If only she could.
‘Tell me about your wedding, Elizabeth,’ Hilda said brightly. ‘Cormac mentioned how quickly you were married—so romantic! Was it a big wedding?’
‘No, very small,’ Lizzie said quietly, conscious of Lara’s silent, speculative glance. ‘Just a few friends and family.’
‘Very nice,’ Hilda agreed. ‘And you are hoping for children?’
Lizzie remembered what Cormac had said about starting a family. It was impossible to imagine. ‘Oh, yes,’ she lied. ‘In time, of course.’
‘Of course, of course.’ Hilda’s eyes were bright even in the moonlit darkness. ‘All in good time.’
‘What about you, Lara?’ Lizzie asked. She was desperate to change the subject. ‘How long have you and Geoffrey been married?’
‘Six months,’ Lara said in a bored voice. ‘But it seems like for ever.’ She laughed, a rather nasty sound, and Hilda looked uncomfortable.
What a strange group they were, Lizzie thought. Hilda had been happily married for forty years, Lara unhappily married, it seemed, for just a few months, and she not married at all.
‘What about your sons, Hilda?’ she asked. ‘They’re all married?’
‘No, sadly.’ Hilda frowned for a moment. ‘They’re all living abroad, pursuing careers. It’s one of the reasons…’ She paused, shrugged. ‘Perhaps one day. It happened for Cormac, it can happen for them.’
Lizzie nodded, not trusting herself to speak. The guilt was overwhelming and she fought to ignore it. There was no point in allowing herself to be swamped in misery, despair.
The rambling path they’d been walking on ended in a little square, a fountain burbling in the middle. The moon cast a sliver of silver on the scene, illuminating the still figure of a man on a bench.
With an indrawn breath Lizzie realised it was Cormac. Alone.
‘What a lovely spot for a couple to sit,’ Hilda murmured. ‘Lara, let me show you our wild orchids…’The older woman led Lara away, leaving Lizzie alone with Cormac.
‘That wasn’t very subtle,’ she said with a little laugh, and Cormac looked up, his eyes glinting in the darkness.
‘We’re newly-weds. We need some time alone.’ He spoke cynically, a darkness in his voice and, Lizzie guessed, in his soul—a darkness beneath that light, charming exterior, that easy confidence. A darkness she couldn’t understand or penetrate.
She glanced around uneasily, conscious that Lara and perhaps even Geoffrey could be lurking in the shadows, listening. She moved closer to Cormac, sat next to him on the bench.
‘Cormac,’ she said in a low voice, ‘Geoffrey suspects. He told me as much at dinner.’
‘Is that why you couldn’t eat a bite? You were as pale as a ghost.’
‘I don’t want to be discovered,’ Lizzie hissed. ‘You, of all people, know what’s at stake.’
‘Yes, I do,’ Cormac replied calmly. ‘Nothing is going to ruin this deal, Chandler. I’ll make sure of that.’
‘How?’
‘I can handle Stears.’ Cormac’s tone was so coldly dismissive that Lizzie felt like shivering, despite the sultry night air.
They were silent, the gentle lapping of waves a shushing sound in the distance, the chirrup of insects loud in the stillness of the evening.
‘You could have told me about Lara,’ Lizzie whispered after a moment. When Cormac didn’t bother answering, she felt compelled to ask, ‘You had an affair with her, didn’t you?’
He shrugged. ‘So?’
‘You could have warned me!’
‘It wasn’t relevant.’
‘Wasn’t relevant?’ Lizzie’s voice rose and, when Cormac raised one cynical eyebrow, she strove to lower it. ‘Cormac, she’s slept with you. She…she knows you in a way I…’
Too late, Lizzie realised this was not a good conversation to have—not now, not with Cormac, not when he leaned towards her and said softly, ‘In a way you want to, Chandler?’
‘In a way I don’t,’ she snapped. ‘All I’m saying is a woman who’s been with a certain man can tell when another woman…hasn’t.’
‘We could remedy the situation, you know.’
Lizzie stiffened. He wasn’t actually…suggesting…they…She swallowed. ‘Very funny.’
‘I didn’t realise I was being amusing.’
She glanced at him, saw the glimmer of a smile in the darkness and wished she could see more of his face. Even then she wouldn’t know what he was thinking.
‘You don’t want to sleep with me,’ she began, and she heard his soft chuckle.
‘Actually, I do. Can’t you tell I desire you?’
‘No…you’re just playing with me. Flirting.’ Suddenly she desperately wanted that to be true. And didn’t want it to be true. She didn’t know what she wanted.
‘Flirting usually leads to something else,’ Cormac murmured in a low, languorous voice. ‘Something more.’
‘That isn’t a very good idea, though,’ Lizzie protested weakly, ‘considering…’
‘Actually, I think it’s a very good idea.’
Lizzie swallowed, scooted a bit further away on the bench. He was teasing her, toying with her. He had to be. She just didn’t know how to handle it. ‘How did the meeting go tonight?’ she asked in a desperately blatant attempt to change the subject.
Cormac smiled, amused. ‘Dan White is a strong contender,’ he admitted with a shrug. ‘Hassell is so thrilled he’s having a child, and White’s like a big, friendly dog, jumping all over the place, licking and slobbering.’ He shook his head in disgust. ‘Hassell has made this weekend not about the designs, but about who we are.’
Lizzie regarded him quietly. ‘And you don’t want him to see who you really are,’ she said.
Cormac’s expression sharpened, his mouth twisting sardonically before he shrugged. ‘Of course not, sweetheart.’
‘Don’t—’
‘Shh.’ Suddenly his whole face softened into a smile, a sexy smile that had sudden need flooding through Lizzie’s limbs even as her mind spun in confusion.
He reached up, tangled a hand in the silken strands of hair blowing against her cheek and drew her closer to him.
‘Shh,’ he said again, and kissed her.
The feel of his lips—hard, unyielding, and yet so achingly tender—sent every thought spinning from Lizzie’s brain. A part of her knew—had known, anyway—that someone must be watching for Cormac to do this. Yet, even as her brain acknowledged that fact, the rest of her body kicked into gear, flamed into desire.
Cormac’s lips caressed her own, his hand drifting from her cheek to her throat and then to her breast, his fingers expertly, easily teasing her.
Lizzie gasped against his mouth, felt his smile. She’d never been touched like this, and even though she knew it was a performance—a charade—she could not keep herself from reacting.
Wanting. More.
Her arms wound around his neck, fingers lost in the crispness of his hair. She felt herself lean forward to press her breasts against the wonderful hardness of his chest.
Even in the softened haze of feeling she realised