‘Going somewhere?’ he grated.
How could she go anywhere when, until tomorrow, Josy’s peace of mind was still under threat? ‘Just say the word!’ she offered, weathered his arrogant look, and snapped, ‘What time are your guests arriving?’
‘Anxious to see them?’ he snarled.
‘You should go back to bed and get out the other side!’ she erupted, suddenly felt panicky inside, and wished she had not mentioned that word ‘bed’. ‘Look here, Tavenner,’ she went on crossly, ‘if I’m to be cook, then I need to know what time you need feeding.’
He surveyed her angry, mutinous expression with cool detachment for some seconds. ‘We’ll eat this evening,’ he then announced, and, as she turned about, ‘For now I’ll make do with a sandwich.’
What did your last servant die of? she fumed inwardly as she did an about-turn and went back inside the cottage—and then wondered, how could she? How could she think and behave like that when she loved him so much?
She could, she realised only a minute later as she got out the makings of a sandwich, because while she might love him, he did not love her. And that, without him knowing it, was painful to bear. She wanted only to store up memories, happy memories of this short time with him. But there was little chance of that. Tomorrow it would be all over and their paths would never cross again, and while she wanted only to be loving and giving to him, she could not be, because whatever happened he must never know of her love for him.
‘My sister will be here around three,’ Latham announced while he ate his sandwich.
He sounded affable. ‘Isn’t your brother-in-law coming after all?’ she asked.
His affability was an illusion. ‘Does that worry you?’ he snarled.
Belvia stared at him. ‘God, somebody should have sorted you out when you were a child!’ she flared.
‘Fancy trying it?’ he rapped, his jaw jutting at an aggressive angle.
‘I haven’t got that long!’ she hissed—and suddenly, against all odds, while they were glaring angrily at each other, as his lips started to twitch, so hers did the same, and all at once they both burst out laughing. But she did not need to see him laughing and amused: their sense of humour melded as one, and... Oh, grief, she thought as he stopped and stared at her, and all she could think of to do was to order him to clear off. And, as if he was more or less thinking something of the same—he went.
* * *
Graeme Astill did arrive with his wife, but Belvia did not like him any better on meeting him for a second time than she had on the first. But good manners prevailed. She took an instant liking to Latham’s sister who, in her opinion, was much too good for her husband.
‘I wasn’t sure what we were doing for a meal this evening.’ Caroline, a tall blonde of about twenty-eight, smiled as she went into the kitchen with Belvia. ‘If we’re going out, fine, but if not, I’ve brought an apple pie—a favourite of Latham’s—as my contribution.’
Belvia could have stayed listening to Caroline talk of her brother’s likes and dislikes for the rest of the afternoon, but Caroline had nothing to add, and she realised that to ask anything would only show an interest in him which she would rather no one knew about. Though what did either of the Astills think she was doing there with him that weekend if she was not interested in him? Sharing a bedroom with him... Belvia blanked her mind off, and was glad that it was Latham who showed his sister and brother-in-law to their room.
Jealousy then started to nip when, with neither Caroline nor Graeme raising so much as half an eyebrow to see her there, she began to wonder if Latham was forever bringing some female away for a weekend in the country. Again she blanked her mind off, deciding that she would much rather not know.
It niggled away at her, however, and when Latham left his sister and brother-in-law upstairs and came out to the kitchen words she had not meant to say spilled from her tongue as if of their own volition. ‘I expect you bring all your lady-friends here?’ she questioned, and was instantly appalled, not only at her question but at the tart way she had asked it. And, even as she saw Latham halt, an alert look coming to his eyes followed by long moments of speculation, so she was searching frantically for something to add which would show that she was not the least bit interested.
He gazed at her intently, but replied tautly, ‘If it worries you, apart from Caroline, you are the only female I’ve invited here.’
