Читать книгу The Bride's Secret - HELEN BROOKS, Helen Brooks - Страница 6

CHAPTER ONE

‘MARIANNE? What’s the matter? You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.’

Marianne heard Keith speak but she could no more have dredged up a reply at that moment than flown to the moon. That big, lean body—the way he was holding his head—there was only one person in the world who stood with such arrogance and disregard for the rest of the human throng. It had to be Hudson de Sance.

‘Marianne?’ Now Keith reached out and turned her face to his, after staring perplexedly in the direction of her fixed gaze for a moment or two. He couldn’t see anything unusual in the well-dressed, cosmopolitan collection of businessmen and holiday-makers enjoying an alfresco lunch in the open-air dining room of the hotel where they were staying—it was exactly the sort of clientele he would expect to see in a first-class hotel such as this one in the middle of Tangier. ‘What is it?’

‘What? Oh, nothing... I’m just daydreaming,’ she said quietly.

It didn’t work, but Marianne hadn’t expected it to. She and Keith had worked together long enough for him to know when she was evading the truth.

‘Don’t give me that; you resemble someone who’s just had a hard punch where it hurts,’ Keith said worriedly, his eyes returning to the well-populated tables in front of them. ‘Have you seen someone you know? Someone you’d rather not see?’

‘Just leave it, Keith, please.’ Her gaze had briefly swept the area along with his, and she felt weak with relief to find the spectre from the past had vanished.

It couldn’t have been Hudson, she told herself reassuringly. There were probably dozens—hundreds—of tall, dark, brooding men who inclined their heads in that particular way, and she had only seen the back of the man anyway as he had stood looking down over the roaming city spread out beneath them from the hilltop hotel.

Nevertheless, her heart continued to thud as the waiter presented them with lunch menus and took their order for drinks, and her stomach churned relentlessly. Hudson de Sance. He still invaded her dreams and encroached on her days as remorselessly as when she had first left him, despite the fact that she had not seen him in the flesh since that night two years ago. Would she ever get over him? She savaged the thought the second it took form. Of course she would—she had. She was autonomous now; she had had to be.

‘I thought the shoot went really well—how about you?’ Keith was making an effort at conversation and she blessed him for it, although his face revealed she wasn’t hiding her shock as well as she would have hoped. ‘Of course, the location is second to none.’

‘I thought it was good, and you were brilliant as usual.’ She smiled, but it wasn’t flattery—Keith was one of the best photographers in London and she was lucky to be his assistant. All the top models wanted him, knowing he could make them look good even on their worst days, and he could pick and choose his assignments at leisure. She was a good photographer, but that was all, whereas Keith could make his camera talk for him. ‘Those shots you did of Marjorie against the background of the harbour were inspired; I didn’t think we’d get anything out of her today.’

‘Too much drinking in the hotel bar last night,’ Keith agreed softly. ‘She phoned that guy she’s been seeing earlier and it was all hassle, apparently.’ Keith was an easygoing individual—except where his work was concerned, and the beautiful model’s dishevelled state that morning had produced a certain amount of artistic despair followed by a rare temper tantrum, only mollified by indulgent obedience of his every suggestion by the lady in question. ‘She’s a fool to herself,’ he continued quietly. ‘Why she doesn’t dump that no-good boyfriend of hers I’ll never know.’

‘Love?’ Marianne suggested lightly.

‘That sort of slavish obsession isn’t love,’ Keith said flatly. ‘Love isn’t like that. It’s like he’s some sort of drug to her.’

The waiter returned at that moment with their drinks and Marianne was glad of it. There had been that look in her boss’s eyes again—a mixture of desire and devoted-puppy-dog appeal—that was appearing more and more often of late, despite her tactful intimations that she wasn’t interested.

‘Marianne—’ Keith’s voice was urgent as the waiter left them, but whatever he had been about to say was cut short by a deep, cold voice just behind her.

‘Marianne Harding, isn’t it? It’s been a long, long time.’

