Wild Justice

by Liz Fielding

  Luke Devlin put his arms around the girl he loved and for a while was certain that he had lost. 'Let him try,' he said, gathering her to him. 'Just let him try.'

  'Luke,' she said, a long time later, as they lay under the brilliant starscape. 'Where were you going tomorrow?'

  'Tomorrow?'

  'You said that you wouldn't have been here tomorrow.'

  'Oh, tomorrow.' She heard the laughter in his voice and dug him in the ribs with her elbow. 'I was going home,' he said. 'To Broomhill. To lay siege to a particularly stubborn woman I happen to love.'

  'To lay siege?' It was her turn to laugh. 'How?'

  He began to softly quote. '"Make me a willow cabin at your gate,/And call upon my soul within the house;/Write loyal cantons of contemned love,/And sing them loud even in the dead of night -"'

  'Stop! That's enough. My neighbours would never stand for singing, particularly in the dead of night.'

  'Then move out. Marry me and you shall live in Winterbourne Hall.'

  She didn't answer immediately. 'You don't have to marry me just because I'm pregnant, Luke. I didn't come for that.'

  'Didn't you?' He pulled away from her, sat up, his back hunched to her. 'Then why did you come, Fizz? To inform me of the good news and tell me how much child support you expect?' He glared back at her, his eyes glinting dangerously in the starlight.

  Fizz just grinned back. 'If I'd just wanted money I wouldn't have come all this way, I'd have gone to Phillip. That was what you meant, wasn't it?' He didn't answer and she reached out, slid her hand over his back. 'What I want from you, can't be handled by an accountant.'

  He expression lightened. 'Are you telling me that you just want me for my body?'

  'You don't think you're getting off that lightly do you?' She pushed herself up beside him and nuzzled his shoulder. 'This baby is going to be a family concern and you are going to have to do your bit.'

  'Oh? And what exactly is my bit?' he said, rolling over, pushing her back against the thick down of the sleeping bag, trapping her there.

  'Hand holding, back rubbing and the books I've read about natural childbirth have whole chapters on the subject of panting. I think it might be a good idea if we go to classes -'

  'We? You really mean that?'

  She took his hand, could feel it trembling as she pressed it against her waist. 'This is our baby, Luke. A life we made together. Luke Devlin and Felicity Beaumont made into a new person, unique, special. I thought we might call her Juliet.'

  'You're that sure it will be a girl?'

  'Positive.' Then her lips curved into a provocative little smile. 'Of course, if I'm wrong, we'll just have to keep on trying.'

  He lifted her into his arms then and held her. 'Fizz, I don't know what to say, how to tell you how much I love you. You are so beautiful, so good, so generous...’

  She tilted back her head. 'And?'

  'And sexy as hell,' he said, his voice husky.

  Her teeth gleamed white in the darkness. 'Well, I did want to be sure I hadn't imagined how good it was.'

  'And had you?'

  'Oh, no. That's included in the job description as well.'

  'I see. Well, Miss Beaumont, I have a job description for you. It's headed "Wife". If you want my body on a regular basis you're going to have to promise to marry me the minute we get back to Broomhill.' He bent his lips to the smooth contour of her breast, blushed pink in the dying firelight, teasing its rosy tip with his tongue until she was clinging to him. Then he raised his head. 'What do you say?' he asked.

  'That's not fair,' she exploded. Then as he began to pull away. 'I promise!'

  'Cross your heart?'

  'On one condition.'

  'Anything.'

  'When you buy Winterbourne Manor, will you make sure the four-poster bed goes with it?'

  He laughed out loud. He'd always known the four-poster would get her in the end. 'Whatever it costs,' he promised her, softly. 'But for tonight I'm afraid you'll have to make do with a sleeping bag on the hard ground.'

  'If you were sharing it,' she murmured softly as she reached for him, 'I'd be happy on a bed of nails.'

