ou look as if you’re about to commit murder,’ Winston said quietly, drawing to a standstill next to Paul McGill. He followed Paul’s gaze, which was resting with loathing on Arthur Ainsley. ‘He’s asinine,’ Winston went on. ‘Don’t pay any attention to him. Frank and I don’t.’

Paul swung to Winston, his expression one of mingled anger and disgust. ‘He makes my blood boil! The preposterous fool has embarrassed Emma all through lunch and now he’s compounding his execrable behaviour. The bloody imbecile. Apart from the fact that he can’t hold his liquor, he can’t keep his hands off the other women present. Emma must be mortified.’

Winston smiled thinly, his animosity for Arthur barely concealed. ‘I know. You don’t have to tell me. He’s a dyed-in-the-wool bastard. And furthermore, I’m quite sure he does it on purpose. As for Emma, she appears not to notice. That’s sheer defensiveness, of course. You know my sister. She doesn’t miss a trick.’ Winston shook his head. ‘I’ll be glad when Frank and Natalie are married next week, and these interminable luncheons and dinners end. Then we won’t have to suffer Ainsley’s continuing presence.’

‘He’s a bit of an unsavoury character, isn’t he?’ Paul probed. Winston was silent, and Paul continued, ‘I know a lot of Englishmen of his particular upbringing and education do have somewhat effeminate mannerisms, and that these don’t necessarily indicate a lack of masculinity, but, if I didn’t know differently, I’d swear to God he was a raving homosexual. Don’t you agree, Winston?’

‘It’s crossed my mind, and more than once lately. I’ve noticed a change in Arthur over the past few months. Certain tendencies seem to be coming out. Being married to Emma and fathering the twins doesn’t necessarily preclude sexual deviation, although I’ve no evidence to prove that about him. And he does go after women all the time.’

Paul frowned. ‘Perhaps he likes both sexes. That’s not unheard of, you know—bisexuality.’

‘I wish to God my sister had never married him. We all tried to stop her, but she’s very stubborn. She was on the rebound, of course.’

‘I realize that only too well,’ Paul muttered, and looked down at the drink in his hand. ‘You don’t have to rub it in.’

Winston drew Paul into a secluded corner of Lionel Stewart’s drawing room, where the guests had gathered after a prenuptial luncheon. Winston, who had always liked Paul, had discovered that his admiration and empathy for the Australian had only increased over the past ten days when, at various social functions, they had been thrown together and had gravitated to each other. Now he said, in a confidential tone, ‘Frank tells me you have been seeing quite a lot of Emma during the last month. I’m happy about that.’ Observing the look of astonishment flit across Paul’s handsome face, Winston grinned. ‘I know you regard me as the protective older brother, so I just wanted you to know that I approve, in spite of the complications in your very complicated lives. Emma needs a man like you, Paul. To be accurate, she needs you. You’re about the only man I know who is strong enough to handle her on a permanent basis. She can be quite intimidating. Most men can’t cope with an independent and brilliant woman—albeit a very alluring one!’

Paul smiled engagingly, a trifle startled, but delighted at this endorsement. ‘Thanks, Winston. I’m glad to hear it. And I agree with you.’ His eyes crinkled with laughter. ‘Do me a favour and tell that to the lady in question. I need all the help I can get.’

‘I have told her. So has Frank. But you know Emma. She has to make up her own mind.’ Winston regarded Paul keenly. ‘Perhaps she thinks you’ll take off for Australia at any moment. After all, you do have vast business interests there.’

‘True enough. However, I’ve told her that I intend to be around for a long time. It doesn’t seem to make a dent. Actually I’ve reorganized my business enterprises so well in the last few years I will only need to make an occasional trip to Australia from now on—maybe once a year, twice at the most. Emma is also aware that I expanded my London offices last year and that I’m going to operate from here in the future.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t say much any more because she always looks sceptical. I can’t say I blame her.’

‘Maybe you’ve been too subtle,’ Winston volunteered. ‘You know what women are like. Sometimes you’ve got to spell everything out for them.’

