Читать книгу One Reckless Night - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 8

CHAPTER THREE

ALL the way across the green, Zanna could hardly believe that she was doing this.

I make my own plans, she thought. I’m the one in control. So how the hell am I on my way to some village hop, with a rustic grease monkey who has far too much to say for himself?

And who, whether she wished to acknowledge it or not, had far more than his fair share of sexual charisma, a voice in her head warned acerbically.

The kind of man that Suzannah Westcott would have shunned by miles.

But tonight, just for a few hours, she was leaving Zanna Westcott behind her. She was going to be Susie Smith instead, and find out, maybe, how the other half lived. And where was the harm in that? she argued with herself as she looked up at the velvety sky.

With the man walking at her side, that was where, returned the voice in her head, which refused, stubbornly and annoyingly, to go away.

Above the dark roofs the stars seemed close enough to touch, and a sliver of new moon was peeping round the church tower. Ahead of them, the hall was festooned with coloured lights, and music drifted on the faint breeze.

It was, to all intents and purposes, a night for lovers, she thought with unease. And if Jake had tried to take her hand, or put an arm round her waist, she knew she would have turned tail and fled back to the sanctuary of her solitary room at the pub. But he didn’t attempt even the most casual physical contact. For which, she told herself firmly, she was sincerely thankful.

And then they were inside the hall and people were calling greetings, their welcoming smiles mixed with friendly speculation as they looked at Zanna, and imperceptibly she began to relax. After all, she reasoned, there couldn’t be much danger in a room full of other people.

She hardly recognized the hall itself. In the space of a few hours all traces of the exhibition had been removed and the entire room decorated with more lights and swathes of silk flowers. Tables and chairs had been set out round the perimeter of the dance floor, and a three-piece band was playing on the platform.

It was like stepping back through a time-warp into another era—another planet, she thought, staring round her.

‘What were you expecting—the latest disco sounds?’ He didn’t miss a thing.

‘No—oh, no,’ she denied hastily. ‘It’s—quite a transformation, that’s all.’

Jake’s brows rose. ‘Then you did come to see the exhibition?’ He sounded surprised.

‘Of course,’ she countered lightly. ‘What else?’

He shrugged. Suddenly that hooded look was back. ‘I was hoping you’d tell me.’ He paused. ‘Did you actually buy any paintings?’

‘No—the one I wanted wasn’t for sale.’ She hadn’t meant to say that, she thought with vexation, and went on hurriedly, ‘In fact, most of them had been sold. The standard of work is absolutely amazing for such a small village. They must have a very good teacher.’

‘several. I believe.’ His tone was almost dismissive. ‘They also have a drama group, a gardening club and a choir, so you won’t go short on cultural activities.’

‘I won’t?’ She looked up at him, puzzled, and saw his mouth slant in a grin.

‘When you come to live here.’ he explained gently. ‘I thought you were planning to buy a house?’

‘Well, yes.’ She could have kicked herself. ‘But I gathered I was on a hiding to nothing over that.’

Jake shrugged again. ‘I suppose there’s always a chance—if you make the right offer,’ he returned. ‘As I said, the caretaker for Church House will be around later. You could always have a word with him. See how the land lies.’

‘Thank you, I certainly will.’ She made herself speak casually. ‘Is there some kind of local history group in the village, by any chance? I’d like to get to know a little more about the place before making any firm decision, you understand?’

‘Oh, yes,’ he said slowly. ‘I understand perfectly.’ He paused. ‘I’ll gladly introduce you to a few people, but I can’t guarantee they’ll tell you what you want to know.’

‘Just some general background would be fine,’ Zanna declared airily, and untruthfully. And someone who knew a child—a little girl called Susan. Someone to fill in some of the aching blanks in her own childhood.

The tempo of the music changed, became slower, more dreamy.

‘This is our waltz.’ Jake held out a hand, inviting her to join him on the dance floor. Zanna hung back, shaking her head, aware, suddenly, that her pulses had begun to thud erratically.

‘I really don’t dance.’

‘Didn’t you have lessons at your exclusive boarding school?’ he drawled.

‘Well—yes,’ she conceded reluctantly. ‘But that was a long time ago.’

‘Then it’s time your memory was jogged.’ She was drawn firmly and relentlessly into his arms. ‘I lead—you follow.’

Which wasn’t a situation she was used to, as he was probably well aware, she thought, gritting her teeth. For the first few moments she felt totally awkward, her feet everywhere, her body stiff and unyielding in his embrace. But gradually she found herself responding to the rhythm of the music, as well as to her partner’s unspoken signals, as he guided her round the crowded floor.

