Duelling Fire

by Anne Mather

  ‘How marvellous!’ Venetia was impressed. ‘I should love that.’

  ‘Would you?’ Sara was sceptical. ‘Well, it’s over now, and—and I’m not sorry.’

  ‘You’re not sorry your father’s dead?’ exclaimed Venetia, shocked, and Sara resignedly inclined her head.

  ‘Oh yes, I’m sorry he’s dead. But I never want to live like that again. It’s too—uncertain.’

  ‘You sound bitter.’

  ‘Do I?’ Sara expelled her breath reflectively. ‘I was, but not any more.’

  Venetia looked puzzled, but she didn’t labour the point, and Sara was relieved. Curiously enough, it was true. The bitterness she had nurtured since her father’s suicide was fading, and she hoped that in time she would be able to face the memory of what had happened without resentment.

  Buford was a small market town set about a central square, which had now been designated a shopping precinct. There were plenty of modern stores, side by side with the more traditional shops, and several attractively preserved Tudor houses, converted to museums.

  On Venetia’s instructions Sara parked the Porsche in the newly-constructed multi-storey car-park, and then the two girls strolled around the square. Sara relaxed as the conversation turned to clothes and fashion, and she was able to give the other girl her opinion of the kind of things she thought would suit her.

  ‘I get most of my clothes in London, of course,’ Venetia remarked with unconscious hauteur, but Sara casually pointed out that expensive clothes were not always the most attractive.

  ‘I think you would suit something like that,’ she suggested, indicating a slim-fitting tailored skirt and jacket on a model in the window of a popular chain store, and Venetia’s nose wrinkled.

  ‘Do you think so?’ she asked doubtfully. ‘It’s awfully plain.’

  ‘I think plain garments are flattering, providing you can wear them,’ replied Sara innocently. ‘With your hair being shoulder-length and curly, you can afford to wear something less fussy.’

  ‘Do you mean it?’ Venetia was evidently interested. ‘Oh, but you wear plain things, and your hair is straight.’ She grimaced. ‘I think what you mean is, I would look slimmer in a straight skirt.’

  ‘And don’t you want to do that?’ Sara didn’t try to lie to her, and Venetia turned away.

  ‘Perhaps. I don’t think it’s anything to do with you.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Sara pushed her hands into the pockets of her jerkin. ‘Shall we go?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Venetia squared her shoulders and walked on, but Sara noticed she did cast a thoughtful look over her shoulder, as if she hadn’t been entirely unconvinced.

  They had lunch in a hotel, an oak-beamed establishment, where Venetia was instantly recognisable, and therefore instantly served. They ate pâté and fried chicken, and finished with a strawberry gâteau that Sara would never have chosen for herself. But Venetia ate everything that was put before her, and the reasons for her being overweight were not hard to find.

  Afterwards she spent some time at the cosmetic counter of the biggest store in Buford, before walking back to the car. She spent well over twenty pounds on various creams and lotions, but Sara made no further comment about her appearance. She had no desire to promote another argument, and besides, she had other things to think about.

  As she drove back to King’s Priory, the memory of the previous night’s events returned like a nagging thorn in her side. Now that she knew Jude worked for Lord Hadley, she had to admit he had had reason to be angry. It didn’t excuse the way he had behaved, that was unforgivable, but she felt ashamed of having called him a parasite when that was patently not true.

  Venetia didn’t talk much on the homeward journey either. She was quite content examining the jars and tubes of perfumed ointment she had bought, and Sara concentrated on the traffic, wondering if she would ever be invited to drive the car again.

  It was almost four o’clock when they got back to Linden Court, and as Sara parked the car in the drive, a young man emerged from the house. It was Rupert. She recognised him instantly, even though he looked somewhat different in well-cut slacks and a silk shirt, a floral cravat filling the opened neck. However, although his expression was far from contented, his deferential manner was un-mistakeable.

  ‘Hello, Miss Shelley,’ he greeted Sara politely, as both girls got out of the car. ‘Hello there, Vennie. Had a good shopping spree? I see Marshalls will need to replenish their stocks.’

  ‘Don’t be an ass, Rupert.’ Venetia spoke without malice. ‘I’ve hardly bought anything at all.’ She studied him perceptively, and then glanced at Sara. ‘What’s up? Is it something I said?’

