Читать книгу Mistress At A Price - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 8

I MUST be losing my grip, Cat thought grimly as she made her way back to the hotel, trying not to hurry too obviously in case he was watching from somewhere. Because this is a serious overreaction on my part.

It was ludicrous to feel like this—as if she was helpless, or threatened in some way. Because that was far from the case. She, Cat Adamson, was quite capable of taking care of herself.

And, yes, Liam—or Lee-to-his-intimates—was undeniably loaded with attraction, but he was by no means irresistible. In her scheme of things no man was.

No doubt he’d sampled all the local talent and decided to spread his net a little wider. A born opportunist, she told herself scathingly, who would benefit from the set-down she was planning to administer. Not that he was likely to see it that way, of course. But she doubted it would do any real harm to the male arrogance flourishing under all that dangerous charm.

What was it he’d said? I guess I’ll have to settle for what I can get—for now, at least …

What was that supposed to mean? she wondered. Not that she was ever going to find out, because, whatever she might have said, she wasn’t keeping this date.

Instead, she would simply cancel the room she’d booked for the night and be back in London before he even knew she was gone. And that would draw a final line under an episode which had disturbed her far more than she wanted to admit.

At the terrace steps she hesitated, taking a quick look back over her shoulder. But he was nowhere to be seen, she realised with a quick sigh of relief. Probably his tea-break, or whatever, was over, and he’d decided to return to work. She could only hope he wasn’t operating anywhere near the car park.

She stepped back into the Banqueting Suite, and straight into a wall of noise. The music had begun and people were dancing, their faces flushed and grinning, their buttonholes and corsages wilting in the heat.

Cat found her hand seized by the best man, Freddie’s recently divorced older brother. ‘I’ve been looking for you all over the place.’ He smiled at her winningly, eagerly. ‘Come and dance.’

She complied, because there was no real reason not to, even though she suspected she was going to find herself the target of some pretty determined flirting. His wife had left him for her boss, and Tony was clearly anxious to re-establish his own pulling power as a result.

He was obviously still raw over Cheryl’s defection, so Cat humoured him, at the same time gently deflecting his efforts to discover her London address and phone number. In spite of his bravado, he wasn’t really looking for a casual relationship, she thought. He already had the house, the job and the car, and he needed a wife to complete the set. And, as he was better-looking than Freddie, and an altogether nicer character, she was sure he would succeed. Only not with her.

She found, disturbingly, that Liam’s image kept swimming back into her consciousness. That she was focusing almost greedily on the memory of his smile—his touch. And that the mere thought of them was making her senses tingle and her mouth go dry. Well—that could stop, right here and now, she told herself with grim resolution.

Gritting her teeth, she threw herself into the fray of the party. She loved to dance, and there were men queuing up to partner her. There were lots of people who wanted to chat, too—old friends and neighbours of her aunt and uncle, who remembered her from childhood and were glad to see her again.

But that also had its trying side. ‘Haven’t you brought a young man?’ they kept saying. And, even worse, ‘It’ll be your turn next.’

Over my dead body, Cat thought, smiling until her jaw ached, while she fervently agreed that Belinda and Freddie, who were dancing together stiffly, with fixed smiles, made a lovely couple.

It was a distinct relief when the pair of them disappeared, amid applause, to change into their respective going-away outfits.

And as soon as they’d left for their honeymoon, Cat decided, she would also be on her way. All she had to do now was get out of this dress, which she would happily never see again, put on the casual skirt and top she’d arrived in that morning, repack her overnight case and pay her bill. She would undoubtedly be charged for her cancelled night’s booking, she thought, with a mental shrug, but it would be worth it for a speedy getaway.

But as she began to edge round the room she was pounced on by her father, looking furious.

‘Would you kindly have a word with your mother?’ He started in without preamble. ‘Request her to show a modicum of civility to my future wife?’

‘No,’ Cat told him with sudden terseness, glaring back at him. ‘I will not. I’m tired of being the messenger in this stupid war you’re waging on each other. From now on the pair of you can do your own dirty work.’

Good God, she thought. I can hardly believe I said that. I usually sigh, and agree to do my best.

Her father sent her a look that combined shock with sorrow. ‘I’m disappointed in you, Cathy,’ he told her heavily. ‘But then, you’ve always taken your mother’s side against me.’

‘Not,’ Cat returned drily, ‘according to my mother. Actually, I’ve done my damnedest to remain impartial, but that clearly hasn’t worked, so I’m going to become uninvolved instead. If you have bullets to fire, use your own guns.’

