Marriage on the Agenda

by Lee Wilkinson

  Jonathan’s skill and generosity, his imaginative lovemaking, had triggered a response that had shaken her to the core. For the first time in her life she had experienced all the joy and delight she had only ever dreamt about.

  If it had been Mark she had spent the night with, she would be on top of the world.

  Only it hadn’t been Mark.

  Rather than her own fiancé, it had been a man she had only just met. A man who would no doubt consider her easy and, in the cold light of day, feel nothing but contempt for her.

  Gathering her wits, and desperate to get away before he awoke, Loris turned carefully onto her side. Her back to him, she was about to ease herself towards the edge of the bed when she felt him stir.

  His arm came around her, and with a sleepy murmur of contentment he moved his warm palm to cup her breast.

  Like some terrified animal, she froze into utter stillness, her heart pounding. She could feel the heat from his body, and his light breath stirring her hair.

  After a moment or two his breathing returned to the evenness of sleep, the arm across her grew heavier, and she felt his hand relax its hold.

  Taking a deep breath, she moved cautiously onto her back. Slowly, and with the greatest care, she eased herself from beneath the surprisingly muscular arm and slipped out of bed.

  Though on one level she had known she was bare, the sight of her nakedness in the full-length mirror made her cringe. She averted her eyes.

  The sooner she had put something on and was out of here the better.

  Her last night’s clothes were lying in an abandoned heap, one silk stocking trailing seductively.

  She was reaching for her undies when a movement in the corridor outside brought her heart into her mouth. People were up and stirring, making their way down for breakfast.

  Suppose one of the guests saw her creeping from room to room, still wearing what was obviously a party dress?

  The towelling robe Jonathan had worn the previous night was tossed over a chair. Snatching it up, she pulled it on and fastened the belt. A quick glance at the bed, meant to reassure herself that he was still fast asleep, gave her a fresh shock. His green eyes brilliant, he was lying quietly watching her.

  Gathering up her belongings, she fled without a word. Her timing couldn’t have been worse. Just outside the door she ran slap into her father.

  ‘So you did make it.’ He didn’t sound particularly pleased. ‘I thought you might have changed your mind about coming. Our journey here was bad enough, and conditions were deteriorating fast.’

  If only she had known how things were going to turn out, Loris thought vainly, she could have used the weather as an excuse for not being there…

  Eyeing the tell-tale clothes she was clutching, her father added drily, ‘Mark having a lie-in?’

  She was saved from having to answer by a female voice cooing, ‘Oh, good morning, Sir Peter.’

  A red-haired overdressed woman she had never seen before was heading towards them.

  Always a ladies’ man, her father assumed an expression of charm. ‘Good morning, Mrs Delacost. So sorry we weren’t here to welcome you last night.’

  ‘That’s quite all right, Sir Peter. We didn’t get back from Monte Carlo until quite late, and your wife did explain about the company’s party…’

  As she spoke, the redhead glanced curiously in Loris’s direction.

  Noting that look, Peter said without warmth, ‘This is my daughter, Loris.’

  Seeing her chance, Loris murmured a hasty, ‘Good morning,’ and bolted into her room.

  As the pair moved away she could hear Mrs Delacost gushing, ‘It was so nice of you to invite us to your lovely home…’

  All of a tremble, Loris sank down on the nearest chair and, twisting the magnificent half-hoop of diamonds she wore round and round her finger, gave a groan of despair.

  Her father had been all for the engagement, encouraging it in every way possible, and she sensed that he had been far from displeased to find her leaving Mark’s room. But when he discovered that Mark wasn’t here it would be a very different story. He was likely to be livid, and that was putting it mildly.

  She felt a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach.

  Though he had never so much as raised his hand to her, preferring an icy silence or a cold reprimand when she displeased him, Loris had always shrunk from his anger.

  But she was a twenty-four-year-old woman and independent, she reminded herself, not some schoolgirl. He had no right to tell her what or what not to do. No right to complain about her actions…

  Except that it was his house. The last place she would have chosen to go off the rails and humiliate herself.

