Don't Hurt Me (21 page)

  
Ever since running away from Moor’s
Peak, she had thought how it would feel to see her husband again. She had run
through the potential scenarios a thousand times, dreaming up cold little
replies to his furious questions. But now that she could not avoid seeing him,
the air of aloofness she had practised so often seemed to have vanished and a
paralysing terror taken its place. What would Marshall say to her? Would he say
anything or simply walk past, ignoring her? Perhaps he did not give a damn that
she had left him. As her sister had pointed out, he had not tried particularly
hard to find her.

  
Handing her a glass of perfectly
chilled champagne, Richard leant forward and whispered in her ear. ‘Don’t look
now, but I’ve just seen your darling husband. He’s standing a few feet away to
our left, next to that woman in the green suit.’

  
Her head turned and she saw him,
the blood beating in her ears as her gaze devoured him. It felt like decades
since she had seen him, her mouth dry, hungry pulses of desire springing up all
over her body. He had not seen her yet. His firm body seemed leaner than ever
in the formal black tuxedo, the dark head bent in conversation.

  
Then her eyes flicked to the woman
standing so close to him and she gasped, suddenly faint with shock. His
companion was a tall svelte redhead, her stunning figure shown off to advantage
in a woollen suit in light green check.

  
Dazed, she spun instinctively in a
bid to escape the pain, feeling as though someone had punched her in the
stomach, and collided with a waiter carrying a tray of dirty glasses. There was
a resounding crash as the tray tilted and the glasses over-balanced, smashing
on the floor.

  
‘I’m so sorry,’ she stammered, her
cheeks scarlet, staring down at the dark spreading stain on the cream carpet.

  
Richard was at her side in a
second, his arm supporting her around the waist. ‘She’s not feeling well,’ he
explained hurriedly to the irate waiter, leading her away from the curious
glances around them. His voice muttered urgently in her ear. ‘For god’s sake,
don’t faint on me. Everyone’s looking. I’m taking you outside for some fresh
air, okay?’

  
‘He brought Sasha with him.’

  
‘Sh, he’s looking in our
direction,’ Richard said tightly, bundling her through a side door into an
enclosed patio area. There was a wooden bench beside a large jardiniere spilling
over with lush green ferns. With firm hands, Richard sat her down there and
pushed her head down between her knees. ‘Deep breaths,’ he insisted.
  

  
‘God, I’ve made such a fool of
myself. What must he think of me?’ she whispered, half to herself.

  
‘I think we’re about to find out,’
Richard murmured, straightening. ‘Here he comes.’

  
The pair of highly polished black
leather shoes striding across the paving stones stopped dead in front of the
bench, forcing Julia to look up. She met that dark intense gaze with
difficulty, her nerves fluttering wildly. He still seemed as angry as the night
she had walked out on him, the taut bones of his face clenched as he stared
down at her.

  
‘What’s the matter? Are you
unwell?’ Marshall demanded, ignoring Richard’s presence. He took her wrist
between long fingers and monitored her pulse, his eyes fixed disturbingly on
her face. ‘Your heart’s absolutely racing. You should see a doctor at once.’

  
She jerked her hand back, jumping
to her feet. ‘I’m fine,’ she said, shooting Richard an appealing glance. ‘I’d
like to go back in now. The presentation must be about to start.’

  
‘Sit down. You’re staying exactly
where you are,’ Marshall told her with arrogant insistence, pointing to the
bench behind her. He turned his head in Richard’s direction, his voice a direct
challenge to the other man’s authority. ‘You might as well go. I’m here to look
after my wife now, you don’t want to miss the awards.’

  
Richard hesitated, clearly torn
between his loyalty to Julia and the very real suspicion that Marshall might
knock him to the ground if he refused. He glanced at her sideways, shrugging
with a helpless apology in his face. ‘Is that okay with you, Jules?’

  
Her mouth compressed and she pushed
past both men, swaying slightly on her high heels. She had no intention of
staying to be treated like a child, unable to make her own decisions, while
these two men discussed her as though she were not even there. ‘Unless you’d
forgotten, I came here to attend the awards too. There’s nothing wrong with me,
I just felt faint for a moment.’

  
Marshall’s hand clamped down on her
arm and she shook it off with a furious gesture. He could not tell her what to
do anymore, she thought fiercely, she was free of him now. ‘Let me go,
Marshall,’ she spat, her eyes flashing angrily. ‘You’d better hurry back to
your mistress. I’m sure she must be wondering where you’ve gone.’

  
‘Mistress?’ he echoed blankly.

  
She threw her arm out to point
dramatically back into the hotel, where they could still see the glamorous
redhead circulating amongst the crowds of people. ‘You must have known I’d be
here tonight. It was the height of bad taste to bring Sasha up to London with
you.’

  
‘That’s not Sasha,’ he snapped, a
cold anger in his face.

  
‘Oh, for god’s sake ... ’

  
‘Her name is Claudia Rodgers and
she’s on the awards committee. We were just discussing the nominations for this
evening. If you had bothered to look at her more closely instead of instantly
assuming I was guilty, you would have realised your mistake.’

  
There was a nerve-jangling silence
as his words sank in. Slowly, Julia turned to stare at the redhead through the
glass door of the hotel, her eyes stretched wide in horror as she discovered
that he was telling the truth. Now that she could see the woman’s face, her
mistake was glaringly obvious. The red hair had fooled her into thinking it was
Sasha, but it was a different woman altogether.

  
Her face bloodless, she met that
icy stare without any defence. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said shakily. ‘I really did
think it was Sasha.’

  
Marshall made no reply, but there
was contempt in his eyes as he looked back at her, his mouth a grim line. Then
he turned on his heel and strode back into the hotel, his body stiff with rage.