She froze—all her senses screaming to a halt—and then forced herself to turn and look up at the man who had moved to the side of their table, his grey eyes of glittering stone hard and uncompromising and his mouth unsmiling.

‘Hello, Hudson.’ It was all she could manage.

‘On holiday?’ She remembered this about him—the refusal to waste words on polite chit-chat—but apart from that the man standing in front of her could have been a stranger. Certainly in the past he had never looked at her the way he was looking at her now—his eyes narrowed and as cold as ice and his handsome face devoid of expression.

‘No, I’m...I’m working.’ Her voice was shaking but there wasn’t a thing she could do about it. “This—This is my boss, Keith Gallaway,‘ she added quickly as Keith stood up slowly, his hand outstretched but his face straight. ‘Keith—Hudson de Sance.’

‘I’ve heard of you; you’re one of the best photographers money can buy.’ On the face of it the words shouldn’t have been insulting, but somehow Hudson made them so.

“Thank you.‘ Neither man smiled as they shook hands. ’I’ve heard of you too,‘ Keith said levelly. ‘If ever I need a tough lawyer to get me out of a spot I’ll call you.’ Again it wasn’t complimentary, and Marianne’s heart rose up into her mouth.

‘You couldn’t afford me.’ Hudson’s voice was pure steel.

‘I might surprise you.’

‘Very little surprises me, Mr Gallaway.’ This time the icy voice was wrapped in silk. ‘Isn’t that so, Annie?’

Annie. His pet name for her. She stared at him for a moment without speaking, her huge green eyes with their soft flecks of gold dark with bewilderment. She didn’t want to feel like this—vulnerable, exposed, frightened. He was out of her life now—he had no hold over her any more. The past was behind her.

‘Although this little lady is the exception that proves the rule.’ Hudson turned from her pale face to Keith, and now he smiled, but it was shark-like—threatening. ‘I’m sure you’ve found Marianne to be full of surprises?’ he asked smoothly.

Keith was out of his depth now and it showed. ‘Look, I don’t know what you’re getting at—’

‘No, I’m sure you don’t.’ Again the hard grey gaze moved back to Marianne, lingering for a moment on the pale gold of her hair—its riot of silky curls restrained into a high ponytail secured with black velvet ribbon—before it moved to capture her gaze. ‘But Annie does,’ he added mockingly, his voice dry and with a dark undertone that made her flush hotly before she dropped her eyes.

And then he moved on, walking swiftly past them after a terse nod at Keith and through into the hotel’s more formal dining room, where Marianne saw a tall, elegant redhead detach herself from a group of people waiting at the plate-glass doors. They exchanged a few brief words before Hudson took her arm, the party continuing out of sight through the doors and into the lush reception area.

For a moment she felt as though she was going to faint, the nausea and darkness sweeping over her in a giant wave before she forced it back by sheer will-power. Control. She had to have control.

‘What on earth was all that about?’ Keith sounded as stunned as she felt, and as her eyes turned to him she saw he was looking at her as though he had never seen her before. ‘You’ve never mentioned you know Hudson de Sance, Marianne. The man’s a walking legend in the States—more so since he took on the syndicate and won in that mega trial a couple of years back,’ he said bemusedly.

‘I used to know him.’ Keith was waiting for an answer and she heard her voice replying out of the dark vacuum her mind seemed to have fallen into. ‘But it was a long time ago.’ Two years, three months and four days, to be precise. She could even tell him the exact hours and minutes if she glanced at her watch.

‘I didn’t know you’d lived in the States.’ Keith sounded hurt, even petulant now. ‘I didn’t know you’d even visited America.’

‘I haven’t.’ She took a deep breath and prayed for the buzzing in her ears to fade. ‘Although he’s American his father’s family are still mostly in France, and my mother was French. He was visiting his grandparents some years ago when I was visiting relations in France, and we met at a party. That’s all.’ She tried for a smile but couldn’t get her tremulous mouth to obey. ‘We dated for a while,’ she finished with an effort at casualness.

