Читать книгу One Night with His Virgin Mistress - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 8

CHAPTER TWO

TALLIE closed down her laptop and leaned back in the padded black leather chair with a sigh that contained more relief than satisfaction.

At last, she thought. At last I seem to be back on track.

She could acknowledge now how scared she’d been, gambling on her future in this way, especially as she’d made comparatively little progress with her story since that momentous lunch with Mrs Morgan.

But then conditions over the past months had hardly been conducive, she reminded herself ruefully. Her free time had been severely limited and when she had tried to work at the flat she’d had to compete with the constant noise of Josie’s television and Amanda’s stereo system blasting through the thin panels of her door.

And then, of course, there’d been Gareth’s intervention…

She took a deep breath, damming back the instinctive pang. Well, at least she now had an insight into what it was like to fall in love, even a little. Could see why a girl like Mariana might give up so much to pursue this reckless adventure if it meant she’d be reunited with a man she wanted so desperately.

Up to then, she realised, she hadn’t given much thought to her story’s emotional input, concentrating instead on the fun of it all— her heroine’s rollicking escape from her stern guardian and the threat of an arranged marriage.

Now, she realised that Mariana’s decision would have far more impact if she was, instead, deserting a loving home with parents who were simply over-protective, who knew the uncertainties of a soldier’s life and wished to spare her danger and heartache.

And this would naturally change the entire emphasis of the book.

Less of a light-hearted romp, she told herself, however enjoyable that had been to invent, and more of a story about passionate love and its eventual reward, which, in itself, was going to present her with all kinds of problems.

Because the events of the last few weeks had brought home to her how signally—ridiculously—unacquainted she was with any form of passion. Or even likely to be.

She swallowed past the sudden tightness in her throat. Oh, well, she told herself with false brightness, she’d cross that bridge when she came to it. After all, imagination was a wonderful thing.

And it would help that she wouldn’t have to write too much about ‘doing it’ until the very end of the book because, no matter how precarious the situations she found herself enduring, Mariana was obviously saving herself for marriage to her gorgeous William, with his smiling blue eyes and his slanting smile.

And the way he talked to her as if he was really interested in what she had to say…

She stopped hastily. Oh, God—this wasn’t the book at all. She was back to Gareth again and the endless, punishing reliving of every precious moment she’d spent with him. All that witless, pitiful self-deception over it being the start of something important—even valuable—which had begun with that lunch at the Caffe Rosso.

She’d been tongue-tied at first, trying to express her halting thanks for the beautiful shirt.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘it seemed the least I could do. Henry Groves is a terrific accountant, but appearances matter to him.’ He grinned. ‘I bet that carpet in reception has been shampooed already.’

It was quite an ordinary lunch—lasagne and a couple of glasses of the house red—but for Tallie it was caviare and champagne, nectar and ambrosia all rolled into one.

Gareth wanted to know what she was doing in London. ‘I had you down as a home bird—sticking close to Cranscombe.’

In other words, as dull as ditchwater.

She looked down at her plate. ‘I’m having a kind of gap year— while I decide what I want to do.’ She decided not to mention the novel. It seemed pretentious to do so while it was still in such an embryonic stage. ‘And how’s the world of law?’

‘It has its moments.’ He paused. ‘I’m probably going to specialise in tax. That seems a reasonably lucrative field.’

‘You don’t want to defend master criminals?’

‘That always sounds more glamorous than it really is.’ He shrugged. ‘And, on the whole, they deserve what they get.’ He signalled for the dessert menu. ‘Did you know my parents are deserting Cranscombe too? They’ve sold the cottage and are buying a place in Portugal—warmer climate and masses of golf.’

‘Oh.’ She looked at him, startled. ‘So if you hadn’t come to the office today, I might never have seen you again.’

The moment she said it, she could have bitten out her tongue. Oh, God, she thought despairingly, she couldn’t have given herself away more blatantly if she’d taken all her clothes off in front of him.

She felt the mortified colour rising in her face and wanted nothing more than to get up and run out of the restaurant. Only to find her hand taken, her fingers caressed very gently by his.