‘Emma’s hardly like most women.’

‘That’s the understatement of the year.’ Winston laughed. ‘Give her a chance to get used to the idea that you’re here on a permanent basis. She’ll come around to accepting it eventually.’

Paul nodded and glanced about the spacious, elegantly appointed drawing room, seeking out Emma. He spotted her talking to Frank and Natalie and the latter’s parents. It was a scorching July day and everyone was suffering from the heat. The guests looked uncomfortable and a little wilted—except for the incomparable Emma. She was wearing a yellow silk summer frock that was simply styled, crisp and fresh. It gave her a carefree girlish air, as did the gay confection on top of her russet bobbed hair. She looked exceedingly feminine, and the other women paled in comparison. It was not only her beauty that set her apart, but that incandescent glow which emanated from her. It took one hell of a woman to conduct herself so elegantly and with such composure in the light of Ainsley’s antics, he conceded. Then he saw, to his surprise, that Emma was leaving. He handed his drink to Winston hastily. ‘Look after this, old chap. I’ll be back in a minute. Excuse me.’

Paul caught up with Emma in the entrance hall. ‘Where are you off to in such a hurry?’ he asked, taking her arm possessively and turning her to face him fully. ‘Running out? I thought I was the only one who did that.’ He chuckled.

Emma could not help laughing. ‘I am also fleet of foot when I want to be, Mr McGill,’ she said. ‘I felt it would be simpler if I made a quiet exit. I didn’t want to break up the party, and unfortunately, I have to get back to the store.’

Like hell you do, Paul commented dryly to himself, guessing she wanted to escape her ludicrous husband. ‘I’ll drive you,’ Paul asserted swiftly, taking charge and propelling her to the door.

At first Emma made a little desultory conversation as Paul edged his Rolls-Royce through the Saturday afternoon traffic congesting Mayfair. But after a few moments she fell silent, ruminating on the luncheon. She was seething. Arthur’s tasteless display had appalled her. He had not only demeaned himself but her as well. Usually indifferent to him, she had experienced real discomfiture during lunch and afterwards. She had handled it well, concealing her fury behind a dignified façade, yet, nonetheless, Arthur’s disregard for the social amenities rankled. She could no longer afford to turn a blind eye. After Frank’s wedding she would not expose herself in social situations. In part, her embarrassment sprang from the fact that Paul had witnessed it all. And yet, curiously, his presence had also been comforting.

Emma stole a glance at Paul, wondering what he was thinking. His face revealed nothing. On her recent trips to London she had dined with Paul on a regular basis. He had taken her to the theatre and the opera, and to parties. He had been charming, gallant—and oddly detached. She had half expected him to make overtures after their first few evenings together, but he had not, somewhat to her relief. In all honesty, she had wanted to see him, to spend time with him, and she could not deny he held a fascination for her. On the other hand, her inbred sense of self-preservation still made her wary of him. Her marriage was no marriage at all, yet the rest of her life was orderly. She could not permit anything to jeopardize her tranquil state of mind, acquired at such cost, and Paul could easily do that because he had the ability to hurt her. She was determined never to suffer for love again. An unprecedented feeling of depression swamped her. She looked at her watch.

‘Perhaps you had better take me home, Paul,’ she said. ‘It’s a bit late to go to the store. It’s almost five o’clock.’

‘Of course,’ Paul said. ‘Anything you want, Emma.’ He noticed that her expression was pensive and a wave of tenderness swept through him. As he stopped at the traffic lights he pondered on her, trying to gauge her feelings for him. She was pleasant and gay whenever they met, yet she held herself apart, and he had admitted days ago that she was impervious to his charms. He knew she was riddled with insecurity about him and he had acted accordingly, endeavouring to dispel this, but apparently without success. He wondered if his strategy had been all wrong. As he headed towards Belgrave Square he made a snap decision, drove around the square, bypassed Wilton Mews, and headed back to Mayfair.

‘Where are you going?’ Emma asked in a puzzled voice. ‘I thought you were taking me home.’

