A Vengeful Deception

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘Generous woman.’ He fetched the huge kettle and emptied its steaming contents into the sink before running in some cold.

  Then, taking off his watch and his fine polo-necked sweater, he put them aside and, standing naked to the waist, filled his palms with water and began to sluice his face and neck.

  She noticed that his ears were neat and set close to his head, and his thick corn-coloured hair curled enticingly into his nape.

  All at once her fingers itched to touch it.

  As though to restrain any such impulse, she clasped her hands together in her lap, and, her breath coming a little unevenly, watched him perform his ablutions.

  He looked superbly fit, with broad shoulders and muscular arms. Well-developed biceps suggested that at some time in his life he’d done manual work. His tanned skin was clear and healthy without a mark or blemish anywhere…

  Not even on his left arm.

  It seemed incredible that he could have come down on the cobbles hard enough to put his arm out of action without leaving so much as a bruise…

  As though the disturbing thought had somehow got through to him, he turned his head to glance at her.

  ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘Your elbow… There isn’t a mark on it.’ Her voice was puzzled.

  ‘I told you it would be good as new by today,’ he said easily. ‘A sharp blow on the elbow can easily affect the use, without leaving much in the way of bruising.’

  Though his answer had been pat, she still felt vaguely dissatisfied, unconvinced. Yet why should he pretend to have injured his arm if he hadn’t? It didn’t make sense.

  But since she’d met him quite a few things hadn’t made sense.

  CHAPTER SIX

  TOSSING aside the towel, he pulled on his sweater, replaced his watch and ran a comb through his thick fair hair. ‘Now, I guess the next thing on the agenda is a hot drink…’

  ‘A cup of tea would be wonderful,’ she agreed.

  ‘As it’s Christmas, I thought I’d make a spot of punch.’

  ‘What do you put in it?’ she enquired, well aware she sounded wary.

  ‘Only fresh fruit juice and spices, and a spoonful of molasses. It’s quite innocuous, I assure you.’

  Blushing a little, because she knew only too well what he was thinking, she explained, ‘My friend Cleo does a lethal version. I remember last Christmas just one glass gave me a splitting headache.’

  ‘Speaking of headaches, how is yours?’

  ‘It’s gone, thank you.’

  ‘Then you should be able to indulge in a pre-dinner sherry and a glass of wine with your meal tonight without any ill effects.’

  Having made a complete fool of herself once, Anna wasn’t sure if she wanted to indulge in anything of the kind.

  Noting her reservation, he suggested, ‘But you can always make up your mind nearer the time.’

  Ensconced in her chair, her toes stretched to the blaze, she listened to Gideon opening cupboards and moving about, preparing the hot, spicy drink.

  Though she wasn’t looking in his direction, she was intensely conscious of him, aware that he was working with a swift efficiency that suggested he was well used to taking care of himself.

  So perhaps there had been no live-in lover? Though that was an unsafe conclusion to draw. Even if there had been someone, he was hardly the type to sit and let a woman wait on him…

  ‘Here we are.’

  Anna looked up to find he was offering her a steaming mug. The smell of cloves and cinnamon she’d always associated with Christmas wafted up enticingly, mixed with that of black treacle and oranges.

  She took a cautious sip and then relaxed. This punch was fruity and harmless. It was only the memory of joyful childhood Christmases with her family that was painful.

  When his own mug was empty, Gideon rose to his feet and said briskly, ‘Now I’d better make up the bedroom fire and see if I can find those decorations.’

  Through the windows Anna could see that it was almost dark, and away from the glowing hearth shadows were gathering in the corners of the room.

  ‘Won’t you need a candle?’

  ‘When I was in the coach-house this morning I found a couple of lamps and a supply of oil, which will be even handier.’

  While she watched, he took two glass-chimneyed lamps from the bottom cupboard and proceeded to fill them with oil. Then he trimmed and adjusted the wicks before lighting them and replacing the chimneys.

  The task appeared to be a fiddling one, and, surprised by his competence, she said, ‘It seems you have more of the nineteenth-century skills than the twenty-first.’

