Читать книгу The Bedroom Surrender - Emma Darcy, Emma Darcy - Страница 7

SUNDAY lunch at Davenport Hall was always held in the informal dining room and very much a family affair. Regardless of any guests and despite their young age, the boys sat up at the table with their parents, Geoffrey with an extra cushion on his chair, Malcolm with a booster seat on his. They were only five and three but had been thoroughly coached in good manners, and Celeste at thirteen, was very much the young lady.

It was a lovely, bright, inviting room. The furniture was white, the furnishings yellow, and long windows overlooked a rose garden in full summer bloom. The pristine white cloth on the oval table showed off the centrepiece bowl of yellow rosebuds, and yellow linen serviettes in silver holders added their splash of colour. Rosalie sat between the boys, directly across from Adam Cazell who was flanked by the girls, Rebel and Hugh at the two ends.

Adam looked totally bemused as he watched the boys remove their serviettes from the holders and spread them on their laps. No doubt, in the company he usually kept, little children were segregated from the adults, not part of his world at all. Welcome to a real family, Rosalie thought, and wondered if he’d learn anything from it.

The girls dominated the conversation, telling Adam about their last school term—teachers they liked or disliked, hockey matches, tattle about other girls in their class. He indulged their eager chatter, smiling, laughing, frowning quizzically in all the right places. It seemed effortless on his part—no act—no hint of condescension.

He was charming.

And very, very attractive.

Possibly putting himself out to be so because she was observing him.

He shared flashes of amusement with her but made no concerted attempt to engage her in personal conversation. Biding his time, she thought, probably hoping the happy casual atmosphere at the table would lower her guard enough to let him slide inside it later. Having been on the international model circuit since she was eighteen—eleven years now—Rosalie was too experienced with men of his ilk not to know how they made their moves.

When the first strike didn’t produce a warm response, set up more favourable circumstances and try a more subtle approach. Few gave up at the first knock-back. Most of them simply didn’t believe it. Why would any woman reject such a prize? Only to increase her value and force a chase. But the chase didn’t last long. If the desired result wasn’t fast in coming, there was always another beautiful woman for such men. Much better for the ego to be appreciated than feel defeated.

Adam Cazell’s next move came after lunch. Coffee had been served in the sitting room. The girls had gone upstairs to complete Cate’s packing for her departure. Rebel had taken Malcolm up to the nursery for an afternoon nap. Geoffrey was occupying Hugh’s attention.

Adam rose from his chair, saying, ‘Would you mind if I went for a stroll in your grounds, Hugh? Stretch my legs before driving back to London.’

‘Not at all.’ Being the thoughtful host he was, his head instantly swung to Rosalie. ‘Will you show Adam around?’ A rueful smile. ‘I doubt Geoffrey has the legs for two long walks.’

Trapped by courtesy.

A clever manouvre from Adam Cazell.

But she was safe in the grounds of Davenport Hall, Rosalie swiftly reasoned, pushing up from her chair to oblige her brother-in-law’s guest. And suddenly the silver-bullet eyes were dancing wickedly at her, jolting her confidence and quickening her pulse.

‘Is there a maze we can get lost in?’ he tossed at her.

‘No. But there’s a lake you could drown in,’ she flipped back at him.

He laughed, his face crinkling, turning up the wattage of his attraction. Rosalie felt her hands clenching in an instinctive need to fight the power that flowed so strongly from him. She had to make a conscious effort to relax her muscles, pretend she was unaffected.

‘We’ll go out the back way,’ she said, and led out into the hallway where he quickly stepped up beside her.

‘Are there canoes?’ he asked.

She arched an eyebrow at him. ‘Didn’t you say you wanted to stretch your legs?’

He grinned. ‘Canoeing is very physical. You could sit at the other end while I do all the work.’

‘The canoes are all one-seaters.’

‘You’re dashing my romantic dream. Here I am in an old-world setting, in the company of a beautiful woman…’

‘And you have a daughter who doesn’t want you to be distracted from her,’ Rosalie reminded him.

‘Ah! The carer of children’s needs. I guess this comes from having been orphaned yourself.’

He could turn on a pin. Of course, he had to have an agile and astute mind to be so successful at what he did, and his focus was all on her at the moment, driving to win. Somehow she had to force a refocussing if she was to achieve anything for Cate.

‘A child needs to feel someone cares enough to be there for them. Do you think your daughter feels that, Adam?’

‘At last she uses my name,’ he lightly mocked. ‘But does this mean she’s warming to me? No. She’s using it to emphasise the point that’s important to her.’

His accurate analysis made her respect his brain even more. She slanted him a challenging look. ‘You haven’t answered me.’

‘Nor have you, me, Rosalie James,’ he swiftly countered, his eyes stabbing her with that truth.

Tit for tat.

