Читать книгу His Bid For A Bride - Кэрол Мортимер, Carole Mortimer - Страница 7

‘FALKNER, exactly why are you doing this?’ Skye asked wearily.

She had taken one look in the mirror when she’d entered the bathroom earlier, and groaned with dismay at her appearance; it was worse than she had thought.

Her hair stuck up in greasy spikes, there was a huge bruise down the left side of her face where she had been thrown against the car door—also the reason for her concussion—her black eye had turned to all the colours of the rainbow but predominantly a sickly yellow, her face otherwise deathly pale. She had also lost weight, she discovered when she pulled on denims and a black tee shirt, the clothes much looser on her than they had been a week ago.

One thing she was sure of: Falkner wasn’t being kind to her because he was overwhelmed by her beauty.

He glanced at her only briefly as she sat beside him in the green Range Rover, Skye having tactfully turned away minutes ago as he’d levered himself awkwardly behind the wheel. ‘Would you have preferred it if I had left you to face those reporters on your own?’ he rasped grimly.

Despite his precaution of taking her out of the hospital through a staff entrance, a couple of enterprising reporters had pre-empted them, Falkner’s hand tightly gripping Skye’s arm as he’d pushed his way forcefully by them to see her safely seated in his car before, his mouth a grimly set line, he’d moved round the vehicle to get in beside her, answering none of the questions fired at them.

‘No,’ she sighed, exhausted by the events of the morning, her ribs aching painfully from this unaccustomed activity. ‘But—’

‘I told you, Connor was my friend,’ Falkner bit out abruptly. ‘He would want me to take care of you.’

Before the suspicion and gossip of the last six months, her father had appeared to have many friends, but most of them had quietly faded away the last few months, almost as if they believed the rumour and speculation that now surrounded Connor’s professional reputation might be catching.

Although Falkner didn’t seem to be bothered by the same possibility.

Of course she had known of her father’s continuing friendship with the younger man; he occasionally talked of having seen or spoken to Falkner. Conversations that Skye had listened to avidly while at the same time maintaining an outward indifference, desperate that no one, least of all her father, should realize how deeply and irrevocably she had fallen in love with Falkner six years ago.

But even so, she wouldn’t have thought, based on the things her father had said about the other man, that their friendship had been such that Falkner would now feel a responsibility to come to the aid of Connor’s daughter.

But what other reason could he possibly have for being here…?

‘Skye, Connor was there for me after the accident three years ago,’ Falkner rasped. ‘And again two years ago,’ he added reluctantly.

Two years ago? What had happened two years…Ah.

She had read in the newspapers of Falkner’s marriage five years ago, followed by his even more publicized separation after the accident, and the messy divorce that had followed a year later.

‘Connor spent a lot of his valuable time two years ago talking to me, helping me come to terms with—things,’ Falkner continued harshly.

And this was obviously Falkner’s way of returning the older man’s generosity.

Well, at least he was honest, Skye accepted ruefully. Even if it might have been more comforting, if unlikely, if his concern had been a little more personally directed.

She sighed, turning to look uninterestedly out at the passing countryside, recognizing some of it, aware that they would shortly be arriving at Falkner’s home.

There was one positive thing to look forward to, at least: his wife wouldn’t be there waiting to welcome her—or otherwise.

She had wondered, five years ago, what the woman was like when Falkner had married, the photograph of the two of them that had appeared in the newspapers at the time of their marriage not only grainy, making their features indistinct, but also in black and white.

Whatever Selina Harrington’s personality and looks, the marriage had only lasted a rocky two years, Selina leaving Falkner shortly after his accident, divorcing him a year later amid claims of his involvement with another woman.

There was a thought. Maybe the ‘other woman’ would be at the Falkner home waiting to welcome her, instead.

Skye shifted uncomfortably in the cream leather seat. ‘Er—I really don’t want to put you or—or anyone else—’ she chewed worriedly on her bottom lip ‘—to any inconvenience, by turning up at your house in this way.’

‘You won’t be,’ Falkner told her with assured dismissal.

Not exactly a helpful reply; she already knew Falkner well enough to realize he was arrogant enough to expect that other people’s reactions to his unexpected guest would be reflective of his own.

Whereas Skye had learnt only too well the last few months just how hurtful a cold rebuff could be. Goodness knew, there had been enough of them recently.

She drew in a deep breath. ‘Falkner, what—?’

‘Let’s just get through the rest of this week, hmm?’ he prompted abruptly. ‘There will be plenty of time to—talk, later, okay?’

The rest of this week…

Her father’s funeral.

Incredible.

Unbelievable.

