Читать книгу Yesterday's Scars - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 5

SHE stiffened her shoulders, turning slowly, her gaze going straight to that scarred face still strangely dominated by taunting blue eyes. A deep scar ran from temple to jawbone on the left side of that dark compelling face, a scar dangerously close to the eye, although that appeared uninjured. Besides, James hadn’t mentioned an eye injury. The scar continued down the firm column of Rafe’s throat until it was obscured by the navy sweat-shirt he wore.

The scar gave him a rakish appearance. And while she realised it must have been very painful at the time, Hazel agreed with. Trisha, it did add to his attraction. He looked more devilish than ever. And women have always been attracted by that which offers a challenge.

He was leaner than she remembered, his thick black hair worn longer, well over his collar, although it suited his dark arrogance. Those deep blue eyes still mocked and scorned, the cynical twist to those firm lips was more pronounced.

He stood facing her, legs apart, arms folded in front of his muscular chest, challenge in every muscle and sinew of his powerful body. Hazel felt herself stiffen under that challenging gaze. So it was to be a fight as before! Well, she wasn’t quite the inexperienced teenager she had been before her stay in America.

‘Hello, Rafe,’ she said obediently, time enough to show him her newly acquired confidence at a later date.

His mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile, the scarring even more pronounced. ‘Not a very affectionate greeting after three years’ absence. Can’t you do better than that, Hazel?’

‘What do you want me to do?’ she snapped angrily, her poise momentarily forgotten. ‘Get down and grovel at your feet?’

He laughed outright at her outburst, a deep throaty sound that she found attractive even against her will. ‘Still the little hell-cat,’ he drawled softly, moving forward with long easy strides, moving with all the stealthy grace of a jungle cat.

He was standing directly in front of her now, looking down at her through narrowed considering eyes, the jagged discoloured skin on the left side of his face clearly visible to her. ‘I think a kiss might be more in keeping with our relationship, don’t you?’

Hazel wrenched herself away from the mesmerising effect of the warmth of his body, drawn to him by the masculine smell of a hard day’s toil and the long cheroots that he smoked constantly. She had been wrong before, nothing had changed! Rafe still disturbed her with the emotions he evoked in her soft traitorous body that wanted to be crushed against him, everything else forgotten.

She had thought herself over this stupid infatuation she had always had for Rafe, that Josh and men like him who had existed in her life during the last three years had wiped out these childish fantasies. But they hadn’t! One look at Rafe as he stood there, so self-confident, so arrogant, so basically male, told her that everything was as it had been before. Except perhaps that Rafe seemed more withdrawn from her than ever, more distant somehow—if that were humanly possible.

‘We don’t have a relationship,’ she answered tautly.

Both of them had forgotten Trisha, which was perhaps as well. She had quietly escaped out of the schoolroom at the first opportunity, feeling an unwanted third.

Rafe nodded. ‘Maybe we don’t.’ One long hand moved up to run the fingers lightly over his scarred cheek. ‘Not a pleasant sight, am I?’

It was a statement, not a question, and Hazel’s eyes darkened. ‘I would never have thought you a man to be full of self-pity,’ she flung at him.

He smiled at her, a smile completely without humour. ‘Oh, I’m not, not now anyway. Don’t try any of your amateur psychoanalysis on me, little Hazel Stanford$$ keep that sort of rubbish for the people who really need it. I’ve grown quite used to looking at a monster every morning in the mirror when I shave.’

She looked down the length of his strong body. ‘I thought you had a limp too?’

‘Oh, I do, when I’m tired,’ he confirmed mockingly. ‘All I need is the hump on my back and I could standin for the Hunchback of Notre Dame.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! You’re certainly not ugly.’ Far from it!

‘Like I said, Hazel, save that sort of thing for the people who need it—or who actually believe it. I don’t. Now, I think we’ve talked that subject out, let’s talk about something less personal to me. Is your visit to be a short one?’

She licked her suddenly dry lips. ‘That depends on you, doesn’t it?’

Rafe shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘In just over a week’s time I can neither make you stay nor make you leave.’ He grimaced at their surroundings. ‘Let’s get out of here—I never did like school as a child.’