Having walked through the hall, they stepped out into the afternoon sunshine and started down the path that led to the ornamental lake. The lawns on either side of it were a lush green. Banks of rhododendrons lent spectacular colour. Waterlilies added their exotic charm. It was a very English scene, Rosalie thought, and knew Rebel had found her home here with Hugh.

She felt completely rootless, herself. No city or country had any special call on her heart. People, yes, but not a place. She wondered if the jet-setting Adam Cazell considered one place home. According to Cate he had residences in London, New York, Hong Kong, and on a Caribbean island. The latter was probably for some taxation alleviation.

‘Do you live here with your sister?’ he asked.

‘No. Just visiting this past week.’

‘Where do you call home?’

Rosalie shrugged. ‘Nowhere in particular. There are places I can stay whenever I want to.’

‘You must have a base from which you work.’

Trying to pin her down. Wanting to know where he could find her. Rosalie wasn’t about to make it easy for him though he was right. She had a base in London, the Mayfair apartment owned by Joel Faber, her sister Tiffany’s husband. Joel had insisted any one of the James family could use it whenever they wanted to. He’d appointed her the apartment-sitter, knowing full well where most of her money went and wanting to help her in her mission.

‘I don’t have many possessions,’ she said. ‘I have no need of them.’

‘Are you telling me they can be kept in a suitcase?’ he asked sceptically.

‘Just about.’ She threw him a taunting look. ‘I probably fly around the world as much as you do, Adam Cazell.’

‘Which gives us something in common.’

‘The difference is, I don’t have a daughter who’s left alone.’

‘Cate is not alone. She has her school, as Celeste does. Her mother and stepfather never leave England. She can be with them, call on them…’

‘They have other priorities,’ Rosalie cut in, shooting him a look that told him he should know that. ‘Just because they’re here does not mean they are readily available to her. Any more than you are.’

His mouth twisted sardonically. ‘You’re accusing me of neglect.’

‘I’m telling you how it is for her.’

‘You’ve known my daughter for what…all of one week? A bit presumptuous, don’t you think, Rosalie?’

‘I’m sure you’d like to believe that. Much easier to dismiss what I’m saying.’

His voice took on an edge of anger as he sought a reason for her argument. ‘She’s been playing poor little rich girl to you?’

‘No. Cate has too much pride for that.’

‘Then why are you attacking me?’ His eyes sliced at hers. ‘Is this your best form of defence?’

‘Defence against what?’

He halted. Since she was committed to being his companion on this walk, it forced her to pause and cast an inquiring glance at him. It was easier to ignore the power of the man while walking side by side but standing still, she immediately felt swamped by the intense energy force he emitted, and his strong air of command was reinforced by the blazing certainty in his eyes.

‘That’s not worthy of you, Rosalie James.’

Her heart missed a beat then leapt into a wild pounding. ‘I beg your pardon?’ she prevaricated.

‘If you’re trading truth, then don’t lie about what you’re feeling with me. It destroys your credibility.’

He was throwing down his gauntlet. Rosalie threw down hers. ‘Okay. You’d like my suitcase in your hall for a while. I prefer to pass on that.’

‘You can’t put what I want in a suitcase. I don’t care if you dress up or not.’

She raised her eyebrows mockingly. ‘No ornamental display?’

‘Irrelevant.’

‘Just the naked truth.’

His eyes derided her reading of him. ‘That I would like, but not in the limited sense you mean.’

A convulsive little shiver ran down her spine as she felt his purpose to invade far more than her body. Rosalie fiercely argued to herself that she was a curiosity to him, an enigma in his kind of world, and he’d teased himself into wanting to know what made her tick. She didn’t stop to examine what she felt towards him because it was too threatening to her peace of mind.

‘I don’t have time for you, Adam.’

‘Make time.’

The sheer magnetism of the man tugged at her. She’d felt nothing like this before with anyone. It was as though he was claiming her, and all her self-protective instincts rose to fight any surrender to his will.

‘You make time…for your daughter,’ she hurled back at him.

It did not hit any discernible mark. ‘I do,’ he replied, still maintaining an implacable concentration on her. ‘I take Cate with me during her school holidays. During term I send her postcards from wherever I am. She can call me on my mobile telephone whenever she likes.’

‘She’s been here for the first week of her summer holidays.’

‘Not because I failed to be available. It was her choice.’

‘And what does that choice say to you, Adam? What does your daughter get with Celeste’s family that she doesn’t get with you?’

‘Since you’re bursting to tell me…tell me.’

Rosalie paused, the challenge ringing in her ears, demanding truths that he could recognise, take on board. He was not as much at fault as she had assumed where Cate was concerned. Her mind flitted through all the silent criticisms she had made, trying to home in on the basic problem.

‘She’s flaunting it in your face, Adam.’

‘What?’

‘Secure ground that’s not going to change.’

He frowned, grimaced, made a gesture encompassing the grounds around them. ‘This is not my life. Any more than it’s yours. I can’t change who I am.’

