Читать книгу One Man's Mistress: One Night with His Virgin Mistress / Public Mistress, Private Affair / Mistress Against Her Will - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 9

WITH her hair properly dried and severely confined with an elastic band at the nape of her neck, and safely back in her own clothing—jeans and a loose white overshirt—Tallie began to feel marginally better.

She could even be almost glad she hadn’t slammed the sitting room door behind her as she’d been sorely tempted to do. But there wasn’t any other cause for rejoicing.

She’d carefully collected all her clothes and personal possessions and transferred them to the spare room, before returning to the master bedroom to strip and remake the bed in its entirety, even down to the mattress cover, and choosing a dark blue satin spread as a replacement for the pale gold one she’d been using.

Then she’d gone over the room with a fine toothcomb to ensure that not so much as a tissue or a button had been left behind to remind him of her brief presence. She’d even dusted so there wasn’t even a fingerprint of hers remaining on any of the surfaces, and she’d cleaned every inch of the bathroom.

He could do a forensic search and he wouldn’t find me, she told herself grimly. I no longer exist in his space.

And at least he’d left her to it. She’d half expected him to stand over her, eagle-eyed, for any dereliction but, as far as she could gather, he was permanently on the phone in the sitting room.

No doubt telling a delighted world of his safe return, she thought, grinding her teeth. Or the female section of it anyway.

But she wouldn’t think about that, she added with silent determination, turning her attention to the spare room.

Her new refuge wasn’t as large as the one she’d just vacated, and the bed was much smaller—queen-size, she thought, instead of emperor, if there was such a thing—but it was furnished with the same careful, slightly old-fashioned elegance as the rest of the flat, and at least there was a table at the window she could use as a desk, she told herself as she retrieved her laptop and manuscript pages from the office.

And the wardrobes and drawers were empty, showing that Kit had taken his brother’s eviction threat seriously enough to remove all his belongings.

Eviction …

The word lingered and stung, reminding her succinctly that her own tenure was strictly temporary and that she had just one week to find alternative accommodation. But could she do it?

Back to the evening paper, she thought with a sigh as she set about making up the bed, plus a serious trawl round very much cheaper areas—if there were such things in London—studying the cards in newsagents’ windows. She’d probably end up paying a fortune for some boxroom where she’d be balancing her laptop on her knee.

However, even that would be bearable if it removed her from Mark Benedict’s orbit, she told herself. Yet, in fairness, although it galled her to admit it, she could not altogether blame him for wanting her out of his home and his life. After all, he was entitled to his privacy.

And it was not his fault if she was left in an impossible and frightening position, but her own.

Oh, God, she thought, how could I have been so utterly gullible? But Kit was just so … plausible, insisting all along that it was a serious business transaction and that by accepting his offer I’d be doing him a real favour. Which was probably the only genuine remark he made in the whole affair. He just failed to explain the actual nature of the favour, she told herself ruefully. And he certainly never hinted that it could land me in any trouble—especially the kind of danger that a man like Mark Benedict could represent, she added, shivering.

But at least she hadn’t been forced to spend the night in some seedy bed and breakfast, terrified to close her eyes in case she was robbed, although that comment about a puppy on a motorway still rankled.

But then almost everything about Mr Benedict grated on her, she thought, seething.

However—and here was the silver lining to this particular cloud—she needed a villain for her book. Someone rough, crude, dissolute, uncaring and generally without a redeeming feature, who’d make her hero’s virtues shine even more brightly by contrast. And whose unwarranted interference in Mariana’s life would involve her heroine in all kinds of misfortune and ultimately bring her to the edge of disaster.

But only to the edge, she thought, her heartbeat quickening. Because, in the end, it would be his own life that lay in ruins.

And Mark Benedict would provide the perfect template for such a man, his ultimate downfall and probable demise dwelt upon in painful Technicolor detail.

I’ll make him so obnoxious that when he bites the dust the readers will be on their feet cheering, she resolved. And I shall gloat over every word.

It wouldn’t be complete revenge, sadly, because her target would never know, but—hey—you couldn’t have everything. And her own secret satisfaction would be all the compensation she needed.

And now, re-energised, she would see about her supper.

She marched cheerfully to the door, flung it open and stopped dead with a gasp, her face warming vividly as she confronted the villain himself, standing outside, his hand raised to knock.

He glanced past her, his brows lifting. ‘I see you’ve settled in,’ he commented acidly. ‘Don’t make yourself too comfortable, will you.’

