A Tangled Web Read online

  What the hell was I thinking?

  Chapter Six

  A knock on the door brought the woman who was now Tess Blackwell back to this place, to this moment, to the decision the consequences of which she had no choice but to face. She stood up and crossed the room to the door, which opened when she called out for whoever it was to come in.

  Graham did not enter the room. Instead, he only placed the small suitcase Tess had brought with her immediately inside the door, and then motioned in a full-figured woman in her forties, a half a foot shorter than Tess, with a friendly expression and warm, matronly eyes.

  “Mrs. Blackwell,” Graham said as the woman entered the room, “this is Lina. She and only she will be in charge of this room, if that’s all right with you.”

  “Thank you,” Tess said to the woman and received a wide smile in return.

  “Anything you need, you just tell me, ma’am,” Lina said, her voice as cheery as her expression.

  “Or me, where that is more convenient for you, ma'am,” Graham said. “If I may, ma’am, you have an appointment with the personal stylists tomorrow, at ten in the morning.”

  “Stylists?”

  “Yes, ma’am. Jackson will take you there. Also, Mr. Blackwell would like to have dinner with you this evening, if that’s all right with you.”

  As per the contract, Tess thought, and nodded her consent. Might as well jump straight in.

  “Until then, would you like something to eat, a light meal perhaps? I can prepare anything you like,” Graham added.

  “Thank you, but I’m not hungry,” Tess said. Food was the furthest thing from her mind.

  “Very well, then. I will leave you to get settled in, ma’am,” Graham said and left her with Lina, who stood rooted in place. Waiting, Tess realized, for her instructions.

  “I would appreciate your help here, Lina,” she said to her. “You know the workings of this house, and I don’t.”

  As she’d hoped it would, her frankness had the same effect on the other woman. “Don’t you worry about a thing, ma’am,” Lina said cheerily. “Anything you want to know, just ask me. May I?” She indicated the suitcase.

  Tess nodded, feeling somewhat embarrassed. She wasn’t used to this.

  Lina opened the suitcase and walked around the room, efficiently placing each item where it belonged while chatting happily. Tess finally allowed herself to look at this place she would be sleeping in, her corner in the house she now shared with the stranger who was her husband.

  It was spacious, the biggest bedroom she had ever seen. It was also tastefully furnished, the luxury understated, allowing cozy comfort to dominate. The colors were all white—walls, carpet, curtains and furniture alike, and even the television screen that hung in a recess in the wall. All except for the decorative pillows on the plush bed that stood with its headboard against the wall opposite the door and on the wingback tufted armchair that stood to one side with a low ottoman before it, beside a low round table, and except for the heavy curtains intermixed with the delicate white ones, to the right of the bed. These were all in soft magenta hues, bringing life to the room. The curtains were open to reveal dual French doors set in matching glass paneling, which led to a balcony overlooking the back of the house. The doors were open, and the room was airy and full of light, the gentle breeze from outside warm and fresh. The entire property, located where only the truly rich lived, those who valued their quiet sanctuary in a hectic life they had little respite from, seemed to be just that, a corner of peace.

  She followed Lina through a door far to the left of the bed and found herself in a white and marble bathroom that looked to her like something from a luxury hotel, and then to another door that led to a walk-in closet, where Lina put in place what little clothes she had brought with her. The closet was huge, and she couldn’t imagine being able to fill it. God, she thought, this bedroom is bigger than my entire apartment was.

  “Don’t worry, ma’am. This will be all filled up in no time.”

  Tess colored, realizing her awe and concern were showing.

  “We’ll make you feel at home here, Graham and I.” Lina smiled.

  “Why would you?” Tess asked. They had no reason to make her feel comfortable there. They knew perfectly well the arrangement she had entered into with the man they worked for, and no clue as to why she would do such a thing.

  “You seem nice,” Lina said simply. “And life has taught me, you see, so much can happen that we don’t plan on. Not everyone judges, ma’am.” And you look sad, she didn’t say. You don’t look greedy and pushy and arrogant like I was afraid you would be. You look lost.

  Alone once again, Tess went out onto the balcony. She approached the railing and breathed in. Before her stretched the endless hills of woods and flower-spotted meadows that surrounded the house, giving it an isolated feel, a peaceful ambience. Below her, through the thick foliage of the trees, she saw stairs going down through thick grass to the lake, which shimmered in the sun, its water calm. She thought she saw a waterfall in the distance, but wasn’t sure.

  She didn’t know what she had expected, but this place wasn’t it. Here, even if only for a moment, she could forget it all, forget the deal she had made that had taken her from the only life she had known for so long to this house, to the man who was somewhere in it, waiting for her to be what he needed, and to a life she had no idea how to begin living.

  This was a completely different world she was now in.

  Ian went straight to his den. He would have liked to go to Blackwell Tower, even though it was Sunday, since he had been away for two days. But under the circumstances it made sense to remain in his home, make sure that his wife—he had to get used to thinking about her in this way—was comfortably settled in. Not only that, Robert and Ian Blackwell Holdings’ public relations department would have already begun to circulate the rumor that he had gotten married, and they would have enough to deal with, with his surprise marriage to a woman no one had known he had in his life, or the fact that he had chosen not to take his new wife on a honeymoon, without him also showing up at his office on his first weekend home as a married man.

