Imprisoned by a Vow
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‘Your room is comfortable?’ Joss sat, stretching his long legs with the assurance of a man supremely comfortable with their glamorous setting. The place screamed wealth from the stunning views down the Thames, to the original artworks and designer furniture that impressed rather than welcomed.
With his back to the window it was hard to read his expression but she’d bet it was satisfied.
‘Very comfortable. Thank you.’ Leila had grown up with wealth, but nothing like this place. And the last few years she’d led a spartan existence, until her stepfather had pulled out all the stops to impress Joss Carmody.
Even the feel of silk against her skin was an unfamiliar sensual delight. As for wearing heels…she’d chosen stilettos today, hoping to get used to the feel of walking on stilts. She intended to take every opportunity to break with the past.
Silence descended. Did her husband have as little idea of what to say to his stranger-spouse as she did?
‘Have you lived here long?’
Broad shoulders shrugged. ‘I bought the penthouse a couple of years ago but I haven’t been here much. I tend to move wherever business takes me.’
She nodded. Mrs Draycott had intimated it was a pleasure having people to look after. Leila understood it was rare for Joss to be on the premises.
That suited her. She’d rather be alone to take her time sorting out her new life.
‘How long will you be here?’
His long fingers drummed on the armrest. ‘We’ll be here at least a month.’
No mistaking the subtle emphasis on the pronoun. Leila’s heart skipped a beat. ‘We?’
‘Of course. We are just married, after all.’
Leila pushed aside panic at the thought of sharing even such spacious premises with Joss Carmody. Despite their agreement to pursue separate lives, her hackles rose defensively at the idea of being close to him for even a short time. He was powerful, self-satisfied and used to getting his own way. Characteristics that reminded her too forcefully of Gamil.
Yet she understood Joss wouldn’t want to broadcast the fact their marriage was a paper one only. No doubt their separation would be arranged discreetly later.
She’d use the time to investigate her study options and find the perfect home. She longed for a house with a garden, but maybe a flat would be more practical till she found her feet.
But a whole month here? Surely that wouldn’t be necessary. Once she had her money—
‘Leila?’ She looked up to find him staring. ‘What is it? You don’t like the penthouse?’
‘On the contrary, it’s very pleasant.’
‘Pleasant?’ One dark eyebrow shot up. ‘I’ve heard it called many things but not that.’
‘I’m sorry if I offended you,’ Leila said slowly. ‘The apartment is spectacular.’ If you enjoyed cold modern minimalism that broadcast too ostentatiously that it cost the earth.
‘Here you are, sir, madam.’ Mrs Draycott entered with a vast tray. ‘There are sandwiches and—’ she shot a smiling glance at Leila ‘—Middle Eastern nut rolls in syrup and cakes flavoured with rosewater. I thought you might appreciate a little reminder of home, madam.’
‘Thank you. That’s very kind.’ Even though memories of home were now fatally tainted.
Leila accepted a plate heaped with delicacies and smiled at the housekeeper as she left the room.
‘These are good,’ Joss said after polishing off one of the pastries and reaching for a second.
‘You have a sweet tooth?’ Leila put her plate down on a side table and reached for her tea. ‘Did your mother make you sweet treats as a child?’ Though they’d always had a cook, Leila remembered her mother’s occasional baking as the best in the world.
‘No.’ The word seemed shorter than ever in that brusque tone. ‘My mother didn’t sully her hands with anything as mundane as cooking.’
‘I see.’ His tone didn’t encourage further comment.
‘I doubt it.’ Joss’s voice was cool but the fierce angle of his pinched eyebrows told of harnessed emotions.
‘My mother abhorred anything that might interfere with her girlish figure or delicate hands.’ His gazed raked her and Leila’s skin prickled as if he’d touched her. ‘Plus she believed the world revolved around her. She had no inclination for anything domestic if it involved dirtying her hands. That’s what other people were for.’
Leila frowned at his scathing assessment. Or perhaps it was the burn of ice-cold fury in his eyes.
She looked away, uncomfortable with the sudden seismic emotion surging beneath his composure.
They were strangers and she’d prefer they stayed that way. The trembling hint of sympathy she felt at what sounded like an uncomfortable home life wasn’t something she wanted to pursue.
Instinctively she knew he wouldn’t thank her for it.
Leila cast around for a response. ‘Your mother must be very impressed at all this.’ Her gesture took in the architect-designed penthouse in a building that was the last word in London exclusivity.
And maybe that explained the soulless feel of the place. Apparently Joss didn’t have the time or inclination for anything as domestic as furnishing his home. This looked as if it had been decorated by a very chic, very talented designer who wanted to make a bold statement rather than a home.
‘My mother isn’t alive.’ Joss’s gaze grew hooded as he let the silence between them grow. ‘I don’t have a family.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘The absence of relatives at the wedding didn’t alert you?’ His tone was abrupt and Leila cursed herself for not noticing. Given the number of Gamil’s invitees, the imbalance should have been glaringly obvious. Except she’d been on tenterhooks wondering if she’d finally managed to escape his clutches. Most of the day had been a blur of fear and elation.