Thorne's Wife Page 7

  * * *

  Val awoke early Saturday morning with a hangover from the crying jag in the form of a blasting headache. Feeling as though she’d been on a three-day binge, she dragged her tired body from the bed. She had slept a total of three hours. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her mind was dull and her spirits were not merely low but down for the count.

  Other than leave her body clean and wet, a stinging shower had little effect upon her condition. After pulling on her regular Saturday attire of jeans, a T-shirt and flat shoes, Val took a few listless swipes at her disheveled hair with a brush before heading downstairs.

  The house was quiet. Valerie had become accustomed to the silence. The house was always quiet. Jonas seldom stayed home from the office on Saturday. As a rule, Val woke when he left the bed, then got up to make him breakfast. This morning, she hadn’t even heard him moving around.

  Val sniffed as she made her way to the kitchen. The aroma was tantalizing. Obviously Jonas had made breakfast for himself before leaving for the office. The scent of coffee drew her like a magnet. Val took a step into the room and came to an abrupt halt, a startled “Oh!” bursting from her parched throat.

  Jonas was seated at the breakfast counter, a steaming cup of coffee cradled in his hands. He glanced around at her as she began to move again.

  “There’s coffee,” he said brusquely, jerking his head to indicate the nearly full pot.

  “Yes, I see.” Val’s voice was strained. She wet her dry lips. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome,” her husband replied.

  Like strangers, Val thought, grasping the handle of the coffeepot with trembling fingers. They were acting like strangers, making polite, stilted conversation.

  “What would you like for breakfast?” Val tried to infuse some warmth into her voice, and winced when the sound came out flat and dull.

  “It doesn’t matter.” Jonas’s tone betrayed a lack of interest.

  “I don’t know how to cook that.” She winced again; her attempt at wry humor was falling as flat as she felt.

  “I think you use a frying pan.” Instead of teasing, Jonas’s voice sounded chiding.

  “Right.” Val sighed. She was tired, and it was going to be a very long day.

  In silence she cooked him scrambled eggs. Jonas ate them in silence. He read the morning paper. She listened to the kitchen clock tick. When he finally spoke, she started.

  “I’ve ordered a half dozen bottles of champagne to be delivered to Marge for tonight.”

  “That was thoughtful of you.”

  More silence. Heavy. Oppressive. When Val couldn’t stand it another moment, she spoke again. “I picked up the gift for Janet and Charlie yesterday.”

  “I saw it.”

  Silence.

  When Val had had enough, she decided to fill the quiet with some productive noise. Pushing back her chair, she got up and carried her cup to the sink.

  “Where are you going?”

  Val’s head whipped around at the sharp note in Jonas’s voice. “To collect the laundry.” She frowned. “Why?”

  His shrug looked more stiff than casual. “Would you mind refilling my cup?” As if in afterthought, he picked up the cup and held it out to her. She filled the cup for him, then left the room.

  * * *

  It was a very long day, peppered by awkward attempts at innocuous conversation and obvious avoidance of meaningful discussion.

  It was a trying day, at least for Val. Every time she turned around, she nearly ran smack into Jonas, who seemed to be trailing her from room to room as she went about her normal Saturday routine of straightening the house, while the laundry went through the wash and dry cycles.

  Lunch proved to be a reenactment of breakfast—silence, intermittently broken by stilted remarks. Val had never faced the cleaning up with such relief.

  Late in the afternoon, Jonas suggested a nap. Val told him to go right ahead. After staring at her for tautly strung seconds, Jonas turned away from her.

  Watching him with pain-filled eyes, Val fought against the clamoring desire to run after him, burrow into the secure haven of his strong arms and agree to any demands he might make of her, be they for then or the future.

  Her eyes closed in time with the bedroom door. She had won the inner battle. But had she lost the marriage war?

  Val felt beat. Three hours of sleep followed by ten hours of busywork, tension and dodging the issues were not conducive to a party mood. The last thing she felt like doing was getting ready to go out. Nevertheless, get ready she did, and with attention to detail, at that.

