Читать книгу Extreme Provocation - Sarah Holland - Страница 5

THE next day, Lucy was polishing the drawing-room when she saw the long white sports car pull up outside the house. Pulses leaping with fury, she froze, staring. It was eleven o’clock, a sunny day, and her father was still asleep. If she didn’t answer the door to Randal, he would wake her father, and she didn’t want that. She didn’t want him to know that this dangerous man had taken such a fancy to her and was in hot pursuit. He didn’t even know she had visited the casino that night. What would he say if he found out what had happened? She had asked Edward to keep silent on the subject. They had dined together last night, as always on a Saturday night, and he had gone home at midnight, aware that her father was once more at Marlborough’s casino. But Edward could do no more to stop her father than Lucy herself could. He had told her he would go to the casino at some point himself to try to prevent her father from gambling. But so far, he hadn’t done anything. Lucy was afraid to go there again, and the reason for her fear was currently getting out of that long white sports car, flashing dangerous blue eyes to the house.

Randal walked with that lazy arrogance to the door. He looked casually wealthy in black trousers and a black cashmere V-neck sweater. His black hair was pushed back from his hard forehead, his blue eyes hooded by those heavy eyelids.

Lucy moved away to the hall, light footsteps taking her to the front door before he could knock or ring or make any sound that might wake her father.

Wrenching open the door, she looked angrily into his face. ‘What are you doing here?’

He smiled mockingly. ‘I came to see you. What else?’

‘Well, I don’t want to see you. Haven’t you got the message yet?’

‘But you’ve answered the door.’ Black brows arched coolly.

Lucy’s face flushed a delicate pink. ‘I didn’t want you hammering on the door and attracting attention. This is a quiet residential square. The neighbours notice everything that happens.’

He surveyed her with amused insolence. ‘Nothing to do with your father sleeping off last night’s hangover, then?’

Lucy’s colour deepened. ‘I don’t know what you mean!’

‘He was in the casino until dawn,’ Randal said coolly, his face unsmiling. ‘He ordered a magnum of champagne. I doubt he’ll surface much before lunchtime.’

‘Gossip?’ she queried, dislike in her green eyes.

He laughed under his breath. ‘That’s right. Aren’t you going to ask me in? I’d love a cup of coffee.’

‘No, I’m not going to ask you in,’ she said tightly, and began to close the door.

‘Want me to start hammering on the door?’ he drawled, preventing her from shutting it with one strong hand.

Her eyes warred with his. Angrily, she felt she had no option but to let him in. ‘Very well,’ she said angrily. ‘I’ll let you come in. But one false move and I’ll scream the house down.’ Holding the door back for him, she felt her pulses leap as he moved inside.

He dominated the hallway, his presence like electricity. He was so tall—at least six feet four—and those shoulders were intensely broad, his body rippling with lean muscle.

Lucy looked up at him through her lashes. ‘We’ll go in the kitchen. Please keep your voice down...’

He followed her coolly along the hall. Lucy was so aware of him behind her that her pulses were leaping like fire by the time they reached the kitchen.

As they entered the sunlit pine kitchen, she turned and found him right behind her, very close, his muscled chest at eye-level, the tanned flesh visible where the V of his sweater ended, and a sprinkling of black hairs curling there.

Her eyes flashed to meet his. Their gazes collided with violent impact. She felt breathless suddenly, her heart thudding with alarm. Why does he affect me like this? she thought in panic.

‘I’ll get you that coffee...’ she said, her voice oddly husky, and turned away from him, going to the side and switching on the kettle.

He moved behind her, and she felt his breath on her neck as he bent his dark head, long fingers pushing her blonde hair softly back to expose the naked nape of her neck.

‘You’re not wearing that perfume,’ he said softly, and his mouth kissed her throat.

Angrily, she turned. ‘Keep your hands to yourself!’

‘Why aren’t you wearing it? I went to a great deal of trouble to have it delivered here for you.’

‘I couldn’t stand the smell of it,’ she said deliberately. ‘It reminded me of you.’