  Gideon pretended to look aggrieved. ‘Is that a reference to my lack of ability as a mechanic?’

  ‘It was meant as a compliment. However, if the cap fits…’ she added saucily.

  Wiping oil from his fingers, he threatened, ‘Later on I shall extract due retribution for that remark.’

  Remembering that kiss in the garden, she began to shiver with a combination of alarm, excitement and anticipation.

  But she mustn’t let herself react in that way. It was dangerous in the extreme. She must be on her guard, must keep in mind how potent his sex appeal was. A kiss could lead to…

  No, it was better not to pursue that train of thought… Just keep reminding herself that he didn’t care a fig about her. All he wanted was a bit of fun to enliven his Christmas.

  A bit of fun she had no intention of providing.

  Having drawn the curtains to shut out the frosty night, he picked up one of the lamps and made for the door.

  Above the black, high-necked sweater, the glow turned his face and hair into the golden mask of some ancient Aztec sun god, a powerful and ruthless deity who could only be placated by blood sacrifices.

  A fanciful thought.

  But, while Gideon was no god, he undoubtedly had power and a ruthless streak. She felt instinctively that as far as his enemies were concerned he would give no quarter.

  Then, shaking her head ruefully at her melodramatic flights of fancy, she made a determined effort to return to practicalities. ‘While you’re looking for the decorations, is there anything I can be doing towards tonight’s meal?’

  He stopped in his tracks. ‘Oh, excellent woman! Though our “traditional Christmas fare” is just a ready-stuffed turkey roast, it’s about time it was in the oven, so if you could do that? And perhaps put the pudding on to steam?’

  ‘Of course. Anything else?’

  He shook his head. ‘In order to cut out as much work as possible I bought everything ready-prepared, so there’s not much else to do. Unless you’d like to open some wine? As it’s going to be a rich meal, I thought a bottle of Châteauneuf-du-Pape.’

  She had transferred the foil-wrapped turkey from the larder to the Aga, placed the pudding basin in a steamer, opened the rich red wine and gone back to her chair before he returned with a large cardboard box tucked under his arm.

  ‘Success!’ he announced triumphantly.

  Placing the oil lamp on the table, he opened the box and displayed a collection of tree ornaments.

  ‘There’s even a fat fairy to put on the top.’

  Recalling the slender, ethereal Christmas fairy that had graced her own childhood tree, Anna objected, ‘I don’t believe there’s any such thing as a fat fairy.’

  ‘Want to bet?’

  He produced a plump fairy-doll with glittering wings and a wand, wearing a net tutu and a simpering expression.

  ‘This used to be my younger sister’s favourite,’ he went on with his charming, lopsided grin. ‘One year when I’d hidden it she hit me with a toy truck, and I bled all over the nursery floor. Which only goes to prove the truth of the observation that the female of the species is deadlier than the male.’

  ‘Well, I don’t believe a word of it,’ Anna said hardily.

  He came close and leaned over her. ‘Oh, it’s quite true. Look, I’ve still got the scar to prove it.’

  Th
ough she was convinced that he’d deliberately misunderstood her, she found herself forced to look while, with a neatly trimmed nail, he pointed out a small sickle-shaped scar on his cleft chin.

  His face was so close she was aware of his breath on her lips, warm and fresh and sweet. As though there was no help for it, her eyes lifted to his clear-cut mouth.

  Though she knew it was utter madness, she wanted to feel his mouth against hers, wanted him to kiss her.

  Perhaps her expression betrayed her, because he smiled, his white teeth gleaming.

  A current of excitement ran between them, drawing them together, making them seem like two people on the verge of becoming lovers. Her stomach clenched, and heat flooded through her.

  A hand on either arm of the chair, effectively trapping her there, he leaned a fraction closer; suddenly panic-stricken, she cried, ‘Don’t!’

  His dark, level brows shot up. ‘As scars go it’s no big deal. Nothing to get squeamish about.’