  Faced with the unavoidable necessity of socializing with the acid-tongued Lynn, Val donned full battle array. Her tiny-flower-strewed, crinkle silk dress enhanced the color of her eyes, displayed her slender figure to best advantage, and was in perfect taste for the occasion. Her narrow, three-inch heels increased her height, added length to her slim legs and drew the eye to her delicate ankles. Employing the expertise she had acquired in Paris, Val deftly highlighted her eyes, cheekbones and mouth. Her gold filigree necklace and earrings had been custom made to Jonas’s design. The elusive scent surrounding her sold for over two hundred dollars an ounce.

  When she had finished, Jonas’s expression alone was worth every minute of the time she’d invested. By the same token, Val felt certain her own expression of admiration mirrored his. Attired in a business suit, Jonas didn’t merely look terrific. In semiformal midnight blue against a stark white knife-pleated shirt, he was nothing short of devastating.

  “New dress?” Jonas asked, in what sounded like a croak.

  “Yes.” Val raised her arms to swirl the matching stole around her shoulders; his narrowed gaze followed the gentle lift and sway of her silk-draped breasts.

  “I like it.” His voice grew low. “It looks beautiful…on you.”

  Val told herself that she couldn’t care less whether he approved of her choice or not, but knew she was lying. She told herself she didn’t care if he thought she looked beautiful, but knew she did. The proof was in the sudden lack of strength in her entire body.

  Silence filled the car throughout the five-mile drive to the house Valerie had entered as a bride, which Jonas had signed over to Mary Beth and Jean-Paul when their residence he had had built for Val and himself was completed.

  Tension crackled in the air between them. Val’s mind wandered into deep, dark waters.

  He looked good. She looked good. They were good together in a social situation. They were even better together in bed. So what were they doing driving in emotion-fraught silence to a dinner that obviously neither of them wanted to eat? Why weren’t they at home, in bed, feasting on each other?

  “Hungry?”

  Val started. Warmth suffused her cheeks. Had she spoken her longing? Jonas’s voice had been too soft for her to detect any inflection…or insinuation. She would have to look at him to know. Slowly Val turned to gaze at his profile. A sigh of relief whispered through her lips; the stern expression he had worn all day was still in place. Jonas was once more making polite conversation.

  “Ah…a little.” Val’s voice was barely there. “You?”

  Jonas was at least honest. “Not particularly.”

  Silence. Again. And for what seemed like forever….

  Jonas shattered the quiet as he brought the car to a stop in the driveway of their destination. “Marge did tell you that Lynn would be here this evening?” he asked, rather belatedly, Val thought.

  “Yes, she told me.”

  He killed the engine and turned to look at her. “I’d appreciate it if you’d try to ignore Lynn if she runs to type with her sugar-coated barbs,” he said, in a way that had the overtones of an order. Bristling, Val was on the verge of telling him what he could do with his appreciation, when he saved himself by adding, “I don’t want Mary Beth upset at this stage of her pregnancy.” The dark specter of memory shaded his tone. “Do you?”

  Val felt a stab of pain deep in her womb. “No,” sh
e answered in a tight murmur.

  “Good.” Jonas pulled at the car door handle, then paused to shoot a hard look at her. “Do you think you could manage a smile and pretend that you’re happy being married to me?” A cynical smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. “I’d hate it like hell if Lynn suspected we were anything but deliriously happy.” The smile struggled across his mouth. “She’d laugh her brainless head off.” Without waiting for her to respond, Jonas shoved the door open and stepped out of the car.

  By the time Jonas circled the car, Val had opened her own door and was about to get out. Accepting the hand he extended to help her, she stepped out and spoke out at the same time. “Are you planning on joining in on this pretense?”

  Careful of her dress, Jonas shut the door before answering. “Of course.”

  “Very well.” Slipping her arm through his, Val moved with him to the house. An instant before the front door was swung open for them, she glanced up to give him a brilliant smile. “Let’s go bamboozle Lynn.”

  As he entered the house Jonas was laughing, the rich, warm laughter that never failed to dissolve Val’s bones. She clung to his arm in reaction to the melting sensation.