‘You dated for a while?’ Keith asked shrilly. ‘You and de Sance dated?’

If she had said she’d dated Napoleon he couldn’t have sounded more amazed. ‘Yes, we dated for a while, and then it finished. End of story,’ she said tightly, meeting his eyes defiantly.

‘Marianne...’ He paused, and then said, speaking to himself more than her, ‘It clearly wasn’t Hudson who finished it.’

‘What makes you say that?’ she asked noncommittally, wanting the conversation to end but not knowing how to bring it to a conclusion.

‘His face when he saw you.’ Keith looked straight at her now, shaking his head slowly. ‘It looked much the same as when you saw him earlier. It was him you saw, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was cool and dismissive, and she shrugged as she said, ‘Can we leave it now, Keith? It’s...it’s history, as they say, and I really don’t want to discuss it further.’

‘Perhaps Hudson de Sance isn’t saying that,’ Keith said wryly. ‘And I’d say there’s plenty that man wants to discuss.’

‘I haven’t seen him in two years.’ Her voice was too sharp and she moderated it as she continued, ‘So I would say that speaks for itself. Whatever... whatever we shared is over.’

‘Hmm.’ The waiter arriving with their first course finished the conversation, but as Marianne forced each mouthful past the tight constriction in her throat the screen of her mind was replaying every frame of the last few minutes with Hudson.

He had looked wonderful. Terrifying but wonderful, she thought, trembling. At six feet four he had always towered over other men, his clothes unable to disguise the muscled strength of his big shoulders and chest, and with his jet-black hair and dark grey eyes his hardplaned, handsome face was devastatingly attractive. But she had never thought of it as cruel and cold—until to-day. Today it had been harsh and ruthless—menacing—and for the first time she could fully appreciate the fierce, merciless streak which proved so formidable in the courtroom.

He had a reputation for going straight for the jugular when he felt he was right, and he couldn’t be bought—two qualities which caused even the nastiest of criminals to tremble when they heard he was after their blood. But with her he had been tender, gentle and wonderfully sexy...

‘Marianne?’ She came out of the raw, pain-filled reverie to the realisation that Keith had been speaking and she hadn’t heard a word he’d said. ‘Where on earth are you?’ he asked, his voice testy.

‘Oh, sorry,’ she said quickly, hoping he would be mollified.

‘No, I am sorry,’ he said tightly, his brown eyes narrowed. ‘You aren’t over him, are you? A blind man could see that.’

It wasn’t really a question, but she responded as though it had been. ‘Over him? Hudson de Sance? Don’t be so silly; I told you, I haven’t seen him in two years. Anyway, there’s nothing to be over—’ She stopped abruptly. She was protesting too much and they both knew it. She stared at Keith, her face flushing.

‘I’m not going to pry, Marianne.’ The waiter reappeared with their seafood platters, and Keith waited until they were alone again before he repeated, ‘I’m not going to pry, but I just want to say one thing. You are good at your job—very good—and I’d be upset if you allowed anything, or anyone, to interfere with that You could go right to the top, you understand me?’

She nodded mutely, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat which was the result of the shock of seeing Hudson again.

‘I’m only saying this because I care about you,’ he added quietly, ‘and because we work well together—very well.’

‘Thank you.’ She took a deep breath and managed a wobbly smile. ‘I do love my job, Keith, you know that. It’s given me more opportunities to travel than I’d ever dreamed possible.’

‘And of course the added bonus of working with a handsome and dynamic young boss who has the world at his fingertips—don’t forget that.’ It was said jokingly in an effort to defuse the almost painful tension. ‘Now eat up; we’ve got a busy afternoon ahead of us, and all our skills are going to be required to make Marjorie and June perform on that fishing boat. They both get seasick,’ he added wryly.