She met his measuring glance calmly. Then David Adamson’s face relaxed into a rueful, charming grin. ‘Point taken. But can I at least offer you a lift back to town when this is over?’ He lowered his voice confidentially. ‘I’d really like you and Sharine to become friends.’

Cat wondered cynically if the other girl would be around that long, but she kept her doubts to herself.

She said merely, ‘Thanks, Dad, but I’ve brought my own car. Another time, perhaps.’

He winced. ‘Call me David, please, my darling.’ He made an expansive gesture. ‘Dad is so—so …’

‘Ageing?’ Cat suggested. ‘I’ll try and remember. Especially in front of Sharine,’ she added drily.

She set off again, skirting chattering groups, calling greetings with a smile, but finding herself, inevitably, detained by others. Having to talk and be civil in spite of the pounding urgency to be gone that was building inside her.

And when she finally reached the door her mother was waiting for her impatiently. ‘What was your father saying to you?’ she demanded. ‘Was he talking about me? And is he really planning to marry that—bimbette?’

‘I suggest you ask him yourself,’ Cat said coolly. ‘As I told him, I’ve decided to abandon my role as go-between once and for all.’

Vanessa’s brows rose incredulously. ‘Heavens, sweetie, you sound almost militant. What’s prompted this? Too much champagne?’

‘I drank half a glass for the toasts,’ Cat returned.

‘Hmm.’ Vanessa pursed her lips. ‘Then perhaps you need more.’

‘Maybe I need my parents to start behaving like adults.’ Cat glanced round her. ‘Where’s Gil?’

‘Oh, he’s met someone else who’s a photographer. They’re discussing cameras somewhere,’ Vanessa said vaguely. She brightened. ‘I’m going to be in London for at least a week. Why don’t we all have dinner together? It’s time you got to know him. We’re staying at the Savoy.’

Cat hesitated. ‘That would be—good. But I’m pretty tied up at work just now.’

‘Well, I’m sure you can make some time for me—if you try.’ Vanessa sent her a glittering smile. ‘And I might have some work for you myself. A friend of mine wants to revamp her entire Knightsbridge house, and I told her how brilliant you were. She’s dying to hear from you.’

‘Mother,’ Cat said patiently, ‘I’ve told you—I don’t do houses. We’re commercial designers. Find a friend with an office block and I’ll be happy to help.’

Vanessa pouted. ‘It’s not very glamorous. And I have so many contacts—I know I could get you all kinds of commissions. You could earn a fortune.’

‘I’m doing fine, thanks. And you and Dad cornered the glamour market a long time ago.’ Cat gave her mother’s scented cheek a quick kiss. ‘You look terrific, by the way.’ She forced a smile. ‘Gil must be doing something right.’

‘Oh, he’s an angel,’ Vanessa said, almost absently. ‘But what about you, sweetie? Clearly you’re here on your own. Isn’t there someone you could have brought?’

Cat shrugged. ‘I didn’t look. Besides, I prefer to keep my weekends free.’

‘It does seem such a waste. And half my friends are grandmothers.’ There was an oddly wistful note in her mother’s voice.

Cat’s brows lifted. ‘In one of your recent interviews,’ she pointed out mildly, ‘you implied that I was still at school, and certainly below the age of consent. You can’t have it both ways.’

‘No.’ Vanessa paused, her smile almost wry. ‘I’m beginning to realise that.’

There was a sudden stir in the hotel foyer, and the guests began to surge towards the door of the Banqueting Suite. Cat found herself carried along with them.

Belinda was coming down the stairs, pretty in a pale blue dress and jacket, followed by a plainly sheepish Freddie. She paused theatrically, holding up her bouquet amid laughter and cheering, then tossed it high into the air. Cat realised it was coming straight for her and took a hasty side-step, clasping both hands behind her back for good measure.

Out of the corner of her eye she saw a hand reach up and grab it by the streamers of its white silk bow. There was a moment of stunned silence, then the cheers began again with a sudden roar.

Looking round, Cat saw with real shock that it was Vanessa who was standing, smiling as she held the flowers clasped in front of her. Saw her mother turn to Gil, who’d materialised at her side, reaching up to pull him down triumphantly to her kiss.

And saw, too, her father, standing a few yards away, as if he’d been turned to stone. His face was like a mask, but it was the expression in his eyes that stunned her. There was a blaze of anger there, but there was pain too, stark and ocean-deep.

Cat took one horrified step towards him, then paused as Sharine got there first, sliding her arm through his as she pressed her body seductively against him. She murmured something that made him look down at her, his mouth relaxing into a smile.

