Читать книгу To Tame the Playboy - Kate Hardy - Страница 11

‘WELL, that was a surprise,’ Sebastian said as he and Fleur were relaxing in the sitting room after supper. ‘Eleven out of ten for the way you did my steak, Fleur—thanks.’

He glanced across at her as he spoke. Curled up as she was on the sofa, with her knees drawn up comfortably and her eyes closed, she looked ridiculously at ease.

‘I’ll take that as a compliment, rather than an insult, if you mean that you were surprised I didn’t ruin that wonderful meat,’ Fleur said drowsily.

When he’d returned late in the afternoon, he’d lit the fire and now the logs were crackling and hissing in the flames. With the lamps turned down low, the room was swathed in a gentle, soothing light, adding to the contented atmosphere which both of them were very much aware of. Sitting opposite her in one of the huge armchairs, he was wearing chinos and a light open-neck sports shirt, his bare feet thrust into loafers, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

He was quietly amazed at how totally comfortable he felt in Fleur’s company—as if he’d known her for ages. She was certainly the only woman he’d ever met who didn’t send out the usual signals that he was accustomed to receiving—the telling eye contact or suggestive comment, or any kind of simple gesture that told him she might fancy him. He thought she seemed to quite like him, but nothing more than that—and that pleased him. Because it made it easier for him to keep her emotionally at arm’s length. Neither of them—certainly not him—were interested in having a meaningful relationship with anyone, so that obviously explained why there was no tension, he thought. He smiled faintly to himself. The only slight problem was that she was so attractive…It would have helped if he could have looked at her dispassionately, but there was no hope of that. Still, soon they’d be going their separate ways and he doubted that he’d ever see her again. All of their lives, his and Mia’s and their respective friends, were so busy these days, it was difficult for any of them to get together.

He’d brought in the half-empty bottle of wine they’d shared the evening before, and now he leaned forward to refill their glasses, glancing across at her. He didn’t want her to go to sleep—which she seemed in imminent danger of doing—he wanted her to talk to him, wanted to hear some more of her opinions.

‘I take it you’ve no objection to helping me out with the remains of this?’ he enquired.

Still not moving, she opened her eyes lazily. ‘All right, but please make it a small one,’ she murmured. ‘I don’t have a very strong head for alcohol, but it was delicious.’

She watched his strong, completely steady, tanned hand pour the ruby liquid. He placed the bottle down on the small, low table in front of them with a gentle thud. ‘Good. That’s a dead one,’ he said. ‘But there’s plenty more we can open if you feel like living dangerously.’

She smiled back at him. ‘No, thanks. But I won’t say no to a coffee. I’ll go out and make some in a minute.’

He drank some wine, then leaned back, twirling the glass in his fingers. ‘No, you stay there. You look so comfortable, it would be a crime to disturb you. I’ll make the coffee, since you did everything else.’

There was silence for a few moments, then, ‘You said your parents were holidaying in Boston,’ he said. ‘Have you heard from them?’

‘Oh, yes, they rang me on New Year’s Day with the usual good wishes…Well, my father hoped I’d have another successful, fulfilling and productive year ahead, but my mother’s greetings centred more on fun and happiness.’ She smiled faintly. ‘She’s desperate for me to provide her with a grandchild, drops hints all the time—when my father’s not around—but it’s never likely to happen, I’m afraid. I’ve never actually said that to her, of course, because it sounds rather cruel, but I fear she hopes in vain.’

Sebastian looked at her seriously for a moment. ‘You don’t like kids?’ he said.

‘Of course I like children,’ Fleur replied at once. ‘What I don’t relish is having to hand my life over to their father, to become anonymous.’ She shook her head quickly. Her mother was a beautiful, gifted woman and had become like a silent, wistful bird in a cage—or so it seemed to Fleur. There was no way she was going to suffer the same fate, to be controlled by a man. Her father had done enough already to utterly convince her of that.

Sebastian didn’t need any further explanation. Fleur’s deep-rooted resentment about certain influences in her life had tarnished the natural inclination most women had for matrimonial commitment and child-bearing. He stared at her thoughtfully. What a waste, he mused. She was clearly an intelligent woman, who’d produce beautiful children.

After a few moments he left the room, returning with the coffee things on a tray, which he set down on the table.

‘Sugar and cream for madam,’ he said briefly, passing them to her, and pouring himself a black coffee. Fleur leaned forward, not surprised that he’d obviously noted what she liked, without having to ask. He was that kind of man.