The afternoon went well, as Marianne had known it would. The sun was blazing down out of a crystal sky, the dancing waves were lit with sunshine and the gaily painted fishing boat was a perfect backdrop for the tall, graceful models in their wildly expensive leisure wear. A photographer’s dream. And normally Marianne would have enjoyed the hectic pace, the laughter, the razzmatazz that went hand in hand with such a showy display. But not today.

Today she caught herself glancing back at the harbour all the time they worked, her eyes searching the quay for a tall, dark figure, even as her mind berated the stupidity of it. She had seen the stunning redhead, hadn’t she? Why on earth did she think Hudson would be remotely interested in following up on their lunchtime encounter? She was nothing to him now. Her life had moved on—and his had always moved at a rate which had left her breathless.

Was his presence in Tangier down to business or pleasure? she asked herself as she stepped off the boat in the heat of late afternoon. And was that woman his girlfriend, his mistress—perhaps even his wife? The thought hit her in the solar plexus and she paused on the quay as Keith and the others stood admiring a huge ocean liner coming in to dock. He could be married or engaged. He was thirty-seven years old now—twelve years older than her—and had to be the catch of the century in the circles he moved in.

‘Taxi or gig?’ Keith asked as he joined her, indicating the row of light, two-wheeled, horse-drawn carriages lined up and waiting for customers.

‘I don’t mind; what are the others doing?’ she asked quietly, her thoughts still a million miles away. ‘There was talk of a market?’

‘Marjorie and June are going shopping with Guy, but beyond that I don’t know. We could perhaps—’ He stopped abruptly, looking at something over Marianne’s left shoulder, his face slowly darkening in uncharacteristic anger. ‘What the hell is he doing here?’ he asked grimly. ‘The cheek of the man.’

She knew, even before she turned to follow the direction of his gaze, who it was. Only Hudson de Sance could put that look on someone’s face. It was an ability of his she had noticed before.

Hudson was at their side within seconds, his loose-limbed, easy walk covering the space before she had time to think or feel. ‘Hello again.’ He spoke to them both, his iron-hard gaze sweeping across their faces with such condemning coldness that Marianne found herself blushing as though she had been caught doing something immoral, rather than standing on a busy quayside in the bright Moroccan sunshine of a May evening. ‘Finished for the day?’ he asked coolly, with a flick of his head at the others who were departing in various directions, before his eyes fastened on Marianne’s hot face.

‘Yes.’ Her tone of voice was as cryptic as his had been, but more to disguise the effect his sudden appearance had had on her equilibrium than anything else. He had changed from the smart business suit he’d been wearing that lunchtime, and now the big, powerful frame was clothed in an open-necked pale blue shirt that showed a tantalising glimpse of tightly curled dark body hair, and well-worn black jeans, tight across the hips. His flagrant masculinity was even more intimidating than she remembered, and it stopped her breath.

‘Then I would like to speak with you.’ It was as formal, and as constrained, as if he’d been in court. ‘Privately,’ he added, with a cold glance at Keith, who was bristling like a giant porcupine. ‘I’m sure Mr Gallaway can spare you for a while.’

‘I really don’t think we’ve anything to say to each other.’ How she managed it she didn’t know, but her voice sounded quite calm, composed even, which was at odds with her galloping heartbeat and churning stomach.

‘I disagree,’ he said with a smooth self-assurance that grated like metal on fine porcelain. ‘So, if you don’t mind...?’

‘Now look, de Sance, if Marianne doesn’t want to speak to you...’ Keith’s voice died away as the full force of a pair of menacingly ruthless grey eyes homed in on his before narrowing to laser-like slits. Hudson could express more with one glance than any man she knew.

‘This is nothing to do with you,’ Hudson said softly. ‘So let’s keep it that way, okay?’ It was more intimidating than any brazen threat, and Marianne saw Keith gulp slightly before his eyes wavered and fell, and she felt a dart of anger break through the fright.

‘Well?’ Hudson turned to Marianne again, his voice icy. ‘We are staying at the same hotel, so I can give you a lift back there and we can talk on the way. Is that civilised enough for you?’