  ‘Jude blew the gaff about me riding in the lane!’ her brother declared resentfully, pushing his hands into his pockets. Then giving Sara an apologetic look, he muttered: ‘I know it was bloody silly, but I never thought Jude was a sneak!’

  ‘He didn’t—–’

  The words were out before Sara could prevent them. After her own guilty feelings on the way home, she could not prevent the instinctive urge to defend Jude, despite his behaviour, and her cheeks flamed hotly as both Hadleys turned to look at her.

  ‘How do you know?’

  Predictably, it was Venetia who asked the question, and Sara put her hands behind her back, as she endeavoured to explain the situation.

  ‘I—I’m afraid it was Harriet,’ she admitted, regretting the confession, even as she said it. ‘She—accidentally told your father. I think she thought he already knew.’

  Rupert and Venetia exchanged glances, and then Rupert made a grateful gesture. ‘I say, thanks awfully for telling me. I mean, when I spoke to Jude—–’

  ‘You already accused him?’ Venetia stared impatiently at her brother.

  ‘Well, of course,’ Rupert was uncomfortable. ‘I mean, Father gave me one hell of a tongue-lashing! He’s practically forbidden me to ride Juniper again. And it’s the Torrington Chase next week.’

  ‘Honestly!’ Venetia shook her head with evident frustration. ‘Surely you realised Jude’s not like that! You really are an absolute fool!’

  Rupert’s chin jutted. ‘I don’t need you to tell me that, Vennie. How do you think I feel, knowing what Father will say if he finds out about this!’

  ‘Why should he?’ Sara couldn’t help the interruption. ‘I mean—I’m sure Jude won’t say anything, will he?’

  ‘That’s true.’ Venetia took up her words. ‘Here he is anyway,’ she added, her face perceptibly brightening. ‘You can tell him you made a mistake.’

  Sara stiffened as the figure of Jude emerged from the shadow of the building. In the casual close-fitting slacks and navy jacket he had been wearing earlier, he looked so much at ease in his surroundings, and watching him descend the shallow steps towards them, Sara felt an unfamiliar prickling of her skin.

  ‘We’re back,’ Venetia announced unnecessarily, going to meet him. ‘Did you miss me?’

  ‘Not particularly,’ he responded, with lazy indolence, and her nose wrinkled indignantly at the careless dismissal.

  ‘I say, Jude, I hear apologies are in order,’ Rupert offered, approaching them with grudging reluctance. ‘Miss Shelley here tells me it was Harriet who let the cat out of the bag, so—no hard feelings, what?’

  Jude’s dark lashes lifted to allow his eyes to include Sara’s unwilling presence. For a moment, the grey glitter of his gaze raked her faintly discomfited countenance, and then he switched abruptly back to Rupert.

  ‘No sweat,’ he declared, flicking back his cuff to examine the watch on his wrist. ‘Look, I’ve got to be going. I want to get back and see how Midnight’s foal is doing, and Harriet’s got guests coming for dinner.’

  ‘Oh, Jude!’ Venetia’s lips drooped disconsolately. ‘I thought we could have tea together!’

  ‘Sorry, honey. No can do.’ A wry smile softened the hard contours of his face. Then he looked deliberately at Sara. ‘Are you ready to leave, too? If you a
re, you can come with me.’

  ‘Oh—oh, yes,’ began Sara, only to have Rupert turn to look appealingly at her.

  ‘I say, you’re not going, are you?’ he protested. ‘I mean, there’s no need. I can run you home later. Father’s tied up with his bailiff at the moment, so the three of us could have tea together.’

  ‘I think Sara should go home,’ Jude inserted flatly. ‘After all, she only arrived yesterday, and she’s hardly had time to get her bearings.’

  ‘Knight’s Ferry is hardly virgin territory, Jude,’ Venetia put in maliciously. ‘Why don’t you ask Sara what she would like to do? She does have a mind of her own, when all’s said and done.’

  Jude’s expression mirrored his impatience, but he turned obediently to Sara. ‘Well?’ he said. ‘Do you come or do you stay?’

  Sara shifted uneasily. She knew Venetia expected her to stay, if for no other reason than to confirm her earlier statement about Jude. But there was Harriet to think of, and in all honesty she had had enough of the Hadleys for one day.