  And that was exactly what she had done. It had been a stupid mistake. A one-night stand with no feelings on either side. She had been mentally condemning Mark, but she was no better. The only difference was that Mark’s decision to sleep with someone else had been premeditated. Whereas hers had been anything but.

  So where did that leave her engagement?

  In trouble.

  With the beginnings of a headache, she longed for a cup of coffee but, resisting the temptation to ring for some and linger over it, she went through to the bathroom to shower.

  She would have to show her face and give some kind of explanation sooner or later, so better to get it over with. Though what explanation could she give for spending the night with a virtual stranger? She couldn’t even explain to herself what had made her behave so out of character.

  But perhaps it was better not to try and explain anything. Merely give the bare facts and then relieve them of her company, even if it meant staying at a hotel.

  Having made the decision, she was starting to feel a shade better when it occurred to her that she couldn’t get back to London unless she left with Jonathan Drummond.

  No! That wasn’t an option. She would sooner call a taxi. The thought of driving all that way with the man who had seduced her was insupportable. Not that she hadn’t been a willing victim, honesty forced her to admit. The blame was hers as much as his.

  Belatedly it occurred to her to wonder how he was feeling. His behaviour hadn’t been exactly praiseworthy.

  Possibly, depending on what kind of man he was, he would be embarrassed by what had happened? Maybe he’d be as anxious to leave as she was to have him go? He’d been wide awake when she had left his room, so with a bit of luck he would just dress and slip quietly away.

  When she had dried herself, she made-up lightly to hide an unusual paleness before dressing in fine wool trousers the colour of tobacco, a cream blouse, and an embroidered waistcoat. Then, summoning up every ounce of composure she could muster, she lifted her chin and sallied forth.

  Drawn like a magnet to the door of the room opposite, she stood listening. Not a sound. Did that mean he’d already gone? She fervently hoped so. Shamed and mortified by her own weakness, she dreaded the thought of having to meet him face to face again.

  And there was another consideration. An important one. If he’d gone without anyone seeing him she wouldn’t have to divulge exactly who had slept in Mark’s room. That would save trouble all round. Though she had no reason to try and protect Jonathan Drummond, if Mark and her father were to learn his identity it could cost him dear. They would, she felt sure, pressure Cosby’s into getting rid of him on one pretext or another.

  Needing to know for sure, she opened the door quietly and, holding her breath, peered inside. The room was blessedly empty, and the bathroom door, standing ajar, showed that was too.

  Going over to the window, which overlooked the apron and the smooth green lawns at the front of the house, she peered out.

  The rain had temporarily ceased, though the sky was heavy and overcast, threatening more. The garden looked battered and waterlogged, and shallow pools of water had gathered on the apron.

  All the other sleek cars were still standing where they had been the previous night, but she could see no sign of the white saloon
that Jonathan had been driving.

  He must have gone back to London.

  Sighing her relief, she made her way downstairs to the breakfast-room.

  CHAPTER THREE

  IN THE big, east-facing room all the lights were burning to counteract the dullness of the day. A few of the guests were still eating a late breakfast, while others lingered to converse over coffee, or glance through the Sunday papers.

  There was no sign of her father, for which Loris was truly thankful. Though she recognised that it was cowardly, her impulse was to delay any showdown for as long as possible.

  With a general, ‘Good morning,’ to the assembled company, she made her way to the end of the long table, where she froze in her tracks.

  Sitting buttering toast and talking to her mother as though it was the most natural thing in the world, was Jonathan Drummond.

  Fair hair smoothly brushed and shining under the lights, white teeth gleaming as he smiled in response to something Isobel had said, he looked infuriatingly attractive.

  Glancing up, he saw her, and rose to his feet politely. ‘Good morning.’

  He was dressed in a pair of charcoal trousers, a pale-green shirt and matching tie, and a jacket she recognised as Simon’s.

  To her chagrin, he appeared cool and assured, every inch master of the situation.

  Feeling the hot, embarrassed colour rising in her cheeks, somehow she answered, ‘Good morning.’ Then raggedly, ‘I thought you’d gone.’