‘What did you do? Pour it down a sink?’

Her face flamed. ‘Yes!’

He laughed. ‘Well, that rebounded on you, didn’t it? The whole house smells of it.’

‘It’ll go away eventually,’ she snapped. ‘Just like you.’

‘But I won’t,’ he said under his breath, moving towards her. ‘I won’t go away until I’ve got what I want.’

She backed, found herself cornered, heart thudding as she stared up at him in sudden wild panic. ‘But what is it? What do you want from me?’

His blue eyes moved to her mouth, then her full breasts as they rose and fell beneath the pale blue silk dress she wore, and they were both suddenly aware of the swift erection of her nipples as excitement shot through her under that powerful gaze.

‘I want to make love to you,’ he said softly.

It was suddenly impossible to breathe. Lucy stared at him, her body tense. As those blue eyes flickered back up to meet hers she felt her heartbeat rocket.

‘Well!’ She was almost speechless. ‘If you think that I...’ The words seemed to stumble over each other. ‘That I would dream...think of...even consider...’

He was smiling sardonically, his strong hands moving to her waist as he took that last, deadly step towards her.

‘Don’t...!’ she gasped out.

His hard thighs pressed inexorably against hers. He had her completely cornered now, her heart drumming as she clutched his powerful arms with nerveless fingers.

‘Have dinner with me tonight,’ he drawled. ‘Or I’ll kiss you until your legs give way.’

‘I’ll scream!’ she whispered, appalled to realise that she was almost hypnotised by him.

‘Then scream,’ he mocked, and bent his dark head, very slowly, giving her time to scream her head off, but she couldn’t move or speak as that hard mouth came closer, her pulses drumming feverishly as she waited for that kiss.

His mouth closed over hers at last, and she shook as his lips parted hers, a terrifying sweetness invading her body as she felt her mouth open beneath his and accept the hot exploration of his kiss. Pleasure was flooding her, her eyes closing and her hands curling on his broad shoulders, loving the feel of those firm muscles beneath her fingers. The kiss was slow, sensual and unbearably exciting, making her want more, her pulses clamouring as she suddenly felt an urge to touch his strong throat and push her fingers slowly through his dark hair.

With a smothered gasp of self-loathing, she struggled out of that hot embrace, but his arms tightened around her and his kiss deepened, his mouth forcing her to accept the growing passion of the kiss. She started to hit out at him, giving hoarse gasps of angry excitement as she felt that hard male body in every nerve-ending, and, most of all, felt the press of his manhood against her.

Suddenly, she was terrified. Her voice shakily pleaded for release. ‘Please...’ Her mouth was against his, her body trembling. ‘Please let me go...Randal...’ She felt humiliated, intolerably excited, confused...

He released her with reluctance, his mouth lifting from hers as though he could not bear to stop kissing her. He looked down at her flushed, fevered little face, saw the green eyes enormous with panic, the pulse beating hotly at her throat.

Lucy struggled away from him, backing across the kitchen.

‘Do I get a dinner date?’ he asked thickly.

‘No,’ Lucy said at once, and then, on a sudden inspiration, ‘If my boyfriend catches you here, he’ll kill you.’

‘Boyfriend?’ he said sharply, frowning, then as though to himself, ‘Of course...’ The black lashes flickered. There was a little silence as his mouth hardened. ‘Who is he? How long have you been seeing him?’ His eyes darted down. ‘It can’t be serious because you’re not wearing a ring.’ His eyes shot back to her face. ‘Are you in love with him? No, you can’t be or—’

‘I have no intention of discussing my personal life with you,’ she snapped heatedly, keeping her distance. ‘Now kindly leave.’

‘Are you in love with him?’

Her mouth tightened. ‘You don’t give up, do you?’

Randal laughed. ‘Never. At least—not when I want something.’

‘You can’t have everything you want.’ She lifted her chin, eyes defiant. ‘Life isn’t like that.’

