Читать книгу Marriage On The Agenda - Lee Wilkinson - Страница 8

STILL feeling stunned, Loris found herself being helped into the passenger seat. Her case was tossed in the back, and a moment later Jonathan Drummond slid in beside her.

She had made no move to fasten her seat belt, and he leaned over and fastened it for her. His fair hair was darkened by the wet and, feeling curiously detached, she watched a drop of water trickle down his lean cheek.

As they joined a queue of cars and taxis that were leaving the hotel forecourt and slowly filtering into the stream of late-night traffic, he said, ‘You live in Chelsea, I believe?’

Loris pushed back her hood and, making an effort to come to grips with the situation, answered, ‘That’s right. But I wasn’t intending to go to my flat.’

‘Whose flat were you intending to go to?’

She bit her lip, and stayed silent.

Slanting her a glance, he murmured, ‘I see. But you were unexpectedly…shall we say…replaced?’

So he’d seen Mark and the blonde driving away.

Gathering together the tatters of her pride, Loris informed him haughtily, ‘I was intending to go down to my parents’ house.’

‘At Paddleham?’

Wondering how he knew so much, she answered, ‘Yes.’

‘So Longton was supposed to be going too?’

He was too quick by half. Sounding suitably amazed, she asked, ‘How on earth did you deduce that, Holmes?’

Grinning, he answered, ‘Elementary, my dear Watson. You didn’t go with your parents, you don’t have a car, and you hadn’t ordered a taxi. Which means you were expecting your fiancé to drive you down.’

Then, sounding as though he cared, ‘No wonder you looked shattered, being treated so shabbily.’

‘It was partly my own fault,’ she admitted.

‘All the same, it must hurt like hell.’

She said, ‘I’m more angry than hurt.’ And discovered it was the truth.

‘Stay that way. Anger is easier to cope with.’

As they neared the head of the queue, he asked, ‘So which is it to be? Chelsea, or Paddleham?’

‘I can’t ask you to drive me all the way to Paddleham,’ she demurred.

‘I’ll be happy to, if that’s where you want to go?’

‘It isn’t really,’ she confessed, dismayed by the thought of having to try and explain Mark’s absence. ‘But I can’t go back to my flat.’

‘Gee that’s tough, doll.’ Sounding like a gangster in a second-rate movie, he asked out of the corner of his mouth, ‘So what are the Mob after you for?’

She laughed in spite of herself.

‘It’s not quite that bad. I agreed to let an old college friend of mine have my flat for tonight and tomorrow night.’

‘And there’s only one bedroom?’

‘Worse. Judy and Paul are on their honeymoon… Monday, they’re flying to Oz to go backpacking.’

‘Hmm… Well, if you can’t go back to your flat and you don’t want to go to Paddleham—’ he gave her a villainous leer ‘—what about my place?’

Loris was about to curtly refuse, when she realised he was pulling her leg.

Lightly, she said, ‘I’m afraid I’m superstitious about going anywhere new on a wet Saturday.’

‘Pity.’

‘But thanks all the same.’

‘Think nothing of it. We aim to please. So what’s it to be?’

Briefly she considered asking him to take her to a hotel, then dismissed the idea. She could well do without the expense. In any case, by breakfast-time next day her parents would require some kind of explanation. Though she dreaded the prospect, her practical streak insisted that it would make sense to be there in person to make it.

Coming to a decision, she said, ‘If you really don’t mind, I think I’d better go to Paddleham.’

‘Paddleham it is.’

A moment or two later they had joined the traffic stream and were heading out of town through gleaming, rain-lashed streets.

Worrying her bottom lip, she wondered how she was going to explain away Mark’s absence.

Of course she could simply tell her parents the truth. But if she did she knew it would be her they would be blaming, saying she’d brought it on herself.

Which in a way she had. If she hadn’t been late for the party in the first place. Though her lateness, she recognised, had only been the catalyst. None of this would have happened if she’d agreed to sleep with Mark when he’d first pressed her to.

But, even after six years, the remembrance of the shame and humiliation she had suffered over Nigel was still a powerful deterrent.

