Mistress on Loan

by Sara Craven

  'Yes,' he said. 'But so much between us, my sweet, has been unforgivable. And unforgiven.'

  She snatched up the travel bag and walked towards the door which he was still blocking. She said, 'Will you let me pass, please?'

  'In a moment. I have a proposal to put to you.'

  My God, Adrien thought. He's going to ask me to finish the house.

  Naturally, she would refuse. It would break her heart to go on working here, with all the might-have-beens. Yet— if she agreed—she could charge him a fee that would enable her to start paying her creditors. Could she really afford to turn down such a chance?

  She said discouragingly, 'Well?'

  Before she could guess what he was going to do, or take evasive action, his hands had slid under the lapels of her jacket, pushing them apart, while the grey eyes made a slow, lingering survey of the swell of her rounded breasts under the clinging camisole.

  He said softly, 'Very well. Quite exquisite, in fact. You've grown up beautifully, Adie.'

  'Don't call me that.' Shaken to the core by the sudden unprovoked intimacy, she pulled away, horrified to realise that behind their silken barrier her nipples were hardening in swift, shamed excitement.

  'And don't handle me either,' she added, her voice quivering. 'You have no right...'

  His mouth twisted unrepentantly. 'Not even the droit de seigneur''You bought a house,' she said. 'I was not included in the price. Now, let me past.'

  'Only because Piers didn't think of it.' His voice was reflective, and he made no attempt to move. 'But as you've raised the subject, Adrien, what value do you put on your services?'

  She said slowly, hardly daring to hope, 'Are you offering to pay for the work I've done?'

  'That would rather depend,' he drawled. 'You see, it occurs to me that this house lacks something. And so do I.'

  She drew a deep breath. 'You mean that it isn't quite finished. But it wouldn't take much...'

  'No,' he said. 'That isn't what I mean at all.'

  'Then what?' she asked defensively, hating the way his grey gaze held hers, yet somehow unable to look away. Or walk away.

  'It needs a mistress,' he said softly. 'And so do I. And you, my sweet Adrien, are the perfect candidate. So, maybe we can do a deal. What do you say?'

  CHAPTER THREE

  She said thickly, 'Is this some kind of sick joke?'

  'Do you see me laughing?'

  No, she thought, swallowing. The grey eyes meeting hers in challenge were cool, direct—even insolent. The firm mouth was equally unsmiling. No—

  it seemed he was shockingly—incredibly—serious.

  'So you're just adding insult to injury.' She tried to laugh, but the sound choked in her throat.

  'Time hasn't mellowed you, Chay. You're still a bastard.'

  He smiled. '"Now, gods, stand up for bastards!'" he quoted softly. 'However, I see myself more as a white knight riding to your rescue.'

  'Very chivalrous.' Her voice bit.

  'No,' he said. 'I'm a businessman. You claim to be a businesswoman, and you're in financial trouble. I'm offering you a lifeline.' His gaze touched her parted lips and travelled down to her breasts. 'A very personal loan,' he added softly.

  Adrien bit her lip. She said savagely, 'Mr. Davidson needs to learn some discretion.'

  'Mr. Davidson didn't tell me a thing,' Chay propped a shoulder against the doorframe. 'He didn't have to. I could sense the shock waves as soon as I arrived. And when I was here earlier today, a plasterer and an electrician turned up waving major bills which had been refused payment. I'd make an educated guess that they're just the tip of the iceberg. That you're facing serious trouble.'

  Adrien lifted her chin. 'And if I am,' she said curtly, 'I'll manage. I can survive without your particular brand of knight errantry.'

  'Then I wish you luck,' Chay said silkily. 'But I hope you're not counting on a bank draft arriving from Brazil. You'd do better to rely on the National Lottery.'

  'You utter swine,' she said unevenly. 'You've got everything you've wanted, haven't you? How you must be enjoying your moment of triumph.'

  'I've had to wait long enough,' he said. 'But they say that revenge is a dish best eaten cold.'

  'I hope it poisons you,' she flung at him. 'Now let me out of here.'

  He straightened. Moved out of the doorway.

  'You're not a prisoner,' he pointed out mildly.

  'No,' she said. 'Nor do I intend to be, either.'