‘I’ve said no, and please don’t threaten my friends—’

‘Marianne is with me.’

Keith spoke at the same time as Marianne, but this time Hudson’s glare was accompanied by a quick turning movement of his body that had Marianne clutching his arm before she realised what she was doing. ‘Don’t! Leave him alone,’ she said breathlessly as Keith stumbled backwards so quickly, he almost fell. ‘Don’t bully him.’

Hudson was very still for a long moment as he looked down at her small hand on his arm, and then he raised his eyes to her face and stared at her for several heart-stopping seconds before saying, ‘There’s the easy way, and then there’s the hard way, Annie. Which is it to be?’

‘I’ll ride back to the hotel with you,’ she said weakly, her heart thudding anew at the relentless hardness on his face. He frightened her, this new Hudson de Sance. In fact he scared her to death. There was nothing left of the man she had known.

‘Good.’ Just one word, but it was chilling, and increased her nervous tension.

‘I’ll see you later, Keith. Don’t...don’t worry,’ she added quickly, seeing the agonised indecision in his worried little face. He was only a few years younger than Hudson in actual fact, but his slight stature, coupled with naturally boyish good looks, made it difficult to believe he was a day over twenty-one—something he capitalised on in his day-to-day work.

The models found him comfortingly non-threatening, especially when he turned on the little-boy charm, and this attribute, added to the brilliance of his work, had made him the toast of his profession, and enabled him to achieve the sort of results others only dreamed of. She didn’t have a chance to say any more; Hudson had taken her by the elbow, his grip bruising, and she found herself being whisked along the quayside at a speed that left her breathless.

‘Here.’ He stopped beside an elegant sports car that was all sleek lines and gleaming red metal and opened the passenger door for her, watching her with a cool, all-encompassing gaze as she slid carefully inside the beautiful vehicle without saying a word.

He joined her immediately and at once her senses registered the elusive smell of the aftershave he had specially made for him, its perfume evoking memories she could well have done without in the circumstances, and doing nothing to alleviate her panic.

‘How long are you staying in Tangier?’ he asked quietly, his voice seeming to be without real interest.

‘Just a few days more.’ It wasn’t quite true, but she had no intention of revealing that she had arranged to combine the business trip with a holiday, and that she was staying on when the rest of the troupe left. She planned to join a tour which took in the five major cities of Morocco on the day Keith and the others flew home. ‘It’s...it’s quite a coincidence meeting you like this, after all this time...’ She came to a stumbling halt as her voice failed her.

‘Isn’t it?’ he agreed flatly, before pulling off in a great growl of powerfully honed engine.

It was only a few minutes later that Marianne realised they weren’t travelling on the road which led up into the hills to their hotel. She would have noticed it even sooner but for the fact her senses were battling with the close proximity of the big masculine body at the side of her.

She hadn’t dared look at him, but now, as they travelled along a broad avenue lined with modern stores and houses, her eyes flashed to his grim profile. ‘This isn’t the way back to the hotel,’ she challenged hotly. ‘It isn’t, is it?’

‘No?’ His voice was too innocent to be taken seriously.

‘You know it isn’t. Where...where are we going?’ she asked nervously, real fear in her voice as she realised her vulnerability.

‘Relax, Annie.’ The stone-grey eyes flashed over her face for one piercing moment as he caught the panic she couldn’t hide. ‘I’m not into abduction, or rape, or any one of a number of variations on those themes. I see the misery caused by those sorts of abuses of strength too often in my work to indulge personally,’ he said drily. ‘You’re quite safe.’

Safe? With Hudson de Sance? Never, she thought wildly.

‘You said we were going back to the hotel,’ she accused, once she could trust her voice not to shake. He would just love to think she was quivering in her shoes! ‘Didn’t you?’

‘And so we are.’ He paused for a moment, and then added, ‘Eventually,’ his voice full of dark mockery.

‘Eventually?’ She glared at him, her eyes flashing.

‘It means finally, in the end, ultimately,’ he said helpfully.