Stirring her drink slowly, she said, ‘Soon this will all be a distant memory.’ She smiled up at him briefly. ‘I’ve kept a diary so that I can refer back.’

‘Well, you can always come and visit again,’ he said casually. ‘Whether Mia’s here or not. It’s good for the house to be used, and Pat’s always around…You’d be more than welcome, any time.’ That was a first, he thought—telling one of his sister’s friends to make herself at home! He paused. ‘You’d love it when all the spring flowers are in bloom…. Our bluebell woods are something else—in fact, we have a bluebell event every year, the first weekend in May. Everyone around comes to admire our carpets of blue, and we lay on a bit of a tea in the garden and the kids are invited to pick primroses to take home.’

Fleur’s eyes sparkled as she listened to the picture he had just painted. ‘How fantastic!’ she exclaimed. ‘I love bluebells—not to pick, of course, because they don’t last once they leave the ground, but they’re always such a magical sight.’ She paused. ‘I’d love to see it—perhaps one day, if Mia’s coming down, we could drive here together.’

‘It doesn’t matter whether Mia’s coming or not,’ he repeated. ‘Though she usually does put in an appearance. I always make a point of being here because it’s the only occasion when anyone and everyone is welcome to explore the estate…and it’s good for community spirit, that sort of thing. I’m often glad of local help to give Frank a hand from time to time, so it’s in my interests to be convivial now and then.’

They fell silent for a few moments, then Fleur said suddenly, ‘On Christmas Eve, when the others were all here, everyone started telling ghost stories, and Mia said that…’

‘Oh, she told you about our supernatural presence, did she?’ he asked good-humouredly. ‘Well, it’s kept many a guest entertained after dinner.’

‘But—there isn’t really a ghost, is there?’ Fleur said, keeping her voice totally expressionless, even though her pulse had quickened at the thought. ‘I thought she was pulling our legs.’

‘None of us have seen him, certainly,’ Sebastian replied easily. ‘But there are accounts of others having had the experience.’ He drank from his mug, then looked over at her. ‘Why, that sort of thing doesn’t bother you, does it? You don’t believe such nonsense?’

‘Of course not,’ Fleur said loftily. ‘I’m a scientist. I only believe what I can see or prove. And, to my knowledge, no one has yet proved the existence of such beings, have they? I mean, they may believe they’ve seen certain things, but that’s not the same thing as actually seeing or touching—with others there to corroborate, is it? It’s just all in the mind. Still,’ she added, ‘tell me more. Because Mia had hardly started telling us when Mandy nearly had hysterics at the thought, so she had to stop.’

Sebastian leaned back, his hands behind his head. ‘Well, our ghost is apparently a well-dressed middle-aged man who wears a top hat. He’s been seen walking along the upstairs landing, hangs around a bit as if he’s waiting for someone to join him, then walks straight out through the wall at the end.’

Fleur gave a slightly sardonic smile. ‘How bizarre.’ She paused. ‘Who’s supposed to have seen him, anyway?’

‘One of our forebears made a note of it a hundred years ago—it’s quoted briefly in the official documents,’ Sebastian replied. ‘Since then two others have declared they’ve witnessed it. One was a young lad, the tea boy, who was boiling a kettle upstairs to make some drinks for the decorators my parents had employed to do some work. Someone must have said something to him about our ghost and the lad swore he saw it do the disappearing trick through the wall. Anyway, he dropped the kettle and fled out of the house, refusing to come back in.’ Sebastian chortled at the thought. ‘But then there’s also…’

‘Who else has seen it?’ Fleur interrupted eagerly.

‘Beryl, Pat’s mother, swears she’s seen it too, twice—when she’s been upstairs cleaning.’

Fleur caught her breath. ‘Beryl’s seen it?’ she said. ‘Really?’ This was different. The woman was a practical no-nonsense character and, in Fleur’s opinion, not likely to make up things about seeing visions.

‘Yep. So she insists,’ Sebastian said cheerfully. ‘But she has no problem with it at all. Says that as long as the chap doesn’t give her any aggro or get under her feet, she’s quite happy to see him now and again.’ He chuckled. ‘Mind you, I have to say that Beryl’s private remedy for any ailment she might be suffering from is a rather good elderberry wine she makes. And I’m pretty certain that she enjoys a daily dose—which might explain things—not that I’ve ever seen her the worse for wear.’