‘Even worse,’ he said, ‘I might not have seen you either. Shall we celebrate our fortunate escape from disaster with some tiramisu?’

Over coffee, he suggested that they should meet again on Saturday evening—go to the cinema, perhaps, or a club, forcing Tallie to explain, her voice husky with disappointment, that she had an extra job, which she couldn’t afford to lose.

Yet he didn’t seem offended at all. He suggested instead that they meet for lunch on the river and afterwards go walking.

‘The best way to see London is on foot,’ he told her. ‘And I can’t wait to show it to you.’

In a way, she was almost relieved, because she’d seen Josie and Amanda dressed—or undressed—to go out to dinner, or clubbing, and knew that her current wardrobe simply couldn’t cope. That becoming Gareth’s girlfriend could take some living up to and she might even have to raid her precious savings account.

She floated back to the office on a cloud of euphoria, almost unable to believe that she was going to see him again. That he wanted to spend time with her. So lost in bliss, in fact, that it never occurred to her to question why this should be.

And Saturday afternoon passed like a dream. Gareth was extremely knowledgeable about the capital—knew all kinds of interesting places and fascinating stories, and she listened, rapt.

He told her about his job too, and the other barristers in his chambers, and about his own flat-share with a couple of university friends, waxing almost lyrical about how terrific Notting Hill was—great ambience, great restaurants.

It was clear that city living appealed to him far more than the country ever would. That he didn’t regret the cottage at Cranscombe one bit, and this saddened her a little.

However, the only really awkward moment came when they were about to part and she realised he was going to kiss her, and she was so nervous—so unpractised—that it turned into little more than an embarrassing bumping of noses and chins.

She spent the whole evening mentally kicking herself at the memory. Telling herself that she should have kept still as he’d bent towards her, closed her eyes, smiling, as she raised her mouth to meet his. That he couldn’t possibly know she’d only been kissed three or four times before, and generally because it had seemed rude to refuse.

And that Gareth’s had been the first kiss that should have— would have—meant something.

Well, next time—and he’d arranged to see her on the following Saturday too—she would be prepared, and she would make sure that she was much less inept.

She spent the whole week in such a state of anticipation that reality was almost bound to be an anticlimax. Yet it started well— a glorious spring afternoon—and this time it wasn’t so much of a guided tour because Gareth suggested that they went strolling in Hyde Park. It seemed full of couples. They were everywhere Tallie looked—young, happy people, walking hand in hand, sitting close on benches—always looking at each other, always touching— even lying on the grass wrapped in each others’ arms, oblivious to all but themselves.

And she found herself moving nearer to Gareth as they walked, longing for him to take her hand or put his arm round her. That she wanted to be part of a couple too—half of him, with all that it would mean. Something she’d never contemplated before—or even desired…

But a sideways glance told her this seemed unlikely. He was gazing into space, not at her, seemingly lost in thought, even frowning a little.

She tried to keep her voice light, to recapture the almost intimacy of the previous week. ‘A penny for them.’

‘What? Oh, I see.’ He hesitated. ‘I was thinking about something we could do. That maybe we might…’

Her heart almost stopped. What was he going to say—to suggest? That the Park was too public and they should go back to— his place? Oh, please, she thought. Please, let it be that. Because even if nothing happened, and she knew it was far too soon—that she should be ashamed of herself for even thinking that, it went against every principle she’d ever had—at least it would show that he was beginning to consider her as part of his life. That she mattered to him.

It would prove, if nothing else, that he wanted her to meet his friends, maybe drink some wine, and, later, go out for a meal, even if she wasn’t strictly dressed for it. She tried to think of an excuse she could give Andy at the wine bar for not working that evening— the first time she would ever have let him down.

He went on, ‘I was going to say that tea at Fortnums would be nice.’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Lovely.’ And tried not to feel disappointed. Reminded herself that it was still early days and the fact that he didn’t want to rush her into anything was a good sign. A sign that he respected her. And a warning that she must let things develop at their own pace.

She was still thinking that as they walked up Piccadilly. As they reached Fortnums and paused at the door because someone was coming out.