‘I know what the word means.’

Her voice was too shrill, and she was furiously angry with herself for not matching his cool control, especially when the grey eyes moved over her face in another lightning glance and the black eyebrows lifted in indulgent disapproval. ‘Don’t screech, Annie; it’s most unbecoming,’ he drawled easily.

She mentally counted to ten—slowly—and then said, in as even a tone as she could manage, ‘I just want to know where we are going. I think that is reasonable enough—to any normal person.’

‘Reasonable doesn’t enter into it.’ Now his voice was clipped, and for the first time she saw his knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel. His control wasn’t as real as he’d like her to believe, she thought nervously as fear engulfed her again. ‘You, of all people, should know that.’

‘Hudson—’

‘You walked out on me two years ago without so much as a by-your-leave,’ he bit out tightly. ‘You call that reasonable?’

‘I left a letter to explain why,’ she protested quickly.

‘The original “dear John”. Yes, I read it,’ he said icily. ‘And yet the evening before that you had agreed to become my wife.’

‘I explained—’ She stopped abruptly as they turned a corner and almost collided with an aged donkey bearing bales of merchandise on its back, his owner having stopped to carry on a conversation with a vendor selling pomegranates from an old pushcart at the side of the road. It was charming and picturesque, but quite how the accident claim form would have read was another matter.

Hudson swore angrily under his breath, sounded his horn and continued down the dusty road leading away from the modern European section of the city they had been in earlier.

‘I explained about that,’ Marianne said weakly after a moment or two. ‘Our lifestyles were too different—I had only recently finished university and I’d never even been to the States. Everything had happened too quickly. We...we didn’t really know each other.’

‘Rubbish,’ he said with ruthless honesty. ‘That’s rubbish and you know it. If it had just been that, you wouldn’t have dropped off the face of the earth. I came looking for you, but of course you know that. Your aunt and uncle were very shocked by it all, but your stepfather not so much. It was he who told me the truth.’

‘The truth?’ She was losing it, she thought frantically as her mind raced and spun. He had seen Michael? That had been the one thing she’d been trying to prevent by leaving France in the middle of the night without a word to anyone. What had Michael told him? She wouldn’t put anything past her stepfather.

‘What was his name, Annie, this guy from university?’ Hudson asked coldly. ‘And why the hell didn’t you tell me about him yourself instead of getting your stepfather to do your dirty work and tell me you were engaged? You didn’t go back to Scotland, did you? The pair of you simply vanished off the face of the earth.’

‘I...I went to London,’ she admitted through stiff lips.

‘And Harding? Is that your married name?’ he bit out tightly.

‘No, I...I didn’t get married,’ she said flatly. ‘I changed my name from McBride, that’s all. Harding...Harding was more suitable in London.’

‘You didn’t get married?’ She felt the penetrating gaze sweep her face again but forced herself to stare straight ahead, her eyes seeing the hot street outside the car, with its veiled women, energetic little children and robed men, as though she were in a dream. ‘But I thought—’ He paused. ‘Was that anything to do with the car crash?’ he asked softly. ‘Or a separate decision?’

‘You know about the crash?’ She did turn to look at him then, but the dark, tanned profile was giving nothing away. ‘How?’ Scotland was a long way from America.

‘Let’s just say I kept tabs for a while,’ he said smoothly. ‘You didn’t go to the funeral of your mother and stepfather. Why?’

‘Reasons.’ This was becoming too hot to handle. ‘Look, Hudson, the past is the past—can’t we just leave it at that? And where are we going anyway?’ she asked nervously as they joined a road that began to curve upwards. ‘I need to get back—’

‘A friend of mine has invited me to stop by this evening.’ He had known how she would react, and his voice was dry and cool as he said, ‘Don’t look so surprised, Annie. I do have friends, you know. Or is that too difficult for you to believe?’

‘I’m sure you do,’ she said tightly. ‘But won’t they be surprised to see you turn up at the door with a strange woman?’