Little chance of that with you around … Tallie thought it best to keep her instinctive retort to herself.

‘And you look a little flushed, Miss Paget,’ he added. ‘Guilty conscience, perhaps?’

‘On the contrary,’ Tallie returned, her tone brisk. ‘I thought I’d obeyed all your instructions to the letter.’

‘Well, here’s another,’ he said coldly. ‘From now on, you don’t answer my phone. I’ve just had to spend a considerable amount of time trying to convince someone that I haven’t moved another woman in here behind her back and that you’re not “a friend”, as you claimed, but a damned nuisance.’

‘Oh,’ she said airily, cursing under her breath, ‘that. I … I’d forgotten.’

But she remembered now—particularly recalling the haughty voice of her interrogator and how it had needled her. Just like the harshness of his tone was flicking her on the raw now.

Two autocrats together, she thought. They’re perfect for each other.

He was frowning. ‘What the hell did you think you were doing?’

She sighed. ‘Kit actually told me to say I was the cleaner if anyone rang, but it was incredibly late when your … your lady called, and it wasn’t feasible that I’d be there doing a little light dusting in the middle of the night. So I said the first thing that occurred to me.’

‘That,’ he said grimly, ‘is a habit you’d do well to break.’

‘Consider it done,’ she said. She paused. ‘And I’m sorry if I injured your … real friend’s feelings in any way, although I must say I didn’t get the impression she’d be quite that sensitive.’

She took a deep breath. ‘And I certainly hope she never finds out about your own little habit—sexually harassing complete strangers—because I’d say that leaves my own little faux pas in the shade—and might drive her into a total nervous breakdown.’

‘Wow,’ he said softly. ‘The prim schoolgirl has quite a turn of phrase. But I think the lady in question would probably find it far more disturbing if I found a naked girl in my bathroom and wasn’t tempted in any way—even if only for a moment.’

He added with cold emphasis, ‘Also, sweetheart, one look at you would be more than enough to convince her that nothing happened between us.’

She stood staring at him, feeling as if she’d been punched in the stomach. First Gareth, she thought numbly, now this—bastard. Not only have I been totally humiliated by him, I now seem to be carrying the sexual equivalent of the mark of Cain.

Confirmation, as if I needed it, that no one could possibly want me.

Her throat tightened suddenly, uncontrollably as she fought to maintain her composure.

To hell with him, she thought shakily. Why should I give a damn what he thinks of me? If I’ve unfortunately failed to reach his required standard in female sensuality?

Besides, being regarded by him as undesirable has to be a positive advantage in the present situation, because at least I won’t be spending the next few days and nights fighting him off.

That, she thought, is what I have to keep telling myself. And what I need, at all costs, to believe.

She swallowed. ‘Thank you.’ She added, ‘That’s—reassuring. Now, perhaps you’d go,’ only to hear her voice suddenly crack in the middle and to realise that his tall, inimical figure had somehow become a blur.

Oh, no, she wailed silently, don’t let this be happening to me. Don’t let me cry in front of this uncaring swine of a man.

‘Is something wrong?’

His voice seemed to reach her from the far distance. Tallie shook her head blindly and turned away, struggling to control the sobs that were choking her throat.

He said wearily, ‘Oh, dear God,’ and then his arm was round her, holding her firmly as he urged her across the room towards the bed.

She tried to pull away. ‘Leave me alone.’ Her shaking voice was thick with tears. ‘Don’t dare to touch me.’

‘Now you’re being absurd.’ He pushed her down on to the edge of the mattress and sat beside her, handing her an immaculate white linen handkerchief before pulling her closer so that her head rested against his shoulder, and holding her there as deep, gusty sobs shook her slight body.

It was like leaning against a rock and Tallie knew, in some far corner of her mind, that, as soon as she’d stopped crying, she would want to die of shame for allowing it, because he was the last person in the world that she would ever want to see her like this, eyes blubbering, nose running, totally out of control.

Knew too that she should be pushing him away instead of blotting her wet face on his shirt. Telling him at the top of her voice that sleeping in a cardboard box would be preferable to spending even one more minute under his roof.

And he’d hear all that, and much more, if she could just … stop … crying …

She slumped against him, her tears fiercer and more scalding as she wept out her disappointment and hurt, her terrifying uncertainty about her immediate future, and her humiliated rage against the man whose arm encircled her like a ring of iron.

