Stronger than Yearning

by Penny Jordan

  Her fingers curled into his shoulders, one part of her mind registering with surprise how warm and pleasant his skin felt beneath them. How tempting it was to allow her hands to drift over the mystery of hard bones clothed in satin skin, and she reined in her thoughts swiftly, drawing her nails sharply over his skin, glorying in inflicting on him some measure of pain in payment for his humiliation of her.

  Retaliation was swift and shocking. His teeth caught against the delicate flesh of her nipple making her cry out and shudder in torment. She seemed to be falling into some black abyss when instinct, and instinct alone, made her cling for safety to the warmth of his body, locking her arms round his neck, her body shivering in waves of shocked pain. Her fingers encountered something warm and sticky. She opened her eyes and saw the rowelling scratch marks against the darkness of his skin. Two of them oozed blood from her nails and her body tensed in shock that she had inflicted them.

  Against her will her eyes were drawn to his. They glittered feverishly, bright with rage. He was breathing harshly, his voice thick and low as he demanded savagely, ‘Lick them, it will staunch the bleeding. The only blood I would have on my sheets this night, will be yours, madam,’ he added ruthlessly. ‘Unless, which I doubt, someone else has already had your maidenhead. You are fortunate my brother is always so befuddled with drink, and will not know the difference. Lick them, I say,’ he demanded again, grasping her neck with one hand, sliding his fingers into her hair until her scalp ached, forcing her against his skin. It was impossible to resist, to defy his will. She could sense that he intended to make her bow to it, and she would be the one to suffer if she did not. Her tongue brushed against the first scratch, recoiling from the salty-iron taste of his blood. She could feel the differing textures of his skin where it was smooth and where it was torn. He moved against her, pressing his skin against her mouth. Her tongue touched it tentatively again; she felt his mouth against her throat, his hand on her breast and a shuddering weakness possessed her. It seemed an age before she had cleansed his wound to his satisfaction, the movements of his heavy body against her own intensely disturbing.

  When at last he released her, his eyes were dark, almost black, and they glittered hotly over her skin. ‘It seems you are not the cold creature I had assumed,’ he told her throatily. ‘Perhaps after all there will be pleasure in what goes forward—for both of us!’

  ‘No!’ She cried out her denial, hating him for even daring to suggest that she might find his embrace anything other than loathsome, but he ignored it, laughing at her, pulling her into his arms and savaging her body with his mouth and hands until she could no longer resist him, or the dark force he seemed to conjure up at will inside her. When his mouth finally stopped tormenting her skin, she opened her eyes to discover that she was still clasping him, her hands inside his shirt, gripping the firm muscles of his upper arms. He was breathing as fast as she was herself, and as he looked down at her, an aching weakness took possession of her lower body. Simply by looking at her he was turning her bones to water, making her yearn for…Helplessly, her glance slid over his body, noting its arousal and tension. His head bent towards her and this time she did not avoid it. His mouth touched hers, brushing it lightly and then fiercely until she was clinging helplessly to him, gripped by a need that seemed to drive out all rational thought.

  When he moved away from her to strip off his clothes, she made no attempt to get up and escape. Wordlessly, she watched him, drinking in the masculine perfection of him in the light from the fire. He came to her, bending over her to remove her garters and then roll down her silk stockings. His mouth brushed the instep of her foot and she quivered in mute response, shuddering as his mouth moved lazily upwards, over her skin. Torn between the need to escape the intimate intrusion of his touch and the even stronger need to prolong it, her body tensed and then arched as though in obedience to some unspoken commands. His tongue teased the silken flesh of her thigh and she cried out his name, denying with words what she invited with actions.

  As he knelt over her she could see the ridged muscles of his back, the taut flatness of his buttocks. She struggled to sit up and ran her fingers slowly down his spine, tracing each indentation, wondering at the satin smoothness of his skin, so delicate in comparison to the hard bone beneath. He shuddered beneath her touch, muttered something against her skin and drew her down beneath him so that he could lie between her thighs.