  *****

  As Private Lives came to an end the house erupted in wild applause, the curtain calls going on it seemed for ever, the flowers arriving on stage for Claudia and Melanie, extravagant by any standards and the appearance of Edward Beaumont as the director of the play brought forth a renewed round of cheering. Fizz and Luke sitting in a box overlooking the stage exchanged a glance.

  'I was rather afraid that Claudia would wipe the floor with Melanie,' Luke said.

  'Were you?'

  'It must have been tempting to try.'

  'She might well have done, my darling, but for one small detail.'

  'Claudia took it easy on her because she's family?'

  'No, love, she simply recognised the quality of the opposition. Melanie is a Beaumont after all, and Beaumonts are born to the limelight.'

  He saw the excitement shimmering from her, lighting her eyes and something very like fear clutched at his heart. 'You're a Beaumont too. Don't you long for that acclaim?'

  She must have heard the odd note in his voice because she turned and looked up at him. 'I'm into production these days,' she reminded him, patting the barely visible swell of her body where their baby was growing.

  'And afterwards?'

  'Shhh…’ She put her hand on his arm. 'Dad's going to make a speech.'

  And while the audience listened, held in the palm of his hand, Edward Beaumont told the world he had found a daughter so long lost to him. For a moment there was stunned silence, then the crowd rose to its feet as Claudia and Edward Beaumont presented Melanie Brett Beaumont to them.

  'The man's a genius,' Luke said, with genuine admiration. 'Seats have been selling like crazy because everyone wanted to see Melanie make a fool of herself. Now she's a triumph. More than that, she's a Beaumont. She'll be on the front page of every newspaper tomorrow and tickets for the show will be like gold-dust.'

  'And Claudia, despite being leading lady, is having to take a backseat? Was that part of your plan, too?'

  'No, my love. I've no plans for anyone but us.' He looked back at the stage. 'And I'm sure Claudia's graciousness in giving her new sister the centre stage on her West End debut will be given generous mention.' He stood up, drew back Fizz's chair and as she turned to him he smiled. 'Not that either of them can compare with the beautiful Felicity Devlin.' He took her hands in his. 'You do know how much I love you?' he said, urgently.

  She laughed softly. 'I promise I'll never tire of hearing you say it.'

  'I love you. I love you. I love you.'

  'Don't stop!'

  'I'd rather show you,' he said, his voice husky with longing. 'Right now.'

  'But if we don't make an appearance at the party people will talk.'

  'Oh? And what will they say?' He was delighted to discover that he could still make her blush. 'That Devlin couldn't wait to take his lovely wife home to bed?'

  'Something like that.'

  Luke grinned. 'They'd be right.'

  ‘I suppose if we go backstage now and tell everyone how absolutely fabulous they were we'll have done our duty. They'll be so high on adrenalin and excitement that they won't remember whether we went to the party or not.'

  But the moment they walked in the dressing room Claudia rushed across to them. 'The Three Sisters, Fizz,' she exclaimed. 'Dad says he'll do it next year if you'll take part.' Linking her arm with Fizz she turned to Luke. 'We can't leave her out of all this excitement and she deserves another chance to show what she can do. You'd never guess it to look at her but underneath that cool, touch me not exterior she positively smoulders with repressed passion.'

  'Does she?' he enquired, with studied surprise.

  Claudia laughed as her sister coloured. 'I'm all technique and sex appeal. As you've obviously discovered for yourself, Fizz is the real thing.' She touched his arm. 'You wouldn't mind, would you, da
rling?'

  He would mind. He would positively hate it. But he'd seen the way Fizz had lit up to the atmosphere and the excitement of the theatre. She had been robbed of her chance to become a star once. If she really wanted it, he would not do anything to stop her.

  'Fizz is quite capable of making up her own mind, Claudia. Whatever she does, she knows she'll have my support.'

  'There you are. Say you'll do it!'

  'Don't be silly, Claud. I'm going to have a baby. That's a full time job.'

  'Rubbish.' She appealed to Luke. 'She can have a nanny, can't she?'

  'She can have anything she wants.'

  But Fizz started. 'A nanny?'