‘Natalie,’ Josie said, ‘I didn’t know you could afford places like this.’ She turned, self-assured and smiling, to look at Gareth. Tallie watched her eyes widen, her gaze become fixed. There was a pause— a count of a few heartbeats—then she said, ‘And who’s this?’

‘Gareth Hampton. A—a friend from Cranscombe.’

‘Goodness,’ Josie said lightly. ‘And to think I used to go out of my way to avoid the place.’ She smiled. ‘Well, friend from Cranscombe, I’m Natalie’s cousin, Josephine Lester, and I bet she hasn’t told you about me either.’

‘No.’ Gareth’s voice sounded odd, almost hoarse. ‘No, as a matter of fact, she didn’t.’ He was staring at her too, his face set, almost stunned.

Tallie had the oddest impression that the pair of them were locked into some kind of exclusion zone—surrounded by a barrier like a force field which she would never be able to penetrate. It was such a strong impression that she almost took a step backwards.

She heard herself say in a small wooden voice she barely recognised, ‘We were going to have tea.’

Was aware that they’d both turned and looked at her in surprise, as if they’d forgotten her very existence. Then realised that was exactly what they’d done.

Josie was smiling again. She said softly, ‘What a lovely idea.’

Somehow, Tallie found she was pushing up her sleeve, glancing at her watch. ‘Only I didn’t realise how late it’s getting, and I’m due at work pretty soon.’ It was still only mid-afternoon, but she knew numbly that she could have said she was off bungee-jumping from the dome of St Paul’s without it registering with either of them. She shared a swift meaningless smile between them. ‘So, I’ll leave you to it. Enjoy your tea.’

She went off, walking fast enough to convey an impression of haste—someone who needed to be somewhere else—but not so fast it would look as if she was running away.

Especially when there was nowhere to run to.

If the flat had seemed cramped before, it quickly became a living nightmare. It seemed that, no matter what time of the day or night she ventured out of her room, Gareth was there, and it was a minor consolation to know that Amanda was no more pleased with the situation than herself, or that she and Josie were constantly bickering about it.

‘No live-in boyfriends,’ she heard Amanda say stormily. ‘That was the rule we made, yet here he is.’

‘But he doesn’t live here,’ Josie returned. She gave a little throaty giggle. ‘He just—stays over sometimes.’

‘Seven nights a week is hardly “sometimes”,’ Amanda said coldly, going into her room and slamming the door.

Tallie did her best to be unobtrusive, speaking politely if it was required, her face expressionless, determined not to reveal the bewildered heartache that tore into her each time she saw Gareth or heard his voice.

Once, and only once, she came back from work and found him there alone. She halted in palpable dismay, then, muttering, ‘Excuse me,’ made for her room.

But he followed. ‘Look, Natalie, can we lighten up a bit?’ he asked almost irritably. ‘It’s bad enough getting filthy looks from Amanda, without you creeping about as if I’d delivered some kind of death blow. And now Josie says you’re moving out altogether.’

He added defensively, ‘For God’s sake, it’s not as if there was ever—anything going on between us. You were Guy’s little sister, that was all.’

Not for me—never for me…

She swung round to face him. ‘And you were just being kind— giving a child a day or two out. A few treats. Was that it? I—I didn’t realise.’

‘Well, it could never have been anything more than that.’

‘Why not?’ She was suddenly past caring. ‘Am I so totally repulsive?’

‘No, of course not.’ He spoke reluctantly, clearly sorry he’d ever begun the confrontation.

‘Then what? Because I’d really like to know.’

He sighed. ‘Are you sure about that?’ He hesitated, clearly embarrassed, then plunged in. ‘Look, Natalie—it was perfectly obvious you’ve never been to the end of the street, let alone round the block. And I couldn’t deal with that. In fact, I didn’t even want to.’

She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. ‘I thought men liked that—knowing they were the first.’

‘Not me.’ He shook his head. ‘I still have the scars from my one and only time with a virgin. My God, I had to spend hours pleading, a good time was not had by all, and afterwards she expected me to be eternally grateful.’

