A Durable Fire

by Robyn Donald

  ‘That’s better,’ he sighed, lifting his head to smile down at her. ‘Why, darling, you’re crying! What is it?’

  ‘Not crying.’ But her lashes were wet. ‘Why didn’t you tell me how things were here, Rhys?’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Her mouth firmed as she looked levelly at him, seeing the quick evasion in his expression. ‘You know. Neither your mother nor your brother want me here. If I’d known—’

  ‘You wouldn’t have come,’ he interrupted. ‘That’s why, idiot.’

  ‘But why, Rhys? Why do they dislike me?’

  His uncertainty was plain to read. After a moment he groaned, ‘Oh, hell, I knew you’d be mad, love, but I had to have you here. Sit down, let me hold you, while I explain.’

  ‘It had better be good,’ she said, but she allowed him to scoop her against his side as they sat on the sofa. For a moment Rhys was silent, his arm tense about her shoulder.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he began, kissing her unresponsive cheek. ‘So sorry, but in a way, darling, you can’t blame Kyle and Mama. I know they’ve been stiff with you—’

  ‘Stiff?’

  ‘O.K.,’ he said sulkily, ‘so they’ve been bloody rude to you, Mama doing her grande dame act and Kyle showing you just how overbearing he can be, and I know, none better, how high-handed he can get, but they got a considerable shock when I told them I was going to marry you.’

  ‘You what?’ Even though she had suspected it his words still appalled her. She turned her head to stare at him, saw his shamefaced bravado and bit out, ‘Rhys, how could you? We agreed—’

  ‘Oh, I know you said you’d have to get to know me better,’ he groaned, kissing the tumbling words from her lips, ‘but, Arminel, you felt it just as I did, you fell in love with me, I know you did.’

  ‘How do you know?’ Anger glittered in the depths of her eyes, turning them to dark sapphires; it flamed along the high bones of her cheeks. ‘Rhys, we agreed that we didn’t know each other well enough!’

  ‘No, you said that. I knew.’ His voice was positive, almost aggressive. ‘The first time I saw you I said to myself, there she is, exactly what you’ve always promised yourself. I knew you, darling, I know you now. I love you.’

  She shook her head, her anger dying in the light of his emotion. ‘Oh—oh!’ she sighed, ‘but don’t you see, I don’t know! I know that I like you immensely; when you kiss me I enjoy it, we have lots of things in common, but I’m not sure! And I’m not marrying, not you, not anyone, until I’m absolutely certain.’ She looked into his uncomprehending face, saying with complete conviction, ‘I’m not going to marry and then find that it was a mistake, as my mother did. No way, Rhys. For me it’s going to be marriage for ever, no second thoughts, no divorce.’

  ‘O.K., O.K.,’ he said, placating her, taking possession of the hands that gesticulated so fiercely. ‘All right, I can understand that. You’ve had a rough spin and God knows, I want the same as you. But can’t you believe that for me that’s how it is?’

  ‘Not after three weeks’ acquaintance!’

  He sighed and lifted her hands to his lips, his expression regaining some of the light-hearted humour which had drawn her so strongly in Surfers.

  ‘Arminel, why not just leave it, hmm? As soon as Kyle and Mama realise that you aren’t a gold-digging little—well, aren’t anything like that, they’ll get to like you, I know they will.’

  Arminel sighed, thinking wearily that it seemed centuries ago since she had flown out of Brisbane so eagerly looking forward to seeing him again.

  ‘Why did you tell them that we were as good as engaged?’ she asked, and as his expression hardened into stubbornness, ‘I must know, Rhys, or I’ll leave tomorrow.’

  He had been holding her hands, running his thumbs over her palms. Now his fingers clenched as his mouth pulled into a straight line. ‘Davina Rattray,’ he said sulkily. ‘Well?’

  ‘Well, Mama has always hoped that Davina and I— that we—oh, you must have guessed! She made it obvious enough! I like Davina, she’s a nice kid, but I don’t want to marry her.’

  ‘I see.’

  ‘Do you?’ He released her hands and stood up, a frown pulling his brows together. ‘I doubt if you do. You’ve no idea what it’s been like for the last year. Every time I turn around there she is. If I flirt with another girl she looks reproachful and sad. Hell, it’s beyond bearing! Mama has done her work so well that we get invited everywhere as a pair. I feel as though I’m being slowly and steadily forced into marriage.’