‘The “strange woman” is your terminology, not mine,’ he mocked softly. ‘I would have said unusual, extraordinary perhaps, but strange is going a little too far.’

‘You know what I meant.’ She’d hit him in a minute—she would!

‘So ...’ The cool voice was thoughtful. ‘Where did you go when you ran away from me, if not to marry your lover?’

‘I’ve told you—London,’ she said shortly.

‘And you changed your name and cut off all contact with your family, even to the extent of not attending your parents’ funeral.’ He was talking as though to himself. ‘What made you contact your aunt in France after two years?’ he asked suddenly, his voice sharpening into cold steel.

‘How did you know—?’ She stopped abruptly, her face going white as reality dawned. ‘You knew I would be here, didn’t you?’ she said dazedly. ‘This is not a coincidence.’ He had known her name earlier at lunch. He had called her Marianne Harding.

‘You haven’t answered my question.’ The cool mockery was back.

‘You haven’t answered mine either,’ she shot back quickly, his cold, faintly drawling voice incredibly irritating when she was as tense as a tightly coiled spring. ‘You knew I’d be here, in this hotel in Tangier, didn’t you? You planned all this.’

‘You really think I would chase across half the world because I’d discovered your whereabouts?’ he asked contemptuously, and at the same moment, with a flash of mortifying and hot humiliation, she remembered the stunning redhead. He was here with her. Of course.

‘I...I didn’t mean that.’ She didn’t really know what she had meant, she admitted to herself painfully. But that wasn’t surprising—Hudson had always had the power to send her senses into overdrive and her mind spinning. She hadn’t looked at another man—hadn’t had the slightest interest in one—since she had left France two years ago. Left him two years ago. How he’d laugh at that.

‘Here we are.’ As the car passed through a great archway covered in traceries so delicate and intricate that they looked like lace, Marianne saw they were in the courtyard of what was obviously a very wealthy family, the low, sprawling white house in front of them decorated in the Moorish style with fine carvings in stone and wood. The air was heavy with the perfume of banana trees, bougainvillea vines and other flowering tropical plants. Several sparkling fountains murmured in the vegetation beyond the courtyard. It was tranquil, serene and very beautiful.

‘My friend’s name is Idris,’ Hudson said quietly as he brought the car to a quiet standstill in the warm, scented air, the sound of droning insects in the vegetation meeting their ears. ‘He and his family are very westernised, but he is a Berber through and through and proud of it We will be expected to eat with them.’

‘But...’ It was as though she had been transported into another world, swept along in the dark aura of this man who had dominated her life since the first moment she had laid eyes on him—the intervening years since she’d last seen him accentuating, rather than diminishing, his fierce appeal. ‘I can’t... They don’t know me. Hudson, you must see I can’t stay; it’s presumptuous—’

‘They expected me to bring a friend.’ The glittering grey gaze fastened on her alarmed green eyes with their deep gold flecks, and then he uncoiled himself from the car, walking with cat-like litheness round to the passenger door.

A friend? The redhead, no doubt, Marianne thought silently as a rapier-sharp stab of jealousy replaced the desperate panic. Why hadn’t she come? Was she ill? Indisposed in some way? But that still didn’t explain why he had appeared on the quayside like that.

‘Come along.’ His deep, smoky voice interrupted her frantic thoughts, and as she slid out of the car his hand on her arm seemed to burn like fire. She didn’t want to obey, but there was nothing else she could do, after all.

This was crazy, surreal—it couldn’t be happening, Marianne told herself as she stood dazedly in the shaded warm air. She should be back at the hotel, getting ready for dinner in an environment that was familiar and safe and controlled. How had she got here anyway? She had only agreed to have a lift with him.

‘Hudson...please—’

“‘Hudson...please”.‘ He mimicked her voice softly and cruelly, his face mocking and his eyes narrowed. ’You used to say that in the old days—“Hudson, oh, Hudson, please...please”—remember? When you were in my arms, when I was kissing you—holding you. Did your young English lover take you into the world we inhabited, Annie? Did he make you feel like I made you feel? Did he?‘

‘You’re hurting me.’ His hand on her arm was vicelike.