But, gradually, the tearing sobs began to diminish and the burning in her throat to subside, leaving a strange emptiness in place of the grief and anger. A vacuum that, slowly but surely, was being occupied by other, more insidious emotions. Feelings that she could not understand, let alone explain or justify.

She was suddenly, potently aware of the physical reality of the hard male warmth supporting her. Conscious that the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat under her cheek, the strength of his embrace and the clean, beguiling scent of his skin were all permeating her shaking senses in a manner as unfamiliar as it was disturbing. And that his other hand was stroking her hair back from her aching forehead with unexpected gentleness.

Like soothing a puppy abandoned on the motorway …

Tallie sat up abruptly and he released her at once, waiting in silence as she used his handkerchief to wipe her face and blow her nose. Mortified to notice, as she did so, that she’d left a damp patch on his shirt.

Eventually she said in a small brittle voice that still trembled a little, ‘Please … excuse me. I don’t usually embarrass myself like this—or anyone else, for that matter.’

‘You didn’t embarrass me,’ he said. ‘If anything, I feel guilty because it seems to be my comment on your obvious sexual innocence that acted as the trigger in all this.’ He added quietly, ‘However, what I don’t understand is why that should be. Why you should feel insulted or troubled by my assumption that you’re still a virgin, even if it could have been expressed more tactfully.

‘After all, taking your time before you dash into some ultra-heavy relationship makes a lot of sense, especially these days.’

She kept her gaze fixed on the pale cord carpet. ‘But not everyone sees it in quite the same way.’ And what on earth had prompted her into an admission like that?

‘Oh, dear,’ he said, not unkindly. ‘Has some callow youth been hassling you because you said no?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Not at all. It turned out that he … he preferred … girls with more experience.’

Oh, God, she thought, I can’t be doing this. I can’t be sitting on a bed telling Mark Benedict about my failed love life. And if he bursts out laughing, I shall only have myself to blame.

‘Then he certainly won’t have far to look,’ he said caustically, the firm mouth surprisingly unsmiling. ‘And you, sweetheart, have probably been saved a world of grief. Congratulations.’

‘But I love him.’ She hadn’t intended to say that either, and her words fell with utter desolation into a silence that seemed to stretch into eternity.

She found herself stealing a glance at him, wondering, and saw that he was very still, gazing in front of him, the dark brows drawn together in a faint frown.

But, when he spoke, his tone was almost casual. ‘Well, don’t worry about it,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘They say first love is like measles—lousy at the time, but conferring immunity afterwards. And one of these days you’ll wake up and wonder what you ever saw in this crass Casanova.’

Tallie lifted her chin. ‘Please don’t call him that,’ she said defensively. ‘You know nothing at all about him—or me.’

‘Agreed.’ Mark Benedict nodded. ‘And, where he’s concerned, I’d find it hard to take an interest. But I’d bet there are a lot of girls out there who’ll be waking up tomorrow in strange beds, feeling used up and disappointed, who’d like nothing better than to turn the clock back and find themselves in your shoes with life still waiting to happen.

‘Besides,’ he added softly, ‘think how much more you’d have to regret if he’d taken everything you had to give and still walked away.’

‘I’m sure your logic is impeccable,’ Tallie said coldly. ‘But it doesn’t actually make me feel any better about the situation.’

Nor did it justify this extraordinary conversation either, she thought, or explain how she was going to live with herself after this unforgivable piece of self-revelation.

She was bitterly aware that she’d allowed him to get too close—physically as well as mentally, as if the room had shrunk in some strange way—and knew that she needed to distance herself—and fast.

Swallowing, she rose too, folding her arms across her body in a defensive gesture she immediately regretted. She kept her voice level. ‘I—I’m sorry to have involved you in all this. It certainly won’t happen again. And I know you’re … going out tonight,’ she added primly. ‘So please don’t let me keep you.’

The grin he sent her had ‘wicked’ stamped right through it and she felt her stomach curl nervously in a response as involuntary as it was unexpected.

‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ he said softly, ‘you won’t.’ He paused, his glance flicking past her to the bed and the pile of white towelling draped across the coverlet. ‘But, before I go, I’ll have my robe back.’

Tallie bit her lip. ‘Shouldn’t I launder it first?’

‘No need for that.’ He held out a compelling hand, leaving her no choice but to fetch it. ‘It’s hardly contaminated after its brief acquaintance with you. Besides,’ he added softly, ‘it holds memories that I shall fully enjoy savouring each time I wear it myself.’

