Taking over the reins as mistress of Carrington's Post still left Samantha plenty of free time, for Brett's staff had been competently trained by Aunt Emma who, after relinquishing her duties, spent more time catching up on her letter writing and crocheting as the winter chill set in. Brett continued with his frequent trips to the city, staying away a few days each time, and taking with him the vital spark that kept Samantha on her toes. She missed him on those occasions, she could not deny it, but each time he returned from these trips he seemed further removed from her than before.
'Why don't you ask him to take you with him next time?' Louise Oosthuizen suggested one morning when Samantha rode out to have tea with her in the cottage, and that was exactly what she did when she found Brett in his dressing-room shortly after lunch one day. There was a peculiar tightening in her chest when she noticed the open suitcase on his bed.
'Take me with you,' she begged impulsively. 'Why?'
'Well, I ... could do some window-shopping in Port Elizabeth for a change, or—'
'You must think I'm a fool ! ' he rounded on her harshly, his glance stripping her of every vestige of confidence. 'Do you think I don't realise that while my hands will literally be tied with business affairs during the day, it will leave you free to spend your time with Clive Wilmot, when and where you please?'
`That's a vile thing to say ! ' she burst out furiously, despising herself for not having the nerve to admit that her reason for wanting to go with him was to be near him, and not Clive as he thought.
`Perhaps not so vile when you stop to consider,' he continued, towering over her as she gasped and fell back against the wall. `Do you think I haven't noticed that distant look in your eyes when you're anywhere but here with me? You flinch whenever I touch you and, when the conversation becomes too personal, you shy away, like a frightened filly. I dare say if I were Clive you'd soon experience a few warm-blooded emotions.'
`That's not true! I know I asked you to give me time—'
`Time! ' he interrupted with an exclamation of disgust, and she trembled at the flame of anger in his eyes. `We've been married for two months, Samantha, and for two months I've left you alone. I'm going to be away for two weeks on this trip, but before I go I want to leave you with something to think about. When I return, Samantha, you and I are going to have to come to terms with our marriage. You're my wife, and it's high time that you begin to fulfil your wifely duties. Do I make myself clear?'
`Perfectly clear,' she could have said, but not a sound passed her quivering lips. She just stood there, clutching at the wall for support and dying slowly by inches as his glance swept over her with an insolence that set her heart pounding and the blood rushing to her head. She had the weirdest feeling that he was mentally stripping her of every article of clothing, and that there was absolutely nothing he did not know about her.
She shivered uncontrollably and, seeing this, Brett's lips tightened harshly as he turned away to close the lid
of his suitcase. 'I've been very patient with you, Samantha, but I shan't be patient much longer. Forget about Clive. He belongs to someone else, and you belong to me.'
'You make me feel like something you bought at a bazaar,' she managed, her voice edged with bitterness.
He turned to her then and she noticed for the first time the lines of weariness etched between nose and mouth, the grey hair at his temples appearing more prominent as well. An emotion she could not explain caught at her throat while she felt herself drowning in the dark pools of his eyes.
'Given the opportunity, Samantha, I could make you feel like the woman you ought to be instead of the confused child you are.'
Long after he had gone those words still rang in her ears, taunting her, exciting her, and leaving her to wonder. When she had first met Brett she had realised that he had the ability to make any woman feel that she was cherished and important to him. His total lack of interest in women, except the one he was with, added to his magnetic personality. She had seen the way other women looked at him but, if Brett had noticed, he had given no sign of it.
She was not immune to his lovemaking. She could recall vividly two instances when she had found it extremely difficult not to succumb to the demands of her own emotions which he had so cleverly aroused. Would it therefore be so difficult to merely give rein to her feelings and allow Brett to have his way?
Taking such cold-blooded stock of herself was something new to Samantha. It horrified her, yet she knew that the time had come to force herself to take a look at herself dispassionately and to analyse each dissected part of her mind and heart.
Brett had given her two weeks to think about it, and that was exactly what she would have to do. There could be no running away now; no escaping what lay before her. Brett was her husband and she should have realised sooner that he was not the kind of man who would be satisfied with the abnormal life they had been living. He was vibrantly virile and his demands would have to be met ... soon!
There was no one she could turn to for advice at that moment. As far as Aunt Emma was concerned their marriage was quite normal, if grossly undemonstrative, and she would never dream of discussing her personal problems with Louise Oosthuizen. Louise and Ted, a stocky, tawny-haired man whom she saw occasionally when he called on Brett, were ideally happy in their little cottage with their baby son. They were simple, down-to-earth folk, who would most likely be shocked rigid to learn the true facts about Brett and herself. No, this was something she would have to sort out for herself, or heaven help her when Brett finally returned.
Samantha had plenty of time to think during Brett's absence, for she went down with a bad bout of influenza and was forced to spend several days in bed, a luxury she did not welcome at that time, since her thoughts were becoming more confused as time progressed. Aunt Emma must have telephoned Brett to tell him that she was ill, for he telephoned every evening to inquire after her health and continued to call even after the doctor had given her permission to leave her bed. The telephone had been placed beside her bed for these nightly calls, but they never spoke for more than three minutes at a time. Brett's queries were as impersonal as her replies, but after each call she was left weak and tearful, torn between the longing to see him again and the fear of what would eventuate.
'You're not well enough yet to stay up all day,' Aunt Emma remarked with concern when she found Samantha weeping into her pillow one evening.
Samantha dashed away her tears and argued to the contrary, but Aunt Emma was adamant that she could rest for an hour each morning and afternoon until she had completely recovered.