Perhaps it had just been a trick of the light, Cat thought, turning abruptly away. But the moment was over, whatever it had meant.

She went back into the suite, deserted now but for one solitary figure sitting at a table, her fingers pulling at the spray of roses she was wearing, systematically destroying it petal by petal.

Cat said uncertainly, ‘Aunt Susan—they’re just leaving—Belinda and Freddie. Don’t you want to say goodbye?’

Her aunt shook her head. She said quietly, ‘I seem to have been saying that for a long time now.’ She paused. ‘Some things end—others begin. That’s the way it works—isn’t it?’

Cat knelt beside her impulsively. ‘Would you like me to come back with you tonight? Stay for a day or two?’

Susan Adamson stroked her cheek almost absently. ‘No, my dear, but thank you for offering. I have a lot of thinking to do, and I need to be alone for that.’ She paused, forcing a smile. ‘I may even go away myself for a while. I need a rest after all this—chaos.’ She gestured around her at the littered tables, but Cat knew she wasn’t merely referring to the wedding.

‘I’ll be in touch,’ she promised quietly.

With the departure of the bridal couple a sense of anti-climax had set in, and people were already beginning to drift away. As Cat went towards the stairs she glimpsed her uncle in a shadowy corner of the foyer, talking with soft urgency on his mobile phone.

No prizes for guessing who he was calling, she thought, remembering bitterly her aunt’s quiet, contained expression.

Even now people were stopping her. ‘So good to see you again, Catherine.’

‘Thank you.’ She couldn’t even try any more to match names to faces.

‘What a marvellous day it’s been. Gone without a hitch.’

‘Yes, fantastic.’

‘So lucky with the weather.’

‘Perfect.’

Were they all blind? she wondered incredulously as she finally won free and went upstairs to her room. Hadn’t they realised what was going on in front of them? Or were they too carried away by vintage champagne and their preconceptions of married bliss to care?

And what would they have done if she’d stood up and shouted the truth aloud?

Ignored me, probably, she decided with a wry twist of her mouth.

But everything that had happened simply confirmed and hardened her resolution to stay clear of entanglements—especially the emotional kind.

They’re not worth the suffering, she told herself.

Sighing, she unlocked the door of her room and went in. The deep sunlight of early evening was pouring through the window, bathing the pastel walls and the charming flower-sprigged fabrics in a mellow glow.

Cat found herself sending the wide, canopied bed a regretful glance as she discarded her wedding finery and put it into her case, after extracting clean underwear and a plain white skirt, to be teamed with a short-sleeved knitted top in dark blue silk. She’d been looking forward to spending the night here and waking to the sound of birdsong instead of London traffic.

She examined her sandals minutely before packing them, but apart from a tiny fleck of mud on the inside of the heel, which she removed with her thumbnail, they were as good as new. Apart, of course, from the memories they evoked. She wouldn’t rid herself of them quite so easily.

On the whole, rural peace offered rather too many opportunities for brooding, she decided, particularly over things that she could not change.

For an uncomfortable moment she found herself remembering the way her mother had spoken of grandchildren, and David’s immediate reaction when Vanessa had caught the wedding bouquet and smiled up into her lover’s face.

But they were actors, she reminded herself with sudden harshness. So who could say if the emotions she had glimpsed were genuine?

Apart from that, the Anscote Manor Eden had its own built-in snake, she thought, her mouth twisting. So it would be far more sensible to get back to the city, real life and sanity, and avoid unnecessary temptation. Because this Liam was simply not for her—and for all kinds of reasons.

She bit her lip. She was still ashamed of her unguarded response to his touch. And for all the other emotions he’d made churn inside her.

He knew exactly what he was doing, she thought bitterly, as she reached for the phone to call Reception. And I allowed it. Even though I am not—repeat not—into one-night stands.

‘This is Miss Adamson in Room Ten,’ she said briskly, when her call was answered. ‘I’ve decided not to stay the night after all, and I’d like my bill to be made up, please.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’ll be leaving in about three quarters of an hour.’

She went into the bathroom, cleaned off every speck of make-up, then took a leisurely shower, letting the warm water stream over her.

Washing away, she hoped, the residue of the day. And any lingering resonances there might be.

She towelled herself down, applied some of the lily-scented skin moisturiser she’d found in the array of toiletries provided, then, wrapping herself sarong-like in a fresh towel, she wandered back into the bedroom.

Collecting the hairdryer, she seated herself on the broad cushioned seat under the window while she finger-dried her hair into its usual sleek shape. The view below was of formal gardens, with gravelled paths bordered by teeming summer flowers.

