘You were the one to follow me to Tonga without having the sense to make sure you had accommodation.’

She paled but her eyes darkened. ‘Why on earth you want to marry such an idiot is beyond me, Rafe!’

‘Stop it,’ he commanded through his teeth, and grasped her wrist. ‘I know, and you know, it’s the only thing to do.’

‘That doesn’t mean to say I have to like it. Let me go!’ She tugged at her wrist but he held on fast.

‘No. Not yet.’ His face was set in harsh lines and his mouth was hard. ‘Not until we’ve sorted this out. Yes, we’ve both made mistakes. No, I don’t think you’re an idiot-unless,’ he said deliberately, ‘you plan to make heavy weather of this all the way?’

She stared up into his eyes. ‘What do you suggest? That I give in to my natural inclination and make love to you instead?’

Of course, it was anger that had made her say it, her temper taking control, and it was meant as a jibe at him along the lines of ‘no doubt, as a man, you see that as the obvious solution!’

But what it did instead was expose the crux of her problem in all its raw honesty to her. Because it wasn’t only anger that was causing her breasts to heave beneath the fine wool. No sooner had the words left her mouth than she became incredibly alive to all the things Rafe Sanderson did to her.

That fluttery sensation at the pit of her stomach was there. The desire to experience all the power and glory of his beautiful body on her own burned through her at the same time as, on a mental level, she wanted to be able to be relaxed and happy and in love with him.

It also exposed something new to her, an adult feeling as if she’d left Maisie Wallis way behind her. The girl who’d been more innocent and naive than she’d ever realised. A girl who had had no idea you could be furiously angry with a man and still want him at the same time but perhaps supremely, a girl who hadn’t realised that the consequences of loving one man unwisely didn’t stop you from loving another…

‘I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!’ She rushed into speech as a tide of colour rushed into her cheeks, as a nerve