  For a moment, for just a moment she been dazzled by the lights, the excitement and she had been tempted. But remembering the confusing procession of nannies who had tried to provide a little love and warmth until her own could find a few spare moments for her daughters, she blenched.

  Claudia saw her face and remembered too. Impulsively flung her arms about her sister and held her for a moment.

  'No. Of course not. Silly of me.' Then she stepped back, quickly blinking away a tear to flash a brilliant smile. 'For goodness sake take her home, Luke, back to the real world. It's where she belongs.'

  In the limousine gliding quietly through the quiet London streets he held her hand. 'Are you sure, Fizz? For a moment I thought you wanted it.'

  'For a moment, so did I.' She turned to him. 'But I don't. All I want is you and our baby. I've never been more certain of anything in my life.'

  He took her in his arms then and held her. 'I suppose I still can't quite believe you're mine. After what I did.' She placed her fingers lightly over his mouth.

  'That's all over, Luke. Forgotten.'

  'I'll always be there for you,' he said, suddenly fierce. 'Always.'

  Her lips widened in an inviting smile. 'Show me.'

  He was still showing her when the porter smartly whisked open the car door as they drew up in front of their hotel. They didn't even notice when he closed it again much more gently and with a smile, gave a signal to the driver to take them once more round the block.

  If you enjoyed WILD JUSTICE, then you’ll want to read Claudia’s story. Here’s a taste -

  WILD LADY

  CHAPTER ONE

  WHEN Claudia Beaumont, late and pushing her new sports car hard in the narrow Berkshire lanes, finally spotted the entrance to the airfield, she experienced two distinct and warring emotions. Relief and dread. And dread was winning by a country mile.

  But she knew that the letter was simply the product of a sick mind.

  Someone was trying to frighten her, make her look feeble and if she backed out now her anonymous correspondent would have succeeded. For heaven's sake, she expected to be frightened. Who wouldn't be? And who was she to deprive millions of television viewers of a vicarious thrill?

  She slowed and turned into the gate. There had damned well better be millions or she would want to know the reason why.

  The security guard checked her car registration against a list he had on a clipboard, then directed her to the far side of the field where the OB unit was set up beside a large aircraft hangar.

  Even at a distance the scene gave the appearance of organised chaos. Excitable men, earnest young women milling about in an attempt to give an impression of their own enormous importance, heavy cables snaking through the grass, vehicles everywhere, the essential catering truck doing a roaring trade in coffee and bacon sandwiches.

  And a small aircraft, a very small aircraft, was parked on the apron in front of the hangar waiting to take her several thousand feet into the air so that she could jump out of it for the amusement of the vast audience of Saturday night viewers.

  'Do the show, darling,' her agent had coaxed. 'It's popular family entertainment, not in the least bit tacky, all the money the viewers pledge goes to a charity of your choice. And we'll get a big plug for the new television series.'

  He'd forgotten to mention the fact that one of the guests would be landed with an amusing little forfeit. And with three envelopes to choose from she'd managed to find the parachute jump.

  It was quite possible, she realised with a belated flash of insight, that they all contained the same forfeit.

  It was highly probable that she'd kill her agent.

  'You'd better put your foot down, miss,' the security guard advised. 'The weather looks as if it might be closing in and if you don't get off the ground soon, you'll have to come back another day. And that won't please Mr MacIntyre.'

  It wasn't her eagerness to please Mr MacIntyre, whoever he was, or to get on with the jump that sent the little car leaping forward. If the film crew had a wasted day because she was late, Claudia knew she would be about as popular as an outbreak of rabies in a boarding kennels.

  There were a number of cars parked in a neat line facing the hangar. Her car was lipstick bright against the greyness of the morning and aware that every head had turned at her approach she did a slick change down as she drove onto the grass, planning to slide neatly into the space between a gleaming black Landcruiser and the silver Porsche that she recognised as the pride and joy of the show's director.

  There was only one problem. When she put her foot on the brake it went straight to the floor without resistance.

  For a split second she froze.