‘Perhaps not for other men,’ he drawled arrogantly, ‘but I can assure you it is for me. I always get what I want. There’s always a way. Didn’t you know that?’

‘Not with me,’ she said flatly. ‘You’ll never find a way to get—’

‘I only have to find your Achilles heel,’ he murmured, smiling. ‘And I think I already have—don’t you?’

She flushed, pointing suddenly to the door. ‘Get out of here!’

He laughed, eyes mocking. ‘That gesture would be more effective if you hadn’t kissed me back so passionately just now.’

Fury shot through her. She abandoned her stance. ‘I didn’t kiss you back. I was cornered and forced into it.’

‘You could have screamed,’ he drawled, laughing at her. ‘But you presumably wanted it as much as I did. What’s the matter—doesn’t your boyfriend know how to kiss?’

‘How dare you?’ she said, trembling with rage. ‘He’s ten times the man you are.’

‘But he hasn’t made love to you yet.’

‘He’s not like that,’ she said heatedly. ‘He wouldn’t dream of—’

Randal laughed with such open mockery that she couldn’t continue.

‘I’m not discussing him with you,’ Lucy blazed, hating him violently. ‘Now please just accept that I don’t want anything to do with you—and leave.’

He smiled lazily, hands thrust into black trouser pockets. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do that. I want you far too much.’ He moved suddenly, striding towards her with coolly lethal sex appeal and making her back away, her heart in her mouth.

‘If you kiss me again, I’ll—’

‘Don’t worry,’ he said softly. ‘I won’t kiss you again. Not just yet.’ His hand touched her chin, cool fingers making her pulses race. ‘I can hear your father moving about upstairs. I don’t want to run into him. And you don’t want me to, either—do you, Lucy?’

She flushed, jerking her chin from his grasp. ‘I just want you to go. That’s all.’

‘The more you run,’ he said softly, ‘the harder I’ll chase.’

Breathless, she stared into the powerful face. ‘Why?’ she asked in sudden overwhelming panic.

‘Because I’m that kind of man,’ he drawled sardonically, smiling with amusement at her fear. ‘A hunter. A predator. I enjoy the excitement of the chase, and you’re the most exciting prey that’s ever caught my fancy.’

As she shivered, he turned coolly from her, a smile on his hard, mocking face, and left the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind him, his footsteps moving with panther-like grace to the front door.

Lucy was trembling as she sank into a chair at the kitchen table, the morning sunlight streaming over her through the windows, and heard the front door close behind him.

What on earth was she to do?

Edward arrived at three for Sunday lunch. Her father had been up for two hours, and was flicking idly through the Sunday newspapers in the drawing-room. Lucy had prepared most of the lunch and was just waiting for it all to be ready. The potatoes were roasting in the oven along with the lamb and the onions. Various saucepans filled with vegetables were bubbling on the hobs.

‘Mmm!’ Edward strolled over to the stove. ‘Smells delicious! How long till it’s ready?’

‘Fifteen minutes.’ She glanced at her watch, poked the carrots with a fork. ‘You didn’t go to the casino last night, did you?’

He grimaced. ‘It was so late when I left—’

‘Daddy was at the casino till dawn, drinking champagne.’ She sighed heavily. ‘Edward—somebody’s got to do something. We must be running out of money. Surely you can—?’

‘I’ll go to the casino tonight,’ Edward cut in smoothly. ‘I promise.’

‘Thank you.’ She touched his thin shoulder gratefully. ‘You see, I’m sure if one of us actually turned up there, he’d realise how serious our worries are.’

Edward raised blond brows. ‘Don’t bank on it, darling. Your father already knows. Turning up at the casino may have no effect at all.’

She felt so frustrated that she put her hands to her temples. ‘What will we do when the money runs out—?’

‘We’ll get married.’ Edward slid his hands on to her waist, smiling. ‘And I’ll give you all the security you need.’

Lucy went into his arms with a sigh. As he kissed her, she compared his soft, gentle mouth with the fierce excitement of Randal’s kiss, and she felt suddenly angry.