‘Am I?’ He released her immediately. ‘I want to hurt you, my inconsistent little siren,’ he said with such matter-of-fact coolness that it took a moment for his words to sink in. ‘I want to see you suffer, like I suffered two years ago. Not in any physical sense—that would be too easy, too simple. But I would like to get inside your head—like you got inside mine—and watch while I slowly drain the very essence of you into my control. Does that shock you?’ he added with a marked lack of expression.

She stared at him, quite unable to speak, her mind frozen.

‘But we are civilised people, are we not?’ He smiled, but it was a mere twisting of the firm, sensual mouth, and chilled her still further. ‘And civilised people play games, have fun, flit from one partner to another if they get bored—’

‘I’m not like that.’ Her words were a trembling whisper, but he heard them. ‘I’ve never played those sorts of games in my life.’

‘No?’ The grey eyes flickered briefly. ‘Forgive me, but I’m not convinced. My mother’s father, a tough old Texan with a hide as thick as a rhinoceros—from whom I got my Christian name, incidentally—always used to say that actions speak louder than words. It used to irritate me as a boy as he invariably hammered it home when I was guilty of some fall from grace. But he was dead right, Annie. And your actions to date are somewhat—forgive me—frivolous, to put it mildly,’ he added with deadly sarcasm.

‘Hudson—’

‘Or do you consider a breach of faith between lovers as par for the course?’ he asked with lethal softness. ‘Part of the fun?’

‘No, of course I don’t. I didn’t... It wasn’t like that.’ She didn’t want to cry—she couldn’t cry—it would be the final humiliation, she told herself desperately as tears burnt fiercely at the back of her eyes, and she lowered her gaze quickly in case he saw the betraying sheen that was splintering the sunlight into a thousand glittering fragments. But not quickly enough.

‘And that old feminine ploy of tears won’t work either,’ he drawled nastily. ‘I’m too long in the tooth for that For someone to behave like you did takes something the average person hasn’t got, so don’t try the weak, trembling female approach now. There’s steel under that beautiful exterior—I know; I’ve felt it.’

‘You know nothing about me,’ she said shakily, keeping her face turned from him and her eyes downcast.

‘Oh, I’d agree with that, sweetheart.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Now that is the truth.’

‘Then why not just leave me alone?’ she muttered painfully. ‘I didn’t ask to come here with you; I don’t want to be here with you. It was you who instigated this.’

‘I’ve no doubt at all you would rather be back at the hotel enjoying a cocktail or two before dinner with the reputable Keith,’ Hudson said sardonically. ‘But unfortunately here you are and here you will remain until I choose to take you back.’

‘And this satisfies some twisted idea of revenge? Is that it?’ She raised her head now, her face fiery. ‘What sort of person are you, Hudson?’

‘I rather think that should be my line in the circumstances,’ he said with a silky coldness that told her her shot had hit home. ‘But if you’d like me to show you what sort of man I am, Annie...’

He had taken her in his arms before she had any clear idea of his intentions, his embrace crushing her into him as his mouth took hers in a kiss that was meant to punish and subdue. For a moment the shock of being held by him was overwhelming, the touch and taste of him achingly familiar, and then, as the tempo changed and he began to cover her face in burningly hot kisses that made her limp and fluid beneath his mouth, she strained into him, hardly aware of what she was doing.

How long the embrace continued she didn’t know; the magic of his kisses, the sheer sensation that was flowing like fire between them, wiped all coherent thought clean away. She could hear herself moaning his name, and she thought she heard him groan against her throat but then, in the next moment, he had thrust her away from him so violently, she almost fell.

‘How can you do that—kiss me back like that—when it doesn’t mean a thing?’ he snarled bitterly, his eyes blazing. ‘Who, what are you, Marianne McBride—or Harding—or whatever it is you call yourself?’