The local Lothario seemed to know a lot about his job, too, she thought with an inward grimace, her eyes straying half-unconsciously to the golden gleam of the lake in the distance. He’d certainly created the perfect romantic backdrop for a little intimate adventuring.

So it would do him good to find himself ditched and left high and dry.

And it would make her feel better too, knowing that her moment of weakness had passed and she was back in control again.

She dressed, added a touch of blusher to her face and a hint of lustre to her mouth, slid her feet into low-heeled navy pumps, then collected her bag and jacket and went downstairs.

The place seemed deserted, she thought, looking around her. Everyone had disappeared, off in their different directions, and Belinda’s wedding was well and truly over at last.

There was no one at the desk either, so she rang the small silver bell. After a minute a girl in a dark suit emerged from the inner office, looking harassed.

She checked when she saw Cat. ‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Are you the lady from Room Ten who wants her bill?’

Cat’s brows lifted. ‘Yes,’ she acknowledged. ‘Is there some problem?’

The girl’s colour deepened. ‘We’re having problems with the computer. It’s a new system, and it’s swallowed some of our data. We’ve got an engineer coming, of course, but we can’t make your bill up just yet.’ She moved her hands awkwardly. ‘I—I’m very sorry.’

Not half as sorry as I am, Cat thought, glancing at her watch with inner dismay. Time was passing rapidly and she needed to be gone.

‘Don’t you have some kind of back-up?’ she asked. ‘Or couldn’t you just calculate what I owe you with a paper and pencil? Anything?’

‘I’m afraid not, but I hope we won’t have to keep you too long. The engineer is on his way.’ The girl hesitated, looking uncomfortable. ‘Would you like to wait in the lounge?’ she suggested. ‘Or the bar, maybe?’

‘No,’ Cat said. ‘I think I’ll go back to my room.’ She paused. ‘And if anyone enquires, will you tell them I’ve checked out and gone, please?’

The receptionist looked wary. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘I suppose we can.’

Well, don’t knock yourself out, Cat thought, torn between annoyance and amusement.

‘And can you send up a tray?’ she requested. ‘Just coffee and some sandwiches. A selection of what’s available would be fine,’ she added, with a shrug.

‘Certainly, Miss Adamson.’ The girl spoke more confidently. ‘I’ll see to that right away.’

This has not been my luckiest day, Cat told herself ruefully, as she let herself back into her room.

She found the paperback novel she’d brought to read in bed, and curled up with it on the window seat, trying to relax. It was going to be a glorious sunset, she thought, promising more fine weather tomorrow. She might go out somewhere—to Kew, perhaps, or on the river.

She returned her attention to the book, but found it difficult to focus. She felt too edgy—too restless to give it the concentration it deserved.

She got up and walked round the room, eyeing the telephone and wondering if Reception would have the wit to tell her once the computer was working again.

She kicked off her shoes and lay across the bed on her stomach, her chin propped on one hand while she flicked the remote control through the TV channels with the other. But there was little to engage the attention there either, so it was almost a relief when a tap on the door announced the belated arrival of her coffee and sandwiches.

She called ‘Come in,’ and as the door opened added, ‘Put the tray on the table by the window, please.’

Liam said, ‘I cancelled the food order. I was afraid you’d spoil your appetite for dinner.’

Cat heard herself yelp. The remote control skittered out of her hand to the floor as she flung herself upright, her eyes blazing.

She said, breathlessly, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’

‘I just told you.’ He sounded mildly surprised. ‘I came to explain about the food.’

‘Damn the food,’ she said tautly. ‘You’re the gardener, for God’s sake. So who gives you the licence to roam into guest bedrooms with any kind of message?’

He propped himself against the dressing table. ‘I don’t confine myself to the great outdoors.’ He had the gall to sound faintly amused. ‘My talents are many and varied.’

Even though she was furiously angry, it occurred to her, as she stared haughtily back at him, that if he hadn’t spoken she might not have recognised him. The scruffy jeans and shirt, she saw with growing amazement, had gone, and been replaced by a pair of elegantly cut charcoal pants. His crisp white shirt, open at the neck and with the cuffs turned back over his forearms, accentuated his tan.

The dark hair was neatly combed, and he’d clearly shaved. She could breathe the tang of some expensive citrus cologne in the air.

He’d gone from extremely attractive to seriously glamorous in one stride, she thought, swallowing.

She, on the other hand, was desperately at a disadvantage, barefoot, flushed and dishevelled, kneeling in the centre of a large bed.