She stood, stricken, remembering low-voiced, rather giggly conversations at school between more worldly-wise friends, admitting that ‘it’ had hurt ‘like hell’ the first time—that, all in all, it had been messy, uncomfortable and incredibly disappointing. And then, the next time—miraculously—had begun to improve.

But it wouldn’t have been like that with us—with me. I know it…

The thought came, aching, into her mind, and was instantly dismissed. Because the truth was she didn’t know anything of the sort. And, anyway, the important thing now was to walk away, not crawl.

She lifted her chin. ‘Well, whoever she was and, believe me, I don’t want to know, my sympathies are entirely with her.’ And she sauntered into her room, closing the door behind her.

It was, she thought, the last time she’d ever spoken to him. And maybe much of the pain she still felt about him was not so concerned with his preference for Josie—no one, she told herself, could help falling in love, and what she’d witnessed might have been a genuine coup de foudre—but the cruelly dismissive way he’d spoken about her sexual ignorance, as if it was some kind of blight. That it was her own fault that she hadn’t been putting it about since she’d reached the age of consent.

However, it was impossible to erase him from her mind altogether, because he was still the image of William, her fictional hero, and too deeply entrenched in her imagination to change. Except that William was kind, loyal and tender, and Mariana would have the happy ending she deserved.

Unlike me, she thought, and sighed swiftly.

But she couldn’t feel too dispirited for long—not in this lovely room. She loved the entire flat, especially the kitchen, and the wonderful en suite bathroom with its aquamarine tiles, huge power shower and enormous tub. But the office had to be her favourite of all—a big room filled with light and completely fitted out with pale oak furniture.

It was completely uncluttered, with not a stray scrap of paper in sight. Well, not until she’d arrived, anyway, she thought, wrinkling her nose. It was slightly more lived-in now.

Nor could she relate the Kit Benedict she’d encountered to all this orderly professionalism. Frankly, it had never occurred to her that working in the wine trade would require him to set up this kind of dedicated workplace at home.

Unless, like herself, he moonlighted, she thought, which in turn would explain how he could afford the array of suits with designer labels, the expensive shirts and handmade shoes she’d found in the master bedroom’s fitted closets as she’d tried to make space for her own few things.

But, whatever Kit did in this room, he kept strictly to himself because everything was securely locked up—the desk drawers, the cupboards, the filing cabinets and the bookcases, which seemed, she noted with surprise, to be devoted to mathematics and scientific topics.

Not that it matters to me, Tallie told herself firmly. Unless it’s illegal and the Metropolitan Police suddenly arrive.

But that was an unlikely scenario and, in the meantime, she had the use of the desk and the printer, and she provided her own stationery so she had no need or wish to pry any further.

She got up, stretching, then collected together the completed pages slipping them into the waiting folder before wandering off to the kitchen to put together some pasta carbonara.

She ate, as usual, from a tray on her lap in the sitting room. There was a dining room across the passage, but she never used it as it was clearly designed for smart dinner parties, not solitary suppers, and she found it a little daunting.

There was a drama series she wanted to watch on television and, while she was waiting for it to start, she took her plate and fork into the kitchen and loaded them into the dishwasher along with the utensils she’d used.

When she got back with her coffee, she found the start of her programme had been slightly delayed by an extended newscast. The situation in the African state of Buleza had deteriorated swiftly over the past few days. The initial coup had been defeated but the rebels had regrouped and a full-scale civil war had broken out. All British nationals had been evacuated from the capital, but there’d been concern over a group of engineers constructing a bridge across the Ubilisi in the north of the country who’d been cut off by the fighting.

According to the excited tones of the reporter covering the story, the men had now been traced and air-lifted to safety across the border. From there, they would be flown home, and the Foreign Office had a number for concerned relatives to call.

For once a happy ending, Tallie thought as the signature tune for her programme began and she curled up in her corner of the sofa to enjoy it. And that’s what we all need—more happy endings.

The last of the groceries safely put away, Tallie straightened, moving her shoulders wearily. Thank goodness that’s over for a while, she thought.