  ‘Why don’t you discuss it with the girl, tell her that you like her but that’s all?’

  Rhys exhibited all the classic signs of the male at a disadvantage, shrugging as though his collar was too tight, hands shoved forcefully into his pockets.

  ‘Oh, because—well, it’s so bloody embarrassing,’ he said at last, defensively. ‘I like her, she’s a pretty little thing and she’s in love with me. I don’t want to hurt her. I just wish she’d leave me alone. And now Mama has invited her up!’

  He swung around to stare accusing at Arminel as if she had been a party to the invitation. ‘I won’t be able to turn round without tripping over her. I’ve had enough! That’s why I said—I let Kyle and Mama believe that we were engaged.’ Arminel frowned. She saw much more than he knew; he certainly wasn’t in love with her, no more than he was with poor Davina Rattray. Harried by his mother’s relentless pressure, he was prepared to use her as a shield against a marriage he was not ready for.

  And she? Without much surprise she realised that whatever she had felt for Rhys had evaporated like bubbles from flat champagne. Their romance had been a classic holiday affair, all rainbows and fun, gilded with the sun, nurtured by his holiday mood and her need for someone to love her. The sensation of loss gave her a pang of melancholy; it had been lovely and now it was dead. But that was all.

  Not that Rhys was ready to accept reality. Shrewdly she appreciated that while he could continue to use her as a buffer he would believe that he loved her, his self-esteem would insist on that. Only love, she thought cynically, could sweeten such exploitation.

  ‘You’re an idiot,’ she said, but without rancour.

  He grinned and came back to sit beside her, possessing himself once more of her hands. ‘And you’re a darling. A very lovable darling.’

  ‘But I’m still angry,’ she said, forestalling an attempt to kiss her. ‘You’ve no right to drag me into all this, and you know it!’

  ‘But you’re not going to tell them that we aren’t engaged?’

  ‘No, you are.’

  It took him twenty minutes of coaxing before she reluctantly capitulated, and even then her motives were distinctly mixed. Some unregenerate part of her was maliciously pleased at the idea of infuriating Mrs Beringer and Kyle; it would be satisfying to make them suffer a little. But her main reason for agreeing to the deception was a kind of confused loyalty to Rhys. He had all of the stubbornness of the innately weak, but she could see that he wasn’t going to be able to hold out much longer against the kind of pressure to which he was being subjected. Possibly Davina Rattray was the perfect choice for him, but he should be the one who made the choice, not his mother, nor his brother, or their friends.

  For although he said that Kyle had made no attempt to persuade him into this marriage it was quite obvious that he was all for it. Otherwise why should he have seen Arminel as a threat? No, Kyle was too astute to subject Rhys to the kind of coercion his mother used, but there were other, more subtle means of persuasion. She sighed, frowning. Perhaps if they realised that this time they had pushed Rhys too hard they might in future ease up and allow him to make his own decisions. In a way she felt obliged to accede to his request, though her very instinct warned her that she was a fool, the safest and most sensible thing to do would be to get as far away from Te Nawe and Kyle Beringer as possible.

  ‘Oh—very well,’ she said crossly. ‘You’re a sweetie!’ Rhys whispered jubilantly, kissing her wi
th expert panache.

  She laughed, knowing perfectly well that he was using her, content for it to be so. It wasn’t Rhys’s fault that he had a domineering mother and a brother who possessed a dark male beauty that drew the eye and the senses. No wonder Rhys was overshadowed! The virility and effortless authority which were so basic a part of Kyle’s character would overwhelm any other man—and appeal to that primitive core hidden deep in all women which yearned to be protected and dominated. Although she disliked him immensely, Arminel recognised the strength he possessed. Put simply, if she was being menaced by a dragon or kidnapped by spacemen, it would be to Kyle that she would look for aid, not Rhys. And that was not Rhys’s fault.

  When he saw the faint smile which accompanied this thought he grinned and kissed her again, his mouth warm and sensuous as it moved over hers. ‘I’m glad you’re not too mad at me,’ he whispered.

  ‘We’ll play it your way, I promise, not too heavy, but I’m going to convince you that we’ll be happy together.’