As the final chords sounded she said stiltedly, ‘Thank you, I enjoyed that.’

‘All you need is more practice.’

‘I don’t think I know any dance teachers.’

‘Not at waltzing, Susie,’ he said quietly. ‘At living.’

There was a brief, startled pause, then she said thickly, ‘You have a hell of a nerve.’

‘Famous for it,’ he agreed, without any visible signs of remorse.

‘Damn you—I have a very good life.’

‘Crammed with all kinds of goodies, I have no doubt,’ Jake said expressionlessly. ‘But that isn’t what I mean.’

Zanna lifted her chin, giving him a look that had originated well north of the Arctic Circle.

She said, coolly and precisely, ‘You may be well-versed in the inner workings of motor vehicles—although that has still to be proved—Mr—er...’

‘Jones,’ he supplied cordially. ‘As in Alias Smith and...’

Zanna bit her lip hard. That was not the name he’d given previously, she thought thunderously, but it seemed wiser, under the circumstances, to ignore it rather than call the matter into question.

‘But I suggest you lay off the human psychology,’ she went on, raising her voice a semitone. ‘At that you’re a total amateur.’

‘As I imagine you are yourself, Susie. At least at the things that matter.’ He gave her an edged grin. ‘Now let’s go and get some drinks.’

‘No, thanks,’ Zanna refused curtly. ‘I think I’d rather go back to the Black Bull.’

He had the audacity to laugh. ‘Don’t sulk.’ And, as her lips parted in furious negation, he added, ‘And don’t fib either. Just think of what Reverend Mother would have said.’

‘How did you know I went to a convent?’ she demanded suspiciously.

His smile widened. ‘Call it a lucky guess.’ He paused. ‘Besides, if you run away now you could miss out on a guided tour of Church House. Isn’t that worth enduring my company for a little while longer?’

He took her hand in his and led her round the edge of the floor to a room at the rear of the hall where the bar had been set up.

Bill Sharman was burly, with a beard and an infectious laugh.

‘Now then, Jake,’ he said jovially, giving Zanna an appraising look. ‘What can I get you both?’

‘A cold beer, please.’ Jake turned a questioning eye on Zanna. ‘The same for you, Susie?’

‘I don’t drink beer.’ Nor did it seem politic to drink any more alcohol when she needed to keep her wits about her. Glancing round, she spotted with relief several large glass bowls, filled with some innocuous-looking ruby liquid and awash with sliced apples, pears and oranges, standing on a side-table. ‘But I’ll try the fruit cup,’ she added, ladling some into a glass.

‘A good choice,’ Bill Sharman said cheerfully. ‘Trudy’s special brew. No dance here would be complete without it.’ He paused. ‘My wife tells me you’re spending the night with us.’

‘Yes, it wasn’t exactly a planned visit, but my car broke down and it’s taking Jake longer to fix it than I’d hoped.’

There was an odd silence, then Bill said, ‘Ah, you’ll be old friends, then?’

To her surprise, she found herself flushing. ‘Not really. I...’

‘Actually, we only met this afternoon when she walked into the garage.’ Jake broke smoothly into her flustered words. ‘And as she was at a loose end tonight I invited her here.’

‘Splendid,’ Bill approved, almost too heartily. ‘Great stuff. Have a wonderful evening.’

‘Thank you.’ She smiled back at him. ‘And the fruit cup is delicious.’

It was, too, the flavours of the fruit mingling coolly and fragrantly with a hint of spice. Cinnamon? she wondered as she sipped again. And nutmeg, perhaps? It was difficult to tell, she decided, downing some more in the interests of scientific research.

Jake took the glass from her hand and placed it with his own on a convenient window-ledge.

‘Come and dance,’ he invited softly.

This time it was a slow foxtrot, and Zanna was astonished to find how quickly she picked up the steps. She was almost sorry when the tempo changed completely to a rollicking Gay Gordons, a progressive version, where she found herself being whirled round by a succession of different partners, leaving her laughing and breathless as the music ended with a triumphant flourish.

She looked instinctively to see where Jake was and saw him standing at the side of the dance floor, talking to a pretty redhead who was openly and unashamedly devouring him with her eyes.

Which was fine by her, thought Zanna, swallowing the remains of her fruit cup and starting back to the bar in search of a refill. Of course it was. Jake belonged to Emplesham, after all. He had a life here which would continue long after she was gone and forgotten.

A strange pang of something like regret assailed her at this thought, and was instantly suppressed.

Because she had a life too. A very different life from those led in this backwater, she told herself robustly. A life where she was needed—where she mattered.

