An Enticing Debt to Pay

by Annie West

  Anger against the woman who couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger even to pretend to do the job he’d held out to her as an alternative to gaol.

  Anger for the greedy woman who’d stolen from him.

  For the woman whose mother had stolen his father, broken up his family, such as it was, and destroyed his mother.

  Like mother, like daughter. Both out for an easy life. Well, not any more!

  He took the stairs two at a time. If she couldn’t make an effort to work on the beautiful reception rooms he knew there was no chance she’d be below stairs.

  He found her three doors along, in one of the family bedrooms.

  She didn’t even stir at the sound of his approach. He slammed to a halt at the foot of the four-poster bed, heart beating double time as his gaze raked her.

  She lay on her side, hands tucked beneath her cheek and legs curled—looking the picture of innocence.

  Suspicion surged.

  Was she aware of him watching? It would be remarkable if she hadn’t heard him slamming through the downstairs rooms then marching up here.

  His eyes narrowed but he saw no change in her breathing, no giveaway flutter of lashes.

  Slanting light traced her features, throwing delicate shadows beneath her eyes and cheekbones. Tiny frown lines marred her brow as if even in sleep something troubled her.

  Probably dreaming of a way to escape justice!

  Jonas’ gaze dipped to her mouth, softly pink and slightly parted as if in invitation. He remembered the sigh of her sweet breath as he caressed her, the hunger to taste more.

  Jonas caught himself leaning closer, hand raised as if to gentle her awake. Jerking back, he grasped the carved bedpost, anchoring himself.

  He was no gullible mark like Piers. Jonas had her measure. He knew what she was, as she’d discover to her cost.

  * * *

  ‘I said it’s time to get up.’ The deep voice wound its way into Ravenna’s sleep-fogged brain and she snuggled into the soft pillow. Just a little longer. It felt so good to let her exhausted body relax, weightlessly floating.

  ‘Much as I appreciate the Sleeping Beauty tableau, it’s not working.’ The rich voice lost its mellow timbre and turned harsh, yanking her out of her hazy dream of warmth and well-being and the delicious scent of spiced citrus. In her dream strong arms had held her tight and close. Now she was alone, her skin chilled and legs cramped.

  Ravenna opened her eyes and swallowed a scream as she saw him looming above her, all but blocking the light.

  ‘You!’ It was a strangled gasp, torn from tight lungs as she struggled up, scooting back against the carved headboard.

  ‘You were expecting someone else?’ Dark eyebrows slashed down in a ferocious scowl that turned his proud face into that of an avenging angel. He didn’t seem to move but she had the impression he stood closer, keeping her within reach.

  Panic flared and her heart beat a tattered rhythm as she read the sizzle in those narrowed eyes. Not pewter now, but the luminous silver-grey of lightning. Ravenna remembered his fury in Paris, his lashing tongue and hard, unforgiving hands that turned gentle as they curved around her breast and stroked her nipple till she all but swooned.

  Fear sliced her. It had nothing to do with the taut anger in his face and wide, masculine shoulders and everything to do with the yearning that softened her traitorous body. Liquid heat rushed to her womb as she met his gaze and felt again that juddering vibration, like an unseen explosion radiating through the air between them.

  Despair filled her. She’d convinced herself it had been a one-off. Some horrible aberration, never to be repeated. She couldn’t be attracted to him. She wasn’t!

  In a tumble of limbs Ravenna scooted to the other side of the bed and off the side.

  But she’d underestimated her exhaustion. No sooner did her feet hit the floor than her knees crumpled. Only her hold on the high bed stopped her collapsing.

  A split second later he was there, arms outstretched as if to support her.

  If she’d needed anything to galvanise her failing strength that was it.

  ‘Don’t touch me!’ It came out high and breathless, choked with emotion.

  Instantly he reared back, his mouth a thin line and eyes unreadable.