She had been in her first year at art school when she had met him. The son of Sir Denzyl Roberts, one of her father’s wealthy friends, Nigel had been five years older, and light years ahead of her in experience. Expecting her to be like most of the women he had known, he had been surprised and intrigued to find she was supremely innocent.

On her part it had never been a conscious decision to remain a virgin. It had just happened. Since her early teens her unusual beauty had made her a target for every male aged between fifteen and fifty. But, naturally fastidious, she had kept them at bay, disliking their one-track minds and fly-paper hands. Waiting for someone special. Someone she could love.

There had been one boy, different from the rest, a fleeting attraction that might have developed into something deeper if, before she could get to know him, he hadn’t vanished from the scene.

At the same time she had met Nigel. Impressed by his looks and maturity, and perhaps falling in love with love, she had fondly imagined he was that someone special.

Even so, almost out of force of habit, she had held him off until, rapidly losing patience, he had proposed to her.

Though she had still been very young, the match, from her parents’ point of view, had been an advantageous one and, highly delighted, they had encouraged the engagement.

Once the ring was on her finger, Nigel had redoubled his efforts to get her into bed. Certain she loved him, and happy in the knowledge that they were going to be married, she had given in.

Loris had found their lovemaking disappointing, getting little or nothing from it. She had consoled herself with the thought that it was bound to get better when they were used to each other.

It hadn’t.

Blaming herself, her inexperience, she had said nothing, merely kept on trying to please him.

They had been sleeping together for almost three months when, turning up unexpectedly at his flat one evening, intending to surprise him, she had found him with another woman.

Though hurt and bewildered, she had been ready to forgive him, until the girl in his bed had taunted her with the fact that this was no one-off, but was, and had been for some time, a regular arrangement for the nights Loris wasn’t there.

‘He needs a woman who’s got some life in her, who knows how to please a man. Not some frigid statue who just lies there and—’

‘That’s enough!’ Nigel had silenced her at that point.

But it had been too late. As far as Loris was concerned, the damage had been done. Nigel had told this brazen slut of a girl intimate details about something she had considered essentially private and sacrosanct.

Badly humiliated, and furious at the way he had treated her, she had thrown his ring at him and walked out.

When her father and mother had learnt of the broken engagement, deploring the fact that she was ‘losing her chance to marry well’, they had tried to get her to change her mind. But, while refusing to tell them the reason for the break-up, she had made it clear that it was final.

Judy, her friend and room-mate at college, was the only one in whom she had confided her hurt, but down-to-earth as usual, Judy had pulled no punches. ‘Think about it. Would you really want to marry a two-timing rat like that?’

‘No, I suppose not.’

‘Then forget him. He’s not worth a second thought.’

‘I just wish I hadn’t been such a fool.’

‘Well, we all make mistakes. It isn’t the end of the world.’

It had only felt like it.

‘I thought he loved me,’ Loris had said sadly. ‘But he was only using me.’

‘Surely you got something out of it?’

Loris had shaken her head wordlessly.

Judy had said a rude word. ‘Still, it’ll be different next time, you’ll see.’

But, feeling degraded by the experience, Loris had vowed there would be no next time. Even so, it had taken her a long while to regain her self-respect…

Flashing lights suddenly reflected in a myriad raindrops, and the urgent sound of a siren bearing down on them brought Loris back to the present with a start.

The road they were on was narrow, and there was on-coming traffic. Pulling half-onto the wet, deserted pavement, Jonathan made room, and a second later the ambulance went racing past on its errand of mercy.

Impressed by his presence of mind, she glanced at him. His face was calm, unperturbed.

Intercepting her glance, he gave her a sidelong smile that quickened her pulse-rate and made her feel suddenly breathless.

A moment later they had regained the road and were continuing their journey. By now they were on the outskirts of town, and the downpour was continuing unabated. Rain beat against the windscreen and even at their fastest speed the wipers had a job to keep it clear.

As they reached a crossroads and turned right it occurred to Loris, belatedly, that she had given him no directions and he had asked for none.

Wondering how, being from the States, he knew the way, she queried, ‘Are you familiar with this part of the world?’

‘I was born and brought up quite near Paddleham.’

‘Really? Then your parents were English?’

‘My father, a hard-working GP, was English while my mother, who was an airline stewardess until she married, came from Albany.’