She pulled Edward’s head closer and tried to deepen the kiss, instil some urgent passion into it.

Edward jerked his head away, frowning. ‘Lucy...!’

Humiliated, rejected, she stepped away from him, her face running with scarlet colour.

‘Darling.’ He sounded exasperated, running a hand through his blond hair. ‘It’s hardly the time or place...’

‘Edward.’ She lifted her head suddenly, emotions boiling to the surface after his rejection, her voice hoarse as she asked a question that suddenly demanded an answer. ‘Do you love me?’

He stared, even more appalled. ‘What a question! Of course I love you!’

‘Then why don’t you want to marry me until my father’s ruined himself?’ she demanded. ‘Why are you waiting for that ear-splitting crash? Why won’t you do something, Edward? Why do I constantly feel as though we’re all just sitting in an aeroplane that’s running out of fuel?’ She moved towards him suddenly, green eyes blazing with anxiety. ‘We’re going to crash at any minute and nobody’s doing anything!’ Her hands curled on his lapels. ‘Nobody’s doing anything—’

‘For God’s sake, Lucy!’ he whispered tightly. ‘He’ll hear you!’

She shook, closing her eyes, drawing an unsteady breath. ‘Edward, I’m so frantic with worry.’ Her eyes opened again, staring at him. ‘I’ve known you all my life. You’re the only person I can trust, rely on, turn to...but you’re not doing anything, Edward—you’re just waiting for the disaster that we can all see coming.’

‘I’m trying to prevent it, Lucy,’ he said flatly, and there was a sharp edge to his voice that she rarely heard, a cutting edge as though accusing her of something. ‘I’m as worried as you are. More, if anything. But having you badgering me about it won’t help.’

She looked away, flushing. ‘I don’t mean to nag—’

‘But that’s just what you’re doing,’ he said, eyes angry. ‘Nagging at me and accusing me of doing nothing when I’m bending over backwards to try and stop this.’

‘I’m sorry, Edward, I...’ Guilt ran through her. ‘I just feel so helpless...’

‘Well, that’s not surprising,’ he said flatly. ‘You are helpless.’

She looked up at that, astonished and hurt.

‘You don’t earn much money.’ Edward counted her faults on long pale fingers. ‘You’re not qualified for anything more demanding than looking after three-year-old kids. You know nothing about finance or investment and you’re hopeless at maths.’ He raised his hands. ‘What possible use are you to anybody?’

Silent, she just stood there staring at him as his words sank in. She felt as though he’d cut her off at the ankles.

Edward smiled and bent his head to kiss her cheek. ‘You just stick with what you’re good at, darling. You’re far more help to your father and me when you’re cooking our meals and keeping the house tidy.’

She did not dare reply in case she slapped his face. And the knowledge that she wanted to slap him shocked her even more than the insults implicit in what he had said.

‘You serve the dinner, darling.’ Edward smiled, pleased by her silence. ‘I’ll go and have a drink with your father in the dining-room...’

As the door closed behind him, Lucy was struggling to suppress the anger rising in her. He had never spoken to her like that before. Never. How dared he...anger burned at the back of her eyes...how dared he...?

Suddenly, she put her hands to her hot face in self-recrimination. Edward’s right, she told herself again and again, but still that anger rose in her like a dark demon, and in the end all she could do to stop it bursting out was busy herself carving the lamb.

After lunch, Edward and her father fell asleep in the drawing-room. Lucy washed up. It took over half an hour. By the time she had finished, she was feeling an uncharacteristic burst of fury. Putting her head round the drawing-room door, she heard them both snoring. Edward was asleep in an armchair, a newspaper open beside him. Her father was asleep on the sofa, his mouth slack.

Quietly closing the door, she escaped upstairs. Her bedroom was filled with that damned scent. Prickling angrily, she opened a window, but it didn’t help much. All she could think of was Randal: his hard insolent face, the ruthless mouth and the mocking blue eyes.

