Читать книгу Mistress Against Her Will - Lee Wilkinson, Lee Wilkinson - Страница 6

CHAPTER TWO

AS GAIL sank into the nearest armchair, her heart hammering against her ribs so loudly she felt sure it must be audible, he commented, ‘That’s better.’

Then, with exaggerated politeness, ‘How do you like your coffee, Miss North?’

Her empty stomach was churning and, about to say she didn’t want any coffee, she thought better of it and answered, ‘A little cream, no sugar, thank you.’

‘Exactly how I like mine,’ he observed. Adding provokingly, ‘Now, isn’t that strange?’

Refusing to rise to the bait, she put her bag on the floor and sat in silence while he filled two cups with the dark fragrant liquid and added a dash of cream to each of them.

Passing her a cup, he sat down opposite and looked at her with a gleam in his eye that showed he enjoyed being master of the situation.

Watching her bite her lip, he queried, ‘Do I take it you’re vexed because of a little gentle teasing?’

Without answering, she looked at him stonily.

‘OK.’ He sat back with a hint of a smile on his lips. ‘Let’s keep this strictly business—where are you from?’

Still riled, she answered quickly. ‘I was born in the northeast—’

The moment the words were out, she could have bitten her tongue. She shouldn’t have told him that. Rona had always teased her unmercilessly about her Geordie accent and it was the one thing that he might possibly remember.

She risked a quick glance at him and the little flare of satisfaction in those handsome eyes made her heart sink.

Had he guessed her identity?

No, surely not. It must be because he had managed to provoke her into speech.

His expression bland now, he asked, ‘Whereabouts in the north-east?’

‘Tyneside,’ she answered reluctantly, certain he was still mocking her.

When he nodded, clearly absorbing the information, Gail looked up at him and cautiously studied his handsome profile. She had forgotten just how devastatingly attractive his white smile was, and her heart lurched crazily.

Not that she was still attracted to him, she told herself hastily. It was just remembering the past that had affected her so strongly.

While she tried to steady herself, she made a pretence of sipping her coffee.

She was hoping that he had let the subject drop when he asked casually, ‘How long did you live in the north?’

‘We left when I was twelve.’

‘Why?’

She paused, worried about how much information to reveal but replied honestly. ‘My father died when I was ten, and two years later my mother remarried.’

Everything she had told him so far was the exact truth, but if he wanted to delve any further into her family background, rather than admit that her stepfather had been American and they had moved to the States, she would have to resort to lies.

However, to her relief, he changed tack by saying, ‘So fill me in on your personal details—full name, age, where you live, previous work experience…’

‘It’s all in my CV.’

He leaned back and crossed his ankles, perfectly at ease. ‘I dare say it is, Miss North. But I’d prefer to hear it from your own lips…’

It was so in keeping with his attitude that she should have expected it.

‘You can start by telling me your Christian name.’

‘Gail.’

‘Short for Abigail?’

‘Yes.’ She had been praying that he would take the name at face value and not make the connection.

Her parents had always called her Abbey, but after pointing out that in books Abigail was usually a servant’s name, her stepsister Rona had used her full name, apparently in an unkind attempt to belittle her.

It was one of the reasons that, when she and her mother had returned to England, she had started to call herself Gail.

‘A nice old-fashioned name,’ Zane Lorenson commented after a moment. ‘So how do you come to be called Abigail?’

‘It was my maternal grandmother’s name.’

‘Would you believe me if I told you my maternal grandmother was named Abigail?’

‘No, I wouldn’t,’ she said shortly.

He threw back his head and laughed. ‘Well, at least you’re honest. But, in this case, mistaken. It happens to be the truth.’

Her mouth went dry as he added, his tone reflective, ‘It’s quite an unusual name these days. You don’t meet many Abigails.’ His gaze held hers as if suggesting there was more meaning to his words.

So he had known who she was all along, and that was why he’d treated her the way he had.

If it had been at all possible she would have made a run for it, but her old fear of him was back in force and she was frozen into immobility, unable to either move or speak.

Quite a few seconds had passed before she appreciated that his lean, tanned face showed no sign of the anger or hostility she would have expected had he known who she was. She was being ridiculous, and she knew it. She had to keep calm.