‘The capital of New York State?’

‘That’s right. Her parents owned a small business there.’

To Loris, the details of his modest background seemed at odds with his cultured voice.

‘Have you lived in the US long?’ she asked, wanting to know more about him.

‘For several years now.’

She thought he was going to leave it at that, when he added, ‘After my father died my mother got homesick for her birthplace and went back to Albany.’

‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’

‘One sister. When she left university she married the son of a local landowner. But there was nothing to keep me here, so I spent some time travelling, trying my hand at various jobs, before I made up my mind to settle in the States.’

His answers had been easy enough, but when he volunteered no further information, afraid of sounding nosy, she relapsed into silence.

Once the suburbs had been left behind them, from being unpleasant, the journey became positively hazardous. The country roads were dark and muddy, littered with snapped-off branches and storm debris.

In the bright tunnel made by their headlights Loris could see that a lot of the verges were partially flooded, and though Jonathan drove with care their nearside wheels almost constantly threw up a wave of water.

Just before they reached their destination a swollen stream that had overflowed its banks, and covered the low-lying road to what he estimated was an unnavigable depth, made a detour necessary. Feeling guilty at having dragged him so far on such a terrible night, Loris was seriously wishing she had plumped for a hotel.

‘I’m sorry about all this,’ she apologised.

Sounding quite unconcerned, he said, ‘You mean the conditions? Don’t worry—I’ve driven in a great deal worse.’

A few more minutes and they were passing through the dark and sleeping village of Paddleham. An occasional streetlamp lit up the driving rain, and strung high across the roadway a saturated banner announcing a St Valentine’s dance at the village hall flapped dementedly in the wind.

The Yew Tree came into sight, its inn sign swinging on the supporting chains. ‘We’re almost there,’ Loris said, making no attempt to hide her relief. ‘Just past the church there’s a turning off to the left, then about half a mile down the lane, also on the left, you’ll see the entrance to Monkswood. The gates should be open.’

The black and gold wrought-iron gates were open wide, and the Tarmacked drive was well-lit. Several sleek cars were parked on the paved apron in front of the house.

Jonathan drew up beneath the ornate lantern that hung over the porticoed entrance and, leaving the engine running, came round to help Loris out.

She couldn’t fail to notice that, parked between a Porsche and a Mercedes, the ordinary little car looked out of place.

Key in hand, she had opened the door by the time he had retrieved her case. A chandelier in the hall, and one at the top of the grand staircase, had been left on, but the rest of the house was dark and still.

‘I can’t thank you enough for bringing me,’ she said, as he handed over her case.

‘It was my pleasure.’ Briskly, he added, ‘Well, everyone seems to be in bed, so I’ll say goodnight and let you join them.’

As though her subconscious had already decided, she found herself saying, ‘Please, won’t you stay? I’d hate to think of you having to drive all the way back to town on a night like this.’

‘I wouldn’t want to put you to so much trouble.’

‘It’s the very least I can do. And it really is no trouble. Do stay. You can have Mark’s room.’

Though he never moved a muscle, Loris sensed his surprise. Obviously he’d presumed that she and Mark shared a room.

‘In that case I’ll be happy to.’

Crossing to the car, he switched off the engine and doused the lights before joining her in the hall and relieving her of her case once more.

When she had closed the door behind him, and shot the heavy bolts, she turned and led the way up the richly carpeted stairs and through a decorative archway to the right.

‘This is my room.’ Taking her case from him, she put it inside before crossing the wide corridor to open a door opposite. ‘And this is Mark’s.’

Switching on the lights, she led the way into a comfortably furnished bedroom decorated in masculine colours of blue and grey.

‘He doesn’t leave clothes here, so I’m afraid I can’t offer you any pyjamas.’

‘That’s all right.’ Jonathan smiled. ‘I don’t use them.’

Feeling her colour rise, she said hastily, ‘But you should find a new toothbrush and everything else you need in the bathroom cabinet.’

‘Thank you.’

A thought struck her, and she added regretfully, ‘Except a shaver, that is. I’m sorry.’

He shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. Though I can’t see myself with a beard, in an emergency I have been known to wear designer stubble.’