  'Do you imagine I'm going to keep you chained up like some sort of sex slave?' He had the gall to sound amused. 'What a vivid imagination you have, darling.'

  'Don't you dare laugh at me.' Her voice shook.

  'You can't pretend what you're suggesting is a normal arrangement.'

  'On the contrary, very little in your life would change.' He sounded the soul of reason, she thought incredulously.

  'After all, you're already living here,' he went on.

  'That,' she said swiftly, 'was just a temporary convenience.'

  'Which would become a permanent one.' The return was incisive. 'But you'd have your debts paid, plus a free hand to finish the house exactly as you want, and staff to manage it for you. You'd go on running your business quite independently. And when I have guests you'd act as my hostess.'

  'And that's all there is to it?' Adrien enquired ironically.

  'No,' he said equably. 'My work takes me abroad a great deal. I'd expect you to accompany me sometimes. But not always.' He paused. 'I take it your passport's in order?'

  'Of course,' she said, staring at him. 'And this conversation is totally surreal.'

  'Before commencing any project I like to establish the ground rules,' he said silkily. 'When I'm away, you'll be free to come and go as you please. Entertain your own friends. Live your life.'

  'It sounds too good to be true,' she said.

  'Which of course it is. Because when these business trips were over, you'd come back.'

  'Naturally.' He was smiling faintly.

  'Expecting precisely what?'

  'You're no longer a child, Adrien.' There was a sudden harshness in his voice. 'Or a romantic teenager, dreaming of first love. I'd expect you to fulfill your side of the deal.'

  'Just the idea,' she said, 'makes me physically sick.'

  'Once,' he said slowly, 'you didn't feel like mat.'

  'What do you mean?' She stiffened defensively.

  'It was your birthday,' he said. 'You were eighteen, and you looked as if someone had ht stars behind your eyes. I wished you many happy returns of the day, and you came flying across the room and offered me your mouth to kiss. Or had you forgotten?'

  There was a brief, loaded pause. Then, 'A moment of weakness,' she said. 'And a long time ago.'

  'Ah,' he said softly. 'So you do remember?'

  His glance brushed her mouth in overt reminiscence, and she felt her skin warm suddenly. She said between her teeth, 'And before I discovered what a treacherous, money-grabbing sneak thief you really were.'

  'Ouch,' Chay said thoughtfully. 'Well, at least neither of us will be embarking on this liaison with any illusions about each other. That bodes well for our future, don't you think?'

  'You don't want to know what I think. And, thanks to you, I don't have a future.'

  'How do you reason that?'

  She spread her hands, then realised there was an element of weakness in the gesture and let them fall to her sides instead.

  'You say I could live my life, but that's rubbish. What kind of existence would I have, living here as your kept woman? Who the hell would want to know me under those circumstances?'

  'Get real,' he said wearily. 'You're not some Victorian virgin, ruined by the wicked squire. What difference will it make to anyone?'

  'It will make a hell of a difference to me,' she threw back at him.

  'You didn't mind selling yourself to Piers Mendoza.' The casual contempt in his voice cut thro
ugh the uneasy turmoil of emotion within her, bringing only swift, searing anger burning to the surface. She said, 'Bastard,' and her hand came up to slap him across the face.

  But his fingers caught her wrist, not gently, before the blow could reach its target. 'I see time hasn't soothed that temper of yours,' he remarked with a touch of grimness as he released her. 'Keep the fires damped down, Adrien, and don't trade on your gender. It won't work.'

  She rubbed her wrist, staring at him with resentful eyes. 'I thought that was exactly what you wanted me to do.'

  'Perhaps,' he said. 'But on my terms, not yours.'

  'Which I'm not prepared to meet. So, buy someone else to share your bed. Because I'm telling you to go to hell,' she added fiercely.

  He shrugged, unperturbed. 'That's your privilege, Adie. Go off—explore what other avenues you like. But don't be surprised if they all lead back to me.'

  'I'm sure you'd like to think so,' she said. 'But if I have to degrade myself, I'd prefer to do it in my own way.'

  'As you wish.' He paused. 'My offer stands, but it has a time limit. So, if you decide to change your mind, don't wait too long to tell me. I can be reached at the King's Arms.'