‘I can believe that. You’re exactly the type I would expect to have played truant.’

‘I did most days. I always enjoyed swimming in the cove to sitting at a desk all day.’

‘And yet you want to keep this school open.’ Hazel walked at his side back towards the house, the long safe way round this time.

‘You’ve found out a bit in the short time you’ve been back,’ he commented. ‘I want to keep the kids in this area for as long as possible. It’s for their own good in the long run.’

‘Oh, I agree with you, although I’m not sure some of them would.’

He turned to face her. ‘It’s important that some of them learn to love the beauty and naturalness of this area. And they can’t do that living away in the towns. If only a few of them learn to appreciate it that’s enough for me. I won’t be here for ever. If I should die tomorrow do you think Celia would keep the Savage estate and run it as it is now?’ He shook his head. ‘I know she wouldn’t. She’d sell out to one of the holiday organisations that have been after this land for years. I like to think there would be enough of the local people to fight such a move.’

‘You really think Celia would do such a thing?’ Her horror showed in her face.

‘I’m sure of it. I’m not blind to her faults, I never have been. Left to her the estate would be sold as quickly as possible. But I don’t intend dying just yet—not to please anyone.’ He gave her a sideways glance.

‘Rafe!’ Hazel was genuinely shocked. ‘I’ve never ever wished you dead. How could you think such a thing?’

Again he shrugged. ‘I had no word from you after the accident. It’s a natural assumption to make.’

‘But you didn’t send for me.’

‘Of course I damn well didn’t!’ He wrenched her round to face him. ‘I was in the intensive care unit of the local hospital for over a month, delirious most of the time. I didn’t realise you were waiting for a personal invitation!’ he finished in disgust.

‘But I wasn’t. I——’

‘Wasn’t Celia’s letter enough?’ he asked bitterly. ‘God, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but I had no idea you disliked me to that extreme.’

‘But I——’

‘You what?’ he demanded. ‘Were busy? Your job was too important to you to risk losing it? Oh, I know all that, Hazel, I know all that. I’ve had plenty of time to think out your reasons. It’s amazing the amount of thinking you can do in a hospital bed, especially with most of your body strapped up in bandages. But when you can’t move thinking is about all you can do. I thought of you a lot, Hazel, about how much you must be enjoying yourself to not even have the common decency to enquire how I was. Ignore it and it will go away was your idea, wasn’t it?’ He touched his scarred cheek. ‘Well, this isn’t so easy to ignore.’

‘None of that’s true, Rafe,’ she cried desperately. ‘That isn’t the way it happened at all.’

‘How it happened doesn’t matter any more. None of the reasons come out in your favour. I just hope that once you’re twenty-one and can claim your inheritance you will kindly remove yourself from my sight.’ He gave her one last scathing look before walking away with long easy strides, the navy sweat-shirt clinging to his back in the heat of the day.

Hazel stared after him with tear-filled eyes. She wanted to stop him, tell him it wasn’t her fault, that Celia hadn’t sent her any letter. But it was no good, he would never believe her. It would be Celia’s word against hers, and Celia had a head start, three years to be exact.

Her feet took her automatically to the people she always ran to when troubled—the Marstons. Trisha’s family had always accepted her into their midst without enquiring what upset it was that had caused her to escape this time. Only two people could so upset her, Celia was one and Rafe the other, and it was best not to question too deeply; the enmity in the Savage household not a matter for general discussion.

Sylvia Marston looked up from the magazine she had been perusing, her face lighting up with pleasure as she saw the identity of her visitor. As a child Hazel had spent so much time here that it had been almost like having a second daughter, and at times she had wished she had a son Hazel could marry to make that possible. But she and Max had only been allowed the one child, leaving them love enough for an orphaned ten-year-old girl.

She stood up now, moving forward to hug this golden-haired child, for that surely was what she still was, even though she had lived alone the last three years. ‘Hazel!’ Sylvia studied her intently. Still the same trusting brown eyes that could glow with laughter or darken with pain, usually the latter in her last few months before leaving England for America. ‘Trisha said you were back, but that you were at the school talking to Rafe.’