At once her jealous soul was eased. ‘It doesn’t worry me in the slightest!’ she scorned, and, so that he should know the subject was done with, and not after all worth a mention, added, ‘Caroline kindly brought an apple pie, so I won’t have to bother making a pudding for afters.’ He did not care a light. Since, however, he had brought her there for the sole purpose of cooking for his guests, she trotted out sarcastically, ‘That is, unless you insist on my making something.’
He gave her a venomous look and she guessed he was finding her tedious. And that suited her fine. Though she began to wonder just what in creation went on in his head when, as afternoon gave way to early evening, he seemed to grow quieter and quieter.
Was it her imagination, or was he brooding about something? Was it just that, because of her love for him, she was over-sensitive where he was concerned? Was she, in her love for him, her unrequited love for him, picking up vibes which simply were not there?
She did not think so, but as she and Caroline served dinner she watched him. He, she realised with something of a jolt as her glance caught his several times, was watching her!
Heavens above, she was getting paranoid, she realised, and determined as the fish starter gave way to sorbet, which was followed by the main course, that she would buck her ideas up. Since she had nothing she wished to discuss with Latham, and had no wish whatever to engage Graeme Astill in conversation, she was left chatting with Caroline. Which, she discovered, was not the smallest hardship. As she liked Caroline, so Caroline seemed to like her.
Latham, as host, started the ball rolling, however, by acquainting his sister with the fact that, like herself, Belvia rode most days. He dropped out of the conversation while she and Belvia discussed the various merits of their mounts. From there, although there was no connection, they seemed to slip naturally into a conversation on the latest fashions and, as the conversation changed again and Latham entered it briefly, their chat moved on and Belvia discovered that Caroline was quite a good golfer.
‘Do you play?’ Caroline asked.
Belvia shook her head. ‘Afraid not,’ she smiled, but was able to converse for a few more minutes on the golf tournament her father was co-sponsoring the next day, and then hear how Caroline had played that particular course and thought it a good one.
Then she and Caroline cleared the used dishes away and brought in the apple pie, which was delicious, and Belvia said so.
‘A small thing after that lovely meal you put together!’ Caroline exclaimed. ‘Did you bring everything with you, or did you buy locally?’
‘Belvia and I raided a supermarket on the way down yesterday,’ Latham cut in, and while Belvia’s heart fluttered at how close his words seemed to make them—not that he meant it to be taken that way, of course—his sister looked at him in some astoundment.
‘You—in a supermarket!’ she exclaimed.
‘Given a couple of cracked ankles from the occasional wayward trolley, I quite enjoyed the experience,’ he replied, and Belvia so hoped he was speaking the truth, because she had loved it.
They adjourned to the sitting-room for coffee, where she was pleased to notice that Latham’s brooding look had gone. Pleased, too, that she somehow found she was seated next to him on the settee, Caroline and Graeme in the two chairs at either side of the settee. Belvia owned to feeling all over the place to have Latham this near but, since she did not have to look at him unless she was speaking directly to him, she knew he would not discern any of what she was feeling.
Conversation over coffee was fairly general, but when after a while Latham got to
his feet and said that he thought, in the circumstance of the two females having fed them, that the two males should do the washing-up, she thought it a brilliant idea. With luck, and remembering the mountain of washing-up out there, she might be fast asleep by the time Latham came up to share the bedroom.
‘If no one minds, I think I’ll go to bed,’ she said as casually as she could. ‘This country air...’
‘I think I’ll go up too,’ Caroline chimed in, and Belvia could have hugged her.
‘How kind!’ her husband muttered—and Belvia realised that he was not too thrilled to be roped in to help with the dish-washing. But she was not concerned with his problems just then. In her view her problems were much more important than Latham’s brother-in-law’s—and he was a man she just could not take to.
‘Night!’ she murmured generally, and without so much as a flick of a glance to Latham she headed for the stairs—Caroline following.
They parted at the top of the stairs where Belvia, seemingly still casual, ambled to the room she would share with Latham. Once inside, however, the door closed to the outside world, she tore around—cleaning her teeth, taking the quickest shower on record and donning her nightdress.
