One Night with His Wife by Graham Lynne

Author:Graham, Lynne [Graham, Lynne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781460336021
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER SEVEN

LUC studied Star, absently noting that she was wearing a nightie that resembled some sort of mourning apparel and that she lacked her usual glow.

His brain had shrieked to a sudden halt on her second reference to the age of her children. Twelve months…twelve months old? What were they? Miniature babies? What was she trying to tell him? Premature? Born too early, he rephrased for his own benefit. Was there something wrong with the twins? Were they ill? A momentary image of those helpless little creatures under threat gripping him, Luc paled as if a spooky hand had trailed down his spine.

‘They’re your kids,’ Star framed unevenly. ‘I should have put you right the minute I realised you thought otherwise. But I was shocked, and annoyed that you could think that they were some other man’s. Since you didn’t seem that bothered by the idea, I didn’t contradict you.’

‘My kids…’ Luc echoed in the unreacting manner of a male who had not yet computed what he was being told. ‘What’s the matter with them? Are they sick?’

Now it was Star’s turn to look confused. ‘No, of course not. They’re fine now, and catching up great. Luc…do you understand what I’ve just told you?’

‘You said they were my children,’ Luc repeated back to her, still without any change of expression, although his winged ebony brows were beginning to pleat.

‘I really don’t know where you got the idea that they weren’t—’

‘Emilie’s accountant said the twins had only got out of hospital in the autumn. He assumed that they were newborns men…certainement.’ His usual level diction rose in volume, a dark frown slowly building.

For Star, who was feeling nauseous with nerves, that silence was unbearable.

‘J’etais vraiment fâché…’ Luc murmured in fluid French.

I was angry as hell, Star translated, watching Luc, bracing herself for a sudden massive explosion, every muscle in her slender length straining taut. Without warning, he moved again, and she jerked, only to look on in utter bewilderment as he headed towards the housekeeper, who was standing about thirty yards away in the hall, positioned by the front door in readiness for his punctual exit.

Luc was engaged in recalling the way Star had used to see him off every morning, no matter how early the hour of his departure, no matter how discouraging his mood. Chitchat at breakfast wasn’t his style. Star had been impervious to the message of his silence. She had torn up his croissant for him in the most infuriatingly invasive and messy manner, poured his coffee, and talked and talked with endless sunny good cheer, deflated not one jot by his monosyllabic replies.

She had been waiting for him when he’d come home as well, surging across the bridge to greet him, always hurling herself at him as if he had been away for at least a month. It had never mattered who was with him either. A party of important diplomats or high-ranking bankers, he mused, all of them had been instantly fascinated by her quicksilver

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