  'Slumming at a hotel, Mr. Haddon?' Adrien asked with contempt. 'I thought the new lord of the manor would have taken immediate possession.'

  His glance went past her to the camp bed, standing forlorn and solitary beneath the window. His brows lifted mockingly. 'On that, darling? I prefer comfort—and room to manoeuvre.' He watched sudden colour invade her face, and laughed softly.

  'I'll be waiting for your call.'

  She lifted her chin. 'Don't hold your breath,' she advised scornfully, and walked past him, out of the room.

  He said, 'You'll be back.'

  'Never.'

  'If only,' he continued, 'to collect this bag you've packed with such care.'

  Adrien swung round, mortified, to find he was holding it, his mouth curved in amusement.

  'Here,' he said. 'Catch.' And tossed it to her. She clutched it inelegantly, caught off-balance in more ways than one, then gave him one last fulminating look before turning and heading for the stairs.

  Walk, she told herself savagely, as she descended to the hall. Don't run. Don't let him think for one minute that he's got to you—even marginally. But for all her bravado she was shaking when she got into the Jeep. She sat gripping the steering wheel until her hands ached, fighting for her self-control. She thought, there must be something I can do. Oh, God, there just has to be...

  Somehow she had to find a way out—a way of escape. But her immediate priority was to start the engine and get away. The last thing she wanted was to give Chay the satisfaction of finding her, sitting there as if she'd been turned to stone.

  She drove home with immense care, using every atom of concentration she possessed. Not relaxing until she found herself turning the Jeep into the parking area at the rear of Listow Cottage. As she switched off the engine a small group of women came out of the workroom and walked past her, laughing and talking. When they spotted her, they gave a friendly wave.

  And one day soon I'm going to have to tell them that they're out of work, Adrien thought, feeling sick as she lifted a hand in response. As she climbed out wearily, a football bounced towards her, with Smudge running behind it. His small, rather pale face was alive with excitement.

  'Adie—Adie, guess what? We're getting a puppy. Mum says we can go and choose it this weekend.'

  Adrien paused, forcing her cold lips into a semblance of a smile. 'Well—that's terrific,' she said, trying to ignore the sudden hollow feeling inside her.

  Zelda had hesitantly asked a couple of weeks before if Adrien would mind her acquiring a dog.

  'Smudge would really love one,' she'd said wistfully. 'And so would I. Dad would never let me have a pet of any kind when I was little.'

  T think it's a great idea,' Adrien had immediately approved. 'Have you any idea about breeds?'

  Zelda laughed. 'I guess it'll be strictly a Heinz,' she'd said cheerfully. 'They've got a couple of litters at the animal sanctuary that'll be ready soon.'

  I'll have to talk to Zelda straightaway, Adrien thought now, her heart sinking. Warn her that she may not be able to stay on here. That the whole place could be repossessed.

  Zelda's door was standing ajar, so Adrien tapped and peeped round it, scenting the aroma of freshly ground coffee. Zelda was chopping vegetables at the table, but she looked up with a welcoming grin.

  'Hi, stranger. I saw Smudge nail you. It is still all right about the puppy?'

  She waved Adrien to a chair, set a couple of mugs on the table, and checked the percolator. It was an incredibly warm and welcoming kitchen, Adrien thought, looking round. Zelda had chosen rich earth tones to complement the stoneflagged floor, and homely pine units. Smudge's paintings occupied places of honour on the terracotta walls, and several of them, Adrien saw with a pang, featured dogs.

  Zelda had changed her own image too. The dark hair was now cut sleekly to her head, and she was wearing the black leggings and tunic that comprised her working gear. She looked sophisticated and relaxed, Adrien thought, a young woman in control of herself and her environment. But what would happen to her new-won confidence if she had to go back to the crowded family house and her father's unceasing complaints and strictures?

  And how would Smudge cope? He'd been a quiet, almost withdrawn little boy when Adrien had first met him. A child who'd never had his own space. Who'd not been allowed to play in the garden in case he damaged the prize-winning begonias that his grandfather exhibited with such pride at the local flower show. A kid whose every word and action had been subject to restriction.

  'Are you OK?' Zelda was staring at her. 'You're very quiet.'

  Adrien smiled constrainedly. I've got a lot on my mind.'