Shopping was never her favourite pastime at the best of times, and this afternoon the supermarket had been busy and the bus hot and crowded, forcing her to stand with her two heavy bags. To make matters worse, the journey had been held up by a collision between a car and a van. No one had been injured, but both vehicles had been damaged, tempers had been frayed and the police called as a result, so she’d got off and walked the last half mile back to the flat.

It was a humid, overcast day, as if a storm was threatening, and she felt grimy and frazzled, her hair sticking to her scalp. She’d have a shower before she prepared the salad for her evening meal, she decided with a sigh of anticipation.

In the bedroom, she chose clean underwear and a fresh pair of cotton trousers with a green scoop-neck top and left them on the bed. She undressed in the bathroom, thrusting her discarded clothing into the laundry basket, then stepped into the shower. She shampooed her hair vigorously and turned the water pressure to full as she rinsed the lather away, before beginning to apply her rose-scented body wash to her skin, smoothing away the remaining weariness and lingering aggravation of the day, then letting the water stream over her, lifting her face, smiling, to its power.

Then suddenly—shockingly—she became aware that she was no longer alone. Glimpsed a dark shadow, tall and menacing, outside the steamy glass of the cabinet. Felt the gush of cooler air as the sliding doors of the shower were wrenched open and someone—a total stranger—was standing there, staring in at her. A lean pillar of a man, wearing a shirt and trousers in stained and scruffy khaki drill.

Tallie had a horrified impression of black tousled hair, an unshaven chin, hands clenched aggressively at his sides and dark brows snapping together in furious astonishment as ice-cold green eyes swept over her.

She shrank back instinctively into the corner, cowering there, her voice cracking as she tried to scream and failed. As her own hands rose in a futile attempt to cover her body—to conceal her nakedness from this…predator, who was turning the worst—the ultimate nightmare into harsh reality. As fear warred with shame under his gaze.

Where had he come from? Had he been hiding somewhere in the flat, biding his time—choosing his moment? Her mind ran crazily like a rat trapped in a maze. Yet the door had been locked when she’d returned from shopping, and she’d re-locked it behind her. It was the most basic security precaution, and never neglected, so how could he have got in?

‘Turn that bloody water off.’ He spoke above its rush, his voice low-pitched and well-modulated, but grim as an Arctic wind. ‘Then, sweetheart, you have precisely one minute to explain who you are and what the hell you’re doing in my flat before I call the police.’

Ridiculously, the word ‘police’ brought a kind of fleeting reassurance. It wasn’t the kind of threat a rapist or a psychopath would use— was it? she thought desperately, her fingers all thumbs as she forced herself to deal with the shower flow, shivering with panic and burning with embarrassment at the same time. And he’d said ‘my flat’, so what was going on—apart from her own imminent death through shame?

‘I’m waiting.’ He took a towel from the rail and threw it towards her and she snatched at it, huddling it almost gratefully round her body as she struggled to make her voice work.

‘I’m looking after the flat while Mr Benedict is away.’ It was hardly more than a shaken gasp.

‘Is that a fact?’ He looked her over again, standing with his hands on his hips, the firm lips twisting. ‘Well, now Mr Benedict is back and I made no such arrangement, so I suggest you think up another story fast.’

‘No, you don’t understand.’ She put up a hand to push the sodden tangle of hair back from her face and the towel slipped. She grabbed at it, blushing. ‘My agreement’s with Kit Benedict— who’s in Australia. Are—are you a member of his family?’

‘I’m the head of the damned family,’ he returned icily. ‘Kit, unfortunately, is my half-brother, and you, presumably, are one of his little jokes—or compensation for some misdemeanour I have yet to discover. Payment in kind rather than cash. My welcome home present.’

The green eyes narrowed, their expression becoming less hostile and more contemplative, bordering on amusement, and Tallie felt fresh stirrings of panic under his renewed scrutiny.

‘Under normal circumstances, of course, I wouldn’t touch Kit’s leavings,’ he went on, as if he was thinking aloud. ‘But there’s been nothing normal about the past few eternally bloody days, and maybe finding a naked, pretty girl in my shower is immaculate timing. A hint that a few hours of mindless enjoyment could be just what I most need.’ He began to unbutton his shirt. ‘So put the water on again, darling, and I’ll join you.’