His expression held a kind of studied patience as he waited for an answer to a question she hadn’t even heard.

‘I—I’m sorry,’ she stammered.

‘I asked how old you were.’

‘Twenty…’ she paused ‘…six.’ It was her first white lie and the words almost stuck in her throat as she pretended to be older than she was. She had to make sure he hadn’t made the connection.

‘Which school did you go to?’

‘Langton Chase.’ She had gone to the well-known all girls school for just a year after she and her mother had returned to England.

He placed it immediately. ‘So you lived in Sussex?’

‘Yes.’

‘With your parents?’

Though after the separation there had only been her mother, she answered, ‘Yes.’

‘Do your parents still live there?’

She shook her head. ‘They’re both dead now.’

‘Were you very close?’

‘I was to my mother.’

‘Any brothers or sisters?’

Family relationships were a minefield, and she answered briefly, ‘No.’

He ran long, lean fingers over his smooth jaw before moving on to ask, ‘How old were you when you left school?’

With a sigh of relief at the change of subject, she told him, ‘Eighteen.’

‘Then what?’

‘I spent a year at St Helen’s Business College before getting a job at Randalls.’

‘And there you were…’ he picked up her CV ‘…PA to David Randall.’

She nodded, then, all at once foreseeing a problem that Paul hadn’t taken into account, she added hastily, ‘After Mr Randall had a heart attack and retired, the company was closed down.’

Zane Lorenson’s clear, long-lashed eyes pinned her. ‘The financial news indicated that it had been bought by The Manton Group.’

Her heart sank but somehow she managed steadily, ‘Yes, it was. They paid off the workers and closed it down as soon as it was legally theirs.’

‘What do you think of Paul Manton?’

‘W-what?’ she stammered.

‘I asked what you thought of Paul Manton. Presumably he did the negotiating and wielded the axe. Or was it someone else?’

‘A Mr Desmond,’ she said, seizing on the suggestion.

Mark Desmond, Paul’s second in command, a bluff, hearty man she had disliked on sight, had come in with Paul a couple of times.

‘I’m surprised. Manton usually enjoys doing his own dirty work… Tell me, what did you think of the decision to close Randalls down?’

‘I thought it was totally wrong.’ For perhaps the first time her tone held real conviction. ‘It wasn’t what Mr Randall had wanted or expected.’

He raised a brow, questioning her frankness. ‘He couldn’t have known what kind of men he was dealing with, otherwise he would have expected it.’

Then, with another swift change of subject, ‘Where do you live?’

‘In Kensington.’

‘Which part of Kensington?’ he pressed.

‘Just off the West Brackensfield Road,’ she answered reluctantly.

She had hoped he would leave it at that, but he asked, ‘Whereabouts exactly?’

‘Delafield House, Rolchester Square. I share a flat,’ she went on, rambling a bit because she was nervous.

‘Does that mean you have a live-in lover?’

She shook her head. ‘No. It means I share with another girl.’

‘Have you any ties or commitments at home?’

She shook her head.

‘No steady boyfriend?’

She stuck as close to the truth as she could. ‘I’m not seeing anyone just at the moment.’

Studying her heart-shaped face, with its small straight nose, beautiful almond eyes and dark winged brows, its flawless skin and pure bone-structure, he commented, ‘That surprises me.’ Then, drily, ‘Or have you heard that I prefer my PA to be a free agent?’

Determined to avoid direct lies wherever possible, she said, ‘I split up with Jason, my previous boyfriend, some six months ago.’

‘And there’s been no one since then?’

Forced into a direct lie, she surreptitiously crossed her fingers and said, ‘No.’

‘So you’re still broken-hearted?’ her tormentor asked, the old hateful mockery back.

‘Are such personal questions really necessary?’ she demanded, losing her cool.

‘Oh, absolutely,’ he assured her, his voice flippant. Then, smiling a little at her indignation, ‘You see I don’t want to take on a lovelorn PA whose mind isn’t on her work.’

‘I am not lovelorn,’ she informed him raggedly.

‘Does that mean you’ve got over it? Or you didn’t love him in the first place?’