  Dragging in a rough breath, Ravenna braced herself and stood straight. She had herself in hand now. Her legs shook like jelly but that was to be expected after the hours she’d been on her feet. It had nothing to do with Jonas Deveson.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  His eyebrows arched high. ‘I think that question is my prerogative. What are you doing sleeping here of all places? And in the middle of the day?’

  Ravenna glanced at her watch. Two o’clock. No wonder she felt wobbly. She’d only lain down fifteen minutes ago, desperate for a restorative nap.

  Since arriving she’d forced herself to her limits, ignoring earlier advice about taking things easy and allowing her body time to recuperate.

  Terror was a fine motivator, allowing her to push beyond the boundaries of exhaustion day after day, knowing Jonas Deveson would leap at that chance to accuse her of not being up to the impossible job he’d set.

  And here he was. Just as she’d feared.

  Ravenna swiped suddenly clammy palms down the worn denim of her jeans, vowing not to let him best her.

  ‘I started early this morning so I was having a short...break.’

  ‘Most people take a break over a cup of tea and a biscuit, not stretched out on a valuable antique bed.’

  He was accusing her of damaging the furnishings? She might not be some delicate, petite woman, but she was hardly a heavyweight, especially after her recent illness.

  Her gaze swept the bed. It was huge enough to sleep four and she’d barely wrinkled the coverlet. The rich, embroidered coverlet she’d carefully cleaned along with the full-length curtains that just a week ago had been caked in dust.

  ‘If you’re waiting for me to tug my forelock you can give up now.’ She stuck her hands on her hips in a confrontational pose she hoped hid the way her legs shook. ‘If I’m good enough to clean the damned thing, I’m good enough to sleep in it.’

  His features tightened. ‘Spoken like your mother’s daughter. She must have had the same view of Piers’ bed whenever she serviced...his room here.’

  Ravenna felt the blood drain from her face at his crude implication. That Mamma was some greedy tart, using sex to her advantage.

  ‘You b—’

  ‘Now, now.’ His voice was maddeningly superior as he raised his hand. ‘Don’t say anything you’ll regret.’

  ‘Believe me,’ she bit out between quick breaths, ‘I wouldn’t regret it.’ But the warning hit the mark. She couldn’t afford to get him even further off side. It was only at his whim that she wasn’t in police custody.

  Ravenna drew a shaky breath as the surge of adrenalin dissipated, leaving her feeling ridiculously fragile. ‘But since you have such archaic views on class differences, I should warn you that this is my bedroom.’

  That shocked him.

  Swiftly she surveyed the room she’d so painstakingly brought back to mint condition, from its plaster-decorated ceiling to its delicately shaded carpet. Old wood gleamed after multiple applications of beeswax, the soft furnishings had been painstakingly cleaned and even the crystal drops in the overhead light had been polished till they shone. He hadn’t even spared it a glance.

  For some reason that galled her almost as much as his high and mighty attitude.

  ‘The housekeeper’s accommodation wasn’t good enough for you?’ His eyes glinted a warning she refused to heed.

  ‘The housekeeper’s accommodation wasn’t weatherproof or dry.’ She watched shock freeze his face and knew an unholy pleasure that she’d punctured h
is self-satisfaction. Then her mind processed a little further, realisation dawning. ‘You didn’t know, did you?’ Ravenna stared at his still face. ‘How long since you’ve been here?’

  Predictably he ignored her question.

  ‘If this is your room then we’ll go elsewhere for our discussion.’

  It was on the tip of Ravenna’s tongue to riposte with some barbed retort when she realised the sense of his words. The last thing she needed was to imprint the memory of him here, in her personal space. As it was the sight of him looming over her in the bed would haunt her for too long.

  Abruptly she spun around to lead the way out. But she’d reckoned without her lingering physical weakness. Her limbs still felt like wet noodles, wobbly and uncoordinated, and for one horrible, slow-motion moment she felt herself sway dangerously and begin to topple, her arms flailing.

  He grabbed her elbows, his long fingers hard and hot through the wool of her ancient cardigan.