Well within fifteen minutes, she would have sworn, she was in bed and ready to snick off the bedside light. She listened, but could hear no movement on or near the stairs. Good. Latham was still on kitchen fatigue and, if this morning was anything to go by, he liked to finish any job he started, and would use more time in putting all the saucepans and dishes away.
She put out the light, pulled the covers up way past her ears and tried desperately hard to fall asleep. She wanted to be sound asleep when Latham came up. She wanted to sleep solidly through the night and not to wake until Latham had left his bed in the morning.
But she could not fall asleep. What seemed like an hour later she opened her eyes, and found the room flooded with moonlight. Oh, heck—in her rush she had forgotten to close the curtains.
Belvia was on the point of getting out of bed to remedy that error when she heard a footfall on the stairs, and she stiffened and stayed still—she was not going anywhere.
By her calculations there were two pairs of feet coming up the stairs. She pulled the duvet closer around her ears and closed her eyes fast, while at the same time she aimed for rhythmic breathing.
Her rhythmic breathing fractured slightly when she heard the bedroom door open, and heard Latham come quietly into the room. He did not put on the light, and she concentrated hard on her breathing. Time seemed to crawl along agonisingly slowly for the next ten or twenty minutes as she lay listening to sounds that told her that Latham was in the habit of showering last thing at night too.
Then she heard the bathroom door close, heard Latham come and, it seemed, stand by the side of her bed—she was not going to open her eyes to find out. She was tense, and had the devil’s own work to keep her breathing regular, and still could not relax when she heard the sound of the other bed taking his weight.
Annoyingly, and in no time flat, she heard the rhythm of his regular breathing. A moment later, though, and she knew that she should be glad that he had gone out like a light. Because it was not him she was afraid of, but herself. Had he touched her, given her so much as a peck on the cheek, she was so aware of him that she doubted she would have been able to hold back from wanting more. She loved him, was in love with him, and wanted, oh, so badly to be held in his arms.
For a further age she lay there listening to his even-paced breathing, loving him with all her heart, yet knowing that in less than twenty-four hours it would be all over, that she would never see him again. The thought of never seeing him again was suddenly so dreadful that she did not know how she could take it.
How long she lay awake being torn apart by thoughts of never seeing Latham again, Belvia never knew. But eventually a welcome sleep came to give her rest.
Though it seemed to her that one minute she was ready to break her heart over Latham—and the next the bedside lamp was on and he was sitting on her bed bending over her, his hands on her upper arms as he called her name.
‘Belvia, you’re dreaming, wake up,’ he was saying.
‘What...?’ She opened her eyes, took a shocked breath. ‘What...?’ she gasped again, looking up into his concerned face as she tried to take in where they were and tried to get a grasp on reality.
‘You were creating murder in your sleep,’ he explained gently. ‘Don’t be alarmed, you’re all right.’
‘Oh, Latham!’ she sighed, struggling to sit up. ‘Was I shouting?’
‘So you do it often?’ he asked, a hint of teasing humour in his voice.
‘Sometimes,’ she smiled. ‘When I’m disturbed about something, usually—school exams, that sort of thing.’
‘You’re disturbed now, tonight?’ he enquired, his amusement fading.
But she wanted his amusement back—she did not want to part with him on bad terms. ‘Don’t be cross,’ she pleaded, and could no more help it than fly: not wanting to see his eyes grow cold, she leaned forward and rested her head on his chest.
She felt him go rigid, knew that he was going to push her away, but wanted just a few more moments. Then, his voice more of a growl than anything, he grated, ‘Damn it, Belvia—what do you think I’m made of?’ and, as if he could not stop himself, his hands came to her arms again.
But instead of pushing her away, as she had been sure was in his mind, his grip on her arms became firmer. She pulled her head back and looked into his eyes. They were not cold, but warm.
Gently, their lips met. ‘Oh, Latham,’ she sighed.
‘You’re awake?’ he growled. ‘Am I the one who’s dreaming?’