When she still had the feeling he was going to walk through the door demanding a mug of the strong coffee that had kept him going through their long working day, or that she was going to turn a corner and he would be there waiting for her, as big and protective as he had always been, giving that big booming laugh that told her everything was right with the world.

What was she going to do without him?

The two of them had always been so close, more so since there had really only ever been the two of them. Skye couldn’t imagine her life without him in it. Didn’t want to imagine a life without him!

She was suddenly overwhelmed by such a feeling of despair that she wasn’t even aware of Falkner’s sharp glance in her direction, or the fact that he pulled the car over into a lay-by, turning off the engine before releasing his seat belt and turning to take her into his arms.

It was the warmth of those arms, being cradled against the solid hardness of a human chest, that was Skye’s complete undoing. The sob caught at the back of her throat, choking her, her body racked by those sobs as she gave into her feelings of complete desolation.

‘It’s all right, Skye,’ Falkner murmured, his hands moving comfortingly up and down her spine as he held her close against him. ‘I’m here. I’ll be here for as long as you need me. Skye, don’t…’he groaned with aching concern as his words only made her cry all the harder.

Seconds ago she had been overwhelmed by feelings of loneliness, emptiness, but as Falkner’s words penetrated the pain that consumed her, the warmth of his arms protecting her, she knew she wasn’t completely alone, that he meant what he said: he would be there for her for as long as she needed him.

But with that realization came the knowledge of the danger that awaited her there, a danger she had no idea, at this moment when she needed him so much, how to cope with; it would be all too easy to just let Falkner take over, to stay with him and never leave. And, loving him as she did, she knew she couldn’t do that.

She pulled back slightly, brushing the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘I’m all right now,’ she dismissed, not quite able to meet the penetration of his searching blue gaze. ‘It was just—for a moment—I’m all right now,’ she repeated determinedly, pulling fully out of his arms to sit back against the door. As far away from Falkner as was possible in the close confines of the car.

‘Sure?’ he prompted gently.

She swallowed hard. If he was going to carry on being kind to her like this she knew she wouldn’t be able to cope. ‘Of course I’m sure,’ she told him tartly. ‘Let’s go, Falkner,’ she snapped as she sensed his continued gaze on her, her jaw clenched determinedly as she refused to return that gaze.

‘Okay,’ he finally accepted tersely, turning on the ignition to manoeuvre the car back into the flow of traffic. ‘Skye, we’re going to arrive in a few minutes, and—’

So there would be someone else there.

‘Don’t worry, Falkner,’ she cut in coldly. ‘I’ll promise I’ll try to be as unobtrusive as possible for the next couple of days. In fact, if you just show me to a bedroom, I can stay there until—until after Friday,’ she continued determinedly. ‘No one need even know I’m staying with you. You—’

‘Skye—shut up,’ he cut in harshly, his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel. ‘I don’t care who knows you’re there. I don’t care if you choose to walk around the house stark naked!’ he added grimly. ‘Am I making myself clear?’

‘Very.’ Her mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile at his obvious anger at her suggestion it might be better for him if he just hid her away somewhere. ‘But I think I’ll forgo the “walking around the house stark naked” bit, if you don’t mind!’

‘Pity.’ He shrugged. ‘It might have been—diverting,’ he drawled. ‘Although perhaps impractical with my housekeeper living in the house,’ he dismissed briskly, turning the car down the long gravel driveway that led to his house.

His housekeeper…

Skye gave him a searching glance, her confusion such that she didn’t know how to reply to his first statement. No doubt Falkner was just trying to divert her attention onto something less traumatic than the next couple of days—and no doubt he had succeeded.

The thought of her ever feeling confident enough around Falkner to stroll around his home naked was enough to confuse anyone!

‘You were saying something about when we arrive?’ she reminded him stiltedly.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ he dismissed tersely as he parked the car outside the house. ‘We can talk about that later too.’

There seemed to be an awful lot of things they were going to talk about later…?

But Skye put all that from her mind as Falkner got out of the car to come round and open her door for her, supporting her arm as she stepped down, nevertheless the movement causing pain to her ribs.

Falkner looked at her ruefully as she finally stood on the gravel driveway beside him. ‘You look as if you’ve gone ten rounds with Lennox Lewis,’ he drawled in answer to her questioning look.

She grimaced. ‘Believe me, parts of me feel as if I’ve gone ten rounds with Lennox Lewis!’

Falkner laughed softly, his hand on her elbow as they walked up the stone steps to the front door.

Skye had noticed that the driveway and grounds looked cared for as they drove up, and the house no longer had that run-down look of six years ago, either; obviously stocks and shares had proved more lucrative for Falkner than showjumping!

She drew in a deep breath now as she prepared to face what lay in store for her behind the huge oak door, friend or foe, she had no idea.

