Maids Under The Mistletoe Collection. Christy McKellenЧитать онлайн книгу.
décor the house had the comforting atmosphere of a family home.
She realised with a shock that she’d missed the feeling of belonging somewhere, having lost her own family home and all the happy memories that went along with it when they’d been forced to sell it to pay off some of the debts.
So many memories had been tarnished by finding out the truth about her father.
She shook the sadness off, not wanting to dwell on it right now.
‘Okay, thank you. I’ll stay tonight and leave first thing in the morning,’ she said.
He nodded, standing up. ‘Good. The first bedroom you come to at the top of the stairs is made up for guests. Feel free to make yourself at home there.’
Make yourself at home. That wasn’t something that was ever going to happen here, Emma reflected with another swell of sadness.
It was such a shame too. This house had the potential to be amazing if only someone showed it some love.
Not that she should be thinking things like that right now.
Pushing the rogue thought away, she stood up and brushed self-consciously at her skirt, trying to smooth out the still-sticky wrinkles. She must look such a mess, especially compared to Jack in his pristine designer shirt and trousers.
‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly. ‘Could I use your phone? I’ll need to let my mother know I won’t be home tonight or she’ll worry.’
‘The landline’s in the hall,’ Jack said.
She gave him a stilted nod—how had things become so formal between them? They were acting like strangers with each other now—and made her way out to the hallway to find the phone.
It was telling that he hadn’t lent her his mobile. Perhaps he didn’t want her scrolling through his contacts or messages, nosing into his life. Was he trying to hide something from her? Or someone?
She didn’t want to consider that eventuality right now; it would only increase the painful tightness she was experiencing in her chest and she needed all her composure if she was going to sound normal on the phone and not worry her mother.
It took a few rings before the line at home was picked up. From the sounds of her mother’s voice she’d woken her up, so Emma quickly reeled off a story about Jolyon wanting her to work late and told her she was going to stay with a friend because she’d finish too late to get the last bus home.
At one point during the conversation, she heard Jack come out of the living room and mount the stairs, presumably going up to his room, and a layer of tension peeled away, making it easier to breathe.
From the tone of her mother’s voice she could tell she wasn’t convinced by the lie, but seemed to think Emma was ensconced in some clandestine affair instead. Which ironically wasn’t far from the truth.
What would her mother say once she knew the truth? She’d be hurt, of course, that Emma hadn’t felt she could confide in her, but the last thing she’d wanted to do right after her father’s shocking death was add more stress to the situation by admitting to getting married to Jack without her mother’s knowledge. And then when things had calmed down a little there had been no point in saying anything about it because things had fallen apart with Jack by then and she hadn’t been able to see any way to fix them.
So she’d kept mum. In every sense of the word.
After saying goodbye to her mother, she made her way wearily up the stairs, turning onto the landing to find Jack standing outside the door of the bedroom she was meant to be staying in.
She came to a stop and stared at him in confusion. Why was he waiting for her here?
Unless...
‘Were you listening to my phone call?’ she asked, unable to keep the reproachful tone out of her voice.
‘I was waiting to show you which room was yours,’ he said, but she could tell from a slight falter in his voice that he was lying.
‘You were checking that I wasn’t calling a boyfriend, weren’t you?’ she said, narrowing her eyes.
He raised an eyebrow, refusing to be intimidated by her pointed accusation. ‘I am still your husband, Emma.’
She folded her arms. ‘Well, don’t worry, you don’t need to set the dogs on anyone. I haven’t had a boyfriend since you left.’
There was a heavy pause where he looked at her with a muscle flicking in his clenched jaw. ‘Since you decided not to follow me, you mean,’ he corrected.
She sighed, feeling the weight of his resentment pressing in on her. ‘I really don’t want to argue with you right now, Jack. Can we discuss my failings tomorrow? It’s been a very long day.’ She forced herself to smile at him and went to walk past him, but he put an arm out, barring her way.
‘Have you really not had another partner since we split up?’
Taking a breath, she turned to face him, feeling a small shiver run up her spine at the dark intensity she saw in his gaze. ‘Well, my mother needed me for a long time after my father died and I’ve been working all the hours of the day to fit in both full-time work and night classes since then. So no. There hasn’t been a lot of space for romance in my life.’ She was aware of the bitter bite to her voice now and couldn’t stop herself from adding, ‘From what I’ve read in the press, it hasn’t been the same for you though.’
When she’d first seen the articles about the high-profile relationship he’d had with the daughter of a famous hotelier six months after he’d moved to the States she’d had to rush to the toilet to be sick. She suspected it had been a deliberate move on his part to let her know that he’d moved on and that she hadn’t broken his heart.
Even though she knew she had.
She’d heard the pain in his voice the last time they’d spoken to each other. The desperation, the frustration. But she’d had to harden herself to it.
They were never meant to be. The universe had made that very clear to her when it had killed her father.
Jack’s eyes flashed with anger. ‘Our relationship was over by then, Emma. You’d made that perfectly clear when you decided to stay in England with your mother instead of joining me, your husband, in the States.’
She took a calming breath, knowing that now wasn’t the time to have a conversation about this when they were both stressed and still in shock from seeing each other again. ‘I never meant to hurt you, Jack. Please believe that.’
He leant in towards her, his expression hard. ‘I waited for you, Emma, like a fool, thinking you’d finally put us first once you’d had time to grieve for your father, but you never did.’
His gaze burnt into hers, his eyes dark with frustration.
‘I know you took it all very personally, Jack, and I can’t blame you for that, but I promise you it wasn’t because I didn’t love you. It was just the wrong time for us.’
He didn’t respond to that, just kept looking at her with that unsettling, intense gaze of his.
‘Goodnight, Jack,’ she forced herself to say, moderating her tone so he wouldn’t hear the pain this was causing her in her voice, and without waiting for his response she walked past him and shut the door.
Staggering into the room, her legs suddenly weak and shaky, she flopped down onto the large four-poster bed, its heavy mahogany frame squeaking with the movement, and curled into a ball, taking deep, calming breaths through her nose to stop herself from crying.
She understood why he was still upset with her. In his eyes she’d betrayed him, and Jack was not a man to easily forgive people who had hurt him. And she really couldn’t blame him for so publicly cutting off their association at the knees, instead of letting it limp on painfully when there had been nowhere left for it to go.
Uncurling