The unholy gleam in his eyes telling her that this was just another attempt to bait her, she bit back the angry words, took a deep breath and repeated more calmly, ‘I am not lovelorn.’

With an ironic smile, he saluted that show of anger management before asking, ‘Do you have any objections to travelling?’

On firmer ground now, she replied, ‘None at all.’

‘Done much?’

‘Not as much as I would have liked. Europe mainly…’ After her mother’s untimely death she had taken holidays with Joanne, one of the secretaries from Randalls.

‘Ever been to the States?’

She should have seen that coming. Once again she crossed her fingers and lied. ‘No.’

His cool green eyes studied her face and lingered there, and she had the strangest feeling that he knew perfectly well that she hadn’t spoken the truth.

Unable to meet that probing gaze, she was forced to look away.

There was a long thoughtful pause, then he said, ‘Tell me, do you usually wear glasses?’

Ambushed by the unexpected question, she hesitated fractionally before saying as steadily as possible, ‘Why, yes.’

‘Strange. When I asked Mrs Rogers to describe you, she failed to mention them.’

Leaning over, he lifted the glasses from Gail’s nose and squinted through them, before asking, ‘Why do you wear them?’

‘Why?’

‘Yes, why? As far as I can see, these are merely low-strength reading glasses.’

Feeling her colour rise, she said nothing.

He handed them back to her. ‘So you don’t wear glasses as a rule. You put them on especially for this interview.’

Both were statements rather than questions, but her failure to dispute either was answer enough.

‘Why did you feel that was necessary?’

Cursing the impulse that had made her put them on, she stammered, ‘Well I—I thought they would make me look more…efficient, more competent…’

His green eyes glinted. ‘That reason hardly inspires confidence. It strongly suggests that you aren’t at all sure of yourself or your capabilities.’

‘I’m quite sure I’m capable of doing the job.’

‘Possibly you are, but lying to me is hardly the way to get it.’

So she had failed.

All she could feel for a moment or two was a sense of relief that she wouldn’t have to go through with something she had dreaded.

Hard on the heels of that relief came a leaden feeling of failure as she realized just how angry and disappointed Paul would be.

Then both those feelings were swamped by the urgent necessity to leave, to get away from Zane Lorenson’s clear-eyed scrutiny, his condemnation.

Gathering up her bag, she thrust the glasses clumsily into it and jumped to her feet, babbling, ‘I’m sorry to have wasted your time…’

He rose too and took a step towards her. At five feet six inches she was fairly tall for a woman, but at well over six feet he seemed to tower over her. ‘Don’t rush off.’

Ignoring the quietly spoken order, she was about to head for the door when his lean fingers closed lightly round her wrist and kept her where she was. ‘I said don’t rush off.’

He had said that same thing to her once before and she shuddered as, his touch burning into her like a brand, she made an effort to pull free.

It was to no avail and, panic-stricken, recalling that past encounter and desperate to escape, she tried harder. ‘Please let me go.’

Ignoring her plea, he put his free hand on her shoulder and pressed her back into the chair. Then, releasing her wrist, he stood over her.

Her voice sounding high and frightened even to her own ears, she objected, ‘You’ve no right to keep me here against my will.’

Clicking his tongue, he told her severely, ‘Now you’re being melodramatic.’

His words were like a dash of cold water and, realizing the justice of his remark, she took a deep steadying breath and apologized shamefacedly. ‘I’m sorry. I really don’t know what’s got into me.’

‘I dare say the prospect of being interviewed made you nervous,’ he suggested with smooth mockery. Now, if you’re still interested in the job, there are one or two things you ought to know…

‘I expect my PA to be available for twenty-four hours a day if I think it’s necessary. That’s why I asked if you have any ties at home.

‘More importantly, I always give my PA my complete trust and in return I expect discretion and one hundred per cent loyalty…’

His words made Gail feel hollow inside.

‘Because of the occasional long hours, I’m flexible with regard to the length and the number of holidays my PA takes, and the salary is generous…’

He quoted a figure that made Gail blink and she found herself thinking, no wonder his previous PA had been reluctant to leave.

‘Oh, just one more thing. When we’re away from the office I like a friendly, informal working atmosphere with the use of first names.

