Maids Under The Mistletoe Collection. Christy McKellenЧитать онлайн книгу.
under his breath to his father as his mother tripped over to greet her friend with an exaggerated air kiss.
Emma knew exactly why he was so angry. The more fuss they made about being a happily married couple, the harder it would be to let the relationship dissolve without a lot more press attention.
‘Surely you don’t mind having people know how happy you are to be married to each other?’ his father said loudly with a glint of devilry in his eyes.
He had them trapped. There was no way they could refuse to do this without it looking suspect. Clearly Jack knew that too because he gave her an extra hard squeeze as if asking her to play along.
She turned to smile at him. ‘Of course we don’t mind, do we, darling?’ she said, hoping her expression relayed her understanding of the situation to him and her acceptance of it.
A whole conversation passed between them in that look and Jack finally nodded curtly and turned to the new additions to their group and said, ‘What exactly did you have in mind?’
‘We only have time for a couple of photos today if we’re going to squeeze you into the next issue, but I’ll come over to your house in a week or so and do a more in-depth interview for an “At home with the Earl and Countess of Redminster” feature,’ Perdita said in a gush of fawning enthusiasm. ‘For starters I’d like to get some lovely shots of the happy family together.’
Reluctantly, they allowed themselves to be herded into a tight group in front of the looming marble fireplace in the centre of the room and Emma found herself standing between the marquess and marchioness, pressed up tightly to Jack, with her back flat against his broad chest and his arms wrapped around her waist.
‘Love’s young dream!’ Perdita gushed, giving them an insipid smile that made Emma squirm inside.
Heat rushed through her as she felt Jack shift behind her, his arms tightening infinitesimally to press a little harder into her pelvis, only increasing the heavy pounding of her heart. The fresh, exotic scent of his aftershave mixed with his own unique scent enveloped her, making her head swim.
He’d always smelled good. More than good. In fact in her younger days after being with him she used to hold the clothes she’d been wearing up to her nose and breathe in his lingering scent. She’d not been able to get enough of it.
She still had one of his old sweaters at home that he’d loaned to her one day when they’d gone on a cold walk together, just days before they were married, which she’d deliberately not given back so she could sniff it at home like some kind of Jack junkie.
She remembered with a twang of nostalgia how full of hope she’d been that day, how excited about their future together. The intensity of her love for him had taken her breath away, robbed her of all common sense, made her dopey with happiness.
The day she’d married him had been the best day of her life—and the worst.
She could still remember the feeling of absolute horror and helplessness when she’d arrived home after their clandestine marriage—her one and only rebellion in a life of respectful rule-following—ready to tell her parents that she was going to move to America to build a life with Jack there, only to find her mother prostrate on the sofa, her face a sickly white and her eyes wild with grief. She’d rushed to her, panicked by the look on her face, and her mother had told her in a broken voice filled with tears that her father was dead.
She’d spent the next few hours desperately trying to hold herself together for the sake of her mother, who had totally fallen apart by then, as if Emma’s appearance had released her from the responsibilities of dealing with her husband’s death.
In her state of shock she’d ignored the calls on her mobile from Jack, who had been waiting impatiently for her to meet him in the hotel room they’d booked, where they had been going to celebrate their wedding night together.
Eventually she’d called him, finding him in a state of frantic worry, and explained what had happened, feeling as though she was looking down at herself from above. Jack had wanted to come over and be with her, to help in some way, but she’d told him no, that it would only distress her mother more to have him in the house and that she didn’t want to have to explain his presence there. She wasn’t going to tell her they were married, it wasn’t the right time.
That moment was the point at which their relationship had begun to unravel. She recognised it now, in a flash of clarity. She’d pushed him away, rejecting his love and support, and it had hurt him more deeply than she’d realised at the time.
So it was absolute torture, standing there enfolded in his arms once again, but this time having to fake their love for the camera so that strangers could gawp at their lives as if it was entertainment.
If only her father hadn’t died, maybe they would have still been blissfully happy together today.
If only...
But there was no point in wishing she could change the past. It was futile and a waste of energy. Instead she needed to look to the future with positivity and have faith that she’d find happiness again there.
‘Ooh, that’s a lovely one,’ Perdita purred from the other side of the room as her photographer snapped another shot and it appeared on the screen of a laptop Emma had seen him toying with earlier.
‘Let’s just have one of the happy couple on their own now, shall we?’ Perdita said with a cajoling lilt to her voice. Emma thought she and Jack had been doing a convincing job of looking comfortable with each other, but there was a strange gleam in the journalist’s eye that she didn’t like the look of. Did she suspect all wasn’t quite as it seemed? Probably. It was her job to see past people’s façades and get to the heart of a story, after all.
Emma swallowed hard, but managed to keep her smile in place.
The rest of Jack’s family moved away from the stiff tableau they’d formed for the photo and went to perch on the nearby sofas to watch the rest of the show.
‘When will the next issue of the magazine come out, Perdie?’ Jack’s mother asked, her eyes glued to the way Jack’s arms were still wrapped around Emma’s middle as if she was looking for something to criticise.
‘In a couple of days. We’ll just be able to squeak them into the next issue along with some upbeat captions about them renewing their vows.’
Jack’s arms tightened around her and her heart jumped in her chest in response.
‘What makes you think we’re going to renew our vows?’ he snapped.
‘I told Perdita that’s what was going to happen, dear,’ Jack’s mother broke in. ‘It’s such a prudent course of action, what with being so suddenly reconciled after all this time. And it means all your friends and family will be able to celebrate your union with you this time.’ Despite the cajoling note in her voice Emma clearly heard the undertone of steel in her mother-in-law’s words.
Jack didn’t say anything more, but she could practically feel the waves of frustration rolling off him.
‘The full interview will be in the next issue because there just isn’t room for it in this one and we’ll want to do a nice big spread,’ Perdita went on gaily, apparently enjoying the drama that was unfolding in front of her. Emma guessed she could see a whole career’s worth of titillating stories in the offing.
‘I had a fight on my hands finding some room for these pictures, to be honest,’ Perdita went on. ‘We had to bump a spread on Fenella Fenwicke’s third wedding.’
Tripping over to where she and Jack stood shifting uncomfortably on their feet, she put a cool hand onto Emma’s wrist.
Emma had to work hard not to whip her arm away from the clingy covetousness of the woman’s grip.
‘Now then. Shall we have one of the two of you looking adoringly into each other’s eyes? That should play well with our readers.’
Emma’s heart sank.