  She felt the heat and maleness of him hard against her and reacted instinctively to its intrusion. His mouth on hers silenced her protests, muffling her cries of denial, frustrating her attempts to cry out against what he was doing. With her mind she hated the maleness of him and all that it represented but her body…how it ached and longed for his penetration and possession!

  * * *

  Muzzily, Jenna sat up and switched on her bedside lamp. Her mouth was dry, her whole body gripped in fierce tension. She often had dreams, but never one like this, never one so real that she could actually feel the ache of deprivation deep in the pit of her stomach. She felt acutely sick, shocked by the intensely physical nature of her dream and its undeniable reality. How could her mind so clearly have conjured up the image of that long-dead man? And to dream in such a way of him!

  Acute self-disgust gripped her. Rape in any of its many forms was totally abhorrent to her, and yet she had just dreamed…Or had her mind merely provided her with an acceptable cloak for a desire to which she did not want to admit? Had she dreamed of being forced to endure caresses that she could not admit that she actively desired? Her mind rejected the thought instinctively. Her dream was just a result of becoming so intensely involved with the house. She had been struck by the portrait right from the moment she first saw it. But to imbue a portrait with all the attributes of a living, breathing man! Her stomach twisted into aching knots, her body tense. Forget it, she told herself determinedly. She must just dismiss the whole thing as some sort of mental aberration.

  But as dawn broke and sleep continued to evade her, she found her dream wasn’t quite as easy to dismiss as she had hoped. It was the most erotic and flagrantly sexual experience she could ever remember having, and even now she could not shake the heavy lassitude from her body. When she closed her eyes she could still conjure up the swift surge of excitement her dream lover’s touch had aroused within her; she could still see those sapphire eyes…still feel the warmth of him in her bed. Angry with herself, she pushed aside the bedclothes and swung her feet to the floor. Since she could not sleep she might as well use the time to work. She had enough to do.

  Showering quickly and then dressing she went to her small study, but it was difficult to work. She managed to push the dream out of her mind but she was uneasily conscious of her promise to allow James Allingham to look round the Hall. She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning back in her chair, hoping to ease the tension from her muscles, but instead James Allingham’s arrogant features immediately formed in her mind’s eye. Swiftly she tried to banish it, but the image refused to disappear. Instead, subtly and, frighteningly, it altered imperceptibly, until the face she saw was that of the portrait: the hair still as darkly thick as James Allingham’s but longer and tied back in a queue, the eyes the same, just as vividly blue, the mouth curled in the sardonic expression of amusement she had seen so recently on James Allingham’s mouth.

  ‘No!’ Unaware of having spoken aloud Jenna got up and paced restlessly, trying to get a grip on her shattered self-control.

  Things like this simply did not happen to her. She had never had a dream like the one she experienced last night. She loathed James Allingham and all he represented. She had dreamed about the man in the portrait and not him. It was just a trick of her mind that somehow made them one and the same person.

  After an exhausting ten minutes’ pacing, she felt slightly calmer. As she sat down at her desk again, she had managed to convince herself that she had banished the dream successfully and everything to do with it to the remotest corner of her mind and tha
t never again would it be resurrected. She had no logical explanation for what she had experienced but it was over now and best forgotten.

  She opened her diary briskly and started to go through it. If she was to go to Yorkshire she would have some rearranging to do. On Sunday she was taking Lucy back to school. Monday she had several appointments; the rest of the week was busy, but she could clear one day if she had to by juggling other engagements. It would be interesting to see the papers James Allingham claimed to have, but if he thought he was going to oust her from possession of the old Hall, then he was going to be sadly disappointed. She must just pray that luck was with her and that her business would run smoothly and profitably, she told herself firmly, banishing the small warning voice that reminded her that life had a way of handing out unexpected shocks. It still unnerved her to realise how finely balanced her financial affairs were. If for any reason she should suffer a financial setback and had to sell the Hall, James Allingham would be first in line to take it from her. But she would never allow that to happen, she thought passionately. Never! Never!