She pinned on a resolute smile for Bill Sharman. ‘Dancing’s thirsty work,’ she said, plying the ladle.

‘Always was,’ he agreed, raising one eyebrow. ‘Take it easy if you’re not used to it.’

‘I’m fine,’ she returned airily. ‘Having the time of my life.’

Which, somehow, did not include watching Jake being eaten alive by pretty girls with red hair. An unwelcome realisation if ever there was one.

Dismissing it, she held out some money for her drink, but Bill shook his head.

‘That’s our contribution to the festivities—Trudy’s and mine. There’s no charge.’

They’d opened one of the side-doors, and she stepped through it and out into the cool darkness, fresh with the scent of newly mown grass. She stood, sipping her drink and looking up at the sky.

The new moon was still there, a pale silver crescent above the trees. The breeze lifted her loosened hair, brushing it against her cheek, the nape of her neck, like a caressing hand.

She moved uneasily, aware that she was shivering—not with cold but with a strange, unfathomable excitement.

You could wish on the moon, she thought hazily, remembering the old childish superstition. And if you turned a piece of silver over in your hand and bowed three times your wish would come true. But she had nothing to wish for.

And she knew, even as the thought took shape in her mind, that she was lying to herself.

She recognized with sudden, shocking clarity exactly what she would wish for—if only she dared...

She thought, I want this night never to end. I want to go on being Susie. I want...

And she stopped there, her mind closing against the unspoken, unutterable plea. All the breath seemed to leave her body in one gigantic, soundless gasp. She could feel the coins clenched in her hand, biting into her flesh.

The temptation to turn them over, to obey the ritual and accept whatever fate decreed would follow, was almost overwhelming.

Almost—but not quite. From some corner of her mind a remnant of sanity intervened to save her, reminding her precisely who she was and what, in fact, he was.

A total stranger, she thought stonily, gulping the sweetness and the pain of the night back into her starved lungs. A stranger, moreover, light years removed from her in background and aspiration. Someone she wouldn’t have given a second glance to in her busy London existence. Someone she’d been unwise to allow anywhere near her. Someone already well aware of the effect he had on women, as his redheaded admirer could probably attest.

She gave the moon one last look. You pathetic fool, she told herself savagely, and she turned to go back into the hall.

Only to yelp in fright as she cannoned into a tall figure standing behind her.

He steadied her without particular gentleness. ‘This is getting to be a habit. What the hell are you doing out here?’

‘Moongazing,’ she said. Her voice sounded odd, as though it didn’t belong to her. ‘I—I needed some fresh air.’

‘Trudy’s punch tends to have that effect,’ he said grimly. ‘Bill told me you’d been back for seconds.’ He took the empty glass from her hand and shook his head. ‘This stuff should carry a government health warning. Not to mention all the other things you drank during dinner.’

Zanna stiffened. ‘I hope you’re not implying...’

‘I’m stating a fact.’ His arm was like a band of steel round her waist as he guided her back into the hall. ‘From now on it’s orange juice for you, Susie, if you want to be fit to drive in the morning.’

She hung back, glaring at him. ‘Maybe I should just go back to the Black Bull and sleep it off.’

He snorted impatiently. ‘You’re really keen to be on your own again, aren’t you?’

No, she thought. Suddenly I’m not any more. and it scares me. I want to feel safe again—self-sufficient and sate—like I did yesterday, and all the days before that.

Aloud, she said stiltedly, ‘Look, I’m sure you had plans for tonight-people you wanted to meet here.’ She could see the redheaded girl watching them avidly from the other side of the room. ‘I must be spoiling things for you. If you’ll just introduce me to this caretaker friend of yours, I can leave you. to enjoy your evening.’

He looked at her for a moment, his brows drawn together in a frown, then he sighed abruptly. ‘Don’t run out on me, Susie. At least, not yet.’

The music had started again, another slow, beguiling waltz, and before she could think of a viable excuse Jake had swung her effortlessly into his arms and back onto the floor.

‘Relax.’ he said laconically into her ear as she stiffened. ‘Stop fighting me—and the world.’

His arms tightened, drawing her close against him. She felt the warmth of him penetrating through the layers of clothing to her own skin and beyond. Felt the frozen, frightened core hidden deep within her begin, unbelievably, to dissolve away, leaving something unknown, new and vulnerable in its place.

She knew that she should not—could not allow this to happen. That suddenly the danger she’d sensed was all around her, pressing on her, and that she had no one but herself to blame.

