girl in Dianne Lovell Coleman… at least, she had convinced herself of this. She gave him a twisted, little one-sided smile that was almost akin to a leer.
'Really?' she said acridly. 'I didn't know, master. I thought that even your whores were entitled to some privacy.'
He took a step toward her, balled his fists, but caught himself. 'Damn you, don't provoke me,' he spat at her. 'I've taken your little mood bit for three days now, and that's long enough. You'll move your things back into the master bedroom where they belong and you'll share my bed. Is that clear?'
'Perfectly,' Dianne replied, her beautiful hazel eyes narrowed in a bitter loathing he had never dreamed possible.
'Good. Tonight, I have a speech to make at the Municipal Auditorium… you'll be on the stage beside me. Understand?'
'Whatever you say, master,' she hissed back at him. 'Only… don't you forget one thing, Senator… from this day forward I'm your wife in name only… nothing more. Do I make myself clear?'
Again, Mark sensed the rage mounting inside him and he clenched his hands tightly as it swept through him. 'You're exactly what I tell you, you are!' he said through clenched teeth.
'I'm a whore!' she threw back at him, her eyes spitting venom. 'And you made me that, my husband! Just a piece of human flesh to be used for the advantage of your career, remember? I'm a bitch and a slut… and I think perhaps I'm going to like it!'
Mark felt a cold, knotting sensation taking place in his entrails. It seemed to render him temporarily immobile. He could do nothing but stand and stare at her. He had never seen her this way… would never have believed it possible. Her whole being spewed vile hatred at him… but worse was the vicious implication of her self-denunciation. It could mean only one thing…
'Wh-What are you trying to say…?' He watched her eyes, narrowed and gleaming with little pinpoints of wrath. 'Well…?'
'Just what the devil do you think?'
'Did… did you let Faro fuck you?' he shot at her.
Slowly, Dianne's smile broadened into a tight, almost bloodless grin. 'Let him… I begged him to,' she taunted. 'And it was beautiful… the first time in my life I ever knew a real man… a fulfilling man! Yes, he fucked me but good, and if I'm lucky, he will again, damn you!'
Suddenly, the urge to beat her… to destroy her… to kill her was almost unbearable inside him. He felt the hot tears of bitter rage trickling down his cheeks and the aching lump in his throat nearly choking him. Oh God almighty! What had he done to her? He steeled himself, his nails digging into the flesh of his own palms, in an effort to keep himself from leaping on her and tearing her to pieces. He had to force himself to back away before he lost all control entirely. He moved in a backward motion all the way to the door, his tear-glazed vision filled with the magnificence of her beauty… the soft, chaste loveliness that he had selfishly bartered into defilement by another man… He read the continuous hatred she was hurling at him with her eyes until he could bear it no longer. He spun about and walked quickly from the room, the sobs choking up from his breast, and stumbling along the hallway, he cursed himself and all the Colemans before him who had doomed him to damnation.
Alone, Dianne's outward display of rancor quickly disappeared and she lowered her face into the pillow, her long blonde silken hair fanning out and covering her head and shoulders like a golden coverlet… then, she wept for a long, long time.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Dianne sat on the dais in the background along with several other dignitaries listening to the drone of Mark's voice as he addressed this audience assembled in a Union Hall. It had been the eighth one in as many days, a tour that had taken them throughout the state, until tonight when they were back in Rio Lado once more. She was exhausted from the living out of a suitcase, the traveling, long hours and poor eating routine, but the campaign was going well and this was all that concerned Mark, or A.C. Faro who was managing all affairs. Public prediction was that Mark would win handily, and with the election only three days off, she was grimly determined to see it through.
It was what was to follow that absorbed most of Dianne's thoughts through her waking hours. The few minutes of an evening she and Mark had spent alone together since the day he had broken in the door were invariably strained ones. There had been no sex, no pretense at love, nor a seeking of forgiveness on either's part. Their association had been one of simple, affable understanding, but with the election, whichever way it went, that too would be over. She intended to divorce him.
There was little, if any, chance for a reconciliation, she felt. What he had done to her was unforgivable. She neither loved nor hated him, but in fact, had filled that void in her emotions with a new greed of her own she had never before known. The luxury he had introduced her into had become a second nature; she had grown accustomed to its pleasurable benefits, and didn't intend to be without it again. Mark would pay, and pay handsomely. She had, with a little investigation, uncovered her secret weapon. It was to her advantage that Mark win his senatorial post; his position would be more vulnerable then, which was the main reason why she had endured the campaign and had gone out of her way publicly to pretend at being a devoted wife and helpmate. Her day was coming shortly.
Faro had never ceased at making advances. He continually watched her, the perpetual gleam of the lecher that was lighting his eye. Mark pretended to ignore it, but she knew it had begun to eat away at him. He had actually grown jealous of her, and that, for some reason, amused her.
Of course, there were no opportunities for A.C. to get her off somewhere without Mark's knowing, and had there been, she was certain she would've refused. Not that the memories of their erotic night together didn't move her when she thought about them; in fact, having tasted the full delight of satisfying sex, her voluptuous young body had sent off its craving desires to her brain too often of late, and there had been those moments when she would've openly welcomed A.C.'s long, thick penis slipping between her open legs… but such an act with him didn't fit into her plans at this time… and the new Dianne Coleman had become a terribly hard, mercenary girl.
Presently, she was experiencing a slight headache. She hadn't slept well the night before and had eaten only a small brunch early in the day. Mark had barely gotten into his speech, and of course there was always a question and answer period to follow. She felt if she sat there much longer she would certainly become nauseous… She leaned toward A.C. beside her.
'I'm not feeling well,' she whispered, 'I think I'll run along home and get a night's sleep. It's all I need…'
'By all means,' said the Commissioner. 'Look, I'll drive you…'
'No. That won't be necessary. I'll catch a cab,' she said, realizing immediately what he had in mind.
'But, it's no trouble…' he tried.
'It might be,' Dianne insisted. 'And I doubt if I'm up to it tonight.'
A.C. grinned. 'Very well,' he said. 'I can wait a little longer.'
Dianne returned his smile, getting quietly to her feet. 'I'm sure you can,' she said. 'You're a dear, A.C., good night.'
'Good night.'
Phillip Gates sat engrossed at the back of the hall. He hardly heard a word that Mark Coleman uttered, but every sense of his being was occupied with the presence of the lovely blonde-haired girl who sat upon the dais behind him and to his right. The palms of his hand bore a thin film of perspiration. His dark, discernible eyes pierced the layers of smoke that hung over the room and dwelt upon the delightful feminine face and body unflinchingly. He bit at his thin lower lip and hoped that no one around him could feel the hatred he must be generating.
This was the third time he had seen her since she had eloped on him, and each one had been in the presence of her husband – the bastard – and at a similar political function. He couldn't resist the temptation to come and stare at her, to sit anonymously among the sea of faces and telegraph his vehement animosity at her, hoping childishly that in some manner it would reach her and penetrate to the very core, turn her blood to ice…