‘That’s exactly where I am taking you. Home. With me.’

Emma gasped. ‘But—’

‘No buts, Emma,’ he said forcefully and with a finality that forbade argument.

Emma held herself stiffly in the seat, clutching her bag. A protest rose on her lips, remained unspoken as her mouth went dry. Taken aback at this sudden bold move on his part, she found herself in a quandary. She had never been to his flat and was petrified of being alone with him. A self-deprecatory smile slid on to her face. She, who was afraid of nothing and no one, was actually frightened of Paul McGill! Yet he was only a man. After all, she was a grown woman and perfectly capable of looking after herself. Anyway, was not life full of risks?

His face was rigidly set and determined and he appeared to be perturbed. The tension in his broad shoulders conveyed itself to her, and she shivered involuntarily. Her eyes focused on his strong hands, which gripped the steering wheel so fiercely his knuckles protruded sharply, and, to her consternation, her heart began to beat with unusual rapidity.

Paul brought the car to a stop in Berkeley Square. Silently he helped her out and took hold of her arm firmly, manoeuvring her across the lobby and into the lift. His fingers bit into her flesh, yet she welcomed his support. She thought her legs would buckle at any moment.

He did not release her even after they had entered his flat. He slammed the door shut with ferocity and swung her to face him. He lifted her veil with the other hand, searching her face, and then he pulled her to him roughly. His lips crushed down on hers, hard and insistent. She tried to push him away, but he was too strong for her. He tightened his hold on her, tremors rippling along his arms, and she heard his heart banging like a sledgehammer in his expansive chest. His mouth suddenly softened on hers. He parted her lips gently and found her tongue with his. Emma ceased struggling as a swooning faintness enveloped her. She found herself yielding to him, clinging to him, returning his kisses. Her handbag fell to the floor unheeded. His hands slid down her back and on to her buttocks, and he pressed her body into his so that they were welded together. He shifted his stance slightly and she felt the hardness of his rising passion through the thin silk of her frock and her legs almost gave way, and she was suffused with that old familiar warmth which spread like fire through her body. He pushed her head back against his wide shoulder and covered her breast with one hand, his fingers rubbing against it and playing with the nipple with increasing urgency. She was overwhelmed by him, and filled with exquisite sensations long forgotten but now so well remembered. She was helpless in his arms.

Paul’s fervent kisses ceased abruptly, and he looked down into her face. She gazed back at him dizzily, saw the wild desire leaping from his clear blue eyes, took in the burgeoning impatience congesting his face, recognized the physical and emotional pressures driving him beyond endurance, and new tremors swept through her. Her lips opened and a cry strangled in her throat. His face closed in on her, his eyes darkening to brooding violet, and he was kissing her again, ravaging her mouth almost savagely, and she did not want him to stop. Prayed he would not stop. Desire engulfed her, and all of her true feelings surfaced, obliterating her fears, both rational and irrational. Her defences crumbled like a sand castle before an onrushing tide, and she willingly surrendered to him, her sensuality, so long submerged, taking hold of her completely, dazing her.

He placed her away from him, but he did not remove his hands from her shoulders. His mouth curved up in a small challenging smile. He leaned forward, pressing her against the door. ‘Now tell me you don’t love me!’ he whispered hoarsely in her ear. ‘Now tell me you don’t want me!’ His breath was warm and tantalizing against her throat. Before she could respond, he said in a low voice thickened by desire, ‘You can’t deny either, Emma, because I know you do!’ He peered deeply into her burning face and perceived the yearning in her eyes that surely reflected his own, and he finally released her. He took her hand gently in his and led her into the bedroom.

Late-afternoon sunlight was streaming in through the windows and Paul left her to draw the curtains. The room was suddenly cool and dim. Mesmerized, she stood in the middle of the floor watching him. He swung around and strode back to her, moving lithely, like a great panther, and he appeared taller and broader and more domineering in his masculinity than ever. He removed her hat and tossed it on to a chair. He pulled off her gloves slowly. He unbuttoned her dress and slipped it over her shoulders. It fell to the floor, a rippling pool of yellow at her feet. He guided her away from the dress and sat her down on the bottom of the bed, all the while smiling at her faintly, and his eyes did not once leave her face. He discarded his jacket, his tie, and his shirt, and she caught her breath, stunned at the sight of his handsome torso and the sheer physical size and beauty of him.