Hazel shrugged. ‘I was. He’s gone back to the house. At least, I presume that’s where he’s gone.’

‘I see.’

Hazel smiled wanly. ‘You always did, didn’t you? Oh, Aunt Sylvia, it’s started again already!’ She slumped down on to the sofa.

Sylvia sat down beside her, placing a consoling arm about her shoulders. ‘Give it time, child, give Rafe time.’

Hazel’s eyes swam with tears. ‘Time is something I don’t have too much of where Rafe is concerned. He’s given me a week to get out of his life once and for all,’ she explained at Sylvia’s questioning look.

‘He’s what!’ Sylvia was astounded. There had always been a certain tension between Rafe and his ward, the occasional argument over trivial matters—but never open conflict. That seemed to be left to the female member of the Savage family. Poor Celia, hating a girl who could have been a good friend if allowed to be. She shook her head. ‘I’m sure you must have misunderstood him. Rafe’s your guardian, he can’t just dismiss you out of his life.’

‘He already has. And his guardianship ends in a week’s time. He said I could stay until then.’

‘But why ask you to leave at all? I don’t understand this.’ Sylvia looked sharply at Hazel. ‘Does Celia have anything to do with it? Has she been up to her tricks again?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Hazel went on to explain Celia’s omission concerning Rafe’s accident.

Sylvia rose angrily to her feet. ‘That woman is a monster! She deserves a good hiding for the trouble she causes. How could she do such a thing!’

‘I keep asking myself the same question, and the answer isn’t pleasant. She hates me, Aunt Sylvia. She really hates me!’

Sylvia smiled gently. ‘It isn’t you personally she hates, Hazel, anyone would have done at the time. You arrived here at a time when Celia wanted and demanded that all male attention should belong to her. At sixteen she felt herself to be the most beautiful woman in the world, and she wanted everyone else to think so too, including Rafe. But he had all his spare time wrapped up in you, attention she felt she deserved.’

‘But Rafe is her brother!’

‘Even more reason for him to cosset and spoil her, for him to realise his cygnet has grown into a swan. But at the time, and rightly so, he believed you needed that extra-gentle care, the extra love he had to give. And so it was you and not Celia who received the attention of Rafe Savage. She longed to show everyone how her big strong fearless brother loved her, how he thought her beautiful. But you arrived, a little waiflike creature with eyes too big for your face and an awful lot of love you wanted to give someone. Celia felt very excluded, rejected even, and she’s gone on disliking you for it all these years.’

‘I didn’t realise … I never asked for Rafe’s care, you know.’

Sylvia laughed softly. ‘You didn’t need to. He only had to look at you to know you needed a lot of undemanding love. And he gave it to you.’

Trisha came bursting into the room, changed now into a green suntop that complemented her shoulder-length straight blonde hair and matched her twinkling green eyes. She wore white shorts and plimsolls with her top and was obviously just on her way out. ‘I thought I heard voices,’ she grinned. ‘Fancy a game of tennis, Hazel?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Hazel replied uncertainly, at the moment her mind too full of the recent revelations about Celia.

‘Oh well,’ Trisha sat down in the chair opposite them. ‘I’ll go another time.’

Now Hazel felt guilty. It wasn’t fair to inflict her problems on this happy family. They must have been relieved at the three-year break, she thought wryly. ‘Okay,’ she gave in. ‘Why not? I could probably use the exercise.’

The club couldn’t be called large by any standards, but it had all the usual activities, a pool, half a dozen tennis courts, a squash room, and of course, the bar.

Two or three of the tennis courts were already in use when they arrived, the youngsters already there old acquaintances who wasted no time in coming over to say hello. Some of the parents of these people worked on Rafe’s estate, although they always treated Hazel with the same casualness of their other acquaintances—for which she felt grateful.

There were a couple of male faces she didn’t recognise, but Trisha soon named them as the Logan brothers, Mark and Carl, staying in the village with the Delaneys. Both tall and fair and good-looking, they could almost have passed for twins, and Hazel guessed there must only be a year or two’s difference in their ages.

