The Guilty Secret by Margaret Pemberton Read Free Book Online

dinner was strained, though Jonathan talked happily about our afternoon visit to Caminho and the woman we had seen, dressed entirely in white and with a cockerel on her head. Jonathan had thought she was some sort of fortune-teller, but on enquiring from the locals, was told that she was simply mad. I was barely listening. I was wondering how to bring up the subject of the morning when he would drive away leaving me behind. Dreading to hear any cliched words of what fun it had been, how glad he had been to meet me …
    â€˜Let’s go for a walk on the beach,’ he said as Manuel cleared the last of our plates away. Holding his hand tightly, I followed him out of the room and through reception to the car park. Neither of us spoke as the Lamborgini roared its powerful way down the swooping bends and into the town. Minutes later the busy streets were behind us and we were on a small road that backed the dunes, the air warm, heavy with the tang of sea-spray and the sweetness of pines.
    I still wore my evening dress and sandals and I slipped my sandals off, enjoying the feeling of the sand as it slipped between my toes. It was a pale sickle of silver, the sea a glittering mass, broken by the giant white horses that reared their heads, crashing down onto the beach in swirling eddies of foam.
    Hand in hand we walked along the untrodden sand.
    I said at last:- ‘ It’s Friday tomorrow.’
    â€˜Yes, and you go to your friends at Ofir.’
    â€˜And you go to your friends in Vigo.’
    We stopped, gazing into each other’s eyes and I knew that in mine the agony of the parting was blatantly apparent.
    He led me across the dunes, sitting down in their shelter, resting against them. I curled up beside him, waiting as I had never waited before. I thought he was going to speak, but instead he groaned, a sound that came from deep within him, savagely slamming his fist into the sand and then I was in his arms, and this time there was no holding back in his kisses, the passion I knew was there was finally unleashed as his hands knotted themselves in my hair, making me cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure, and his mouth came down on mine, hard and demanding. Everything that was in me responded. I wanted my body closer to his. Closer and closer. His tongue searched my mouth, his hands moving from my hair to my body, pushing aside the chiffon folds of my bodice, cradling my breasts. Then his hand was on my naked leg, its heat searing through me as it travelled upwards and he said chokingly; ‘Jenny, Jenny, Jenny …’
    Hungrily I pulled the weight of him down on top of me and then, so suddenly that I felt I’d been stabbed, he jumped to his feet, standing over me, struggling for breath … and control. It can only have been a brief second but it seemed like an eternity. Then, his passion in check, he sat down again, drawing me close.
    Of all the crazy unexpected things I expected him to say, what he did say took my breath away.
    â€˜Let’s get married, Jenny Wren.’
    â€˜Oh God,’ I could barely speak for relief and surprise and wonder. ‘Oh God, yes please.’
    Slowly he let out his breath and I said:- ‘But if you want to marry me, why … this. Why did you stop?’
    â€˜Because, Jenny Wren,’ he said, his voice full of love and undisguised amusement. ‘Because I’m a man of twenty-nine who has not only been previously married for several years but has sown more than his share of wild oats, and I can tell a virgin at fifteen paces.’
    â€˜For goodness sake …’ I began to laugh and cry at the same time, ‘has that been your reason for behaving so differently after Valenca?’
    â€˜That and a few other things. I didn’t think I would ever feel that mixture of passion and tenderness for another woman as long as I lived. It took me some time to get used to the idea.’
    â€˜I’m glad you did.’
    He grinned.