  Work distracted him, to an extent. The rest was taken care of by his determination. He had done this for a reason, he reminded himself, and would stick to the plan, his plan. Although, perhaps he should have chosen his wife himself, considering Robert’s choice, which was interesting, to say the least. Tess Andrews—Blackwell, he reminded himself—was far more of an unknown than he had bargained for. And he could not simply throw her into his world and let her contend with it, as he should have been able to do with a well-versed socialite. There was no doubt his wife would need to be helped, watched, controlled.

  In fact, all considering, it looked as if he would have to control the entire situation more carefully than he had thought he would have to. But he was used to that, to exerting control. He was a powerful man for a reason. He left nothing to chance, and he had long learned to carefully plan all his moves well ahead. No, there was no reason at all to be distracted. He could handle anything that came his way. And that included her.

  He returned to work, but the furrow in his brow remained.

  He came to the dining room at the assigned time, as did she, and they stood facing each other. She was with those damn jeans again, a simple white shirt, her hair up in a ponytail. It wasn’t that he minded, not too much, but it was a constant reminder that the woman he had married was nothing like he had thought she would be, what he needed her to be.

  She was eying him impassively, and he realized his displeasure must have been showing. Forcing himself to behave, as Robert had so eloquently put it to both of them when he had seen them to the car earlier that day, he indicated the table.

  Saying nothing, she approached it, and him. As she walked by him he reached out, without thinking about it, not meaning anything but to guide her to her place, and put his hand on the small of her back, as he had done with so many before her.

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sp; She stiffened and recoiled away from him, and he immediately removed his hand from her back. They stared at each other. She, with the shock of the touch she had not expected. He, with the shock of what he had seen in her eyes even as he had felt her reaction. Surprise. Surprise and . . .

  It couldn’t have been fear, he told himself. She had no reason to fear him, no reason for that or for the startled, quite nearly panicked reaction, yet she had flinched away from him, from his touch. Whatever it was, she had hidden it quickly. But it was too late. He had seen it and he had felt it. And it stung.

  “I gave my word. As the arrangement that binds us dictates, there will be nothing between us.” She didn’t budge, and he felt rage threaten. He would not be perceived this way, not by anyone. Least of all by the woman who was meant to share too much of his life. “Let me make this clear. I have no wish to touch you.” He no longer tried to hide the ice, the disdain in his voice. “But you do realize that, outwardly, there will have to be some proximity between us, no matter how much we both dislike it.”

  No, she hadn’t realized it. Not really. There was the contract, there were its terms, but reality had been too far away to imagine at the time, and she had not, never had the chance, never really had a choice, to think it through. And now this, that fleeting touch, brought reality home too sharply.

  “I assure you such proximity will not go beyond standing close to you or touching you as I have just now,” he was saying. “It is the least that would be expected of us as a married couple, even under the guise of privacy we are claiming.”

  She was barely listening, too busy trying to regain control of herself. It was nothing. This man could have any woman he wanted, he didn’t need her. And in any case, it was, she remembered Robert explaining to her, in his interest to keep this arrangement viable for the long term, and he needed her to put up a facade that would not be marred by something that would not be appropriate between them.

  Logic and the words the man she now had no choice but to call her husband was saying were hard at work, trying their best to calm her. But they were working against the fact that she was standing here, alone, with this man who was nothing like she had somehow, stupidly, thought—if she had thought at all, that hadn’t been her focus at the time. Who was young, not that much older than her, who was in his prime and so much stronger than her. They were working against his touch, still fresh on her back.

  And they were working against who she was.

  No. She knew how to deal with this. She had certainly had more than enough practice. And this man, he wasn’t a threat. Not an immediate one, anyway. And if anything, she realized, finally managing to move beyond her own reaction, if anything, he seemed offended.

  Dinner was even more strained than it would have been without yet another clash between them. Neither was particularly hungry, and neither wanted to be in that dining room. Both were there only because that was what the arrangement they had agreed to had dictated. And they were there, yes, but well away from each other, on the opposite ends of the dinner table, and with new uncertainty in each of them as to the other.

  Ian, for one, had no idea what to think. He had never had such a reaction from a woman, hadn’t expected it. He had never touched a woman against her will, he wasn’t that kind of a man. Nor had he had any reason to expect such a reaction from the woman he had married, to whom the terms of the arrangement had been made clear, with emphasis on that specific aspect of it. In the time since their arrival at the house he’d had the chance to go over the report on her and there was nothing there to explain what had just happened.

  Even as the thought passed through his mind, it slowed, came to a stop, and he contemplated it from all sides. That was just it. There was nothing in the report that could explain anything about her. Her life, her simple, very solitary life, presented nothing but questions.

  He raised his eyes and looked at the woman he couldn't begin to figure out. Control the situation, he told himself. “Following your appointment tomorrow morning, I imagine you will have more suitable clothes to wear.”