And he walked off, leaving Tallie staring after him, her heart beating like a kettle drum, furiously aware that she was blushing again.

This coming week is going to seem an eternity, Tallie thought as she picked her way without noticeable enthusiasm through her cheese salad that evening.

And I have no one to blame but myself, she acknowledged sombrely. Why couldn’t I simply apologise for annoying his girlfriend and leave it at that? Why have a go, however justified I may have felt it was at the time? Especially when all I’ve achieved by it is to make a spectacular fool of myself?

Well, I’ll know better next time—except that I’m going to make quite sure there is no next time. A policy of strict neutrality plus a swift and unobtrusive departure is what I must aim for now.

She’d already checked to make sure there was a bolt on the inside of the door in the bathroom she’d be using from now on, and she’d take care that it was securely fastened on every visit—and that she’d be wearing her own elderly dressing gown too, she thought, her skin burning again.

And, eventually, she’d be able to put the whole sorry interlude behind her, and send Mr Benedict to the dump bin in her memory. With luck, she might even stop feeling as if her skin had been scrubbed all over with steel wool.

However, she told herself as she washed up her supper things and put them away, the positive side to all this was having the flat to herself again, at least for the evening, if not all night. So she could get back to her writing undisturbed.

If ‘undisturbed’ was really the word she was looking for.

Because, try as she might, Tallie found concentration difficult. Long after she’d heard the front door slam, signalling his departure, she discovered disagreeably, as she stared at her laptop screen, that her encounters with Mark Benedict were still occupying the forefront of her mind and lingering there to the detriment of the unfortunate Mariana, whose mule had somehow got free in the night and run off, forcing her to spend the day walking miles over rough terrain, until at last she came upon a stream that she could follow downhill.

Luxury—compared with the day I’ve had, Tallie muttered under her breath.

But eventually she became caught up in her story again, and when the sudden steep gradient of the track Mariana was descending turned the stream into a welcome cascade draining into a pool, Tallie allowed her hot, tired heroine to take off her boots and hide them behind a rock with the rest of her clothing and bathe her aching body in the cool water. A brief interlude amid the traumas of her journey when she could relax and dream about her eventual reunion with her husband-to-be.

Which might help make him more real—more desirable—as Alice Morgan had suggested, she reminded herself.

But as Mariana stood under the little waterfall, lifting her face to its fresh drops as if she was seeking the gentleness of William’s lips, a man’s harsh drawl invaded her paradise. ‘A water nymph, by God. What an unexpected pleasure.’ And, transfixed with horror, she realised she was no longer alone. That someone was watching from the other side of the pool, the sound of his horse’s approaching hooves muffled by the rush of the water.

Hugo Cantrell, thought Tallie with immense satisfaction. That was what she’d call her villain. Major Hugo Cantrell—deserter, gambler, rapist and traitor. Maybe even murderer, although she’d have to think carefully about that. But dark, green-eyed, arrogant as a panther and twice as dangerous, with a soul as scarred as his face. Destined to be court- martialled and hanged. Slowly.

Her fingers were suddenly flying over the keyboard, the words pouring out of her, because this was Mariana’s first traumatic encounter with him and she had to make it memorable—not difficult when she had all her own recent feelings of embarrassment and humiliation to draw on. And then she could slowly work up to the moment, building the tension, when Mariana would somehow manage to escape the threatened dishonour.

But how, with the evil Major Cantrell, now dismounting from his horse in a leisurely manner, his eyes appraising Mariana with an expression of lustful insolence that made her blood run cold?

Not that she’d be very warm anyway, standing stark naked under a waterfall, Tallie decided, doing a swift edit.

‘Cool water and a pretty body.’ His voice reached her, gloating. ‘Just the kind of rest and recreation a man needs in the middle of a hot and dusty day.’

For a moment Mariana stood, paralysed with shock and growing fear, as she watched him tethering his horse to a tree, before stripping off his coat and sitting down on a convenient boulder to remove his boots.

Her glance slid to the rock where her own clothes were concealed.

Not all that far away, it was true, but certainly not near enough for her to reach them before he reached her. And how could she hope to outrun him—on foot and carrying her garments?

Somehow she had to devise a strategy, and quickly, because he’d stepped down into the pool and was wading purposefully towards her.