‘She craves what Celeste has—a place to come home to, being an integral part of a family where children are a blessing not a nuisance to be accommodated.’

‘I have never treated Cate as a nuisance.’ Vehement denial.

‘What of your girlfriends? Cate mentioned a string of them. When you have your daughter with you, do you spend much time with her one on one, or is she an extra?’

Another frown. ‘She’s never seemed to mind when I’ve had a companion.’

‘What choice does she have but to fit in…if she wants to be with you?’

‘I take her wherever she wants to go. We have a lot of fun together.’

‘You entertain her.’

‘Something wrong with that?’ he rumbled as though barely holding back an explosion of frustration with her argument.

‘It’s froth and bubble, Adam. It doesn’t ease the loneliness inside. The sense of being a floating part of your life, not of any prime consideration, is eating away at Cate. If you really care about her, take her somewhere special these holidays—just the two of you—and get to know her as a person. She’s thirteen. She needs to feel someone loves her for who she is inside.’

He reined in the anger that had been simmering. His eyes scoured hers, searching for ulterior motives to attach to her diatribe against him. There were none. Rosalie stood her ground, waiting for his response, willing him to give her what she needed.

‘Why do you care so much?’ he asked gruffly.

‘Who will if I don’t?’

He shook his head. ‘Catie is not your business.’

‘Caring for children is my business, Adam.’

‘She’s not an orphan.’

‘She’s in need.’

He frowned, but he didn’t refute what she’d said, which might or might not be a step forward. His expression hardened and his narrowed eyes flashed a cynical look at her. ‘Who knows the person you are inside, Rosalie?’

‘My family.’

‘All fourteen of your brothers and sisters and the people who adopted you?’

‘Some more, some less. Overall we’re a very close-knit unit, supportive of each other.’

She was arguing Cate’s cause because Rebel had asked it of her, though she was sympathetic to it, as well. Oddly enough, she no longer felt so antagonistic towards Adam Cazell. He was not a bad father. Given the man he was and the life he led, he’d certainly made the effort to be a presence in his daughter’s life.

His mouth tilted into a wry little smile as he commented, ‘Then you’re very fortunate…in your family.’

He turned his head, gazing out over the lake, and she sensed his withdrawal from her. He stood a man apart, strongly self-contained, yet possibly he felt very alone on his pinnacle of singular achievement. She wondered about him, whether he’d had parents who’d made the time to know him, siblings who were brought up with him, sharing. What of his ex-wife, his girlfriends…had they ever touched his heart…his soul?

Observing him wrapped in his own thoughts, she was struck by the idea he’d always walked alone, knew nothing else. A man like him had few peers, and those that were would be in contest with him. That was the nature of the beast. As for the women in his life, had any of them seen past what he could give them? Huge wealth and the power that went with it might have been enough for them.

Perhaps she’d been blinded by it herself in making her judgment of him. Impulsively she stepped closer and touched his arm to bring him back from wherever he’d gone. ‘You and Cate could form a wonderful bond if you reached out to her,’ she pressed.

His biceps muscle tensed. His gaze fastened on hers, bypassing her plea with a piercing intensity that demanded something far more personal. ‘What of us?’ he shot out, his other hand lifting to grasp her arm.

It was like an electric jolt zapping through her.

Shocked, immobilised, mind jammed, Rosalie could only stare back at him.

‘Why trust Cate with me when you haven’t taken the time to know the person I am inside, Rosalie James?’

The words punched into her heart.

The need pulsing from him took her breath away.

Then something deep and alien to her stirred inside Rosalie, a sexual awakening that she had never expected to experience, a wanting to know this man in every sense, a yearning for the kind of love she knew existed between her sisters and the men they’d married. Yet even as she felt this, panic screamed into her mind, beating up the fearful thought—it’s not safe!

‘Da…ad!’ came the exasperated call from his daughter.

His jaw tightened. His eyes bit into hers with ruthless and relentless purpose. ‘Don’t think I’ll walk out of your life, Rosalie. We’ll meet again.’

She was left shaken to the core as he released her arm. Her own hand slid limply from his as he turned to face Cate who’d started down the path towards them and now stood waiting, her arms folded with an air of impatience. Or was it resentment that he’d gone off with yet another woman instead of waiting for her?

She’d seen them touching.

Rosalie struggled to block what Adam had said to her out of her mind…focus on the child who was no longer really a child. Her legs carried her automatically, keeping pace with Adam’s. They walked apart, but the sense of an inevitable link with him could not be broken.

They reached Cate.

Adam put an arm around his daughter’s shoulders and the stiffness instantly went out of them. He hugged her close, smiling, chatting, and she glowed up at him, loving his attention.

He didn’t speak to Rosalie again, not in any personal sense. He said a general goodbye to the family, thanking them for their hospitality. All of them trooped out to watch him and Cate drive away from Davenport Hall, the car moving slowly down the avenue of giant elms, as though being gradually drawn through a tunnel to a different time and place.