by Anne Mather
‘Thank heavens!’
Sara was fervent, and Jude arched his dark brows. ‘Why? Did you know him?’
‘No. No, of course not.’ Sara shook her head. ‘Only—well, I’m glad no one was seriously hurt.’
Jude walked back to the cabinet and lifted his glass. ‘He deserved to break his bloody neck,’ he retorted grimly, swallowing the remainder of the Scotch. He replaced the glass on the tray and looked at her. ‘He might have killed you, have you thought of that? You told me you’d got out to close the gate. If you’d been in the road …’
Sara shivered. ‘Well, I wasn’t. And he didn’t. Honestly, I’m perfectly all right.’
‘Are you?’ Jude was regarding her strangely. ‘No after-effects of the party?’
‘The party?’ Sara moved her shoulders bewilderedly. ‘It seems such a long time ago.’
‘Doesn’t it?’ Jude nodded, his eyes disturbingly intent.
‘Harriet,’ said Sara suddenly, almost using the name as a talisman, although against what she would not consider, ‘will—I mean, when will she be coming home?’
‘I don’t know.’ Jude made a dismissive gesture. ‘Not today anyway. I expect you want to see her?’
‘Of course I want to see her.’ Sara spoke impatiently. ‘I just wondered how—how long she might be in the hospital.’
Jude folded his arms across his broad chest. ‘Really?’
‘Yes.’ Sara had the feeling that she should not have started this, but it had seemed an innocent enough question. ‘Did—did the doctors give you any idea how long these things take?’
‘Always supposing there are no complications?’
‘Always supposing that, of course.’
‘Then—one week, maybe two, depending how she responds.’
‘Two weeks!’ Sara was appalled.
‘It may be necessary to employ a nurse after she gets home,’ Jude remarked flatly. ‘These things take time and attention.’
‘I know.’ Sara moved agitatedly, rubbing her elbows with the palms of her hands. ‘I—I just can’t help feeling resp—–’
‘What’s the matter?’ Jude interrupted her harshly. ‘Doesn’t the prospect of us being alone here appeal to you?’
Sara gasped. ‘I—why—that has nothing to do with it. Be—besides, we’re hardly alone, are we? Rob and Janet—–’
‘—–have no brief to interfere in our affairs,’ Jude finished for her. ‘While Harriet’s away I’m master here, or had you forgotten?’
Sara took an unwary backward step and came up against the desk. ‘I don’t think this is either the time or the place to be discussing such things,’ she declared stiffly. ‘You—you must be tired. I—I should go to bed, if I were you. I’ll have Janet wake you if there are any developments.’
‘Will you?’
To her dismay, Jude’s tall frame successfully blocked her exit. Feet apart, his arms still folded across his chest, his slightly raffish appearance in no way detracting from his dark good looks, he was a formidable barrier, and her pulses raced in spite of herself. But the memory of Harriet, prostrate in a hospital bed, was sufficient to dispel any unwelcome emotion.
‘I’d like to go to my room,’ she said distantly, her linked fingers clasped tightly together. ‘If you’d move out of my way …’
‘You’re going to leave me?’ he mocked. ‘You’re going to abandon me to my lonely bed?’
Sara’s face blazed with colour. ‘That’s not funny, Jude. Please—get out of my way. I want to go to my room.’
‘It wasn’t intended to be funny,’ he remarked, taking absolutely no notice of her pleas to let her go. ‘It’s true.’ His eyes darkened. ‘My bed is lonely. Are you going to tell me you don’t want to share it?’
Sara’s jaw shook. ‘You—you’re disgusting, do you know that? I—I should have expected something like this from you. You have no conscience, do you?’
‘Not a lot,’ he admitted indifferently. ‘I leave that to professed little virgins like you.’
Sara’s chest heaved. ‘You had to bring that up, didn’t you?’
‘Why not? It’s relevant. It’s why you’re so damn scared to be alone with me!’
‘That’s not true.’
‘What is true, then? That you don’t feel anything when we’re together? That when I touch you, you don’t respond? Come off it, Sara, you know how it is between us. And just because Harriet has other plans for you, it doesn’t mean we can’t—precipitate your education.’