  Through clenched teeth, she said, ‘You know perfectly well it’s not that.’

  ‘Ah! Afraid I was going to kiss you?’

  ‘I don’t like to be kissed against my will.’

  ‘Sure it would be against your will?’

  ‘Quite sure.’

  ‘I beg leave to doubt it. In fact I don’t believe you’re anywhere near as cool and untouchable as you’re trying to make out. But if by any chance I’m wrong, try to look on this as the retribution I threatened you with.’

  His lips brushed hers in a thistledown caress, and lingered tantalisingly.

  Her own lips quivered, wanting desperately to part, to respond to that light, coaxing pressure.

  Somehow she kept them pressed tightly together.

  With his tongue-tip he traced the outline of her mouth and the little hollow beneath; then, taking her bottom lip between his teeth, he nipped it gently.

  Eyes closed, she shuddered at that erotic little caress.

  His mouth moving across hers, bestowing little plucking kisses, he whispered, ‘Why don’t you kiss me back? You know you want to.’

  ‘I don’t want—’

  With a murmur of satisfaction, he took advantage of her parted lips to deepen the kiss and begin a leisurely exploration of her mouth, discovering the silky skin of her inner lip and the pearly smoothness of her teeth.

  After a moment or two his tongue found hers and stroked it seductively, demanding a response, making her heart race and her blood sing through her veins.

  Every nerve in her body sprang into life, and a core of molten heat began to form in the pit of her stomach.

  Besieged by the kind of desire she’d never felt in her life before, she answered his kiss, abandoning herself freely to this overwhelming passion.

  Gone, like night phantoms which had never existed, were all her doubts, her repressions and her inhibitions. She knew that if he started to undress her she wouldn’t raise a finger to prevent him.

  And, though he must have known it too, he drew back.

  Lifting heavy lids, she found he was studying her face. His expression was coolly cynical and, with a feeling of shock, she registered that his green eyes held a touch of contempt.

  It seemed that he had deliberately set out to arouse her, while taking care to remain unmoved himself.

  As she caught her breath, he straightened up, and instantly the look was gone, replaced by his normal, slightly ironic expression.

  Had she actually seen what she thought she’d seen? Anna wondered dazedly as he moved away.

  No, surely not. She must have been mistaken. It was he who had instigated the kiss and forced a response, so why should he look at her as though he despised her?

  He certainly hadn’t looked at her that way when he’d kissed her in the garden. But there had been a vast difference between the way he’d kissed her then and just now, she realised.

  Then, it had been passionate and spontaneous, a shared experience. This time it had been purposeful, calculated, and he’d held himself aloof, as though wanting to prove something…

  His tone casual, almost teasing, suggesting that they’d had their fun, he said, ‘Well, I guess we’d better jump to it now, if we’re planning to get this tree decorated before we eat.’

  Unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing just how much he’d managed to rattle her, she pulled herself together and, muttering, ‘Slave-driver,’ got to her feet, albeit a shade unsteadily, and began to take brightly coloured baubles from the box.

  For a while they worked without speaking, hanging a variety of trinkets and ornaments on the prickly green branches and draping them with tinsel.

  Finding the silence unnerving, and wanting to dispel some of the lingering tension, Anna was trying to think of something to say when Gideon remarked, ‘As children we always had a tree in the nursery. We used to decorate it on Christmas Eve.’

  Only too pleased to talk, she seized the chance and asked, ‘How many of you were there?’

  ‘Myself and two sisters: Marcia, almost six years older than myself, and Jacqueline, a year younger.’

  Perching a bright-eyed toy robin so that it sat tilted forward, as though ready to dive-bomb an innocent-looking dove on the branch beneath, he added, ‘This brings back some of the happier memories.’

  ‘Wasn’t your childhood particularly happy?’

  ‘It was until I was ten, then Mother died.’

  ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Even as she spoke Anna realised how inadequate the sympathy was. Remembering her own loss, she added, ‘I suppose nothing was ever the same?’