  “Hi, Dad,” Mary Beth called as they strolled into the spacious living room. “What’s the joke?”

  The look Jonas gave Val could have sizzled bacon. “It’s a private…personal joke, honey,” he replied to his daughter, while gazing at his wife.

  “Jonas,” Val murmured, following his lead.

  “Hmm?” Jonas murmured.

  “We’re not alone.” Val had difficulty in keeping her voice husky and her laughter contained. To her amazement, she was enjoying their charade.

  “Ain’t it a bitch?”

  “He always did swear like a seasoned marine,” Lynn said in a scathing tone.

  Thinking the words applied better to Lynn, Val turned her head to offer the still-beautiful, voluptuous woman a sweet smile. “At times,” she said, her lashes sweeping down as she cast a sideways glance at Jonas, “he even makes love like a seasoned marine.”

  Jonas’s burst of laughter was echoed by everyone in the room except Lynn. She narrowed her eyes.

  “Perhaps you should get a scrap of paper and take notes, my pet,” Jean-Paul advised Mary Beth. “It would appear that Valerie could give lessons on the exquisite art of stroking a husband’s fragile ego.”

  Mary Beth looked at her husband, at Val, then she frowned. “Why is it,” she mused aloud, “that everything a Frenchman says sounds so much sexier than even the most seductive whispers of other men?”

  Pretending to consider the question, Val moved to sit in the corner of the long sofa. “I don’t know,” she said, primly folding her hands in her lap.

  Jean-Paul was chuckling as only a Frenchman can.

  Lynn was scowling.

  Marge was grinning.

  Sauntering to the sofa, Jonas sat down next to Val and cocked a brow at his daughter. “Forget the scrap of paper, kid,” he drawled. “You require no lessons on the art of stroking your husband’s ego.”

  “Or anything else, come to think of it,” Jean-Paul said, sharing a secret smile with his wife.

  “Disgusting!” Lynn said, grimacing.

  “Disgusting, madame?” Jean-Paul raised his eyebrows, his expression betraying the disdain he normally kept scrupulously concealed.

  “Mother, really.” Mary Beth sighed.

  “They’re only teasing, Lynn,” Marge chided.

  Biting back a retort, Val remained silent.

  His expression cool, Jonas turned his head to look at his former wife. “There is never anything disgusting about love, or the expression of it,” he rebuked her in a voice threaded with steel.

  There was a moment of tension while Lynn tried to outstare Jonas. The moment ended when she glanced away. In an odd way, Val sympathized with the other woman. Val had experienced the freezing effect of a quelling stare from Jonas’s icy eyes.

  “May I offer you a drink, Valerie, Jonas?” Jean-Paul’s smoothly inserted question banished the chill. “A glass of your generous gift, perhaps?”

  Jonas shifted to glance at Marge. “When were you planning to serve dinner?”

  Marge smiled, revealing the affection and respect she held for him. “Ten minutes after you arrived,” she replied.

  Jonas grinned, and turned his attention back to his son-in-law. “Since dinner is about to be announced, I’ll wait.” He raised a brow at Val. “Darling?”

  Jonas had called her darling many times over the previous three years, but the sound of the endearment still had the power to interfere with her normal heartbeat. “No, thank you.” She smiled at Jean-Paul as she stood up. “I’m going to help Marge serve dinner.”

  “How sweet.” Lynn’s sour expression betrayed her feelings only too well. “You play your role very well, don’t you, dear?”

  Valerie froze, and checked an urge to look at Jonas. Had Lynn somehow seen through their pretense? Holding on to her outward composure, Val met the other woman’s envy-ridden eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

  “Your role of devoted housewife,” Lynn said disparagingly. “The little woman who keeps her husband’s house, and cooks his meals, and washes his dirty laundry.”

  Relief shivered through Val. “I’m not playing a role, Lynn, I’m living a life,” she said with pride. “And I consider being Jonas’s wife a lifetime commitment.” Val refrained from adding that it was too bad that Lynn hadn’t felt the same while she was married to Jonas.