  ‘Oh?’ He came around the end of the table and pulled out a chair for her.

  Sinking into it, she said almost accusingly, ‘Your car wasn’t there.’

  ‘As I’d left it right in front of the entrance, I thought I’d better move it.’

  Returning to his seat, and reaching for the marmalade, he added innocently, ‘Your mother suggested that as it was a hired car it might be better in one of the garages.’

  To get it out of sight, no doubt, as it lowered the tone. The words were unspoken, but the sardonic twist to his lips said it all.

  Refilling his coffee cup, Isobel smiled at him, the perfect hostess, making it clear that, though his car might not be up to scratch, she found him very personable.

  To Loris, she said expansively, ‘Jonathan tells me he’s with Cosby’s…’

  Wondering if her mother knew he was just a lowly PA, and deciding that she obviously didn’t, Loris said nothing.

  ‘I thought I remembered him from Ascot or somewhere, but obviously I was wrong…’

  Ignoring the dishes keeping warm on the sideboard, Loris poured herself some coffee and drank it gratefully while her mother pursued, ‘I’ve just been saying how very kind it was of him to bring you all the way to Monkswood on such a night.’

  Realising she was expected to add something, Loris agreed woodenly, ‘Yes, wasn’t it?’

  Isobel turned to Jonathan and, as though to make up for her daughter’s marked lack of sociability, said, ‘I’m so pleased Loris managed to persuade you to stay.’ Then, without much hope, ‘Do you play whist or bridge by any chance?’

  ‘Both. Though not particularly well.’

  ‘At the last minute Colonel Jefferson couldn’t come, so anyone who plays cards at all will be a welcome addition to our little party.’

  ‘Oh, but Mr Drummond can’t possibly stay for the rest of the weekend,’ Loris said with more force than politeness.

  Looking surprised by her daughter’s vehemence, Isobel pointed out, ‘It would make sense. Apparently the Elder has overflowed its banks and quite a few of the local roads are flooded, so the journey back to town could be very difficult.’

  ‘But h-he wasn’t prepared to stay.’ Loris tried to sound practical rather than panic-stricken. ‘I mean, it’s a question of clothes and things…’

  ‘Clothes aren’t a problem. Luckily Jonathan and Simon are much of a size, and Simon has a whole wardrobe of things he hasn’t even worn.’

  With a speaking glance at him, Loris said, ‘But I’m sure Mr Drummond—’

  Face straight, but a wicked gleam in his eyes, he broke in, ‘Oh, surely we know each other well enough for you to call me Jonathan.’

  Biting her lip, she went on, ‘I’m sure Jonathan has to get back. We can’t expect him to—’

  ‘As I’ve already told your mother, I’d be delighted to stay,’ he broke in smoothly.

  Wondering what he was up to, Loris glared at him in helpless fury.

  ‘There! You see, it’s all settled,’ Isobel said a little testily, ‘and has been for the past half-hour. I’m having Simon’s bed made up for Jonathan so that if Mark manages to get here after all he can have his usual room. Though he seemed doubtful at first—’

  ‘You’ve spoken to him?’

  ‘He rang up about twenty minutes ago to apologise for his absence and say he was sorry not to have come down as planned.’

  ‘Does Dad know?’

  Isobel shook her head. ‘Your father went straight out after breakfast. He’s with Reynolds, checking on reported storm damage to some of the cottages on the estate.’

  ‘When you talked to Mark, did he tell you what had happened last night?’ Loris asked cautiously.

  ‘Apparently Alan Gresham’s daughter suddenly felt unwell, and because no taxi was immediately available, he offered to drive her home…’

  Catching Jonathan’s eye, Loris saw a kind of amused contempt there.

  ‘As your father and I had already left, it’s just as well that Mark was on hand to do duty as a host.’

  Judging by Isobel’s insouciance, she hadn’t the faintest idea that Alan Gresham’s daughter and ‘that blonde creature’ were one and the same.