He knelt before her. He took off her shoes and kissed her feet, and then he buried his head in her lap. Automatically she ran her hands through his crisp black hair and bent to kiss the crown. She smoothed her fingers over his enormous shoulders and down his sunburned back, and she felt his muscles rippling under her touch.

‘There hasn’t been a day I haven’t thought about you, Emma. A day I haven’t wanted you. Longed for you. Needed you, my love. Never in all these years,’ he cried in a muffled voice. He gripped her thighs, burying his face deeper into her. He finally raised his head and looked up, his eyes brilliant. ‘I’ve never stopped loving you, Emma.’

‘And I’ve never stopped loving you, Paul,’ she said softly, and her eyes grew huge, turned dark, and swam with tears.

He stood up and pressed her back on to the bed. He stretched himself on top of her, encircling her with his arms, kissing her face, her throat, and her shoulders. It seemed to Paul that the rest of their clothes just fell away. They were naked and in each other’s arms again, and he was blinded by his searing passion, the feverishness of his unendurable desire. He could hardly wait to possess her, to become one with her, but he controlled himself rigorously, leading her along as he always had in the past, arousing her as only he could. He covered her entire body with kisses, and caressed every intimate and erotic part of her until she gasped with delight, and her unbridled excitement only served to inflame him more than ever.

She thought:!!!There is only him. He is the only thing that matters in my life. He is the only man I have ever truly loved and desired. If he goes away, and I never see him again as long as 1 live, this moment will have been worth it. It will last me for ever.

He felt her fingers gripping his shoulders. She stiffened and spasmed and then her body was racked by shudders, and she called his name in a low moaning voice and he knew, with the utmost certainty, that only with him had she experienced this special kind of ecstasy and fulfilment. He lifted his head and trailed his lips up over her smooth flat stomach until they reached her breasts. His mouth lingered there a moment and moved on into the hollow of her neck. She sighed and quivered under him, her arms entwining him, her hands sliding voluptuously down his back. He thought he was going to explode. He arched his body over hers, his arms braced on either side of her, and gazed down into her pleasure-filled eyes. Her deepest emotions were explicit on her face, that best-loved face that haunted him always, and he was moved by the wonder of it all, by the wonder of her, and his heart twisted.

And he took her then, his manhood at full flood, thrusting deeply into the very core of her, to touch her heart, and she responded with a rush of enveloping sweet warmth, spontaneously, wildly giving herself with no reserve. And her need for him was as clamouring as his need for her.

Memory became reality. Pain was transmuted into joy. Anger was diffused by passion. They were fused together in desire and exquisite bliss. Having suffered for each other and their love, there was a new awareness between them, an intensity of feelings heightened, a rare poignancy in their breathless consummation. And as perfect as their lovemaking had been in the past, this time it was more stunning than ever before, and they were devastated by the impact of their reunion.

Much later, when they lay clasped in each other’s arms, unable to tear themselves apart, shattered and exhausted, Paul said, ‘I will never leave you again, Emma. Never, as long as I live. I know you’re afraid I will hurt you. But I won’t. You must believe me, my darling.’

‘I’m not afraid, Paul,’ she said against his chest. ‘And I do believe you. I know now you will be with me always.’

He felt her smile. ‘What is it?’

‘Years ago someone called me Doubting Emma. Perhaps I was. Do you remember when you quoted Abelard to me and told me to have faith, before you went back to the front?’

‘Yes, I do, my love.’

‘Well, if I had that faith, when you were absent in Australia in 1919, perhaps all this anguish and torment we have experienced could have been avoided. I’ll never doubt you again.’

He smiled and pulled her closer to him and kissed a strand of her hair. ‘We’ll make up for the lost years,’ he said.