She remembered him spraying the scent on the pulse that had throbbed at her throat. She remembered the intimate eroticism of the act, and the way he had promised he would scent her wrists and ankles.

Lying down on her bed, she thought she was furious, but she wasn’t...she was aroused. Her eyes closed and she remembered his hard body against hers, his hot mouth taking possession...

I hate him! she thought fiercely, sitting bolt upright on the bed. I hate him, I hate him, I hate him...! As for his boast that he always got what he wanted—he was in for a surprise. He could pursue her as much as he wanted—he would never catch this prey.

Three days later, her father got in at dawn and left a joyful, drunken note for her propped on the kitchen table.

‘Guess what! We’ve been invited to the Mallory Ball!’

Lucy read the note with a frown as she made herself breakfast at eight. The Mallory Ball? The name rang a faint bell, but she couldn’t place it, so she shrugged and went to work without giving it another thought.

When she got home that evening, she found Edward and her father drinking champagne in the drawing-room and laughing loudly while Carmina Burana crashed in fatalistic drama from the stereo.

‘Darling!’ her father laughed when he saw her. ‘You shall go to the Ball!’

Lucy slid her jacket off, frowning. ‘Yes, what is all this about?’

‘The Mallory Ball, darling!’ Her father turned the stereo down, smiling. ‘Only the most important event in the social calendar. My word, I’m surprised you’re not over the moon. Most young women your age would jump at the chance to go.’

‘But what is it?’ she persisted, sighing.

‘It’s a glittering affair,’ her father said, ‘held annually at Mallory Hall in Kent.’

‘Look it up in Tatler,’ Edward commented drily.

‘Who invited you?’ Lucy asked, impressed.

‘That’s the most exciting part.’ Her father was beaming. ‘Marlborough himself.’

‘Marlborough?’ Her eyes widened with dismay. ‘The casino...?’

‘The owner of the casino.’ Gerald Winslow nodded. ‘He also owns Mallory Hall—my God, he’s one of the richest men in England. And he obviously likes me, or he wouldn’t have invited me to his home.’

‘He’s a powerful man,’ Edward said, smiling at Lucy. ‘Owns a string of racehorses, several banks, and of course the casino. It’s a real accolade for your father to be invited to this Ball, Lucy.’

‘But it’s not just me,’ Gerald Winslow said proudly. ‘The invitation was delivered personally to me by Marlborough himself, and it includes my family.’

‘Shame I can’t go,’ Edward complained. ‘Couldn’t you pass me off as your son?’

‘I wish I could,’ Gerald sighed. ‘But I don’t dare. If he found out—well, I might destroy this sudden friendliness that’s sprung up.’

‘You’re right.’ Edward shrugged. ‘Take Lucy. I’ll be happy just to hear about it.’

‘I shall buy you a new dress for the occasion, Lucy.’ Gerald beamed at his daughter. ‘Something superb...a fairy-tale creation...’

‘No,’ she said at once, paling. ‘I have plenty of dresses good enough to wear.’

‘We’ll go to Harrods—’

‘We can’t afford it,’ she said, horrified. ‘Daddy, I don’t even want to go to this wretched ball and—’

‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ her father said flatly. ‘You must make a good impression on Marlborough. Edward—talk some sense into the girl.’

‘All right.’ Edward laughed, moving towards Lucy, taking her arm and leading her into the kitchen.

‘You shouldn’t encourage him like that,’ Lucy said as he closed the kitchen door behind them. ‘Making friends with the owner of that casino is just disastrous. Surely you can see—?’

‘It’s not disastrous,’ said Edward under his breath, pale blue eyes fierce and his tone a warning note. ‘It’s the best thing that could have happened, and you mustn’t interfere, Lucy.’

She stared at him, her lips parted. ‘But—’

‘No buts,’ he said flatly. ‘Don’t do anything to jeopardise this friendship with Marlborough. I can’t begin to tell you how vital this is. The invitation to Mallory Hall is a life-saver.’