‘It will be all right, Skye,’ Falkner told her firmly as he seemed to read her uncertainty. ‘I’m here, remember,’ he added determinedly.

Yes, he was. And she still had no real idea why he should be. But he had promised to be ‘here’ for as long as she needed him.

As long as it took her to get through this nightmare?

If she ever did!

‘Feel like going for a walk outside?’ Falkner prompted once they had finished with the delicious afternoon tea brought in by his bustlingly friendly Scottish housekeeper.

Within seconds of meeting the middle-aged woman Skye had known she had nothing to fear where the other woman was concerned; Annie Graham treated Falkner like a rather naughty child, and within minutes of their meeting had treated Skye in the same affectionately friendly way, urging her to eat some of the sandwiches and scones with the words ‘you need some skin on those bones’.

No doubt the older woman would have something to say when she realized that neither of them had done justice to the delicious tea, Skye acknowledged ruefully.

Maybe that was the reason for Falkner’s suggestion the two of them go for a walk? A walk that would cause him more than a little discomfort.

‘Or perhaps you would rather go upstairs and rest for a while?’ Falkner realized lightly. ‘You’ve had a busy afternoon so far.’

Skye shook her head. ‘I think I’ve rested enough this last week. But if you have something else you should be doing…?’ After all, he had already spent enough of his day with her.

He stood up. ‘Take a walk with me.’ He held out his hand to help her stand up.

Skye shied away, from that hand, and the idea of going outside. Annie Graham had proved warm and welcoming, but that didn’t mean she would get the same reception from other members of Falkner’s household staff.

Falkner frowned darkly, still holding out his hand to her. ‘Skye, no matter how much you might feel like doing so just now, you really can’t just sit in here and hide from the world,’ he rasped.

She glared up at him. ‘Who says I can’t?’ she challenged resentfully.

‘I do,’ he replied without hesitation. ‘You know as well as I do, Skye, that when you’ve been thrown from a horse, you have to get straight back up into the saddle.’

‘Is that what you did—?’ She broke off with a gasp as she realized how insensitive she was being; of course that wasn’t what he had done, his injuries had been such that he probably couldn’t ride at all any more. ‘This isn’t the same,’ she muttered awkwardly.

‘It is.’ Falkner nodded abruptly. ‘And your father would tell you exactly the same—’

‘Don’t presume to tell me what my father would or wouldn’t say!’ Her eyes glittered furiously.

He gave an impatient sigh. ‘Skye, you’re only angry because you know I’m right,’ he rasped.

Yes, she was; her father had always been a pragmatic man. His philosophy had always been, if you fell or received a knock of some kind, then you picked yourself up and carried on. It was what he had done after Skye’s mother died. During the last difficult six months, too. It was what he would want Skye to do now…

She knew that as well as Falkner obviously did.

But none of that changed the fact that just the thought of going with Falkner, of walking outside with him, where someone might recognize her, made Skye squirm with discomfort.

‘I’m feeling rather tired, Falkner—’

‘Coward,’ he murmured softly.

But not so softly that Skye couldn’t hear him. Or resent him for being right.

She was behaving like a coward, and her father would have been disappointed in her, would have launched into some lengthy Irish parable that made a mockery of her fear.

But, she realized impatiently, Falkner’s method of making her angry had exactly the same effect.

‘Okay!’ she agreed forcefully, ignoring the hand he held out to her, ignoring the pain in her ribs as she struggled to her feet without help. ‘Satisfied?’ she added challengingly, blue eyes sparkling with resentment.

‘Perfectly,’ Falkner answered lightly, opening the door for her to precede him.

Skye did so stiffly. And not just because of her painful ribs; she really didn’t want to do this.

‘Okay?’ Falkner prompted softly a few minutes later as they approached the stables. It was curiously quiet, none of the bustle of activity here today that there had been six years ago.

‘Okay,’ she echoed tensely.

‘This way.’ He turned to the left, leading her down the long row of closed individual stables, his limp more noticeable now.

‘I don’t understand, Falkner; where are we going?’ Skye frowned her puzzlement as she followed reluctantly.

Why on earth was he taking her round his deserted stables? Perhaps this was Falkner’s version of that ‘Irish parable’ her father would have subjected her to, something along the lines of ‘he had succeeded despite no longer being involved in his love of showjumping’, as she would have to survive without her beloved father. If that was what this was about, then Falkner was wasting his time, because she—

‘Almost there,’ he dismissed lightly—that lightness belied by the heavy frown between his brows.