  Ravenna stared at the charcoal knit of his cashmere pullover mere centimetres away, rising and falling with each breath. Her nostrils twitched as his scent reached her, the tang of lemon and hot male skin that conjured images of long, powerful limbs, naked in warm Mediterranean sunlight.

  A shudder ripped through her and she closed her eyes in denial. No, no, no. She was weak from what her body had been through recently, but she wasn’t weak for him.

  She’d have to be sick in the head to desire him.

  ‘Are you all right?’ No mistaking the reluctance in his voice. If he’d had time to think rather than act on instinct he’d probably have let her drop to the floor.

  Slowly Ravenna lifted her gaze, past the strong contours of his jaw, up to his grim mouth, bracketed now with disapproving grooves that somehow emphasised the leashed passion in those surprisingly soft lips. She remembered the tender way they’d caressed her neck and shivered as that betraying heat swirled and swooped low in her belly again, settling and spreading at the core of her.

  A tingling started up between her legs. An edgy sensation that made her want to snuggle up against him and—

  ‘I’m fine.’ Her voice was hoarse and she ducked her head rather than meet his scrutiny. Instead she felt it graze the contours of her face.

  How she wished she still had her long hair. She could use it as a shield, obscuring herself from his sharp eyes.

  Ravenna shook her head. Of all the things to regret, the loss of her hair was the least of them.

  She stepped back, moving carefully, giving her body time to adjust. His hands dropped away instantly, as if he was only too eager to let her go.

  Ravenna told herself that was a good thing. If he realised the power his physical presence had over her, he’d be sure to use it to his advantage.

  They were on the landing when she spoke again. ‘You haven’t told me why you’re here.’

  ‘To check up on you, of course.’ The words came from too close behind her. She imagined his warm breath on the back of her neck and hurried down the stairs.

  ‘In case I was stripping the place of valuables?’

  ‘I’m sure security would put a stop to that.’ His tone was complacent. ‘No, I decided you needed supervision and from what I’ve seen I was right.’ Familiar disapproval coloured his voice. ‘That’s why I’ve decided to stay.’

  Ravenna clutched the banister as the world reeled.

  She’d thought this nightmare couldn’t get any worse. How naïve she’d been!

  CHAPTER SIX

  JONAS SCANNED THE large kitchen. Old-fashioned and functional, it held a homely warmth he hadn’t expected to find when Ravenna had led him to the servants’ domain.

  Bright sunlight revealed a huge, scrubbed table, old-fashioned wooden cabinets and a collection of brass moulds and pots hanging on one white wall. It looked like something out of the past.

  His past.

  He remembered having cocoa and fruitcake here, presided over by Mrs Roberts, the motherly woman who’d ruled the kitchen in his childhood. He’d often sneak in for a sample of the exotic meals she prepared for his parents’ sophisticated dinner parties. She regularly patched up his scrapes and let him help roll out pastry or stir a pudding.

  Until his mother had found out and put a stop to it, insisting he had more valuable things to do with his time than hobnob with servants.

  Jonas blinked and turned his head, ignoring the sharp, twisting sensation deep inside and the metallic tang on his tongue. He catalogued the scrupulously clean room, the vase of evergreens on the old Welsh dresser and the way Ravenna bustled around the vast space, with an economy of movement that told him she was at home here.

  The housekeeper’s daughter.

  She’d flung that in his face, hadn’t she?

  But she was far more than that.

  Jonas ran a hand through his hair, watching her loose-fitting jeans pull tight and tempting as she bent to get something out of a cupboard.

  His pulse thudded into overdrive as he watched her supple body. Gone was the vulnerability he’d seen earlier in her startled dark gold gaze and her clumsy movements.

  Her weakness had worried him. She’d almost collapsed and it had been no act. He’d felt the tremors race through her. He’d seen the frustration in her not-quite veiled eyes and watched her work to hold herself upright, moving as if each step was an effort.

  He didn’t want to feel sorry for her. He didn’t want to desire her either! But he’d done both. Every time he came within sight of her his hormones roared into life.