‘Well, so Mia wasn’t having us on, then,’ Fleur said slowly. She sat back and feigned a yawn, feeling undeniably uncomfortable. What she had just said about not believing in the supernatural wasn’t entirely true because, in spite of her training, she knew there were still certain things which seemed to have no rational explanation. Phenomena whose secrets were yet to be revealed…Of course, it would all become clear one day, she was sure of that. There were so many more curtains to push back in order to find the truth behind the myriad unanswered questions.

‘My mother would find your ghost absolutely fascinating,’ she said, looking across at Sebastian. She paused. ‘She is what you would call a…spiritual person, with a very open mind. Though of course my father scoffs at anything which isn’t firmly rooted in proven fact.’

‘And you agree with him, obviously,’ Sebastian said.

After a second’s thought, she replied, ‘Yes. Of course.’

‘What about horoscopes—you don’t read them either?’ he persisted. ‘I know that Mia does—it’s the first page she turns to when I see her with a magazine. And she’s totally unashamed to admit it. She’ll say things like, “Oh, good, someone special is going to enter my life this week,” or “Hurrah—I’m coming into unexpected money!”’

Fleur smiled across at him. ‘And what about you—where do you stand on all this?’ she enquired.

‘I never read women’s mags, that’s for sure,’ he replied, ‘and I’ve never read my horoscope either, though Mia has often insisted on looking up my sign and telling me what’s in store for me in the imminent future.’

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, then Fleur got up, stretching her arms above her head. ‘I really must go to bed now,’ she said. ‘ I think I had too much supper, and too much wine…’ She bent to pick up the tray. ‘I’ll just clear this up first.’ She glanced across at him. ‘When do you want me to be ready in the morning? I mean…you said you’ve appointments in Truro…’

He stifled a yawn too then, and got slowly to his feet. ‘We should leave at nine.’ He smiled. ‘Do you want an early morning call?’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Fleur replied. ‘I always wake up with the birds.’ Though she had to admit that almost since her first day here she’d slept like a log, not rousing until much later than usual. The stress she’d been experiencing for the last few months, which had been the cause of disturbed nights and early waking, seemed to have vanished.

‘I’ll say goodnight, then, Sebastian,’ she said, turning to go.

‘Goodnight, Fleur—sleep well,’ he added.

Up in her room, Fleur undressed quickly and, after a quick wash and cleaning her teeth, she burrowed beneath her duvet. Glancing over to the other single bed, she wished that Mia was still there. It had been very comfortable, the two of them together, nattering away about everything—old times, new plans—until one or other had been the first to fall asleep. Now, the room seemed very still with only her own breathing to keep her company. She’d heard Sebastian come upstairs and pass her room, had listened to his firm tread receding for several moments. She didn’t know which bedroom he occupied, only that it seemed to be away at the far end of the wide landing.

Sighing briefly, she snuggled down.

And that night Fleur dreamed, her subconscious mind teeming with thoughts, events, voices, memories and feelings…For several hours, she tossed and turned restlessly. In her dreams, she and her mother were having one of their discussions about other-worldly things, about Helen’s inexplicable forebodings, which often turned out to have some verity, about the second sense which she seemed to possess, about the angels that she implicitly believed were all around…And then, without any warning, and with a huge wave of anxiety sweeping over her, Fleur sat bolt upright, her forehead spangled with perspiration. Because she was no longer alone! She could see him—he did exist! The ghost of Pengarroth Hall, his top hat firmly on his head, was right there in her room, and he was walking slowly towards her! Pulling the duvet right up around her shoulders, she opened her mouth to say something, to cry out, to tell it to go away and leave her alone! But no words would come! Her tongue had stuck fast to her dry mouth, rendering her impotent and helpless…She was his prisoner and she was trapped with no means of escape. With her shaking knees drawn up to her chin, her eyes huge with fright, she watched him come nearer and nearer all the time, and suddenly…suddenly…amazingly…she recognized him…It was her father—her father was here! But how…why? She could make out the familiar features, the determined expression, the permanently puckered brow, and at last Fleur did find her voice and she screamed, ‘No! Go away! You shouldn’t be here! Leave me alone—leave me alone!’ But the figure kept on walking and Fleur kept on screaming a high-pitched, frantic scream until, cowering now, she could almost feel him, he was so close…Suddenly the door burst open and Sebastian stood there, a look of shocked disbelief on his face.