  ‘I—I think I will go with you,’ she ventured, and heard Venetia’s angry intake of breath. ‘Thank you for your invitation,’ this to Rupert, ‘but I really think I’ve neglected Harriet long enough.’

  ‘Well—if you insist,’ said Rupert ruefully. ‘But we must get together again soon.’

  ‘I’d like that.’ Sara was polite, but she was all too unhappily aware of Venetia’s stormy face.

  ‘Okay, let’s go.’

  Jude gestured towards the side of the house, and with an apologetic smile at the other girl, Sara fell into step beside him, raising her hand in answer to Rupert’s waving farewell. Nevertheless, she was glad when they rounded the corner of the building and the Hadleys could no longer see them.

  She had expected to have to walk home: it was the way she had come, after all, but to her surprise Jude led the way along the terrace to a side courtyard where the Mercedes was waiting. It was not locked, and he easily swung open the door, allowing her to lift her legs inside, before walking round to join her.

  Despite her enjoyment in driving earlier, Sara found she was quite content now to let someone else take the wheel. She put it down to tiredness, refusing to admit the fact that Jude drove so much better than she did.

  He didn’t speak, however, and after sitting in silence for several minutes, Sara knew she had to make some attempt to retrieve a semblance of normality.

  ‘I—I suppose an apology would be unacceptable,’ she began, and he cast a chilling look in her direction.

  ‘From me?’ he demanded scornfully, and she caught her breath.

  ‘No. From me,’ she tendered stiffly. ‘In spite of your behaviour, I’m prepared to admit that perhaps—perhaps you had justification—–’

  ‘How noble!’ One dark brow arched satirically. ‘And am I supposed to forget all about it?’

  Sara held up her head. ‘If we’re to live in the same house, I don’t see that we have much choice.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ He halted at the gate that opened on to the road and half turned towards her. ‘You wouldn’t consider leaving, I suppose?’

  Sara gasped indignantly. ‘No!’ She gazed tautly at him. ‘Would you?’

  ‘Unfortunately, I can’t,’ he retorted obscurely, and before she could ask him what he meant, he had thrust open his door and vaulted out to open the gate.

  When he came back, it was difficult to broach the subject without sounding horribly inquisitive, but Sara had to say something. ‘I—I suppose you mean—Harriet wouldn’t want you to go,’ she ventured stiffly, recalling the argument they had had the night before, and Jude’s mouth assumed a sardonic slant.

  ‘How did you guess?’ he mocked, driving through the gate and jumping out to close it again. Then, as he got back into the car: ‘Harriet’s a very possessive lady and, as you’ll find out, she likes her own way—always.’

  Sara pressed her lips together. ‘Well, you don’t seem to worry overmuch about hurting her,’ she blurted out recklessly. ‘I mean, you seem to—spread yourself around—–’

  ‘Careful!’ Jude was regarding her warningly, and making no immediate effort to move out into the lane, but Sara refused to be daunted:

  ‘I couldn’t help overhearing what you said to Harriet last evening, could I? About you having supper with some other female. And you can’t be immune to the fact that Venetia thinks the sun shines out of you. And—and last night—–’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Well, it explained why so many women think you’re sexy!’

  ‘Did it?’

  With his right arm resting on the steering wheel, he was watching her intently, and Sara was not unaware of the uncertain ground she was treading.

  ‘It did happen, didn’t it?’ she exclaimed. ‘You can’t deny that. And even though you may have had provocation, you—you took advantage of the situation.’

  ‘How?’ His left arm was along the back of her seat, and Sara was intensely conscious of his fingers only inches from her collar.

  ‘I—I’d rather not go into details,’ she explained, checking the leather clasp that held her hair at the nape. ‘I think you know what I mean. And—and I just want you to know that as far as I’m concerned it won’t happen again.’

  Jude rubbed the roughening skin of his jawline with a thoughtful hand, his long lashes veiling the expression in his eyes. ‘And what if I don’t accept that?’ he probed softly. ‘Are you going to tell me you objected? I seem to remember a certain eagerness to please, a hot little body, that fairly asked for everything it got!’

