‘And you just accidentally discovered that Harry was in prison,’ she said sceptically. ‘How convenient was that.’
‘It wasn’t convenient at all actually.’ Luke sighed. ‘Felix came to see me while I was in the hospital. I’d been depressed for days, and he foolishly thought that knowing your ex-husband was in prison might give me some encouragement to get well.’
Abby frowned. ‘And he thought this, why?’
‘Don’t be naïve.’ Luke exhaled noisily. ‘Felix isn’t a fool. He knew—knows—how I feel about you.’
Abby hesitated, and he could tell his words had registered with her, however reckless they had been. ‘Well, I still don’t understand. How did he find out about Harry?’
Luke swayed a little, but he managed to stay on his feet as he said, ‘Felix knew someone who worked in the City, and, when he mentioned Laurence’s name, this guy said Harry had been convicted of abusing his wife.’
‘Abusing his wife?’ Abby was taken aback. ‘But I’ve never—’
‘I got that.’ Luke was bitter now. ‘I couldn’t understand why.’
He shook his head. That wasn’t something he wanted to get into right now. ‘But apparently, he’d married again a couple of years ago.’
‘And when were you going to tell me this?’
‘I wasn’t,’ he said. ‘I knew what you’d think. But circumstances alter cases.’
Luke blew out a breath, abandoning any hope of opening the chest of drawers for the present. He dragged himself to the bed and lowered himself onto the mattress.
‘I’m sorry,’ he said heavily. ‘You’ll have to give me a minute. I guess my legs are not as strong as I thought.’
Immediately, Abby’s expression changed, her indignation giving way to anxiety. Abandoning her position, she came to join him on the bed, sitting down beside him and gazing at him with unconcealed concern.
‘I’m the one who should be sorry,’ she murmured, hesitating only a moment before rubbing his back with a gentle hand. ‘I should have realised you’re still recovering from surgery. We can continue this conversation when you’re feeling better—’
‘No!’
Luke knew he had to get this over with now, before he gave into the desire to be with her. The feel of her hand massaging his back was far too appealing. But he must remember why he’d brought her here.
Yet he could feel the heat of her hand through his tee shirt, feel her thigh warm against his hip. His skin prickled with the knowledge that this might be the last time they’d be alone together like this. But whatever happened, he had to keep his head.
Yet it was well-nigh impossible.
‘Abby,’ he said hoarsely, desperate to say what needed to be said before he lost the will to do so.
However, although she might feel like punishing him for his arrogance, Abby’s hand moved up to his shoulder, and from there to the nape of his neck.
The feel of her cool fingers against his skin was a torment. He could feel his pulse pounding, the blood searing hotly through his veins. He felt a constriction in his chest that expanded as he gazed at her; at the delicate curve of her cheekbones, at the soft vulnerability of her mouth.
‘I would never hurt you,’ he grated. It was not what he’d planned to say and his hands balled into fists on his thighs. ‘You’ve got to believe that.’
‘I do believe it.’ Her fingers brushed the growth of stubble on his jawline. ‘But you didn’t trust me. You never did.’
Luke forced himself to flinch away from that caressing touch. He was half afraid that if she touched his scars, he’d never find the strength to let her go.
His breath hitched, and then, although it was much too late to do so, he tried to explain.
‘I would have told you about Harry,’ he said unsteadily. ‘But I suppose what bugged me was the fact that you’d stayed with a man like him, even knowing how he was treating you. Why in God’s name didn’t you leave him?’
Abby sighed. ‘I had my reasons—’
Luke stiffened. ‘You loved him?’
‘I don’t think I ever loved him,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘But my mother liked him and I suppose I trusted her judgement.’
‘And later?’
Abby’s fingers curled over his scalp, finding the roughened patch of shaved skin where they’d drilled into his skull. Her breathing quickened, as if at the renewed realisation that he could have died, and Luke felt his nerves tighten in response.
She swallowed convulsively, but, like him, she obviously felt compelled to go on.
‘I suppose my mother thought he would look after me. He had a good job, a nice apartment. She knew nothing about the way he treated me. Harry was careful not to do anything that might arouse her suspicions.’
Luke captured her tormenting fingers in his and brought her hand down to rest on his knees. ‘And when he started abusing you?’ he asked huskily.
‘Oh...’ Abby’s voice broke, and when she continued, her tone was much lower. ‘So you believe me?’
‘I’d suspected it for some time,’ said Luke, massaging her knuckles with unsteady fingers. ‘Even that night in the wine bar, I noticed you had bruises on your neck. What I still don’t understand is why you didn’t leave him.’
‘But you never asked why, did you?’ she murmured unevenly.
‘Perhaps I didn’t want to know the answer,’ said Luke honestly. He groaned. ‘Every time I thought of you two together... God!’
‘My mother became terminally ill about two years after Harry and I got married,’ Abby broke in quickly. ‘I had already realised that the marriage wasn’t going to work, but...’
She broke off and pressed her lips together before going on, ‘But my mother needed constant nursing care, and my salary wasn’t going to pay for that or for a decent nursing home when she needed one. Harry told my mother that she didn’t have to worry. He’d take care of all of it.’
‘So he paid?’
Abby nodded.
Luke stared at her. ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
‘When?’ Abby withdrew her hand from his, twisting her fingers together in her lap. ‘That first day you came to the café, when you accused me of cheating on my husband? Or later, when, although you were making love to me, you were making it plain that you’d never trust a woman like me?’
Luke scowled. ‘What about the night you arranged to meet me at the wine bar? Couldn’t you have told me then?’
‘Oh, right.’ Abby gave a little cry and pushed herself up from the bed, raking trembling hands through her hair. ‘How would I have phrased that, I wonder?’
She glanced back at him over her shoulder, her expression pained.
‘Let me see, how about—by the way, Luke, I should have told you, I’m married. My husband is abusing me, but he’s only agreed to go on paying for my mother’s palliative care if I don’t tell anyone about it.’ Her lips twisted. ‘Yeah, I can quite see how that would have worked.’
Luke couldn’t listen to any more. He caught her wrist and pulled her down onto the bed again.