  As she pulled away Arminel found herself thinking wryly that Rhys was as little accustomed as his brother to being rebuffed. He might not have the magnetic attraction that marked Kyle out from the rest of the human race, but his good looks and that smooth gloss of sophistication and wealth and self-confidence must have made it an unusual thing for him to be rejected by any girl he fancied. Unless the girl was already in love with his brother. But somehow Arminel felt that Rhys would not be attracted to women who had their eyes set on Kyle. He must know that the competition was too fierce.

  She should, of course, be furious with him for using her as a shield against the importunate Davina Rattray, but she could understand only too well why he was so helpless—and so resentful. Kyle Beringer would have been able to rid himself of someone who clung and got in his way. A few brief cold words and that would have been the end of any such entanglement.

  But Arminel hated to cause pain, and she liked Rhys all the better because he felt some compunction for the girl who loved him. Not that she agreed with his method of dealing with the situation, but perhaps Rhys saw it more clearly than she. And perhaps it was kinder to convince Davina that he had fallen in love with another girl rather than make it obvious that he just didn’t care enough for her.

  ‘Why don’t you tell your mother that you’re just not interested in marrying Davina?’ she asked. ‘Surely she doesn’t want to push you into a marriage that’s almost bound to be unhappy?’

  He said sulkily, ‘I’ve told her hundreds of times, but she just sighs and says Davina is perfect for me. She won’t take any notice. In some ways she’s like Kyle, totally ruthless, only Mama never loses her temper. Anyway, it won’t take them long to come round,’ he went on, speaking with a cheerful lack of concern. ‘Mama wants me to be happy, and when she sees that you make me happy she’ll ease up. And Kyle doesn’t really care. He doesn’t think much of women anyway, except as girl-friends.’

  Clearly Mrs Beringer was right when she said that Rhys viewed the world through rose-coloured spectacles. He certainly suffered from selective vision, seeing only what he wanted to see.

  Arminel repressed a shiver as she recalled that first sight of Kyle Beringer, tall and uncompromisingly arrogant, cold eyes surveying her with autocratic disdain. Given time Mrs Beringer might accept Arminel as a member of the family, but Kyle never would. He was like a statue carved by a master, beautiful, forceful, and stone to the core.

  ‘You make him sound like a proper chauvinist,’ she said, wondering why she should feel any curiosity at all.

  ‘Oh, he’s that, all right. Not that he thinks women are an inferior sex, or anything, because he doesn’t. His girl-friends are all clever, usually frighteningly so. But he’s not keen on getting married. He said once that women want too much and he’s not prepared to spend any time pandering to their basic insecurity.’ He grinned at her expression and dropped a kiss beneath her ear, murmuring, ‘But why talk about him? He’s . . .’ Of course the door opened at just that moment to let Kyle in. When he saw them he smiled, not pleasantly, his brows climbing as he surveyed Arminel’s flush and her quick withdrawal.

  ‘Do you mind?’ Rhys blustered, releasing her before he got to his feet.

  ‘Not at all.’ His brother sounded bored, but the pale eyes didn’t leave Arminel’s face. ‘Do you think you could make love somewhere else? I’ve work to do. Mama is still watching television, but the rest of the house is unoccupied.’

  Sarcastic swine! Why did he keep staring as if he was trying to pierce her brain with his eyes?

  ‘Sorry.’ Rhys bent to pull Arminel up. ‘Say goodnight to Kyle, darling.’

  The rather too pronounced note of satisfaction in his voice attracted the attention of both of the others in the room. An uneasy sensation niggled at Arminel’s composure when she saw the open challenge in the glance he flung towards Kyle; it was not appeased by the long, considering gaze he received in reply.

  Then Kyle looked at her, the dark lashes lowering to hide the icy contempt which had slashed across her face and throat.

  ‘Goodnight, Kyle,’ she said swiftly.

  ‘Goodnight, Arminel,’ he returned, and if there was a mocking note in the deep voice it was almost too well hidden to recognise.

  Once outside the room Rhys chuckled soundlessly as he draped an arm about her shoulders, guiding her down the passage towards her room.

  ‘No.’ She stopped. ‘I’ll say goodnight to your mother. They were very keen on manners, my foster-parents.’

  He ignored the irony of her smile to say with easy charm, ‘Well, they made a success of yours,’ as he wheeled her about.

  Mrs Beringer had picked up her needlepoint once more. The exchanged goodnights were coolly polite, but the older woman’s smile did not ever reach the chilly blue depths of her eyes.