‘Well, goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Loris,’ he said gravely.

Feeling curiously restless and unsettled, she went back to her own room and was about to prepare for bed when she thought of her stepbrother.

Though Monkswood was virtually Simon’s second home, he wasn’t going to be here this weekend. Consequently, in his bathroom, there would almost certainly be a razor that their last-minute guest could borrow.

Without further ado she hastened barefoot along the darkened corridor to Simon’s room and went in quietly. Sure enough, on the bathroom shelf was an electric razor. If Jonathan Drummond hadn’t already gone to bed, she could give it to him now, ready for the morning.

As she reached his room she saw through the multicoloured fanlight above the door that his light was still on. Bearing in mind that not too far away people were sleeping, she tapped softly. When there was no answer, she tried again. Still no answer.

Perhaps he was in the bathroom?

She opened the door a crack, and could just make out the sound of the shower running. Deciding to leave the razor where he couldn’t fail to notice it, she slipped inside and tiptoed across the room to put it on the bedside cabinet.

Turning back to the door, she gave a half-stifled gasp. Just emerging from the bathroom, Jonathan was in the act of pulling on a short white towelling robe. His hair was wet and rumpled, and drops of water still clung to the fine golden fuzz on his legs.

Without undue haste or self-consciousness, he adjusted the robe and fastened the belt.

Thrown by how irresistibly sexy he looked, and feeling a sudden potent attraction, she stammered, ‘I—I did knock, but you must have been in the shower. I’ve brought you Simon’s razor. He won’t be wanting it this weekend.’

A well-marked brow rose. ‘Simon?’

‘My stepbrother.’

‘Ah, yes…’

Embarrassed to realise she was still standing goggling at him like a fool, Loris prepared to make her escape. Only to find that, somehow, Jonathan was between her and the door.

‘I’ll say goodnight again.’ She was aware that she sounded breathless.

He took her hand, while green eyes smiled into gold.

Wits scattered, she stood gazing back at him like someone mesmerised, before making an effort to free her hand.

When he failed to release it, she said huskily, ‘I must go.’

‘Must you?’

Without realising how provocative it looked, she used the tip of her tongue to moisten lips gone suddenly dry.

Using the hand he was holding to draw her closer, he said softly, ‘This time I think I’ll take you up on the invitation.’

His free hand slid under the fall of dark silky hair to cup the back of her head, and a second later his mouth was covering hers.

Loris found his light kiss both pleasurable and exciting. But though it sent a tingle right down to her toes there was nothing alarming about it, nothing to warn her that she was in any danger.

While part of her mind pointed out that she shouldn’t be letting this happen, another part answered that, as kisses went, it was relatively innocent.

She wasn’t caught up, wasn’t involved… She could walk away whenever she pleased.

But she hadn’t reckoned on the seductive sweetness that, almost without her realising it, made her want the kiss to go on, made her want to kiss him back.

As her lips parted, his tongue-tip stroked along the velvety-smooth inner skin, making her quiver, before he deepened the kiss.

Mark’s kisses were ardent, hot-blooded, sometimes bruising in their intensity. They totally lacked the finesse, the subtlety and imagination of this man’s lovemaking.

He explored her mouth with a kind of delicate enjoyment that sent little shudders running through her, while, almost unnoticed, his free hand traced her slender curves.

When it found the soft swell of her breast and his thumb brushed coaxingly over the nipple, she knew it was time to call a halt.

But the sensations that the thistledown-touch was arousing were so exquisite that every bone in her body seemed to melt, and an awakening hunger that refused to be stilled cried out for more.

Responding to that hunger, his lovemaking gradually became more intense as he added a new and disturbing dimension.

Passion.

But it wasn’t a tempestuous, uncontrolled passion that might have swamped any response, or served to scare her. This was a leashed passion that lured her onwards, that enticed and invited an answering passion, until suddenly she was lost. Mindless. Carried away. Caught and held in a web of sensual delight…

Loris stirred and surfaced slowly from a deep and contented sleep, to find grey morning light was filtering into the room.

Though her mind was still enshrouded in a kind of golden haze, she was dimly aware that her body felt relaxed and satisfied.

She was stretching luxuriously when one of her feet brushed against a man’s hair-roughened leg.