‘Keep away from me.’ Tallie pressed herself against the tiled wall as if she was trying to disappear through it. Her voice was hoarse and trembling. ‘I’m not anyone’s leavings, least of all your brother’s. We had—we have a business agreement, that’s all.’

‘Fine.’ He dropped his shirt to the floor and started to unzip his trousers. He slanted a smile at her. ‘And now your business is with me, only the terms have changed a little.’

‘You don’t understand,’ she insisted more fiercely. ‘I’m just here as the caretaker. Nothing more.’

‘Then take care of me,’ he said equably. ‘You can start by washing my back.’

‘No,’ she said, ‘I won’t.’ She swallowed. ‘And I warn you now that if you come near me—if you dare try and lay a hand on me, I’ll have you charged with rape. I swear it.’

There was a taut silence, then he said softly, ‘You actually sound as if you mean that.’

‘I do.’ She lifted her chin. ‘And you’d better also believe that I’m not involved with Kit and I never was, and never would be either. I think, in his own way, he’s almost as obnoxious as you are.’

‘Thank you.’ There was an odd note in his voice.

‘I came here simply to do a job and, until a few minutes ago, I didn’t know you even existed. I thought this was his flat.’

‘I’m sure it pleased him to give that impression.’ He shrugged a bare shoulder, setting off a ripple of muscle that she would have preferred not to see. ‘It always has. But let me assure you that the flat is mine and so is everything in it, including that inadequate towel you’re clutching, and the bed where you’ve apparently been sleeping,’ he added silkily, watching the colour storm back into her face at the implication of his words.

‘In reality, I’m Kit’s occasional and very reluctant host. And currently, for some reason which I’m sure you’re eager to share with me, I seem to be yours too.’

She made a desperate stab at dignity. ‘Naturally, I do see that you’re…owed an explanation.’

‘Perhaps we should postpone any discussion on the extent of your indebtedness for a more convenient moment.’

His soft-voiced intervention had her biting her lip, but she pressed on doggedly, ‘However, my reasons for being here are perfectly genuine. I—I have nothing to hide.’

‘No?’ he queried, the green eyes measuring her with dancing cynicism. ‘You could have fooled me.’

He strode over to the door and took down the bathrobe that hung there. ‘And now I intend to take my shower whether you remain there or not,’ he said as he returned. ‘So I suggest you put this on and make yourself scarce—if your maidenly reluctance to pleasure me is actually genuine.’

He paused, holding the robe. ‘Is it—or could you still be persuaded to offer a weary traveller the comfort of that charming body?’

‘No,’ she said, teeth gritted, ‘I could not.’

He shrugged again, tossing the bundle of towelling into her arms. ‘Then go. However, I should warn you that I’m still considering having you charged with trespass.’ He observed her lips parting in a silent gasp of alarm and went on, ‘But some good coffee—black, hot and strong—might help your cause.’

‘Is that an order?’ She tried a defiant note.

‘Merely a suggestion,’ he said. ‘Which you’d do well to heed.’

He watched with open amusement as Tallie turned her back to manoeuvre herself awkwardly out of the wet towel and into the robe.

‘Your modesty is delightful, if a little belated,’ he commented dryly as she sidled out of the shower cabinet, looking anywhere but at him, the robe thankfully drowning her from throat to ankle. ‘I’ll join you and the coffee presently.’

He paused. ‘And don’t even think of doing a runner, because I would not find that amusing.’

‘You mean before you’ve counted the spoons?’ She glared at him.

‘Before any number of things.’ He stripped off the khaki trousers and kicked them away. ‘I suggest the sitting room as suitably neutral territory. Unless you have a more interesting idea?’ he added, his hands going to the waistband of his shorts. ‘No? Somehow I thought not.’

And, as he casually dropped his final covering and walked into the shower, Tallie turned and fled, hearing, to her chagrin, his shout of laughter following her.