‘Are you going to play tennis?’ Mark asked Trisha.

She nodded enthusiastically, hurrying through the introductions. She had had her eye on Mark Logan for the last few days now and this was the first opportunity she had had to actually speak to him. He was the most attractive-looking man she had seen around here for ages, not counting Rafe of course; no one quite measured up to Rafe Savage, and she supposed no one ever would. Most of the girls in the area were half in love with Rafe and given the least encouragement would go to him on any terms he cared to make. But no encouragement was ever forthcoming.

Carl Logan smiled at Hazel. ‘Would you like to challenge them for three sets?’

Hazel laughed. ‘I’m not sure if I’m up to three sets. I haven’t played for some time, but I’m willing to try if you are. I just hope you’re a good player,’ she added teasingly.

It appeared that he was, the two of them taking the first and third sets, although not without a lengthy battle. The four of them just about collapsed into the loungers next to the pool, sipping thirstily at the iced lime juice they had ordered.

‘Your tennis is excellent.’ Carl watched her over the rim of his tall glass, his blue eyes clear and uncomplicated. He was a refreshing change after the trauma of her other meetings today.

She grinned at him. ‘I’m a little rusty,’ she corrected him. ‘If you weren’t such a good player we would have lost, miserably.’

Mark watched them with amused eyes. ‘When the two of you have quite finished complimenting each other on that purely lucky victory,’ he said tongue in cheek, ‘I suggest we all make arrangements to go to the dance together tomorrow evening.’

‘That would be lovely,’ answered Trisha excitedly. ‘Wouldn’t it, Hazel?’

Hazel looked from one to the other of them, not really sure if she should make arrangements like that without consulting Rafe first. He hadn’t always attended these weekly dances, although when he had he had always expected her to accompany him. But that had been before his accident. Anyway, hadn’t he more or less told her to keep out of his way for the duration of her stay here?

She nodded her head. ‘Yes, lovely,’ she agreed.

It was obvious that Trisha wholeheartedly approved of the idea anyway. She could talk of little else but Mark Logan on the way back to the Marston home. The Logan brothers were certainly an attractive pair, but in a way they reminded Hazel too much of Josh and the men like him she had met during her stay in America.

Maybe Josh could have meant more to her; she didn’t know, and hadn’t had the time to find out. But she had heard the rumours about him like everyone else, it hadn’t taken Linda to tell her that Josh had let his fiancée down only two weeks before the wedding. She had already heard about that and it hadn’t endeared him to her. But when she had met him she had found him charming and very attractive.

She had been a little more sorry to leave him when she left America than any of her other male friends there, but since arriving in Cornwall she could think only of Rafe. She had the feeling that Carl Logan could become a friend if she would let him, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted that.

‘Coming in for dinner?’ Trisha invited.

Hazel shook her head regretfully. ‘I’d love to, but I suppose I’d better get back,’ she grimaced. ‘No doubt Celia would just love for me to absent myself from the dining table. Think of the trouble she could cause if I don’t turn up for dinner on my first evening home. Lord, I’d forgotten all about these intrigues! It’s just as if I’d never been away.’

‘Well, I for one am glad you’re back,’ Trisha squeezed her hand affectionately. ‘See you tomorrow.’

Hazel didn’t hurry back to Savage House, knowing that her welcome there would be no more enthusiastic than the one she had received earlier, from either member of the Savage family! Aunt Sylvia was right, she should tell Rafe that Celia hadn’t written to her, but somehow that would only be admitting his sister’s hatred of her, and at the moment she wasn’t even sure she was prepared to accept the extent of that herself, let alone convince Rafe it was so.

‘You’re back, then,’ was Celia’s curt greeting as she sneeringly watched Hazel take the stairs two at a time on her way up to her room. ‘Rafe isn’t to be disturbed at the moment,’ she added curtly.

‘I’ve already seen him,’ Hazel told her softly.

She knew Celia was surprised by this information by the widening of her mercenary blue eyes. ‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘Not very pleasant to look at any more, is he, Hazel?’ she taunted.