‘You—you—–’
Jude cast an exasperated look heavenward. ‘Oh, can’t we miss out the outraged maiden bit? I know, I’m a bastard—I’ve been told so many times. But—–’ his mouth softened sensually, ‘you could change all that.’ He took a measured step towards her. ‘Doesn’t that appeal to your virtuous nature? Taming the savage beast?’
‘Nothing about you appeals to me!’ she exclaimed, her hands gripping the desk at either side of her. ‘I don’t know how you can do this. With Harriet lying—possibly unconscious—in her hospital bed! Have you no shame?’
Jude drew a deep breath, and now the sensuality in his face fled, to be displaced by a scowling impatience. ‘Look,’ he said, taking another step towards her, ‘I think it’s time this façade was shattered. I don’t know what Harriet’s told you, but I can guess it was nothing complimentary. However, I think we’ve played around long enough—–’
‘Keep away from me!’
Sara thrust one shaking hand out in front of her, as if to ward him off, but Jude took no notice. ‘Before you came here, I couldn’t have cared less what happened to you. I didn’t know you, and as far as I could see you deserved everything you got.’
‘I don’t want to hear this.’ Sara turned her head stiffly aside, but still he persisted.
‘I mean—let’s face it,’ he said, ‘you didn’t think about Harriet until you were desperate. And then you came here, prepared to live on her charity, and accused me of being a parasite!’
‘That’s not true!’ Sara’s head spun round. ‘I mean—I was wrong about you, I admit that, but I was not prepared to live on Harriet’s charity. I wanted to get a job. I offered to get a job—–’
‘And have you got one?’ His brows arched, and she lowered her eyes. ‘Anyway,’ he went on harshly, ‘you’re not a stranger any more. You’re here, you’re real, you’ve got an identity. And I can’t go on pretending that what happens to you doesn’t matter to me.’
Sara’s nails dug into the wood of the desk as she straightened her spine. Then summoning all her small store of confidence, she looked up into his brooding face. ‘Do you think I care what you think of me?’ she demanded, choking back the sob that rose in her throat. ‘Oh, all right, you can—make me do things for which I despise myself afterwards, but you’re clever like that, you’re experienced—you said so yourself. And—and you know I’d never betray you to Harriet. Not for your sake,’ she hastened, ‘for hers!’ She shook her head. ‘But as for you pretending you care about anyone but yourself, don’t—don’t make me laugh!’
She had some idea of charging past him then, of taking advantage of his sense of anger at her words to gain the comparative safety of the hall. But Jude was instantly aware of her intention, and his hand gripping her upper arm brought her uncomfortably close to his hard strength.
‘You still don’t understand, do you?’ he snarled. ‘You still persist in pursuing this ridiculous charade, for which, I admit, I do share some responsibility—–’
‘Will you please let me go?’
Sara tried to freeze him with a glance, but his lean dark features were still absurdly disruptive to her chaotic state of mind. He was leaning towards her, his face drawn and intense, and her own weakened emotions were not aided by a blind surge of raw awareness. Even as he was, with his shirt pulled awry, blood smeared on his sleeve, and the growth of a night’s beard shadowing his jawline, he stirred her senses as no other man had ever proved himself capable of doing, and s
he knew with a feeling of outrage his continued nearness was exerting an effect.
‘Let me go,’ she pleaded, refusing to give him the satisfaction of struggling with him, but those hard fingers gripping her arm only tightened their grasp.
‘You’re a silly little girl,’ he told her harshly, his face only inches from hers. ‘Do you really believe my living here is what I want?’ He shook his head, his expression bitter. ‘Harriet rejected me, Sara. She sent me away, when it suited her purpose to do so, and brought me back only to try and make James Hadley suffer!’
‘James Hadley!’ Sara caught her breath. ‘Are—are you implying that—that Harriet had—had a—relationship with Lord Hadley?’
‘They had an affair,’ retorted Jude bleakly. ‘Why don’t you call it by its real name? Or is the term offensive to your priggish sense of morality?’
‘I’m not priggish!’ Sara was indignant. ‘And—and why should I belive you? You could be telling me a pack of lies, knowing full well I could never ask Harriet such a thing.’