She knew also, and more disturbingly, that she wanted to press closer still. To bury her flushed face in the curve of his shoulder and breathe the unique male scent of him. To feel the harsh pressure of his lean, muscular body against her breasts, her belly, her thighs. To spread her hands against the powerful breadth of his back and reach up to touch the thick silky hair curling gently at the nape of his neck. To feel his mouth touching hers.

The need was bone-deep and desperate, but she knew she had to fight it if she was going to walk away from him tomorrow unscathed. As she had to do, she reminded herself.

She said, with a little nervous laugh, ‘Actually, you could be right about the alcohol. I—I didn’t realise. Maybe I should go back and sleep it off. As I have to drive tomorrow.’

There was a silence, then he said levelly, ‘Fine. I’ll get your jacket.’

Having him walk her back across the moonlit green wasn’t part of the plan at all.

She hung back. ‘I hardly need an escort. There can’t be many hidden perils in this village.’

‘Who can tell?’ His tone was brusque. ‘Anyway, I’m not prepared to take the risk.’

But the risk was all hers, Zanna thought numbly as he helped her on with her jacket. And the only real danger was right here beside her. Because no amount of punch, however lethal, could account for the way her blood seemed to sing in her veins, for the throbbing awareness of every sense, every nerve-ending in her body, as they started out through the scented darkness together.

She stumbled on a tussock of grass and instantly his arm went round her. ‘Careful.’

‘Oh, hell, my shoe’s come off.’ She scrambled frantically round with a stockinged foot.

‘And it’s not even midnight yet.’ There was amusement in his voice. ‘Keep still, Cinderella, and I’ll see if I can find it.’

‘We need a torch.’ Standing on one leg made Zanna feel undignified as well as giddy.

‘Something Prince Charming lacked too.’ Jake came back to her side. ‘I’ll continue the search later, when I have one, Susie. But in the meantime...’

Before she could utter a word of protest, he swung her up into his arms as easily as if she were a featherweight and carried her across the grass.

When she could speak, she said icily, ‘Put me down, please.’

He lowered her to the ground with almost insulting promptness. ‘Are you planning to hop the rest of the way?’

‘Of course not,’ she snapped, angrily aware of her racing pulses.

‘Then stop turning a problem into a crisis.’ He picked her up again, without ceremony, and set off.

‘You think you have an answer for everything,’ she said bitterly.

‘I often wish I had.’ She felt him lean forward to release the catch on a gate and looked round in swift alarm.

‘But this isn’t the Black Bull.’

‘Full marks for observation, Susie.’ He carried her up the path, then deposited her gently on the mat while he reached into his pocket for some keys. ‘You did say you wanted to look round Church House? Well, now’s your chance.’

‘But what right have you...?’ Her voice trailed away into stunned silence. Then, ‘My God,’ she said slowly. ‘It’s been you all the time, hasn’t it? You’re the caretaker. You’ve just been stringing me along all evening.’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, I don’t believe it.’

‘I hope,’ he said, gravely, ‘that you’re not going to reproach me, my dear Miss Smith, for not being entirely honest with you?’

His words seemed to hang in the air like a warning as he pushed open the front door, and turned to her. ‘Would you like me to lift you over the threshold?’

‘No, I wouldn’t,’ Zanna said stormily. ‘I’d like to go back to the inn.’

‘And so you shall.’ His voice was almost soothing as he urged her into the hallway. ‘Just as soon as we’ve had some coffee.’

‘I don’t want any bloody coffee.’

‘Well, I do, so tough.’ He opened a door, switched on lights, and Zanna found the house taking shape, coming to life before her just as she’d always imagined. In spite of herself she felt interest, excitement building inside her.

‘And I’d take off that other shoe,’ Jake added over his shoulder, walking into the kitchen. ‘You don’t want a sprained ankle to add to your other woes.’

‘At least you admit they exist.’

‘I imagine I’m responsible for most of them—in your eyes anyway.’ He filled a kettle and set it on the Aga to boil. ‘And while we’re on the subject I may as well confess that I finished your car this afternoon. It’s working perfectly again and I parked it at the Bull before I met you for dinner.’

Zanna stared at him, shoe in hand, momentarily mute with outrage. But only momentarily. ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me this earlier?’

‘Because I had this perverse compulsion to dance with you, Susie. To see you smile. To discover if there was a softer layer under all that autocracy and aggression.’

‘Don’t think I’m flattered by your interest,’ she almost spat back at him. ‘I presume, now that you’re curiosity’s been satisfied, I’m free to get out of this dump?’

‘Not immediately.’ He collected pottery mugs from the dresser and spooned coffee into them. ‘Unless, of course, you actually want to lose your licence?’

The fact that his comment was quite justified did not improve Zanna’s temper.