Hazel shrugged, Rafe’s appearance had been a shock when she had first seen him again, but shocks were quickly overcome and familiarity soon took their place. In a couple of days she would have forgotten he had ever looked any other way. And in just over a week’s time she would have left here for good.

‘I’ve seen worse,’ she replied carelessly.

‘Perhaps you have,’ Celia sneered. ‘But not on someone who means as much to you as Rafe does.’

Hazel flushed, looking sharply at the other woman. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded tautly.

Celia gave her a pitying smile. ‘Rafe and I often laughed together over the fact that you imagined yourself in love with him before you left here three years ago. It was quite amusing to watch your constant playing for his attention.’

‘You’re lying!’ Hazel’s face was bright red. ‘Rafe isn’t like that. And I’m certainly not in love with him!’

‘Perhaps not now, not now he looks like something out of a horror film, but you were once. How fickle you are, Hazel! A few scars and you’re no longer interested.’

‘If Rafe finds me such an embarrassment why did he ask me to come back here?’ Hazel demanded defiantly.

Celia gave a satisfied smile. ‘He didn’t,’ she answered smugly. ‘I sent that telegram asking you to come home.’

‘You did?’ Hazel’s look was scathing. ‘Slightly late, weren’t you?’

She watched as Celia coloured uncomfortably. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked coldly.

‘Only that Rafe expected you to send for me a year ago when his accident happened—in fact, he believes you to have done so. Now why should he think that, Celia? Could it possibly be because you told him you’d written to me when in fact you hadn’t? Could that be the answer?’ Hazel mused.

‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’ hissed the older woman. ‘Rafe didn’t need you then and he doesn’t need you now. You’re only here so that he can finally rid himself of the responsibility of the headstrong clinging child you’ve been in his life. After your birthday you won’t be welcome here at all.’

‘I already know that,’ Hazel returned softly. ‘But you didn’t need to bring me back to England to tell me that, a letter would have sufficed. America suited me very well, I could have done without this upheaval.’

‘That wouldn’t have done at all. You see, I know you, Hazel, you wouldn’t have believed it unless Rafe told you so himself. I gather he did tell you?’

‘Yes,’ came her reluctant reply.

Celia smiled cattily. ‘Then I hope you take his advice. You’ve been an intrusion in our lives far too long now, and the sooner you remove yourself the better.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Hazel told her angrily. ‘I don’t intend staying anywhere where I’m not wanted.’

‘Then why have you stayed in our lives this long? Surely you must have realised when Rafe took you to the States that that should have been the end of it. We thought we’d finally got rid of you.’ Celia gave a harsh laugh. ‘But oh no, you had other ideas about that. Every month you wrote to Rafe, short letters, but just enough to make sure he didn’t forget you. Why was that, Hazel? Haven’t you had enough out of us the last eleven years without coming back for more?’

‘You’re a bitch, Celia, nothing but a bitch!’ Tears gathered in Hazel’s huge brown eyes. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair quite soon.’ Oh, this woman hated her much more than she had ever realised! ‘Perhaps Rafe will let James take me back to the airport tomorrow. I no more have any wish to stay here when I’m so unwanted than you have to have me here.’

‘Rafe will insist you stay until after your birthday, so don’t make it any more difficult for us than it is already. Rafe can do without your having tantrums and demanding to leave. Just stay out of his way.’

‘I intend to!’

‘For God’s sake, you two!’ Without either of them realising it Rafe had opened the door to his study and was now glaring furiously at the pair of them, his face almost satanic with its deep scarring. Hazel looked at him guiltily. How much of their heated conversation had he heard? ‘Do you realise your voices are carrying all through the house! If you have to squabble and bitch at each other like a couple of children at least keep your voices down!’

Celia moved to her brother’s side; petite and beautiful, she smiled up at him. ‘We weren’t arguing, Rafe, merely talking loudly because Hazel is halfway up the stairs.’

His deep blue eyes raked mercilessly over both of them, a certain harshness to his face. ‘Don’t take me for a fool, Celia,’ he snapped abruptly. ‘Hazel’s only been back a few hours and already you’re at each other’s throats.’ He looked at Hazel and pushed his study door open further. ‘Come in here, I want to talk to you.’