Shock hit her, and she stiffened as the sharp, cold wind of memory blew in, dispersing the haze.

Oh, dear heaven, what had she done?

After putting off her own fiancé for several months she had gone to bed with a virtual stranger.

She only just stopped herself groaning aloud.

Lying unnaturally still, afraid to move a finger, she listened to Jonathan Drummond’s quiet, even breathing.

Satisfied that he wasn’t yet awake, she turned her head slowly to look at him.

He was lying facing her, so close that they were almost touching. His tanned skin was clear and healthy, his breath sweet. There were grooves each side of his mouth, and little laughter-lines radiated from the corners of his eyes. Thick, gold-tipped lashes lay like a fan on his high cheekbones.

It was the face she remembered from the previous night, yet not the same.

The mature self-assurance and the somewhat disturbing irony were gone from it. With his tousled hair and his confident mouth relaxed in sleep he looked endearingly boyish, in spite of the morning stubble adorning his chin.

But there had been nothing remotely boyish about him last night. His lovemaking had proved him to be a skilful and experienced man.

Heat ran through her as she remembered all the things he had made her feel, and her own unexpectedly passionate response. After the fiasco with Nigel, she had started to wonder uneasily if she might be frigid. That had been one of the reasons she had remained celibate for so long. She had been afraid to start another relationship in case the same thing happened.

But last night had proved that she could be warm and responsive and far from frigid. The fault hadn’t been hers.

Nigel, she knew now, had been a selfish, uncaring, inept lover who, as well as mangling her self-respect, had almost destroyed her faith in herself as a woman.

Jonathan’s skill and generosity, his imaginative lovemaking, had triggered a response that had shaken her to the core. For the first time in her life she had experienced all the joy and delight she had only ever dreamt about.

If it had been Mark she had spent the night with, she would be on top of the world.

Only it hadn’t been Mark.

Rather than her own fiancé, it had been a man she had only just met. A man who would no doubt consider her easy and, in the cold light of day, feel nothing but contempt for her.

Gathering her wits, and desperate to get away before he awoke, Loris turned carefully onto her side. Her back to him, she was about to ease herself towards the edge of the bed when she felt him stir.

His arm came around her, and with a sleepy murmur of contentment he moved his warm palm to cup her breast.

Like some terrified animal, she froze into utter stillness, her heart pounding. She could feel the heat from his body, and his light breath stirring her hair.

After a moment or two his breathing returned to the evenness of sleep, the arm across her grew heavier, and she felt his hand relax its hold.

Taking a deep breath, she moved cautiously onto her back. Slowly, and with the greatest care, she eased herself from beneath the surprisingly muscular arm and slipped out of bed.

Though on one level she had known she was bare, the sight of her nakedness in the full-length mirror made her cringe. She averted her eyes.

The sooner she had put something on and was out of here the better.

Her last night’s clothes were lying in an abandoned heap, one silk stocking trailing seductively.

She was reaching for her undies when a movement in the corridor outside brought her heart into her mouth. People were up and stirring, making their way down for breakfast.

Suppose one of the guests saw her creeping from room to room, still wearing what was obviously a party dress?

The towelling robe Jonathan had worn the previous night was tossed over a chair. Snatching it up, she pulled it on and fastened the belt. A quick glance at the bed, meant to reassure herself that he was still fast asleep, gave her a fresh shock. His green eyes brilliant, he was lying quietly watching her.

Gathering up her belongings, she fled without a word. Her timing couldn’t have been worse. Just outside the door she ran slap into her father.

‘So you did make it.’ He didn’t sound particularly pleased. ‘I thought you might have changed your mind about coming. Our journey here was bad enough, and conditions were deteriorating fast.’

If only she had known how things were going to turn out, Loris thought vainly, she could have used the weather as an excuse for not being there…

Eyeing the tell-tale clothes she was clutching, her father added drily, ‘Mark having a lie-in?’

She was saved from having to answer by a female voice cooing, ‘Oh, good morning, Sir Peter.’

A red-haired overdressed woman she had never seen before was heading towards them.

Always a ladies’ man, her father assumed an expression of charm. ‘Good morning, Mrs Delacost. So sorry we weren’t here to welcome you last night.’