  “There is no need for personal stylists. I’m perfectly capable of shopping for my own clothes,” she answered.

  “Perhaps. But while you might have a sense of fashion, which remains to be seen, you have not been a part of the world I live in. I have, and I need . . . my wife,” he stressed the words, “to be suitably presentable.”

  He had a point. But she still had to fight her own indignation at the implication that she had no idea how to dress. “I assume, then, that you will be joining this little excursion to pick my clothes for me?”

  He didn’t miss the edge of fire in her voice. Control, he reminded himself. “No. Get acquainted with your new stylists. They will show you what you need to know, and then you can choose your clothes yourself.” He paused, saw the temper, and couldn’t resist. “If, later, I believe anything needs to be changed or added, or eliminated, for that matter, I will say so.”

  “Of course you will.”

  He didn’t miss that either. Irritation crept into his voice when he spoke again. “In the house, you can dress as you wish. Outside it, you are my wife with all that this entails, as was agreed.”

  He was looking at the glass of white wine he was holding, and so he missed the slight narrowing of her eyes. But she said nothing. Once again, he had a point.

  He did infuriate her, though.

  Exerting control and making sure he got what he wanted from her was one thing, alienating her was another, Ian reminded himself. He needed this arrangement to last, at least for the required minimum amount of time, and he needed to get his way while it did. And that meant ensuring her compliance. “I did think, though, that it might be more comfortable for you if you don’t do this alone. Robert's wife, Muriel, will be here in the morning, she will spend the day with you. She’s a good friend, and she will help you in any way she can,” he added before she could object, with what he hoped was a more agreeable tone.

  She remained silent.

  Dinner was as awkward as was to be expected, under the circumstances. The food was excellent, Tess had to admit. It was like dining in a Michelin-starred restaurant. But more than anything she wanted to withdraw to her room, have a moment to herself, try to ground herself with something, anything, before the onslaught of the days, the life, ahead.

  Try to brace herself for the consequences of her decision, which were now her reality.

  When Tess finally returned to her room, she closed the door behind her and locked it without thinking. Realizing the automaticity of the act, she stared at the door.

  And left it locked.

  She looked around her. Lina had been in here. The doors to the balcony were closed against the evening chill and the delicate curtains were drawn. She walked over to them, moved one of the curtains aside and looked through the clear glass at the world outside, now dark but for the gentle throw of lights scattered across the grounds closer to the house. Her gaze moved up to the night sky, to the gently glittering stars in the silent darkness. She stood this way for a long time before she finally moved away, letting the curtains fall back into place, leaving her in here alone.

  Sleep did not come easily that night. Nor did it last.

  On a television screen in his den, Ian watched the shocking news being reported by, well, pretty much everyone. Ian Blackwell had gotten married. Under the guise of a business trip, no less. No one knew who the woman was, no one had even glimpsed her yet. No one had known he’d been dating anyone. Why, only a few days earlier he was seen leaving a restaurant with someone else, yet another in a long line of women, and there was that magazine photo of him with another just the day before. Surely, then, the rumor wasn’t true?

  And yet Ian Blackwell Holdings’ public relations department had issued a brief statement to that effect. Too brief and extremely unrevealing, but it was an official press release. So did he get married? And who was the woman? And why no wedding—this one actually backfired on the gossip
reporters and bloggers. It was no wonder Ian Blackwell had chosen to get married this way, was the consensus, what with the relentless social media campaign that had been hounding him. It was their fault, everyone agreed. There was actually widespread sympathy for him. Love, marriage, there was always a soft spot for them.

  The speculations flowed, as Ian had known they would. Good, Robert had done well. Ian didn’t care what they said. They would continue to talk, to speculate, to dig, no matter what he did. The difference was that now it wasn’t one of their bogus stories out there, for them to spin against him. Now the ball game was his. They would talk about his marriage, but time was now on his side. If he could show a stable relationship, as he intended to, eventually those rumors, too, would be controllable, would be where he wanted them to be.

  An interviewer was speaking to a harried Cecilia Heart. Heart looked crushed. The magazine she had written that last gossip piece for and the television station that had her as a regular contributor were the only ones that didn’t get his public relations department’s press release. She had been the last to hear that her most lucrative Pounce-For Bachelor was now off her list. He had, in fact, ruined her plans, cut from under her the wave of attention and fame she had been riding on.

  At least that, Ian thought with some satisfaction. He logged out of his laptop and turned off its adjoined screens, the exact same setup he had in his office in Blackwell Tower. The main wall screen, which doubled as his television screen, was the last one he turned off, for once. Then he left the den and walked to the stairs that led up to the second floor, ascended them slowly, and turned right to where his bedroom was, glancing toward hers. This time of night the house was quiet, deceptively peaceful. Nothing was indicative of the fact that, just that morning, he had gotten married.

  He walked into the master bedroom and closed the door behind him, then stood where he was and looked around him. At the dark shades of the bedroom of a man, a bachelor. At the bed, in which he would invariably sleep alone from now on. At Ian Blackwell's personal life.