‘Now?’

‘Right now.’ His tone brooked no argument.

Hazel trudged wearily down the stairs, Celia’s look of intense pleasure not escaping her notice as she passed the other woman. The study was just as she remembered it; wood-panelled walls, a huge mahogany desk, a couple of worn leather armchairs, scatter rugs on the polished floor, and well-worn books piled on the shelves along one wall, evidence of Rafe’s continual usage of them. She sat down in the chair facing the desk, her long shapely legs smooth and golden.

Rafe sat opposite her, the shirt he wore fitting tautly across his flat muscular stomach and wide powerful shoulders. His shirt was unbuttoned almost to his waist, the continuation of those disfiguring scars clearly visible. The jagged scar edge showed up whitely against his naturally dark skin and although Hazel longed to know the full extent of his injuries she knew he would not welcome her interest; his firm uncompromising mouth was evidence of that.

She looked at him with challenge in her eyes. ‘Well?’

His snapping eyes flashed her a warning. ‘Don’t take that attitude with me!’

‘Why not?’ she answered defiantly. ‘Is it only the prerogative of the Savages to be rude? If so, I apologise.’

Rafe sighed. ‘No, you don’t, we both know that. And must I remind you that you’re a Savage?’

‘Oh no, I’m not!’ she denied vehemently. ‘I’m a Stanford.’

‘Only by name; your temperament is purely Savage.’

She gave a reluctant smile. ‘Fiery, huh?’

‘Exactly,’ he drawled with a grin.

In that moment he was the old Rafe, never loving and kind, but often gentle with her. And in that moment she remembered how patient he could be with her as a child. She smiled at him tearfully. ‘Oh, Rafe, I’ve missed you!’

His eyebrows rose at the emotion in her voice. ‘You could always have come back, no one stopped you. This is still your home.’

She shook her head. ‘You never wrote to me, Rafe, just a card at birthdays and Christmas.’

‘And you wrote often, I know.’ He sat back. ‘Did you enjoy America?’

‘Some of it—no, most of it. It was fun.’

‘And boy-friends? Anyone upset by your return here?’

She thought momentarily of Josh, and then dismissed him. He had probably already replaced her, he certainly wasn’t the constant type, and they had only been dating a few weeks. ‘No one,’ she replied clearly. ‘Now that I’m back here I may as well see if I can get a job in London. I can’t see any point in going back to America, Jonathan has already employed my replacement.’

‘Then why not get a job locally? You could continue to live here then.’

Her eyes were wide. ‘You—you told me to leave,’ she said breathlessly.

‘So? When did you ever do what I told you?’

Hazel gave a rueful grin. ‘Most of the time. I found it easier to do so.’

‘So you’re going to leave here?’ he persisted.

‘I thought that was what you wanted.’ She looked puzzled. ‘You said so earlier.’

‘I know that, but perhaps I was being a little hasty. You have as much right here as anyone. It was your home for eight years. Besides, I could do with your help,’ Rafe added ruefully.

‘You could?’

‘I could. I’ve never liked all the paperwork running this estate entails. You could stay here and deal with that.’

‘But Celia said——’ Hazel broke off. What she had been about to say sounded too much like telling tales. She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Rafe shook his head. ‘The two of you have never got on. I could never understand it.’

Neither had Hazel until a few hours ago when Sylvia Marston had explained Celia’s reasoning. ‘Just a clash of characters. It happens. It isn’t important.’

He frowned. ‘It is if your shouting can be heard all over the house,’ his voice hardened.

‘Look, Rafe,’ said Hazel, ‘if you want me to go to London I will, but I’m not staying here on sufferance. I have some of that Savage pride you possess in abundance.’

‘I’ve noticed.’ His mouth twisted with humour. ‘Stay until after your birthday anyway. And think over what I’ve suggested.’

‘I will.’

‘Perhaps Celia could arrange a small dinner party for you here tomorrow evening,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘A sort of welcome home party, just a few close friends. I’ll suggest it to her.’