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘LUCY, do I have to remind you again that you’re going back to school this afternoon, and you still haven’t packed?’ Jenna said briskly over the breakfast table.

  Lucy had been sullen and withdrawn ever since her return from her friends, and Jenna had barely been able to get a word out of her. When she asked how they had spent their time, Lucy had said bitterly, ‘Why do you want to know? You don’t really care, as long as I’m out of your way. My father wouldn’t treat me like you do…’ and Jenna had had to bite her lip to stop herself from saying waspishly that she was fortunate in not knowing her father, if she did but realise it.

  Lucy was reading the Sunday papers and didn’t even bother to lift her head in response to Jenna’s nagging reminder. Sprawled out on the sitting-room floor, she looked every inch the gawky teenager that she was, but in her thin, colt-like limbs there was a suggestion of the elegance to come. She really was unbearably like Rachel, Jenna thought achingly. Thank God, she could discern no trace of her father in her at all, although she did have James Allingham’s jet-black hair. The thought crept unbidden into her mind, causing her to tense and frown.

  ‘You didn’t tell me you’d been dating James Allingham?’ Lucy’s angry accusation shocked her out of her thoughts.

  ‘I haven’t,’ Jenna denied, her frown deepening.

  ‘Well, that’s not what it says here.’ Lucy waved the paper she was reading in front of her. ‘It says the two of you were at a party together and that you both disappeared for quite a long time!’

  ‘We met by chance at Margery’s,’ Jenna told her, angry at the way the gossip columnist had totally misinterpreted their relationship. ‘That was all.’

  Lucy looked sulky. ‘I like him,’ she complained to Jenna. ‘I bet if he was my father life would be a lot more fun than it is with you.’

  ‘Well, he isn’t,’ Jenna snapped sharply, unaware of the sudden speculation in Lucy’s eyes as she poured herself a second cup of coffee.

  ‘Do go and start your packing, Lucy, I’ll come and help you when I’ve finished my coffee.’

  Surprisingly, this time Lucy obeyed her without argument. Once she had closed the door behind her, Jenna found herself unable to resist picking up the paper the girl had been reading and scanning it. The insinuation that she and James Allingham were lovers was very thinly concealed and she threw the paper down in disgust. The rubbish that these rags printed! And all on the very thinnest information. No doubt she had Margery and her gossip to thank for that piece! Well, it wouldn’t be the first time her name had been linked with some man’s, nor would it be the last, but it goaded her that in this instance the man in question should be James Allingham, until she realised that he was as unlikely to be pleased as she was herself. As sexy as a Barbie doll was how he had scathingly described her…She smiled a little grimly to herself. Let the gossip press print what it wanted. It didn’t really affect her.

  Finishing her coffee she got up and went after Lucy. She desperately wanted to get closer to her, but every time she tried, Lucy put up invincible barricades. Had she really actually thought that James Allingham might be her father? Jenna chewed worriedly on her bottom lip. Was Lucy so desperate to know her father that she was ready to imagine every man she came in contact with might be he?

  When Jenna knocked and then walked into Lucy’s room the younger girl hurriedly put down the address book she had been writing in. Her half-packed cases were still open on the bedroom floor, the clothes that Maureen, their daily, had had cleaned and laundered still in neat piles on the chair.

  ‘Come on, I’ll give you a hand,’ Jenna said briskly, removing the untidy piles of clothes Lucy had heaped in the cases and setting about restoring some sense of order. Earlier in the week she had prepared a list for Lucy, and now she asked her to find it, quickly ticking off everything as it was packed.

  ‘I hate school and I don’t want to go back,’ Lucy announced mutinously when Jenna had finished.

  Although her heart ached with sympathy for her, Jenna felt she had to be firm.

  ‘I didn’t like it myself, darling,’ she admitted, ‘but a good education is so important—as you’ll discover once you leave school, especially these days.’