  ‘He said he’d get hold of you and, if conditions allowed, possibly bring you down in time for lunch. He seemed very surprised when I told him you were already here…’

  I bet he did, Loris thought cynically.

  ‘The whole thing, it seems, was a misunderstanding. He couldn’t find you to tell you what was happening, and then when he got back to the hotel you were nowhere to be seen and almost everyone had gone. He thought that, because of the weather, you must have made up your mind to go straight home instead of coming down here.’

  Obviously wondering if they’d had a quarrel, her mother asked, ‘What made you decide to come without him?’

  ‘My flat was occupied.’

  ‘Occupied?’

  ‘I’ve lent it to Judy and Paul for last night and tonight.’

  ‘Even so—’

  ‘They’re on their honeymoon.’

  ‘Oh. Still, it’s worked out quite well. Or rather will have done when Mark gets here.’

  ‘I thought you said he might not be coming?’

  ‘He seemed doubtful at first, but as soon as he knew you were here he said he was definitely going to try to get down.’

  Loris found herself hoping fervently that he wouldn’t succeed. The situation would be quite bad enough when her father discovered what had happened, without Mark’s presence adding to the problems.

  ‘Though I don’t know what his chances are…’

  ‘If he stays on the main road as far as Harefield, and then takes Dewy Lane, which runs along higher ground, he might manage to get through,’ Jonathan said with a cheerful optimism that grated on Loris’s frayed nerves.

  Vexedly, she wondered why he sounded so laid-back, so unconcerned at the prospect of the other man arriving?

  Probably he imagined she would keep quiet about what had happened the previous night. And if things had been different, unwilling to broadcast her shame, she no doubt would have done. But what he didn’t know, so had failed to take into account, was the unfortunate meeting with her father.

  Once Mark and her father had talked, the fat would be in the fire. As well as being furious with her, both men would be out for Jonathan’s blood, and there was bound to be trouble.

  Plainly surprised, Isobel was saying, ‘It sounds as if you know this part of the world well?’


  ‘I do.’

  ‘Then you haven’t always lived in the States?’

  ‘Only for the past few years. I was born and brought up quite near here.’

  ‘Oh!’ She beamed at him. ‘Then possibly you know Sir Hugh Drummond?’

  Loris sighed. Her mother, who was from a relatively modest background and always tried to hide it, was a downright snob.

  Jonathan raised a fair brow. ‘The rich and aristocratic owner of Merriton Hall?’

  Oblivious to the irony, she said, ‘Yes. Is he any relation—your father, perhaps?’

  Watching his hostess’s face, he told her calmly, ‘My father was a poor GP.’

  Looking on, Loris wondered why he’d deliberately added ‘poor’. Had he got a chip on his shoulder about not being well off? Or was he making a point of some kind?

  Hurriedly changing the subject, Isobel said with forced brightness, ‘I’m afraid we’ve made no real plans for today. Outdoor sporting activities seem to be largely ruled out. Mark, who used to play rugby for his school, was intending to fill in as a forward for the local team, but the game’s been cancelled because the pitch is under water. However, we have a squash court and a games room, and there’s a billiard table in the library. There’s also a late-morning service at St Barnabas that I and some of our guests are planning to go to, if you’d care to join us?’

  ‘Thank you. But I thought I might persuade Loris into taking a walk with me.’ Addressing Loris, he went on, ‘It isn’t raining, and it shouldn’t be too bad underfoot if we walk up to and along Stonywood Ridge.’

  She needed a walk, but the last thing she wanted was Jonathan Drummond’s company.

  About to politely refuse, she thought better of it. His continuing presence at Monkswood was only going to invite more trouble, but if she could get him to where they wouldn’t be overheard and warn him he might see sense and decide to leave as soon as possible.

  ‘A walk sounds like a good idea,’ she said with what cordiality she could muster. ‘I could do with a breath of fresh air and some exercise.’

  Looking somewhat surprised by her daughter’s prompt acceptance, Isobel said, ‘In that case I’ll go and get ready for church. See you at lunchtime. With a bit of luck Mark will be here by then.’