‘But how can it be when—?’ she wailed.

‘Just do it, Lucy,’ he cut in angrily. ‘Go to the ball, wear something fantastic, and make a good impression on the man.’ He turned, opening the door, casting a brief, irritated look back at her. ‘And get the dinner on, will you? I’m starving.’

Lucy suddenly wanted to throw something at his back as the door closed. Fury rose in her like fire. How could he speak to her like that? After everything she’d said about how worried she was, how frightened about her father’s increasing gambling and drinking...to encourage him to go to this party.

Still, he had sounded earnest. Was it true that this friendship with Marlborough was the best thing that could have happened? And if so—why? It just didn’t make sense.

The day of the ball dawned. Lucy changed into the fairy-tale dress her father had bought her, and shuddered at the thought of how much it had cost.

Made of ivory satin, it was off-the-shoulder, flouncing to a boned waist and flowing over hoops to the floor. She looked like a fairy princess in it, her blonde hair piled in loose curls on her head, the Winslow pearls that had been her mother’s gleaming at ears and throat.

They drove to Kent in her father’s Bentley. Lucy felt deeply disturbed by the whole affair, aware that her finery could vanish at any moment, just as this expensive car could, and the house, stolen by bankruptcy and ruin... If only her father would stop.

The gates of Mallory Hall were impressive white stone. A guard waved them through, an Alsatian straining at the leash, barking. The drive was long, winding, tree-lined. Lights suddenly loomed ahead, and the Hall came in sight, glittering rows of luxury cars parked outside it, the vast white Georgian mansion breathtakingly beautiful, worth millions, and looking every inch the home of a powerful man as it towered in strong masculine dignity against that moonlit night.

After parking, they walked along the gravel drive to the white stone steps. A butler greeted them, his face impassive. Jazz music floated from the lofty ballroom as he led them to it. Voices and laughter echoed in the palatial room.

‘Mr Gerald Winslow,’ intoned the butler, reading the invitation, ‘and his daughter, Lucy.’

A very tall man with broad shoulders and dark hair swung to look at them, and Lucy gasped in horror, staring into that hard face, the insolent blue eyes, that scar jagged on his tanned cheek.

What was he doing here?

Suddenly, she realised that he must have received an invitation, too. Obviously, as he did work for Marlborough. He was striding towards them now with a mocking smile on his ruthless mouth, wearing an impeccably cut black evening suit.

‘Glad you could make it, Winslow,’ he drawled.

‘Delighted, Marlborough.’ Her father smiled, one hand moving to encompass a white-faced, appalled Lucy. ‘May I introduce my daughter, Lucy? Lucy, darling—this is Mr Randal Marlborough.’

Randal was taking her hand in a powerful grip, mockery in his eyes, and as she stared into his handsome face she thought, oh, my God...he’s Randal Marlborough...

‘Charming,’ Randal drawled, eyes sliding with cynical inspection over her body. ‘Quite charming.’

Angrily, she flushed, deeply aware of her bare shoulders, the exposure of her breasts, the creamy swell highlighted by the exquisite décolletage of the dress, satin ribbons and lace surrounding her breasts and bare arms.

‘Must say,’ her father was beaming, ‘this is an exceptional house. It’s a listed building, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’ Randal smiled sardonically. ‘But my equerry could tell you more about it than I. He really knows the history of the place. Let me introduce you...’ He turned, eyes narrowing as he beckoned a well-dressed man across the room. ‘Jamieson—this is Mr Winslow. He wants to hear about the house.’ He took Lucy’s arm, adding coolly, ‘I’ll get your daughter some champagne.’

Before she could protest, he was leading her across the vast ballroom, his face dismissive as he gave cool, polite nods to the people who clamoured for his attention, striding past them, his strong hand on Lucy’s arm.

‘What do you think you’re doing!’ she protested angrily as they reached the far side of the ballroom.

‘Chasing my prey,’ he said softly, and pushed open a door, hustling her into a lofty corridor of polished gold oak.