  Whatever the problem it was gone now. She moved gracefully, snaring his gaze so he couldn’t look away.

  Jonas scrubbed his hand over his face and round his neck, massaging the stiffness from his muscles. Fat chance it would erase the stiffness elsewhere!

  This wasn’t supposed to happen. Not for her.

  ‘Here.’ A cup and saucer appeared on the wood before him with a plate of biscuits. Shortbread, perfectly formed and, if he wasn’t mistaken, home-made.

  ‘You’re feeding me? Should I check for poison?’

  She didn’t answer, merely settled at the far end of the table and sipped from a cup that matched his own.

  Blue and white willow pattern. It had been Mrs Roberts’ favourite, brought out whenever he visited.

  A jagged splinter sheared off from the twisting screw in his belly and jabbed hard.

  Reacting blindly, he reached for a biscuit. It dissolved in his mouth, pure buttery comfort, like those special treats he’d devoured here long ago when his parents’ blistering arguments had driven him to seek refuge in the warm kitchen.

  A roaring rush of ancient memory sprang to life. Ruthlessly Jonas blanked it out.

  ‘What’s the plan? To distract me with your culinary skills?’ He sounded boorish, but the alternative, letting the murky past swamp him, wasn’t an option.

  She didn’t even look fazed, though her jaw tightened as if keeping tight rein on her temper.

  That only fuelled his anger. Jonas didn’t like feeling in the wrong. It was a new and unsettling experience for a man who ruled his world with confidence and authority.

  ‘I thought for once we could have a civilised conversation. Clearly I was mistaken.’ She drew a breath that lifted her breasts. Jonas’ hands curled, a reflex to the memory of touching her there.

  ‘Come on.’ She shoved her chair back. ‘Let’s get this over with. You’re dying to inspect what I’ve haven’t done, aren’t you?’

  She was right. He’d stormed down here, intent on putting her firmly in her place—under his heel. Yet since arriving he’d been on edge, feeling curiously full, as if he barely kept a lid on emotions he’d long pushed aside. His brain teemed with unwanted memories.

  Venting his spleen on Ravenna Ruggiero was the perfect antidote to thos
e disturbing feelings.

  Except now, following as she marched through the house, flinging open doors on room after room of criminal neglect, he couldn’t do it.

  He’d read the building report but still hadn’t imagined how severe the damage was. It cut him like a blade to the heart. Anger and self-recrimination scored deep.

  He’d refused to visit while Piers was an absentee landlord. He’d told himself the Hall wasn’t home. Home was London, New York or Tokyo, wherever there was money to be made. He’d avoided the past and concentrated on building Devesons into the country’s premier investment company.

  Later, receiving the building report, he’d chosen to stay away till refurbishment started. There’d been no reason for his personal presence.

  His mouth twisted. It had been easier to stay away than remember those last months when his mother had been in such despair. He’d almost hated the place then and all it represented. Their failure of a family. His father’s betrayal. His mother’s depression. His inadequacy. Nothing he did or said could make things better.

  He’d failed her. He hadn’t been able to save her.

  ‘Well?’ The word yanked him into the present. Sherry-gold eyes sparked at him in the gloom of the damp cellar. ‘Aren’t you going to accuse me of slacking because I haven’t fixed this yet?’

  Jonas cast a cursory look over the puddles, the evidence of recent flooding, the bulging wall, and knew the sooner he got his building expert on the premises, the better.

  He turned back to see her braced for confrontation. The light in her eyes challenged him to do his worst.

  ‘It will take a team of experts to deal with this. There’s nothing you can do.’

  His response was utterly reasonable yet Ravenna looked stunned. More than stunned, she looked suspiciously annoyed, as if, despite her earlier words, she’d wanted another confrontation.

  His gaze bored into hers, trying to read her thoughts, and a flush climbed her cheeks. Abruptly she looked away, lashes dropping, hiding her expressive eyes. She looked...discomfited.

  Could it be that she too found it easier to trade barbed insults? And if that was a defence mechanism, what was she hiding from?