  ‘Not for any of us. Marcia, who seemed to be the worst hit, went right off the rails. She was still only sixteen when she found she was pregnant. Father, always the hypocrite, was furious. He made her life so unpleasant that she ran off and married the baby’s father. Which proved to be an even worse mistake.

  ‘The boy, who was only about the same age as herself, turned out to be a complete ne’er-do-well. He was sent to prison for theft before their child had even started school. They had been living in a rented flat, and with not enough money to pay her way Marcia was threatened with eviction. Desperate, she came home and asked Father for help. He said she’d made her bed and must lie in it.

  ‘I was nearly fifteen at the time. I told him that if he didn’t help her, as soon as I was old enough I’d leave home and never come back. Perhaps he thought I didn’t mean it, or perhaps he didn’t care. Whichever, that good, kind, philanthropist threw both his daughter and his grandson out…’

  ‘But you did mean it?’

  ‘Oh, yes, I meant it. Though I didn’t like abandoning my younger sister, and I’d always loved the Manor, the minute I was old enough I packed my bags and left. With Jacqueline’s blessing. As soon as she was eighteen, she followed suit. But because she’d always been Father’s favourite he did at least finance her until she’d finished university.’

  ‘How did you manage?’

  ‘I took evening and weekend jobs to support myself until I graduated.’

  ‘Then I think you said you travelled?’

  ‘Yes, I spent some years working my way round the world before settling in California.’

  ‘And you never came back home?’

  ‘In the past year or so I’ve made quite a few trips to London on business, but if by home you mean Hartington Manor, the answer’s no, not while my father was alive. The first time I came back here was last year, for his funeral…’

  Anna sighed. Obviously Sir Ian had been a difficult man, but it seemed a pity that father and son had never had a chance to make their peace with each other.

  As though following her train of thought, Gideon went on, ‘Things might have worked out differently, but by the time Mary Morrison realised how ill he was and tried to let Jackie and me know it was too late.’

  ‘Then he didn’t see his daughters either?’

  ‘No,’ Gideon said flatly. ‘Jackie, who’s married to a professor, was abroad with her husband on a l
ecture tour.’

  ‘What about Marcia?’

  Gideon shook his head. ‘She and her husband died in a car crash some ten years ago. To give my father his due, after their death he gave his grandson a home, at least until he started university. But when he got sent down in his first year the old man threw him out.’

  Anna was just about to ask Gideon what had happened to his nephew when he closed the subject by saying briskly, ‘Well, that’s enough gloomy family history for one day. Now, do you think we need any more tinsel?’

  Her headed tilted a little to one side, Anna stepped back to survey the tree. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  ‘Then there’s just our fat fairy to put on the top.’ He handed her the doll. ‘As I’m feeling particularly magnanimous, I’ll let you have the honour.’

  ‘I’m not sure if I can reach,’ she said doubtfully.

  ‘No problem.’ Before she could object, he put his hands one each side of her slim waist and, without apparent effort, lifted her a good eighteen inches off the floor.

  Her heart lurched and began to throw itself against her ribs. Hastily she reached to fasten the wire that held the fairy in place. The instant it was secure, she said breathlessly, ‘You can put me down now.’

  As he set her down his hands slid round a little and upwards, so that his thumbs brushed the undersides of her breasts.

  Her nipples firmed in response to that lightest of contacts, and she knew he must be able to feel the way her heart was pounding.

  Even when her feet touched the floor he didn’t immediately release her, but drew her back against him, so that fleetingly she was aware of the warmth of his body and his muscular strength.

  Head spinning, she made a small sound, whether of pleasure or protest even she wasn’t sure, and a split second later found herself free.

  Her legs feeling like chewed string, she sank down in the nearest chair.

  ‘Did you enjoy that?’ he enquired blandly.

  When she said nothing, he went on, ‘Personally, I’ve always thought that decorating the Christmas tree is one of the fun bits.’

  ‘Oh… Yes…’

  Glancing up, she saw that his green eyes held a wicked gleam. ‘And there’s a lot more fun and enjoyment to come, I promise.’