  It couldn't be happening. Her car was brand new. Two days old. But it was happening. And she was heading straight for Barty's Porsche.

  She wrenched hard on the steering wheel, somehow expecting that it, too, would fail to respond. It didn't fail. It responded with fingertip precision. And after that everything seemed to happen at once. The jolting tango along the black bulk of the Landcruiser, the bruising jerk as her seat belt locked and bit into her shoulder, the airbag exploding into life. The final nightmarish sound of rending metal as she collided with the hangar.

  Then everything went very quiet for a moment before the door beside her was wrenched open. If she had had the time to anticipate any reaction from the horrified onlookers, she would have expected sympathy, concern, even worry that she wouldn't be able to go ahead with the planned jump.

  What she got, apparently, was a bear with a sore head. And he was growling at her.

  'What the hell do you think you're playing at?'

  Definitely a growl. The kind produced by low, controlled anger. It seemed par for the day, Claudia thought, that the gap between expectation and reality should be so vast.

  She turned, unhurt, but somewhat dazed by the rapidity with which events had overtaken her and was confronted by a pair of large boots, combat trousers that seemed to ascend into the stratosphere and the kind of taut, aggressive hips that would normally give her a pleasurable tingle of expectation. The voice however, did not encourage her to expect anything except aggravation.

  At a disadvantage in the near ground level car, she unfastened the seatbelt, leaned out and looked up. She was right about the stratosphere. Wrong about the bear. But not that wrong.

  The man went up a very long way before widening out into a pair of shoulders that would have done justice to a barn door. He also had a thick pelt of black hair that would have curled had it not been ruthlessly trimmed into submission and the kind of blue eyes that any girl would gladly die for.

  From the expression in them, she thought, this girl just might be required to. But she didn't like his immediate assumption that she was to blame for the accident. She would go down fighting.

  'Playing at?' she enquired, determined to show him that she was not in the least bit intimidated by his size, or his damped down anger. Or by his eyes. 'Why, musical cars of course,' she said, with a careless wave of her hand. Her shoulder complained but she ignored it. 'Care to join me?' she invited.

  It was perhaps fortunate that at that moment they were inundated by near hysterical television personnel.

  'Claudia! Darling! My precious girl, are you all right?' Barty James, the programme's director wa
ggled his hands dramatically. 'Shall we call an ambulance?' He turned to his harassed assistant. 'Shouldn't there be an ambulance standing by? Isn't there supposed to be a doctor?'

  He began issuing a tirade of instructions, sending minions flying in all directions, but mostly for cover.

  Claudia, used to theatrical hysteria, took no notice. Instead she swung long, silk clad legs out of the car and waited for someone to help her to her feet. Barty was still busy berating his hapless assistant for the lack of an ambulance. Blue eyes had swiftly removed himself from the scene and was more concerned with the damage to the Landcruiser. Abandoning all hope of immediate aid and succour, she climbed from her car unaided and joined him. His concern was well placed. The damage, although superficial, was widespread. She had scraped and dented every panel, leaving streaks of scarlet paint like careless kisses, along the entire right hand side.

  The hangar didn't look much better. She hadn't hit it hard, but had still managed a pretty spectacular job of buckling and splitting the elderly corrugated metal.

  But her lovely new car had far the worst of it. The left hand side had suffered horribly in the encounter with the Landcruiser and the bonnet now looked as if a very heavy footed figure skater had been practising triple toe loops on its glossy paintwork.

  It was not a pretty sight, but as she turned to blue eyes she managed a smile, quite prepared to be brave about it although under the circumstances hysterics would have been quite permissible. Blue eyes was unimpressed.

  'I do hope you're properly insured, Miss Beaumont,' he said, curtly, in case she had missed just how unimpressed he was.

  Claudia, who could usually reduce a man to stuttering incoherence in less time than it took to say it, was seriously shaken to discover that this man was quite immune to her particular brand of magic.

  Insurance? That was all that bothered him? He wasn't in the least concerned about her health, the fact that she might have broken her neck? Apparently not.