She loved him; she almost told him so. ‘Kiss me,’ she whispered, and he did, gathering her up in his arms, and it was beautiful. She moved closer to him.
She felt his mouth gentle on hers, then, as the pressure increased, her lips parted, and Latham pulled her closer to him. ‘My dear,’ he breathed, and she was in a transport of wonder that his endearment for her sounded so natural on his lips.
He kissed her again, gathering her yet closer to him, and as her arms went around him she suddenly became aware that his body was naked. ‘Latham!’ she gasped, vaguely realising that he must have shot out of bed without thought on hearing her yelling in her sleep.
‘Belvia,’ he murmured.
Oh, how she loved him; she could feel his body-heat through the thinness of her nightie, and it was, oh, so wonderful to be this close to him. She kissed him, was kissed in return, and adored him when he traced tender kisses down her throat, felt her heart pound when his hands caressed her back, and felt a fierce fire of need ignite in her when gently his fingers caressed their way to her breasts. With each swollen globe captive in his hold, she had not the smallest protest to make, but wanted to cry out his name again and again. Love me, she wanted to cry, and loved him.
Again they kissed, his hands caressing to her waist, and she was on fire for him. She pressed herself to him, and wanted to be closer still, and sighed with utter content when he pushed the duvet on to the floor and, reaching for her, lay down with her, their closeness assured because the width of the bed was meant only for one.
She moved herself joyously to him, heard him groan with desire, and felt only the merest hint of shyness when, finding that her nightdress had ridden up, he took hold of the hem. ‘Do you really need this?’ he breathed.
‘N-No,’ she replied jerkily, and kept close into him so that he should not see her body when, in next to no time, they were both kneeling on the bed while he divested her of her only piece of clothing and her nightdress joined the duvet on the floor. ‘C-can you...? Would you—p-put the light out?’ she asked into his shoulder.
‘You’re—embarrassed by your body?’ he questioned into her ear, a most wonderful teasing note there in his voice, holding her close against him as he reached for the light switch.
She nodded. Then corrected, ‘Not em
barrassed, exactly. Shy, I think.’
‘Shy?’
She wanted to tell him that she had never been naked with a man before—but she knew he would not believe her, and she was afraid that it would change his mood and he would take this wonderful time away from her. So she kissed him, and pressed her naked breasts against him, and heard him groan again—and knew that he had forgotten that he had asked a question.
Gently then he eased her body from him, and in the glow of the full moon his gaze embraced her. ‘Your face is beautiful—and so is your body,’ he murmured and, as if to salute her beauty, he placed a gentle kiss on her mouth—and bent his head to kiss each throbbing, hardened crown of her breasts. ‘My darling,’ he breathed, and she was enraptured.
Tenderly he laid her down on the mattress and leaned over her, tracing wonderful, mind-bending kisses on her mouth, her breasts, her belly and her thighs.
‘Oh, Latham, darling,’ she breathed shyly, ‘I want you so much.’
‘Sweet love,’ he breathed, his voice thick in his throat, and gently eased his body over hers.
Belvia put her arms around him and held him to her tightly, her mouth dry at the feel of his all-maleness against her skin, a hint of panic whispering through her aching need for him.
‘Oh, now, please,’ she begged on a moment of courage.
‘Soon, my dear,’ he promised, and moved her, stroked her thighs and kissed her. Her body seemed to answer all the signals, for, as a few more minutes passed, the time seemed to be just right when Latham kissed her and placed himself where it seemed so right to her that he should be.
‘Latham!’ She called his name, and it was as if hearing his name on her lips was what he needed to hear, for, a moment later, he joined her to start the ultimate part of their lovemaking. But as he moved to her, she moved to him—and felt pain, which she had been too needful of him to think of. And, ‘No!’ she cried—and he stilled. In the next instant, so rapidly that she could not so quickly take it in, Latham had jerked from her as if shot, and was sitting stunned, staring at her in traumatised disbelief.
The Sister Secret Page 12