Jude expelled his breath impatiently. ‘Why do you think she brought you here? When your father wrote—–’
‘My father never wrote to Harriet!’ cried Sara contemptuously, tearing herself away. ‘That’s where you’ve made your mistake! It was Harriet who wrote to me, after—after she had heard of my father’s death.’
Jude’s jaw hardened, and for a moment his eyes were silver spears, impaling her at a glance. Then, with an almost defeated gesture, he lifted his shoulders, letting them fall with supreme inconsequence. ‘Why am I doing this?’ he asked, but the question was only rhetorical. ‘You seem determined to take the line of least resistance. Maybe it’s what you deserve. But I deserve something, too …’ and before she could divine his attention, his hand had cupped her face, and his lips had covered hers.
She had no way of supporting herself except by reaching for him, and her fingers groped automatically for the lapels of his jacket. It was to be a momentary steadying, sufficient only to restore her sense of balance, but that involuntary reaction had not taken into account the insidious sensuality of his mouth. As she swayed closer to him, his lips pried hers apart, and the ensuing sweetness robbed her legs of all strength. She clutched at him then, and his arms slipped about her, while his other hand slid behind her head and loosened her carefully bound hair.
‘Let me,’ he breathed, in answer to her automatic objection, ‘let me, Sara. Don’t drive me away.’
‘We can’t do this,’ she choked, when he freed her mouth to seek the scented hollow of her shoulder, but her own bones betrayed her, rising to meet the caressing stroke of his tongue.
‘Be quiet,’ he ordered her softly, when his mouth returned to hers, and beneath its increasingly passionate onslaught, her protests were largely stifled. Her whole body seemed to be responding without any conscious volition, and her own fingers slid beneath his jacket to separate the buttons of his shirt.
His skin was chilled, but it warmed to her touch, tiny whorls of dark hair coiling themselves about her fingers. He shuddered when she touched him, but he did not draw back, and she knew a sudden awareness of her own instinctive reactions. She wanted to tear away the clothes between them, feel his muscled strength against her softness, and discover for herself the secrets of her own body, aroused by the thrusting maleness of his.
‘Sara, Sara, Sara …’ he groaned, pushing the folds of the towelling bathrobe off her shoulders, while his mouth played havoc with the pulse that palpitated wildly below her ear. ‘Let’s go to my room. We can be sure we won’t be interrupted there …’
The warning lights that hitherto had been muted by the bemusing veil of emotion suddenly shone out bright and clear. Go to his room, Jude had said, but what room did he mean? His room or Harriet’s? The significance of the distinction made all Sara’s blood run to ice.
‘No!’ she gasped suffocatingly. ‘No. Let me go! Let me go! You must let me go! I—I’ve got to get out of here—now!’
She had hardly had time to gather her robe about her when the knock sounded at the door, and after only a cursory hesitation it was opened. Janet stood in the aperture, her sharp eyes taking in every detail of what was happening, Sara was sure; and while to anyone else it must be obvious what had been going on, Janet’s hostile disapproval focussed on Sara’s state of distress.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Master Jude,’ she intoned, with grim eloquence, ‘but I was wondering if ye’d be wanting your breakfast before or after ye went for your bath.’
Jude was recovering himself more slowly than on that occasion when Frank Barnes had interrupted them. Glancing surreptitiously at him, Sara saw, with an unwilling sense of compassion, that he did not look at all well, and the tiredness which had etched those lines about his mouth was now also evident in the hollowing sockets of his eyes. When he found her eyes upon him, however, his expression changed to one of cold loathing, and she retreated before his malignant gaze, with more than her own self-derision to keep her company. In that brief moment he had shifted the full weight of what had happened on to her shoulders, and worse than that, she knew her own culpability.
‘I—er—don’t bother about breakfast for me, Janet,’ Jude said at length, pushing back his hair with a weary hand. ‘I’ll get my bath. I promised Harriet I’d be back at the hospital before ten, and all I seem to need is sleep.’