‘Oh, not tomorrow,’ Hazel said hurriedly. ‘I—I already have arrangements made for tomorrow,’ she admitted with guilt, although why she should feel that way she had no idea.

Not by the flicker of an eyelid did he show surprise. ‘You’ve been to the club this afternoon?’

She nodded. ‘With Trisha. We had a game of tennis.’

‘So you’re going to the dance tomorrow evening?’

‘Yes. We—um—we met Mark and Carl and they invited us to join them for the evening. It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ she finished lamely.

Rafe ran his fingertips absently down the livid scar edge on the side of his face. ‘You don’t have to explain your movements to me.’ He rose to his feet, leaner than she remembered but just as powerful. ‘The dinner party can be arranged for another night. Now if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll shower and change for dinner.’

Hazel accepted his words for the dismissal they were, going up to her room. Dinner had always been a formal affair in the Savage household and she wanted to dress with more than her usual care for her first night at home with Rafe and Celia. Celia had found fault with enough to do with her for one day without giving her cause to criticise her choice of clothing too.

The dress she chose was an emerald green chiffon and floated down to her ankles in a cloud, adding a honey-gold colour to her blonde hair and giving luminous depth to her golden-brown eyes.

‘I see your taste in clothing has improved,’ Celia remarked bitchily as she came into the lounge for a sherry before dinner. ‘You seemed to live in denims the last time you were here.’

‘Not for dinner,’ Hazel replied vaguely, unable to take her eyes off Rafe as he stood watching them with enigmatic eyes. He looked so attractive, dressed very formally in black trousers and a white dinner jacket, that it made her heart beat faster just to look at him.

‘The velvet pants you wore were almost as bad. So masculine,’ Celia wrinkled her nose delicately.

Rafe gave a wry laugh. ‘Hardly, on Hazel. She’s too shapely to ever look anything but completely feminine.’

‘Really?’ His sister arched one carefully plucked eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t aware that you’d looked at her that closely.’

He gave her a cold look. ‘Well, now you know I have.’

‘I see.’ Celia bit her lip before looking at Hazel. ‘When do you intend leaving?’

‘Celia!’ Rafe’s glass slammed down on the drinks cabinet. ‘You’re being rude,’ he said darkly.

‘It’s all right, Rafe,’ Hazel began. ‘I——’

Celia’s blue eyes glared her dislike. ‘I don’t need any help from you! I’m perfectly capable of making my own explanations—when I think them necessary.’

‘I think one’s due now,’ Rafe said tightly. ‘Your rudeness is inexcusable.’

‘I don’t consider my question rude,’ she told him tightly. ‘I merely enquired when Hazel was leaving.’

Rafe was in the process of pouring himself another drink and so Hazel thought she had better make some effort to stand up for herself, hard as that was turning out to be against the dominant Savage family. Once again she felt herself to be overwhelmed by their forceful personalities.

Before she could utter a word Rafe was speaking again. ‘She isn’t leaving.’

His sister looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean? Why isn’t she?’

Hazel was wondering the same thing herself; she certainly hadn’t said she was going to stay on.

Rafe appeared unperturbed by Celia’s aggressive attitude. ‘She isn’t leaving because I’ve asked her to stay,’ he told her calmly.

Celia stiffened. ‘You’ve what?’

‘I’ve asked her to stay—and she’s accepted.’

Celia turned furiously on the still silent Hazel. ‘You little cat! You lying little bitch!’ Her mouth turned back in a sneer. ‘You told me you were leaving. It didn’t take you long to start wheedling around Rafe again. I suppose you’re paying for your keep with services rendered,’ she added insultingly.

Rafe’s mouth tightened, a certain whiteness about his lips. ‘You’ll apologise for that remark,’ he told her grimly.

She turned on her heel, marching purposefully towards the door. ‘I won’t apologise to that little—to her,’ she amended at Rafe’s threatening step in her direction. ‘And don’t worry, I’m not staying here to interrupt your first dinner together in three years. Perhaps you deserve her after all!’ With that she slammed out of the room.