Rejection Runs Deep (The Canleigh Series, book 1: A chilling psychological family drama) by Carole Williams (positive books to read .TXT) 📗

gaily.  “My life will be on hold until that moment in time … when I shall be yours,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “and I hope you’ll be mine.”

Having ascertained the party was going to be at his mother’s luxury London flat, Margaret replaced the receiver, lit a cigarette, exhaled the smoke out of her bedroom window, and stared across at the woods in the distance with an enormous smile on her face.  She marvelled at how life could change in a few seconds.  Minutes ago she had been verging on dying of boredom and now she had an assignation tonight with the delightful Simon, with his beautifully thick fair locks resting on his broad shoulders, his gorgeous sexy muscular body and that wonderful voice, its deep, deep tones which sent her spiralling into a state of sexual frenzy.  No other man had affected her this way and she was under no illusions that she was not the only woman who he had bordering on insanity but she was going to make the most of it and was certainly not going to miss out on what she knew would be a wild experience.  She was driven to it.  Charles would be angry, she knew, but for once she didn’t care.  Without a moment’s hesitation, she rang down to Susan Armitage.

“I need to be at the railway station to catch the eleven o’clock train so if Hardy hasn’t returned from Harrogate with the shooting brake, please could you order a taxi?  You can also inform my husband when he arrives home, that I have had to return to London urgently.  A friend has been taken ill and is requesting my presence.”

Highly excited, Margaret appraised herself in the dressing table mirror, pleased with what she saw.  She certainly didn’t look her age.  Her skin was perfect thanks to her caring religiously for it with all the best creams and lotions on the market.  Her make-up accentuated her high cheek bones, black brows, lashes and full lips.  Her long black wavy hair bounced half way down her back and her figure was stunning, enabling her to look good in whatever she wore, even after three children.  She dismissed the fact that she had actually born four.  The first must never be mentioned … nor the parentage of the twins for that matter!  It would be catastrophic if Charles or his bloody mother, the sainted Anne, were to ever find out about any of it.  They gave her a hard enough time at Canleigh as it was, without them knowing her secrets.  Not that there was much they could do about it, she thought.  She had been the Duchess for a number of years, had produced an heir and two girls and they should be very grateful for that and leave her to her own devices.  She had earned it.  Anyway, it wasn’t as if Charles paid her any real attention when she was here.  She might as well be one of those blasted marble busts littered around the house for all the notice he took of her.

Margaret left Canleigh, with a silent Hardy driving the shooting brake, without a backward glance.  A while later, making herself comfortable in a first-class carriage as the train sped towards London, she produced her gold lighter and French cigarettes from her bag.  The lighter was a gift from a previous admirer who had, unfortunately for Margaret, been sent by his firm to the Far East for two years.  She missed him.  He had been fun … and generous.

A waiter appeared at the carriage door.  “Refreshments, Your Grace?” he asked politely.

“A very large G and T … and clean this disgustingly filthy window.  This is supposed to be a first-class carriage.  Please make it look like one.”

With a scarlet tipped fingernail, Margaret pointed to the mark right in the line of her vision which was annoying her profusely.  The waiter obediently removed the tiny greasy smear no bigger than his thumb with a cloth he whipped out of his pocket and then fetched Margaret’s drink.  He had met the haughty Duchess before and did enjoy feasting his eyes surreptitiously on her long, slim legs.

Margaret looked at the front of the page of the newspaper she had purchased from the stand at the railway station.  The Pope was firmly condemning the use of the contraceptive pill.  Margaret smiled.  Even though her Harley Street doctor had been reluctant to prescribe it for her due to her age and the fact that she smoked, he had declared Margaret a very fit woman in all other respects and agreed to let her use it on a trial basis.  The trial had extended somewhat as she had now been taking the tiny white tablets daily for two years, had suffered no side effects and couldn’t imagine life without them anymore.  The very idea of using any other means to prevent unwanted pregnancies now seemed quaint and very old fashioned … and she certainly didn’t want more children.  Her duty was done as far as the precious Canleigh estate was concerned and she should now be free to pursue her own desires and fulfil her needs.

Margaret put down the newspaper.  She didn’t feel like reading.  She was too wound up, too excited about the evening to come.  She lit one of her cigarettes, exhaling defiantly.  Charles hated her smoking and it was a joy to be free of his air of disapproval, the looks of disappointment and the pointed comments.

It had been like that for all the long, dreary years of their marriage and was what pushed Margaret regularly into the arms of other men; men who could appreciate her beauty, her sense of gaiety, and most of all, her sexual prowess.  Charles never had.  His sex drive was virtually non-existent and his fumblings never gave her the satisfaction she craved, especially on sultry summer nights when it was impossible to sleep and