  Minutes later, while she was carrying the meat platter to the table, Val caught Jonas staring at her with eyes that revealed both longing and reproach. Her boast to Lynn resounded in her mind, and her feelings of relief and pride changed to remorse and shame. Averting her eyes, she placed the platter on the table and returned to the kitchen.

  While chatting with Marge and generally making herself useful, Val suffered the relentless stabs of her conscience. She had spent months pursuing self-understanding and rebelling against being considered nothing more than a wife and homemaker. Yet she had defended that very position to Lynn only moments ago.

  Telling herself that she was only keeping her promise to Jonas didn’t ease her sense of guilt. Val knew that the sincerity in her tone when she’d made the statement was genuine; she had believed every word she’d uttered.

  For most of the meal Val was distracted. Although she heard every word spoken around the table, and responded when someone spoke directly to her, inside her head Val was struggling with her thoughts.

  Was it possible to believe that accepting the position of wife and making that lifetime commitment could coexist with a woman’s right to grow and expand to her full potential? Didn’t the latter cancel out the former, or vice versa?

  But she wanted it both ways! The realization jolted through Val, shedding light on her confusion. Raising her flute, she sipped her champagne and slanted a surreptitious glance at her husband’s face. As always, merely looking at his rugged, harshly chiseled face caused a flutter of excitement in her midsection.

  Jonas Thorne was one exciting man, Val mused. He was formidable but exciting. And she loved him so much that it scared her at times. But it wasn’t only a matter of loving Jonas, she concluded. She loved being his wife, with all the responsibilities that entailed.

  Val dredged up the memory of Lynn’s cynical taunt for a closer examination.

  Devoted housewife. The little woman who keeps her husband’s house, and cooks his meals, and washes his dirty laundry.

  Yes, Val acknowledged, the description fitted her to a capital T and in truth, she enjoyed keeping his house, cooking his meals, and even washing his dirty laundry. Val knew that while she told herself she didn’t want a housekeeper because she needed to feel that she was contributing something to the marriage, she was deluding herself. She kept house simply because she enjoyed keeping house for Jonas.

  On the other hand, Val admitted to herself that she also enjoyed the outside activitie
s she’d become involved with in her determination to discover the limits of her own capabilities as a mature individual.

  So she wanted both… Her position as a wife and as an equal individual.

  Val sighed into her glass, then took another sip of the wine. Were the two facets irrevocably opposed? she wondered. Or was there a middle ground, where the best of both could not only meet but merge?

  Yes, with the right man, Val decided. But was Jonas that man? Not the Jonas she knew. But could Jonas become that man? A tiny smile brushed Val’s lips. Maybe, if she gently nudged him in the right direction. He’d resist, she knew that, but…

  “Aren’t you feeling well, Valerie?” The concerned sound of Marge’s voice drew Val from her reverie. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

  “I’m fine,” Val said. “I’m just not very hungry.”

  “Val’s watching her weight, Marge,” Jonas drawled, in an indulgent tone that surprised Val, until she recalled their pact for the evening.

  “A bit too stringently, I’d say,” Lynn interjected. “I can remember when Jonas preferred a more curvaceous woman.” Her voice was silky, and the look she gave Jonas was blatantly suggestive. “Didn’t you, darling?”

  Val steeled herself for the twinge of jealousy she always experienced whenever Lynn made a remark designed to remind her of Jonas’s previous attraction. The twinge didn’t…twinge. Surprised, she looked at Jonas and murmured, “Really?”

  “Yes, when I was young and green.” His smile was sardonic. “My taste in women has improved with age and experience.” Jonas raised his glass and tilted it at Val in a silent salute. “I’d say my taste has been refined, as well.”

  Flushed with pleasure, Val returned his salute. “Thank you, my love.” She deliberately emphasized the endearment. “I’d say my taste is even more refined than yours.”

  “Love.” Lynn’s tone made the word sound dirty. She sneered at Jonas. “For you it’s love of a pretty, fawning woman.” Her glittering gaze shot to Val. “And for you it’s love of money and position.”

  Val gasped, appalled by the woman’s viciousness.

  “Mother!” Mary Beth exclaimed in shock.