‘Now, if you want it, the job is yours.’

She didn’t. But the thought of Paul’s anger prevented her from saying so. If there was still a chance, he would want her to grab it with both hands.

And, after the way Zane Lorenson had treated her, did she really care if he came a cropper? Wouldn’t she be justified in cheering if he could be brought to his knees?

Yes, she would.

But the truth was that she didn’t want to play any part in it. Didn’t want to have to work closely with a man who had turned her whole life upside down once before, and who, she was forced to admit, might well have the power to do so again.

She had never met anyone else who had such an overwhelming effect on her. Just being with him was traumatic, turning the cool, competent woman she had become into a mass of nerves and making her feel like a gauche, insecure seventeen-year-old again.

If she didn’t take the job, she knew Paul might never forgive her. But it was more than that—when it came to Zane Lorenson, Gail couldn’t say no.

‘Well?’ There was the merest hint of impatience in Zane’s voice.

Still she hesitated. If she said no, she would be free and Paul need never know that she had had the chance and turned it down.

Sorely tempted, she battled with her conscience. Her conscience won.

There was no way she could deceive the man she loved and was going to marry. It would be like living a lie…

Looking up and meeting Zane Lorenson’s green eyes was like walking into a plate glass window.

She was still mentally reeling when he said silkily, ‘You seem to be having a great deal of difficulty deciding.’

‘Yes,’ she stammered. ‘Yes, I want it.’

She saw what appeared to be a look of almost savage relief and satisfaction cross his face.

It was gone instantly and she knew she must have been mistaken. He wouldn’t care one way or the other whether or not she took the job. If she didn’t take it, no doubt the next girl he interviewed would.

‘Very well,’ he said, his tone businesslike, ‘it’s yours for a three month trial period. I’ll let my secretary know what’s happening and get her to deal with all the details.

‘I understand from Mrs Rogers that you’re free to start at once?’

She nodded, though in truth she didn’t want to start at all. The second the words, ‘Yes, I want it,’ had been spoken she had regretted them.

‘How did you get here?’

Momentarily thrown, she echoed, ‘Get here?’

‘Did you come by bus? Tube?’

After a brief hesitation, she answered, ‘Taxi.’

‘You have a current passport?’

She frowned, unsure where this conversation was heading. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. How long will it take you to pack a bag?’

‘P-pack a bag? You mean to travel?’

‘My, but you’re quick,’ he said with a hint of sarcasm.

She flushed. ‘I’m sorry. It’s just a bit sudden.’

Though Paul had warned her,‘Lorenson has a massive office complex in Manhattan and he likes his Personal Assistant to be free and unencumbered, to be available to travel to his New York offices with him at the drop of a hat,’ she hadn’t expected to be going quite this soon.

‘So how long?’

‘Fifteen minutes.’

‘Right. Let’s get on our way. My private jet’s waiting at the airport.’ A hand beneath her elbow, he hurried her to the door.

Wits scattered by his touch, and feeling as though she had been caught up and swept along by a tidal wave, Gail found herself escorted to the lift.

As it carried them swiftly downwards, he said, ‘I need to discuss something with my secretary, so perhaps you can get a taxi home to pick up your passport and luggage, then go on to meet me at the airport?’

‘Of course.’ She could always ask the driver to wait while she slipped inside for some money.

And this way, she thought with relief, she would have a breathing space, time to talk to Paul and let him know the score.

If she told him how Zane Lorenson had treated her, he might be concerned enough to forbid her to take the job…

She was warming herself with that small flicker of hope when—as though her companion knew exactly what was in her mind and was determined to thwart her—he said, ‘On second thoughts, I’ll only be with Claire for a short time so I might as well take you.’

Apart from needing to speak to Paul, she didn’t like the idea of Zane Lorenson going anywhere near her flat. His knowing her address was one thing, his actually ending up on her doorstep another.

Just the thought made her feel vulnerable, exposed.

Biting back the panic, she said as levelly as possible, ‘There’s really no need for you to go to all that trouble. I can easily—’

‘It isn’t any trouble,’ he told her crisply as the lift doors slid to behind them and they made their way down the corridor, ‘and it makes more sense for us to go together.’