All this, she thought, is really bad news.

He sent her a mocking grin, as if he’d guessed the tenor of her thoughts. ‘Do you still want to wait until eight o clock?’ he queried softly. ‘Or are you hungry now?’

She took a deep breath. ‘Look,’ she began, ‘it was kind of you to offer me a meal, but I really have to get back to London tonight. I’m just waiting for the computer to produce my bill.’

‘Well, it’s not ready yet,’ he said. ‘So you may as well eat—with me.’

‘I think,’ Cat said, keeping her voice steady, ‘that you’re going to have to learn to take no for an answer. Starting now. So, will you please leave my room?’

He settled himself more comfortably against the dressing table, making her disquietingly aware of the lean strength of his body. And that he had the air of a man prepared to wait, as well.

‘Tell me something,’ he invited. ‘What are you so afraid of?’

‘Oh, that’s an old ploy,’ Cat said scornfully. ‘I’d have expected better of you.’

Liam shook his head. ‘It’s a positive request for information. You had a room booked for the night, yet you were so keen to run out on me that you asked the receptionist to lie for you. Why?’

‘I had second thoughts,’ she said curtly. ‘And I considered you might be troublesome about them.’ She lifted her chin. ‘I certainly got that right, didn’t I?’

‘What in hell,’ he said slowly, ‘do you imagine I’m going to do to you?’

‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ Cat said, ignoring the fact that the imagination in question was currently running riot. Her stomach was churning in turmoil and her mouth was dry.

He said, ‘You seem—uneasy, that’s all. A trifle—on edge.’

‘Nonsense,’ she said, too quickly. ‘As I said, I have—stuff waiting for me in London. I decided I should make a start on it—that’s all.’

‘Even if it meant breaking a promise?’ His eyes met hers. Held them.

‘It wasn’t a firm arrangement.’ Cat bit her lip, aware that her breathing had quickened. ‘I—I didn’t think you could be serious—or that you’d believe that I was.’

He nodded thoughtfully. ‘Because I’m merely part of the hired help and you’re a lady from London with appointments to keep and deals to be made?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Because you’re a complete stranger, and it didn’t seem—appropriate.’

‘Yet that’s how things begin,’ he said. ‘With strangers meeting. And, according to statistics, a lot of those strangers actually meet at weddings too.’

‘We didn’t exactly do that—if you remember.’

‘I have total recall,’ he said. ‘Of every detail. You’re The Cat That Walks By Herself, and all places are alike to you. Isn’t that how it goes?’

Her brows lifted. ‘Bravo.’

‘But if that’s really the case,’ he went on, as if she hadn’t spoken, ‘there’s nothing to prevent you being with me for a while. Going my way for a change.’ He smiled at her. ‘After all, what have you got to lose?’

More, she thought, than I even want to contemplate …

She said tautly, ‘Are you always this persistent?’

‘Are you always this elusive?’

‘It doesn’t occur to you that I might—just prefer my own company?’

‘How can you know,’ he said, ‘until you’ve tried mine?’ He gave her a considering look. ‘Of course, if you’re too ashamed to be seen with me in the restaurant, we could always dine up here.’

‘No!’ The denial seemed to burst out of her.

He grinned at her. ‘No to the shame, or no to being alone with me?’

She lifted her chin. ‘Both.’

‘What’s the matter, Cat?’ His voice was soft—goading. ‘Discovered some hot bricks? You’ll feel better when you’ve eaten.’

She was silent, knowing that she’d run out of arguments yet hating to admit it. ‘Very well,’ she conceded reluctantly, at last. ‘If—if I must.’

‘You overwhelm me,’ he murmured. He allowed his gaze to wander over her for a meditative moment. ‘Tell me something—is that bed as comfortable as it looks?’

Cat stiffened defensively, angrily conscious that she’d started to blush. ‘It’s all right. Why?’

‘Because you seem to be glued to it.’ He unhitched himself from the dressing table and came towards her. ‘Need a hand?’

From somewhere she managed a steely glance. ‘No, I do not. Thank you.’ She paused. ‘I—I’ll join you downstairs.’

‘Will you, now?’ He was grinning again, she saw with chagrin. ‘I think it might be safer if I waited for you right outside—just in case you have some alternative getaway planned. And don’t be too long,’ he added softly. ‘Because I seem to be developing quite an appetite.’

And he left her kneeling there, in that absurd ocean of sprigged bedspread, staring after him, her heart thudding unevenly and her arms wrapped round her body like a shield.