  ‘Important? Why?’ Lucy demanded bitterly. ‘So that I can be a career woman like you? That isn’t what I want from life. I want to get married, have a family…’

  Trying not to let herself be hurt by Lucy’s obvious contempt for her own achievements, Jenna said patiently, ‘Of course you do, Lucy, but life isn’t a fairy story; there may come a time when for whatever reason you need to earn your own living. Marriage, for one thing, isn’t always for ever, Lucy.’

  ‘But at least I intend to get married,’ Lucy returned acidly. ‘I won’t let my children grow up not knowing who their father is. Wouldn’t he marry you? Didn’t he love you enough?’

  Jenna knew that Lucy was deliberately trying to hurt her, and she fought hard not to give in to the temptation to tell her the truth—or at least some of it. In her own mind Lucy had made Jenna the villain of the piece, imbuing her unknown father with all the virtues he had in reality never possessed.

  ‘Will you be seeing James again?’

  Lucy asked the question as she settled herself next to Jenna in the car.

  Hiding her shock at the question Jenna tried to appear calm. ‘I shouldn’t think so. That item in the paper was just gossip-column stuff, Lucy—I’ve already told you, we only met at the party by the merest chance.’

  ‘I wanted to go and see him when we heard about the accident,’ Lucy blurted out. ‘I like him.’

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ Jenna snapped. ‘Now, will you please stop talking about the man.’

  Lucy lapsed into a sulky silence, and the miles sped past. They stopped for lunch at a small hotel that Jenna had patronised before. The head waiter remembered her, and they were shown to a small private table.

  The conversation between them was stilted, Lucy making only monosyllabic responses to Jenna’s questions.

  ‘I’ll ring you on Wednesday to see how you’re getting on, and if you’ve forgotten anything,’ Jenna suggested when they headed back to the car after lunch. She quickly checked herself to amend, ‘No, not Wednesday, I forgot. That’s the day I think I’ll be going to Yorkshire with James Allingham…It will have to be——’

  ‘You’re going to Yorkshire with James? You said you didn’t like him,’ Lucy accused.

  ‘I don’t. This is a business matter. He has some documents relating to the old Hall. He wants to look over the house again and I’ve agreed. In return he’s going to let me see certain papers and diaries relating to the original decoration of the house.’

  ‘Business!’ Lucy said bitterly, curling her upper lip, but there was a speculative look in her eye that warned Jenna that Lucy did not entirely believe her explanation. Teenage girls were so prone to romantic daydreams—s
he had been herself in the days before Rachel’s death.

  ‘Janet’s mother got married again at Christmas,’ Lucy supplied thoughtfully after a small silence. ‘Janet really likes her step-father, she says he’s great. He’s going to buy her a car for her seventeenth birthday and he’s taking them all to America for their holidays this year…’

  Jenna’s mouth thinned slightly. Was Lucy seriously suggesting that she wanted a step-father? A feeling of guilt attacked her. Was it so strange that she should? After all, Bill and Nancy had both warned her that Lucy needed a man in her life to whom she could relate. It seemed the whole world was determined to get her married off, Jenna reflected grimly, as the miles passed, if not for financial reasons then for emotional ones. Was she being selfish in depriving Lucy of a father-figure? But who was there in her life who could fulfil that role? Most of the men she knew were business acquaintances, mainly ambitious, artistic types, far too vain to want to play father to a teenage girl.

  They arrived at the school in the middle of the afternoon. The car park was already quite busy with parents’ cars.

  As an older girl Lucy shared a very pretty room with a classmate. The school, although strict, did not believe in an austere regime; the food was good and healthy, the girls were encouraged to develop their own individuality, and there were many opportunities to pursue art and sport leisure interests. The school also had an excellent reputation and the headmistress was a woman who was genuinely caring about the girls under her authority, but still Lucy was not happy.

  They said goodbye awkwardly, Lucy turning away as Jenna bent to kiss her. This aversion to being touched by her was something painfully new and hurtful, but Jenna refused to let Lucy see her chagrin.

  She was just heading back to her car when the Headmistress’s secretary caught up with her.

  ‘Ms Stevens, Mrs Goodman would like to have a word with you if you can spare the time.’