‘Oh, but—’

‘If you took a taxi to the airport you might have some difficulty finding me, so it’ll save time in the long run.’

Knowing she couldn’t keep arguing, she relapsed into silence, her teeth biting into her lower lip.

‘Something wrong?’ he queried, giving her a sidelong glance.

Damn the man, he never missed a thing. ‘No, nothing,’ she assured him.

‘Quite sure? We don’t want to start our relationship with any undisclosed issues or problems. I know it’s the friction in the oyster that makes the pearl, but now you’re my PA I’d like there to be harmony, complete trust and confidence between us.’

She was saved from having to answer by the office door opening and Mrs Bancroft appearing, a sheaf of papers in her hand.

‘Ah, Claire, before we start for the airport, I need a minute or two of your time.’

‘Of course, Mr Lorenson.’ Turning on her heel, she led the way back inside.

Gail found herself shepherded into the office and given a seat.

Her thoughts busy, she paid scant attention while, quickly and precisely, Zane Lorenson issued his orders, ending, ‘I may be gone for a couple of weeks, but I intend to remain incommunicado.

‘If anything really urgent crops up that Dave can’t handle, you know how to get hold of me. Otherwise, I don’t want to be disturbed while I’m away.’

‘I understand, Mr Lorenson.’

‘Good. Then we’ll be off. Perhaps you’ll ask John to bring the car round?’

‘Certainly, Mr Lorenson.’ She lifted the phone. ‘Shall I ask him to pick up your luggage?’

‘It’s already in the boot, thanks.’ Turning to Gail, he queried, ‘Ready to go, Miss North?’

The brisk question scattering Gail’s thoughts like a gunshot scattered starlings, she got to her feet.

They went down in the lift without a word being spoken, but she was uncomfortably aware that he never took his eyes off her face.

As, his hand at her waist, they made their way across the foyer, the pretty blonde behind the reception desk smiled brightly and called an eager, ‘Good morning, Mr Lorenson.’

‘Morning, Miss Johnson,’ he responded pleasantly. ‘Settling in all right?’

‘Very well, thank you, Mr Lorenson.’ She gave him another sparkling smile and shot Gail a glance that was frankly envious.

Judging by the way this attractive girl was practically drooling over him, Gail could quite believe he had no trouble getting a woman to warm his bed whenever he wanted one.

Outside the impressive entrance a stylish black limousine was just drawing up. A moment later the uniformed chauffeur had jumped out and was standing by to open the door.

As they approached, he said, ‘Good morning, Mr Lorenson,’ with a respectful salute.

‘Morning, John… On the way to the airport, will you stop at Delafield House, Rolchester Square? It’s just off the West Brackensfield Road.’

‘Certainly, sir.’

‘How’s the wife keeping?’

‘Very well, considering, thank you, sir. The twins are due any day now.’

‘Know what they’re going to be?’

As Gail got into the luxurious car, she heard the middle-aged chauffeur answer proudly, ‘A boy and a girl, sir.’

‘Lucky man. When they arrive, I dare say your wife will be only too glad of some help, so take a couple of weeks paid leave. I’ll be away, so you won’t be needed here.’

‘Why, thank you, sir,’ the chauffeur exclaimed gladly. ‘Jenny will be grateful. She’s been wondering how she’d cope. But I told her, there’s no need to worry, Mr Lorenson won’t see us in a mess…’

Gail frowned. Though as far as she was concerned he’d been anything but easy to deal with, his consideration for his chauffeur didn’t match the cold, uncaring image Paul had painted.

The thought of Paul made her wonder how she was going to manage to phone him. If Zane Lorenson stayed in the car while she went in to pack, it wouldn’t be a problem. But if he decided to come in…

‘You’re looking worried,’ he observed gravely, sliding in beside her and reaching over to fasten her seat belt. ‘Something wrong?’

Feeling flustered by his nearness, the firm thigh pressing against hers, she moved away as inconspicuously as possible and said jerkily, ‘No. No, nothing at all.’

The ironic glance he gave her confirmed that he had noticed her instinctive reaction to his closeness, but he merely observed, ‘I thought you might have changed your mind about working for me.’