‘I—’ Skye broke off as she heard a familiar sound, her whole body tensing as she turned in the direction of that sound, and she realized not all of the stables were empty after all, eyes widening in shocked surprise as that whinny of recognition was loudly repeated. ‘Storm…?’ she questioned dazedly, hurrying to the open stable door several stalls down, staring in total disbelief as the massive head stretched across the top of the open door to nuzzle ecstatically against her face. ‘Storm!’ she acknowledged chokingly, burying her own face into his glistening black neck, tears falling hotly down her cheeks as her arms clung to him weakly.

It had been the shock of her young life six years ago when, three months after her initial meeting with Falkner, a horsebox had arrived late one evening at her father’s stable, the door opening to reveal a very disgruntled Storm.

Skye had turned to her father dazedly as she’d easily recognized the horse.

‘Falkner changed his mind,’ her father told her with satisfaction. ‘He telephoned me one day last week and offered to let me buy Storm, after all.’ He shrugged. ‘I didn’t tell you because I wanted it to be a total surprise for you,’ he added happily.

A total surprise had to be an understatement. Falkner Harrington hadn’t looked like a man who ever changed his mind about anything, and after the blistering rebuke he had given her three months earlier, once she had walked back to his house, Skye had been sure he would never allow her so much as near one of his horses again, let alone allow her to own one.

But there Storm was, as big and beautiful as ever. And—miraculously—he was hers.

‘This is literally a case of “never look a gift horse in the mouth”, me darlin’,’ her father teased as he slipped his arm about her shoulders, giving her a hug as they both looked admiringly at the prancing stallion.

That was how Skye had come to own Storm, after all—but it certainly didn’t explain what Storm was doing back in England now.

He should still be in Ireland, at her father’s stable, had certainly been there a week ago when they’d last spoken to Uncle Seamus on the telephone.

She turned to look at Falkner, her arms still wrapped around Storm’s neck, the paleness of her face showing the tracks of her tears. ‘Why—how—when—?’ She gave a helpless shrug, totally overwhelmed by this latest development.

‘I brought him back from Ireland with me last night,’ Falkner told her evenly. ‘Although he certainly wasn’t as sweet-tempered as this on the journey,’ he added ruefully.

No, she could imagine he hadn’t been. Storm hated travel of any sort, part of that ‘temperament’ Falkner had once referred to, and crossing the Irish Sea in a horsebox must have seemed like the ultimate in discomfort to him.

Falkner’s explanation told Skye ‘how’ and ‘when’, but it still didn’t explain ‘why’…

Storm hadn’t left Ireland since the day he’d been delivered to her six years ago, had made his feelings clear from the beginning concerning even the possibility of being put into a horsebox again, let alone being taken anywhere in one.

Yet Falkner had somehow managed to bring the horse back from Ireland with him yesterday, something that must have been as uncomfortable for him, with his injured leg, as it must have been to the horse…

Skye shook her head. She didn’t understand any of this. Friday, the day of her father’s funeral, was going to be the second worst day in her life—the day her father died would always be the worst—but surely after that there would be no further need for her to remain in England.

And yet Falkner said he had brought the horse back from Ireland with him only yesterday—

‘What were you doing in Ireland?’ she questioned sharply.

Falkner grimaced admiringly. ‘That bump on the head hasn’t slowed you down any, has it?’

‘I was suffering from concussion, Falkner, not brain damage,’ she returned dismissively.

He shrugged. ‘I had no idea what had happened to—didn’t know about the accident,’ he bit out flatly, ‘until I saw that awful photograph of you in the newspaper—’

‘I’m surprised you recognized me,’ Skye derided.

Falkner gave an acknowledging inclination of his head. ‘It wasn’t easy,’ he conceded dryly. ‘You’re looking a lot better now,’ he added encouragingly.

‘Really?’ she speculated. ‘Then I must have looked pretty awful earlier in the week.’ She had looked a complete wreck when she’d glanced at herself in the mirror at the hospital earlier.

‘You did,’ Falkner confirmed bluntly. ‘You were also, according to the officious ward receptionist when I telephoned, refusing all visitors. I was given the distinct impression that wasn’t negotiable, so, rather than kick my heels waiting for you to be well enough to be discharged, I flew over to Ireland to see if there was anything I could do there instead.’ He sighed. ‘Your uncle Seamus is a self-pitying drunk,’ he stated flatly.

‘Yes,’ she confirmed heavily; there was no doubting that he had become so since his wife had left him a year ago.

Falkner shrugged. ‘The housekeeper is quite happy to stay on, and I talked to your father’s groom, and he’s quite prepared to take care of the horses, but I thought you might rather have Storm here with you.’

Which explanation still left the question mark—why bring Storm here at all when the likelihood was that she would be returning to Ireland herself in another week or so?

Wouldn’t she…?