‘Fleur…Fleur! What the hell is it?’ He strode right over to the bed and, without a second’s hesitation, she sprang up into a kneeling position and clutched him feverishly around his neck, almost bowling him over in her desperation to feel him near her. And with that human contact, feeling the comforting warmth of his bare chest against her flimsily clad form, she burst into tears. Helpless, hopeless tears. Tears partly of shock, partly of relief—and partly of release. She could not remember the last time she’d cried—it must have been years and years ago, and she sobbed unashamedly.

Sebastian let her cry, saying not another word, but now sitting down on the bed with her, his arms wrapped around her, his chin resting on the top of her head.

‘I saw him…I did see him,’ she gasped tremulously between sobs, and he held her even closer to him.

‘Hush, Fleur…it’s OK…you’re OK. I’m here…’ he murmured.

Afterwards, she couldn’t recall how long they’d stayed like that, but eventually her tears began to lessen and she raised her eyes to look up at him. And then, as if it were the obvious, natural sequence of events, his mouth came down upon her lips—lips that were parted with the effort of trying to breathe normally after her anguished weeping. And the moist warmth of that brief union sent thrilling waves coursing down her spine…She didn’t pull away, she didn’t want to pull away because, in a kind of wonder, she found herself glowing in this intimate contact, Sebastian’s overt masculinity making her feel desired, wanted, protected…but not overpowered. Not threatened in any way. And, as her terror finally died, she stayed quite still in his arms, not wanting him to leave her. Amazingly, she felt no embarrassment that they had kissed like that, no shyness that she had felt his body harden against her, had felt the muscles of his broad shoulders tense against her fingers as she’d clutched him to her.

Eventually, reluctantly, he drew away and said softly, ‘Fleur, you did not see anything…You’ve just had a horrible dream, that’s all, and I’m really sorry that I told you about the wretched ghost…It was a silly thing to do, just before going to bed.’ He gazed down at her for a long moment…Her brief nightwear exposed her slight shoulders and the cleft of her smooth breasts, her hair tangled and damp. Gently, he pulled a lock of it away from her forehead, smoothing his fingers across her cheek for a second. Then, reaching across, he took a tissue from a box on the bedside table and carefully wiped away her tears.

Fully awake—and aware—now, Fleur suddenly became very conscious that he was clad only in dark boxer shorts, conscious of the black hair on his bare chest, of his broad, muscular thighs, and she shivered briefly. Was this part of the dream, would she wake up in a minute and find him gone? But she knew it was no fantasy…His throbbing body, melding with hers, was no figment of her imagination.

After a moment of trying to control his own heightened awareness, he murmured, ‘Do you want me to stay?’ He paused, feeling a surging, burgeoning hope that she would say yes.

But, after a second’s hesitation, she replied, ‘No…no, there’s no need, thank you…I’m fine now, really. And I’m so sorry.’ She swallowed, taking the damp tissue from him and dabbing at her eyes. ‘Of course you’re right, Sebastian. I was dreaming. How could it possibly have been anything else? But I’m sorry I disturbed you, sorry that you had to come and…and sort me out…’

He smiled briefly, releasing her gently, and got up straight away and went over to the door, glancing back at the crestfallen woman half-kneeling, half-crouching on the bed. ‘Can I make you a warm drink, Fleur? Something to help you get back to sleep?’ he said quietly.

She returned his smile, beginning to feel calm and more in possession of her self-control. ‘No, thanks. I’ll have a glass of water and take one of my tablets,’ she said. ‘I’ll…I’ll sleep now, Sebastian. And I really do apologize for being such an idiot.’

He nodded at that, going out and closing the door softly behind him.

On his way back to his own room, he was aware that his nerves had quickened dangerously, making him feel frustrated and edgy, and he cursed under his breath. It would have only taken one word from her to make him slide into that bed beside her and take and hold her in his arms, and make tender, unhurried love to her until dawn broke. How had she managed that? Would he really have succumbed that easily? There may not have been any ghost about, but she’d certainly cast a spell on him!

He went into his own room and shut the door, leaning against it for a second. Thank heavens she’d turned down his offer to spend the rest of the night with her. He must have been out of his mind to suggest it. He went across to the window and stared out moodily into the darkness for a moment. He’d thought he was impervious to the lure of beautiful, vulnerable women—but obviously not. Well, it had been a timely warning to keep his distance! And especially with this one, and for whom his restless body still ached. Would he never learn?