She longed to say that she had, but dared not until she had talked to Paul and got his blessing.

Instead she answered with what conviction she could muster, ‘No, of course not, Mr Lorenson.’

‘As I said, when we’re away from the office I like a friendly, informal atmosphere, so make it Zane, and I’ll call you Abigail.’

‘I prefer Gail,’ she said quickly.

‘Then Gail it is.’

Very conscious of the fact that he was studying her profile, and struggling to keep her composure, she turned to look at him, remarking steadily, ‘Yours is an unusual name.’

His white teeth gleamed in a smile before he told her wryly, ‘I used to curse my father—who had a regrettable taste for Westerns and read a lot of stories by Zane Grey—until I discovered that my mother would have called me Tarquin.’

In spite of herself, Gail smiled. ‘Yes, I see what you mean.’

His eyes on her face, he said softly, ‘You’re quite beautiful when you smile.’

If it had been his intention to destroy her hard won composure, he succeeded. Completely thrown by both by his words and his close scrutiny, she found herself blushing hotly.

A moment later she heard his quiet, satisfied chuckle, before he said with mock repentance, ‘Dear me, now I’ve embarrassed you. I’m afraid I hadn’t realized that some women are still capable of being embarrassed by a compliment.’

Gail sat as if turned to stone as he added caustically, ‘Or anything else for that matter. Most of the females I’ve met, even as young as sixteen or seventeen, are able to throw themselves at a man without so much as a blush…’

Even as young as sixteen or seventeen… Oh, dear God, why had he said that unless he knew?

As she waited in an agony of fear and humiliation for the axe to fall, he went on, ‘It’s quite refreshing to meet a woman in her twenties who obviously doesn’t belong in that category.’ So he didn’t know. She released the breath she had been unconsciously holding. It was her own sense of guilt and shame that had turned a general reference into a specific incident.

Too wrung out to make any further attempt at conversation and wishing herself anywhere but where she was, she stared blindly ahead and made an effort to at least appear relaxed.

But while she remained taut as a drawn bow string she was well aware that her companion—who was leaning back, his long legs stretched negligently, his feet crossed neatly at the ankles—was completely at ease.

Nothing more was said until they turned into Rolchester Square and drew up outside the modern block of flats.

When the chauffeur opened the car door, as nonchalantly as possible, Gail told the man beside her, ‘I’ll be as quick as I can,’ and hastily scrambled out.

She thought for a split second that she had succeeded in leaving him behind, but Zane followed on her heels, saying coolly, ‘If you can rustle up a cup of coffee, I could certainly use one.’

‘Of course,’ she agreed hollowly.

It would be no use attempting to phone Paul now. The internal walls of the flat were paper-thin. Even if she spoke quietly, Zane was bound to realize she was talking to someone.

She could use her mobile to send a text, of course. But if Paul was busy he might not bother to pick up a text message until lunch time, and that would be far too late.

A second or two’s thought convinced her that it would be better to wait until she reached the airport. Then she could slip into the Ladies’ and phone him from there.

If he was willing to let her back out, she could tell Zane that she had had second thoughts and get a taxi home.

Feeling a shade happier, she fished in her bag for the key and let them both into her ground floor flat which, though small, was as pleasant as the two girls could make it.

Dropping her bag on the coffee table and indicating one of the linen-covered armchairs, she asked, ‘Won’t you sit down?’

But, ignoring the polite invitation, Zane followed her through to the tiny kitchen and leaned idly against one of the work surfaces while she put the kettle on and spooned coffee into the cafetière.

Feeling all thumbs because he was watching her, she said, ‘I’m afraid we’ve only got milk. My flatmate’s trying to lose weight and she refused to put cream on the shopping list.’

‘Don’t worry, I’m quite happy with it black.’

Seeing her get out, and fill, a single cup, he queried, ‘Aren’t you going to join me?’

Anxious to bring an end to this nerve-racking situation, she shook her head. ‘I need to write a note for my flatmate before I start packing.’

If her appeal to Paul was successful, she could always tear the note up when she got back. If it wasn’t—and that didn’t bear thinking about—Lynne would need to know what was happening.