And then she remembered a piece of advice bestowed on her by her Aunt Amelia, her father’s worldly younger sister. ‘If you ever find yourself alone with a gentleman who is becoming altogether too pressing in his attentions, my dear, a severe blow with your knee in his tenderest parts will incapacitate him for sufficient time to allow you to rejoin the company in safety. And, naturally, having allowed his ardour to exceed his breeding, he can never complain.’

Not that the approaching brute showed any gentlemanly instincts, she thought with loathing as she forced herself to wait, eyelashes coyly lowered, as if suggesting that his presence, although unexpected, might not be entirely unwelcome to her. Because, if she was to achieve her purpose, she would have to allow him to come close, even within … touching distance. She had no choice, although the prospect made her stomach churn with disgust as well as terror.

As he got nearer, she saw that he was smiling triumphantly, totally sure of himself and his conquest. At the same time, she became all too aware of the power of his build, the width of his shoulders under the fine cambric shirt, and how the lean hips and long hard thighs were set off by the tight-fitting cream breeches, and felt a curious sensation stir deep within her that was entirely beyond her experience. Found herself wondering how all that total maleness would feel pressed against her when its covering was gone, and precisely how that hard mouth would taste on hers.

Realised, too, that a strange melting lethargy was overtaking her and that the drumming of the cascade was being inexplicably eclipsed by the sudden, wild throbbing of her heartbeat and the race of her breathing …

Hold on a minute, Tallie thought, startled, discovering she had to control her own flurried breathing as she dragged her hands from the keyboard. What the hell is all this? She’s supposed to be about to do him serious physical damage, not melt into his arms. Have I just gone completely insane?

She read over, slowly, what she’d just written, eyes widening, lips parting in disbelief. Then, taking a deep, steadying breath, she put a shaking finger on the delete button and kept it there until the offending paragraphs were erased.

Mariana might be feisty and unpredictable, but she couldn’t be stark raving mad. Because the entire plot of the book was her quest to be reunited with William, her one true love, and her body was intended for him and him alone. Which meant that even the merest contemplation of betrayal should be anathema to her. Especially with someone like Hugo Cantrell, an utter bastard with no redeeming features whatsoever.

She does not fancy him, Tallie told herself grimly. She couldn’t and she never will. Because I shan’t allow it, any more than I’d let myself fancy that Benedict—creature.

Instead, she let herself elaborate pleasurably on the exact force of Mariana’s knee meeting Hugo’s groin, and the way he doubled up and turned away, groaning and retching in agony, exactly as Aunt Amelia had predicted.

Described vividly how Mariana made it to the bank and was already pulling on her clothing by the time he recovered and came after her, shouting she was a ‘hell-born bitch’, and, by the time he’d finished with her, he would make her sorry that her whore of a mother had ever given her life.

How he was far too angry and intent on his revenge to see the large stone in her hand until it was too late. How she hit him on the side of the head with all the force of her strong young arm, and saw him collapse first to his knees, before slowly measuring his unconscious length among the dirt and scrub at her feet.

Leaving Mariana to ascertain first that she hadn’t actually killed him—because having the girl on the run for murder certainly wasn’t part of the plot—then hastily complete her dressing and make her getaway on his horse, having discarded his heavy saddlebags because she was only a thief from necessity not inclination—and also because they might slow down her flight.

Her last action being to hurl his boots into the middle of the pool.

And that, Tallie thought with satisfaction, as she pressed ‘Save’ was altogether more like it.

And I only wish there’d been a handy rock in the shower earlier, she thought vengefully. Because there’s not much damage you can do with a cake of soap, unless, of course, you can somehow get him to slip on it.

She dwelled for a moment on an enjoyable fantasy which dealt Mark Benedict a sprained knee, a broken arm and an even bigger lump on his forehead than Hugo’s, leading hopefully to yet more scarring and a thumping headache lasting him for hours, if not days.

She sighed. She could get the better of him on the printed page, she thought wistfully, but grinding his face into the dust in real life was a different proposition, and so far he was way ahead of her on points.

And she mustn’t forget that she’d come dangerously close to involving Mariana in a full-blooded love scene with his fictional counterpart.

Tallie bit her lip. That brief instant in the bathroom when she’d glimpsed him naked must have had a more profound effect on her than she’d imagined. And, disturbingly, it was still there, indelibly etched into her consciousness.

If only there was a delete button in the brain, she thought wearily, so that all my bad memories—all my mistakes—could be erased at a touch.

And then, with luck, completely forgotten.