‘That’s quite all right, Sir Peter. We didn’t get back from Monte Carlo until quite late, and your wife did explain about the company’s party…’

As she spoke, the redhead glanced curiously in Loris’s direction.

Noting that look, Peter said without warmth, ‘This is my daughter, Loris.’

Seeing her chance, Loris murmured a hasty, ‘Good morning,’ and bolted into her room.

As the pair moved away she could hear Mrs Delacost gushing, ‘It was so nice of you to invite us to your lovely home…’

All of a tremble, Loris sank down on the nearest chair and, twisting the magnificent half-hoop of diamonds she wore round and round her finger, gave a groan of despair.

Her father had been all for the engagement, encouraging it in every way possible, and she sensed that he had been far from displeased to find her leaving Mark’s room. But when he discovered that Mark wasn’t here it would be a very different story. He was likely to be livid, and that was putting it mildly.

She felt a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach.

Though he had never so much as raised his hand to her, preferring an icy silence or a cold reprimand when she displeased him, Loris had always shrunk from his anger.

But she was a twenty-four-year-old woman and independent, she reminded herself, not some schoolgirl. He had no right to tell her what or what not to do. No right to complain about her actions…

Except that it was his house. The last place she would have chosen to go off the rails and humiliate herself.

And that was exactly what she had done. It had been a stupid mistake. A one-night stand with no feelings on either side. She had been mentally condemning Mark, but she was no better. The only difference was that Mark’s decision to sleep with someone else had been premeditated. Whereas hers had been anything but.

So where did that leave her engagement?

In trouble.

With the beginnings of a headache, she longed for a cup of coffee but, resisting the temptation to ring for some and linger over it, she went through to the bathroom to shower.

She would have to show her face and give some kind of explanation sooner or later, so better to get it over with. Though what explanation could she give for spending the night with a virtual stranger? She couldn’t even explain to herself what had made her behave so out of character.

But perhaps it was better not to try and explain anything. Merely give the bare facts and then relieve them of her company, even if it meant staying at a hotel.

Having made the decision, she was starting to feel a shade better when it occurred to her that she couldn’t get back to London unless she left with Jonathan Drummond.

No! That wasn’t an option. She would sooner call a taxi. The thought of driving all that way with the man who had seduced her was insupportable. Not that she hadn’t been a willing victim, honesty forced her to admit. The blame was hers as much as his.

Belatedly it occurred to her to wonder how he was feeling. His behaviour hadn’t been exactly praiseworthy.

Possibly, depending on what kind of man he was, he would be embarrassed by what had happened? Maybe he’d be as anxious to leave as she was to have him go? He’d been wide awake when she had left his room, so with a bit of luck he would just dress and slip quietly away.

When she had dried herself, she made-up lightly to hide an unusual paleness before dressing in fine wool trousers the colour of tobacco, a cream blouse, and an embroidered waistcoat. Then, summoning up every ounce of composure she could muster, she lifted her chin and sallied forth.

Drawn like a magnet to the door of the room opposite, she stood listening. Not a sound. Did that mean he’d already gone? She fervently hoped so. Shamed and mortified by her own weakness, she dreaded the thought of having to meet him face to face again.

And there was another consideration. An important one. If he’d gone without anyone seeing him she wouldn’t have to divulge exactly who had slept in Mark’s room. That would save trouble all round. Though she had no reason to try and protect Jonathan Drummond, if Mark and her father were to learn his identity it could cost him dear. They would, she felt sure, pressure Cosby’s into getting rid of him on one pretext or another.

Needing to know for sure, she opened the door quietly and, holding her breath, peered inside. The room was blessedly empty, and the bathroom door, standing ajar, showed that was too.

Going over to the window, which overlooked the apron and the smooth green lawns at the front of the house, she peered out.

The rain had temporarily ceased, though the sky was heavy and overcast, threatening more. The garden looked battered and waterlogged, and shallow pools of water had gathered on the apron.

All the other sleek cars were still standing where they had been the previous night, but she could see no sign of the white saloon that Jonathan had been driving.

He must have gone back to London.

Sighing her relief, she made her way downstairs to the breakfast-room.