‘Och, weel, you take care now, d’ye hear me?’ Janet exclaimed, while Sara tried to inch her way towards the door. ‘There was never no good in starving ye’self, and ye’d feel a might stronger with some porridge inside ye.’
Jude lifted a placatory hand. ‘All right, all right. Just give me time to get a wash and a shave …’
‘And Miss Shelley?’
Janet swung round on the girl, just as she thought she was going to make good her escape, and Sara wrapped her arms around her waist, almost protectively. ‘Oh, you know me, Janet,’ she stammered uncomfortably. ‘Just—just a cup of coffee will do. Any time. It’s not urgent.’
‘Miss Shelley was just leaving,’ Jude inserted harshly, and ignoring Janet’s cluck of disapproval, he reached for the bottle of scotch again. ‘Medicinal purposes,’ he offered, as the housekeeper shook her head, and Sara slipped away silently, before anything more damning was said.
CHAPTER TEN
SARA had plenty of time to ponder the things Jude had told her. In the days that followed, when she was not at the hospital visiting Harriet, or parrying Rupert’s attempts to further their association, she spent hours alone with her thoughts. Generally they were not productive. Indeed, she would rather not have had time to think at all. But two things stood out in her mind and refused to be dismissed—Harriet’s previous relationship with Lord Hadley, and Sara’s own continuing entanglement in her aunt’s and Jude’s affair.
It was impossible to resurrect those moments in the library without trying to find some meaning behind them. Yet Jude could only be using her to humiliate Harriet. What other motive could he have when he continued to live in Harriet’s house, and behaved as if it was his unassailable right to do so? He did not love her, Sara. Their relationship was wholly physical; and she refused to consider what she might do if she ever conceived a deeper attachment. But it would not happen, it could not happen, and somehow she must ensure that circumstances did not conspire to allow it to happen.
She believed in those early days of Harriet’s illness that it might not prove as difficult as she had first imagined. To begin with, Jude was seldom around. When he was not at his work or at the hospital, where he was obviously a welcome visitor, he kept very much out of her way, and they seldom if ever sat down to a meal together.
That Jude was angry with her she had no doubt. It was evident in the way he avoided her, and evident, too, in the hard malevolence of his gaze whenever they did chance to meet. He did not speak to her, unless she spoke to him first, and if she made some reference to Harriet, he obstinately refused to discuss the other woman. So far as he was
concerned, any normal association between them was at an end, and Sara couldn’t deny the feeling of desolation this frequently aroused in her. If only things had been different, she thought. If only she had met him at the Hadleys’, as Lord Hadley’s assistant—and not her aunt’s lover!
Harriet herself made satisfactory progress. In a few days she was almost recovered from the shock of the accident, and although her body was weak, her mind was as alert as ever. She wanted to hear all about the accident, and about Sara’s statement to Sergeant Briggs, and she had her own opinion to offer of the defendant’s driving.
‘You might have been killed, do you realise that!’ she exclaimed, and Sara thought affectionately how typical it was of Harriet to think of someone else and not herself.
‘I was in no danger,’ she assured her aunt gently. ‘It was just an unfortunate accident. You’ll be happy to know that the young man, the other driver, is now out of hospital, so no one was seriously injured.’
‘What about me?’ Harriet’s expression had undergone an acute change. ‘How can you say that, when I’m still lying here as helpless as a kitten!’
‘Oh, well—of course, you’re still very weak,’ Sara exclaimed hastily, ‘but you’ll be home soon, and the police sergeant said that the other driver was lucky to escape with his life.’
‘Lucky!’ Harriet snorted, and Sara tried to calm her down by patting her hand where it lay on the bedspread.
‘Dear Harriet,’ she said, ‘I’m not excusing him. I’m only trying to make you see that it could have been so much worse.’
‘I know. You could have been killed!’ declared Harriet peevishly. ‘And then—and then what—oh—yes, let’s forget it, as you say. Obviously, you’re still alive, and just as beautiful as ever.’
Harriet’s words sparked off memories of what Jude had said, and Sara’s smile was a little forced now. As if perceiving this, Harriet added: ‘But you are looking a little tired, darling. Those lines around your eyes—I hope you’re not still worrying about me.’