  ‘Why, you—you cad!’ Sara refused to use the more appropriate epithet. ‘Well—well, let me tell you, I’m not here to provide you with cheap thrills!’

  ‘Cheap thrills?’ Jude’s mouth parted to reveal strong white teeth. ‘My God!’ His mocking expression gave way to one of mild incredulity. ‘You don’t know much about men, do you?’

  Sara bent her head. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  ‘Then you should.’ Jude’s fingers suddenly gripped the swathe of hair at her nape, forcing her head up again. ‘Let me tell you, what you did last night gave me no cheap thrill. On the contrary, you don’t know how lucky you were. Any other man would have taken what you so generously offered!’

  ‘I—I didn’t—–’

  Sara lifted her hands to push his away, her heart pounding resentfully. But he moved, imprisoning her right arm against the seat with his body, and bending his head, he put his parted lips to hers.

  ‘You bastard!’ she choked, against his mouth, and then felt the awful weakness enveloping her as his right hand moved caressingly over thigh. ‘No—no, you mustn’t,’ she pleaded desperately, trying to stop him, but the persuasive pressure of his lips was seducing her resolution.

  ‘Just to prove my point,’ Jude advised a little grimly, drawing back from her with an unwilling trace of reluctance. ‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ he added harshly, brushing her soft mouth with rough fingers: and Sara drew an unsteady breath as he reached lazily for the ignition.

  The remainder of the journey was an anticlimax. Sara hardly dared to move, intensely conscious of his thigh only inches away from her own. Her own leg tingled, where his hand had made its sensuous exploration, and she pressed her knees together as if to dispel that traitorous weakness.

  It only took a few minutes to reach Knight’s Ferry, and Rob, Janet’s husband, shifted his wheelbarrow out of the way as Jude parked the car in the courtyard. The old man called a pleasant greeting as they got out of the Mercedes, but Jude’s response was muted, and his silver gaze impaled Sara like a sword as she turned clumsily towards the house.

  Harriet met her in the hall, her brows arching in evident surprise. She looked beyond Sara enquiringly, as if waiting for someone else to materialise, but Sara, glancing over her shoulder, found that she was alone.

  ‘I—Jude brought me home,’ she offered, praying that her appearance did not betray what had happened
. ‘He—I believe he wanted to check on—on Midnight. I expect that’s where he’s gone.’

  Harriet’s expression did not alter. ‘But why did Jude bring you home?’ she demanded, and Sara saw to her surprise that the other woman was angry. ‘I naturally assumed you’d stay and have tea with Venetia and her family. Do you mean to tell me you weren’t invited?’

  Sara caught her breath. ‘I—was invited, yes,’ she conceded, wondering if Harriet’s anger stemmed from Jude’s disappearance, or perhaps she had expected Jude to come home alone, Sara thought uneasily, and her unwanted presence had spoiled whatever plans her aunt had had. It was an ignominious position to be in, and a wave of embarrassed colour swept over her.

  ‘Who invited you?’

  Harriet seemed unaware of her discomfort, and Sara sighed. ‘It was—Lord Hadley’s son, actually—–’

  ‘Rupert?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you refused?’ Harriet uttered a little scornful exclamation.

  ‘I—well, Jude was leaving, and he offered me a lift.’

  ‘Jude did?’

  ‘Yes.’ Sara took a deep breath. ‘He—I—I thought I’d been rather selfish in leaving you for so long. And on my first day—–’

  Harriet’s lips tightened. ‘What you’re saying is, Jude was behind this?’

  ‘No, not exactly.’ Remembering how Harriet had betrayed Jude’s confidence earlier, Sara was loath to make any accusations. ‘He agreed with me—–’

  ‘I’ll bet he did!’ Harriet’s teeth snapped irritably. ‘Oh, well, there’s nothing we can do about it now.’

  Sara shook her head. ‘It’s not important. Besides, I—I wanted to come home.’

  ‘Did you?’ Harriet’s expression relaxed suddenly. ‘That’s a pretty compliment.’

  ‘I meant it.’ Sara didn’t altogether understand Harriet’s attitude, but if her aunt thought she needed companionship of her own age she would have to disabuse her. ‘I’d much rather have tea with you than with the Hadleys. And besides, I don’t think Lord Hadley really approved of me.’