  Outside Arminel’s room Rhys kissed her again, his mouth ardent and seeking.

  ‘I’m tired,’ said Arminel, evading him. Suddenly weary, she weakly put off telling him that she wasn’t there to be treated as his girl-friend of the moment.

  Once inside the room she decided that probably it would be better not to come out so directly with the truth. She rather suspected that one of the reasons he thought himself in love with her was that she hadn’t succumbed completely to his smooth charm. Had she given in to his coaxing and allowed him to become her lover he might even now be wondering what he had seen in her.

  Perhaps it was poor Davina Rattray’s open love for him that made him so adamant with her. Man, the hunter, Arminel thought, leaning back against the door, and then—well, why not? If Rhys enjoyed the pursuit as much as the kill it would be up to the woman who wanted him to ensure that he never stopped pursuing.

  That that woman was not her she was now convinced. As she gazed around the warm, glowing fantasy of her room she found her eyes were wet, and when she tried to chase away her dreariness with a smile it turned out to be a distinctly wobbly one.

  ‘So,’ she said severely, scowling, ‘so you thought you loved him and you’ve found out that you don’t. Clever you, to make sure before committing yourself.’

  But she couldn’t ‘help her half-wistful grief at the death of something frivolous and ephemeral but lovely while it lasted. And as she cleaned her face and teeth and brushed her hair she found herself wishing that she hadn’t felt almost obliged to agree to Rhys’s request to pretend an engagement. A strange, fey instinct warned her that she was courting danger.

  Until the cool common sense which was as essential a part of her as the beauty that caught so much attention countered this vague premonition with the brisk reminder that this was New Zealand, not Transylvania. The most dangerous thing that could happen to her was that someone might insist on putting her up on a horse!

  The bed had been turned back so that the light shone on percale sheets and pillowcases, luxurious and infinitely welcoming.

  Make the most of it, she thought, smiling a little, for in this enticing, opulent room sh
e felt more than a little out of place. Her nightdress was one she had made herself of pale gold lawn in a simple pattern with its only ornament narrow lace edging to the neck and around the hem. Not in the least enticing or luxurious. A sharp tap at the door made her jump and look wildly across the room.

  ‘Wait a moment!’ she called as she made a dive for her dressing gown.

  But the door opened instantly and Kyle Beringer walked in. Even when he saw her struggling to drag the dressing gown over her nightdress he didn’t turn away or do anything but look amused. Condescendingly amused. At least, that was his smile. His eyes flicked across her face and then travelled the slender length of her body with insulting thoroughness.

  ‘I said to wait,’ she flashed, hauling the belt tight about her narrow waist. Quick heat burned in her cheeks and throat.

  ‘Sorry.’ He didn’t believe her, but at the sudden tightening of her lips he lifted a hand and drawled, ‘No, don’t order me out! I’m not going until we’ve got a few things straight.’

  ‘What things?’

  The light licked gleaming flames into the bronze hair as he jerked his head to indicate the room next door. ‘I sleep through there,’ he said calmly. ‘And I’m a light sleeper. I’ll leave the door open slightly, so if you’re expecting Rhys to come and while away the hours with you, forget it. I’ll have him out if I have to drag him out of your arms!’

  Swift anger flared in the depths of her eyes. While he talked she had folded her arms defensively across her breasts. Now they dropped to her sides as her hands clenched into small fists. But even as the hot words beat to be free she swallowed them back, breathing deeply before she spoke.

  ‘You needn’t bother,’ her voice dripped disgust. ‘And don’t lose sleep listening for footsteps, either. Rhys is not my lover.’ The dark brows lifted in complete, devastating disbelief. ‘Really? He gave me the impression that your relationship was considerably more intimate than that characterised by a chaste goodnight kiss.’

  ‘Then he lied,’ she said steadily. ‘Possibly.’ But he was smiling, his sceptical gaze very insolent as it touched her lips and the expanse of pale skin revealed by the deep neck of her dressing gown, before roaming the swell of her hips and the long line of her legs. ‘But Rhys,’ he continued, ‘is not in the habit of lying. And I happen to know that although he’s only twenty-two he’s packed a lot of experience in those years.’ Hard, cutting as a whip, his gaze flicked up to her face, white now but held proudly.