  'You certainly have.' Zelda grinned at her. "The Grange to finish—a wedding to plan. In between it all, can you bend your mighty brain to the Westbrook Hotel? They've accepted my estimate for redoing all the bedroom curtains and covers, but now they're looking at a total revamp for the lounge and dining areas. Maisie Reed says she can't live with all those Regency stripes any longer. I said you'd go to see them.'

  'Oh—fine.' Adrien rallied herself. 'When would they want the work doing?' If it was this autumn, she thought hopefully, and there was other work on hand too, she might be able to stave off the creditors for a while. Look for another lifeline.

  'They're planning to close for January and February.' Zelda unwittingly dashed her hopes. 'Have a grand reopening next Easter. It would be a good advertisement for us.'

  'Yes,' Adrien said. 'Yes, it would.'

  'Well, don't turn cartwheels.' Zelda brought the percolator to the table, with a jug of milk. 'There is a real world outside the Grange, and we need it.'

  'I'm sorry.' Adrien steeled herself. 'It's just— there's a problem.'

  Zelda gave her a long look, then poured the coffee carefully into the mugs. 'Major or minor?'

  'Fairly major.' Adrien gulped down some of the black, fragrant brew to give her courage. 'The Grange has been sold—to a property developer called Chay Haddon.'

  'Who plans to pull it down and build a theme park, I suppose.' Zelda reached a commiserating hand across the table. 'Love, I'm so sorry. I know all the time and effort you've put into the place. You must be gutted.' She paused, her eyes narrowing.

  'When did Piers tell you?'

  'He didn't.' Adrien withdrew her hand, clamping icy fingers round the mug instead. 'He left that to Chay Haddon himself—and the bank manager.'

  Zelda said a short, sharp expletive. 'And where is Piers now?'

  'In Brazil,' Adrien said tonelessly. 'Apparently on his honeymoon. I—I don't expect to hear from him.'

  Zelda said, 'Oh, God,' and there was a brief, loaded silence. 'Honey, you won't believe me if I tell you that you're better off without him, but it's true. So who's this other bird?'

/>   Adrien managed a shrug. 'Some rich Brazilian lady. I gather he's in financial trouble,' she added. There was another pause, then Zelda said carefully, 'Is all this as bad as it sounds?'

  'It's worse.' Adrien swallowed some more coffee.

  'He— he cancelled his deposit to the payment account, and the bank's returned all the cheques. As my name's on the account, I have to carry the can. So—I'm broke.'

  All Zelda's colour had faded, leaving a faint sprinkling of freckles across her nose.

  She said, 'The new owner—isn't he liable?

  Couldn't he be...?'

  Adrien bit her lip. 'No. And I've pulled out of the—the Grange project anyway. But he isn't going to pull it down. He plans to live there.' She forced a smile. 'On the whole I'd prefer demolition.'

  'Chay Haddon,' Zelda said thoughtfully. 'The name's familiar.'

  Adrien stared fiercely into her mug. 'He used to live at the Grange years ago,' she said. 'His mother was Mr. Stretton's housekeeper.'

  T remember now,' Zelda said slowly. 'He used to come into town sometimes. Blond, sexy, but didn't say much.'

  'His powers of speech seem to have expanded over the years.' Adrien's voice was wintry.

  'But you must have known him quite well,' Zelda persisted, 'if he was at the Grange when you used to visit?'

  'Yes,' Adrien said tightly. 'But we were never— friends.'

  No, she thought, but for a while—when I was a little girl—he was my hero. And I worshipped him.

  'Pity,' was Zelda's dry comment. 'It could have been handy.' She paused. 'So, what are we going to do?' She swallowed, her glance flickering round her clean but cluttered domain. 'Sell up and start again?'

  'Oh, I hope it won't come to that,' Adrien said quickly, without any optimism at all. 'I'll find some way out. But I felt I ought to tell you before the rumours started flying.'

  'Yes.' Zelda smiled with an effort. 'Thanks, babe.'

  It was as if a light had been switched off inside her, Adrien thought wretchedly as she walked over to Listow Cottage and let herself in.

  And Smudge had been even worse. He'd come dashing in, talking nineteen to the dozen about his puppy, and Zelda had put an arm round him and said gently that he might have to wait a little while longer.