  
Clearly relieved that he would not
be required to tackle Marshall, Richard sat down on the bench and blew out his
cheeks. ‘Phew, that was quite a showdown. I can see now why you two didn’t last
long together, if those fireworks were anything to go by. But are you perfectly
sure you want to go back in? We can leave if you don’t feel up to it.’

  
‘I’m not going to let Marshall
frighten me into running away,’ she said, shaking her head with rather more
confidence than she felt inside. ‘I’ve got as much right to be here as he has.’

  
By the time they got back inside,
the awards ceremony had already begun, an excited hush in the room. Since
Julia’s category was one of the first on the schedule, they threaded their way
carefully to the front through the assembled writers and publishers, murmuring
apologies as people turned to look at them with surprise.

  
She could see Marshall standing to
one side near the front, a glass of champagne in his hand as he listened to the
chairman’s introductory speech. The tightness in his lean face told her he was
still angry. Julia cringed inwardly, knowing she had made a fool of herself by
confusing a complete stranger with Sasha. What on earth must he think of her
now? She had not only betrayed her insecurity where Marshall was concerned but
also given him one more reason to despise her.

  
Only moments later, as the name of
the winner in her category of best illustrator was read out, she was both
shocked and delighted to realise it was hers.

  
Richard kissed her on the cheek,
pushing her forward as she stood there, rooted to the spot. ‘Go on, get up
there and collect your award,’ he said loudly above the applause. ‘Don’t be
shy.’

  
On the podium, she managed to
murmur her thanks and mention Richard as she had planned. But it was difficult
to remain composed, knowing that Marshall was only a few feet away in the
crowd, listening to every word she said. Finishing in a hurry, she stepped down
from the podium too quickly and nearly stumbled.

  
A hand reached out to steady her
and she looked up into familiar dark eyes.

  
‘Are you okay?’ Marshall asked
curtly and she pulled away, not answering, heading blindly towards Richard with
the heavy gold award clutched in her arms.

  
She drank several more glasses of
champagne as the presentation continued, smiling brightly at Richard. People
she had never met before kept coming up to congratulate her and she could see
the curiosity on their faces. Everyone here seemed to know about her
precipitous marriage to the famous Owen Marshall and were also no doubt aware
it had already ended in a bitter separation.

  
When Marshall’s category came up,
it was no surprise when he won for the third year running.
The Girl from the Moor
had been an instant bestseller and was soon
to be made into a film, an American company having bought the film rights
before it was even on the shelves. Julia tried not to stare as he gave his
acceptance speech but it was hard not to be drawn to that powerful face, lean
and scarred as it was.

  
As the crowd began to disperse,
Richard took away her half-empty glass of champagne. His look was dry. ‘You’ve
had far too much to drink, Cinderella. Let me drive you home, you look like you
could do with some strong coffee and maybe a couple of aspirins.’

  
She smiled up at him mistily. ‘I
feel more like Sleeping Beauty at the moment. Are you going to carry me to the
car?’

  
He laughed, his eyes sliding over
the heightened colour in her cheeks and her moist parted lips. ‘I’m not sure
about that. Just keep hold of my arm, you’ll be fine.’

  
‘I need to go the ladies first,’
she said loudly and saw heads turn in her direction. Putting a contrite finger
to her lips, she gave him another champagne-induced smile. ‘I won’t be long.
Wait for me?’

  
He nodded reluctantly and she
weaved her way along the narrow corridor to the ladies’ cloakroom, suddenly
aware of how unsteady she was on her feet. After a quick visit to the toilet,
she decided to tidy her appearance in the mirror, renewing her lipstick and
trying to disguise the flush in her cheeks with a little face powder.

  
Emerging nearly ten minutes later,
Julia was horrified to see that Richard appeared to have vanished during her
absence. In his place, Marshall was waiting for her, leaning against a pillar
in the brightly lit lobby of the hotel. He straightened as she approached, the
hard eyes moving over her body in the clinging black dress.

  
‘Where’s Richard?’ she demanded,
her gaze darting around the deserted lobby. ‘What have you done with him?’

  
‘Your boyfriend decided to leave
without you, I’m afraid,’ Marshall said, a determined note in his voice as he
gripped her arm and pushed her through the revolving doors into the street. The
cold night air hit her like an express train and she stumbled against him, her
cheeks flushed. He looked down at her in mock surprise, raising his eyebrows.
‘My car’s just across the street. Can you make it or do I have to put you over
my shoulder and carry you?’

  
‘I’m not going anywhere with you,’
she muttered angrily, glad that the press had left the hotel and there was no
one about to witness her inebriated state. ‘I’d rather walk!’

  
The look in his eyes made her fall
silent, feeling rather childish. He unlocked the car and helped her inside, her
skin prickling with sexual awareness as his hand brushed accidentally against
her breast. Their eyes met and she felt a shudder of desire run through her. He
had caught her now and she did not know how she was going to resist him. Her
hands began to tremble and she buried them in her lap, looking away as he
straightened and shut the car door.

  
Marshall slid behind the steering
wheel and sat there in silence for a few moments, his fingers tapping the
dashboard as he stared ahead. Then he turned slightly, resting his arm along
the back of her seat, and looked down at her. In the harsh streetlight, the
scar on his face seemed more prominent than ever. From under lowered lashes,
his gaze slid down over her body, not missing a single detail of her black
dress with its daring neckline and mid-thigh hem.

  
‘You look very sexy tonight,’
Marshall said, raising his eyes to her face. The expression in them was careful,
guarded. ‘You never used to dress like that for me. Are you in love with
Richard?’