'Aunt Emma,' Samantha began tentatively when she had composed herself enough to speak coherently, 'tell me, what is love?'
Aunt Emma looked at her strangely for a moment be-for she lowered herself on to the bed and took hold of Samantha's hands where they lay listlessly above the covers.
'Loving, my dear, means longing to be with the person you care for, wanting to please him and finding joy in the things you do for him. It also means that you're proud of the one you love; proud of the way he walks and talks. But, above all else, it's the desire to give of yourself; to give of your warmth and understanding when your husband most needs it.' She held Samantha's troubled glance for some time before asking: 'Are you discovering, my dear, that you're beginning to love Brett in that way?'
Samantha drew a shuddering breath. 'I don't know— I think so. Oh, Aunt Emma, I'm so confused!'
'Let me ask you this question. Do you still care for Clive Wilmot?'
'No! ' The vehemence of her swift reply surprised even herself. 'When I think back now I can see so many flaws in his character which I was too blind to see at the time.'
'We all have flaws in our characters,' Aunt Emma reminded her gently.
'Not Brett,' Samantha retorted swiftly, colouring
profusely when she realised what she had said, but nevertheless continuing. 'There's no comparison between Clive and Brett. Brett is strong and dependable. He can be harsh
when necessary, and ... gentle when he chooses. He'll never fail those who need him.'
'And you need him,' Aunt Emma concluded quietly.
Samantha stared at her blankly for a moment until those quietly spoken words penetrated her troubled mind. It was then that a strange new excitement stirred warmly inside her, bringing a light to her eyes which, moments before, had been dull and lifeless.
'Yes, I need him. Oh, Aunt Emma, how could I have been so stupid not to realise what was happening to me? How could I have been so blind?'
A smile kindled in the eyes of the older woman. 'Perhaps you were too busy ruling your life with your mind instead of letting your heart take over.'
The truth in that remark was like a stunning blow. Why had she not thought of it before? She had been so busy arguing away her emotions that she had never given herself a chance to feel anything. She had wanted love to come to her, instead of trying to meet it half way.
Love! Yes, this was love. With Clive she had been in love with love. She had thought romance and Clive had provided it with his suave, easy manner and his passionate innuendoes. Yet, when he had pleaded for a more intimate relationship, she had been repulsed. Now, knowing that she loved Brett, she was no longer filled with horror at the thought of giving herself. She wanted his touch, his close embrace. She wanted to belong to him as a wife should belong to her husband and ... to have his children.
For some time after Aunt Emma had wished her goodnight, Samantha lay marvelling at her own stu-
pidity. It seemed now that she had loved Brett almost from the very beginning. If she had not been so wrapped up in her infatuation for Clive she might have begun to realise what was happening to her. She might have understood why she had so readily allowed Brett to monopolise her life and to dominate her thoughts. The only thing that marred her happy thoughts at that moment was not knowing why Brett had made it his business to come between Clive and herself. Was it all merely to save her from entering into a disastrous marriage, or did he really care? He had told her once that she was the only woman he had ever considered marrying, but he never told her that he loved her.
`Love kindles love,' Aunt Emma had once told her, and it could work both ways. If her love for Brett was strong enough it must surely kindle a spark of love in his heart. No one can remain immune for long when they are showered with love ... not even Brett. Could he?
Brett's return to Carrington's Post was greeted with mixed feelings. The 'dam had sprung a leak in his absence and he had no sooner arrived when he was whisked off by Ted Oosthuizen to inspect the damage. Samantha's joy at seeing him again turned to apprehension when he scarcely acknowledged her existence in the rush to change into something suitable for traipsing through the muddy waters. He arrived late for dinner that evening, upsetting Aunt Emma who liked to have everything on time, and finally retired to his study looking alarmingly morose.
Nothing seemed to be going the way Samantha had planned, and she eventually went up to her room in a rather dejected frame of mind. It was some time after she had bathed and prepared herself for bed that she
heard Brett's slow, almost dragging footsteps pass her door and enter his room. For the first time since she had known him, she sensed that he was tired, and her heart twisted with compassion.
She was restless and tense as she crossed to the window. The air was still and fragrant now that darkness had fallen over the Karoo like a cloak, hiding its arid beauty from her searching glance. The moon had sought refuge behind a cloud and the howl of a jackal in the distance sent an involuntary shiver up her spine.
'You shouldn't be standing in front of an open window on a cold night like this,' Brett's voice startled her as he spoke directly behind her.
With wild-beating heart she inhaled the pleasant odour of his shaving lotion as he brushed against her while closing the window, and she knew, without turning, that his hair would be damp from his shower. She was incapable of moving, every nerve tingling at his nearness, while the desperate longing to feel his arms about her became almost impossible to bear.
'Samantha,' he murmured, his hands sliding over her shoulders, their warmth penetrating through her silk robe and flowing like a current of electricity through her. She began to tremble and he released her instantly. 'Do I repel you that Much?'
'You don't repel me,' she argued tremulously, keeping her back firmly towards him as she suppressed the desire to lean back against him.
'But I don't attract you as a lover.'
A pulse throbbed painfully in her throat. 'I never said that.'
'But that's what you're trying to imply.'
'Brett, you're putting words into my mouth,' she said in despair.
'How else then am I to interpret your actions?' he
demanded harshly, taking her roughly by the shoulders and turning her to face him. 'Answer me!'
Samantha stared up at him, her lips trembling and her eyes a luminous deep violet with suppressed emotions. Her robe had parted as a result of his rough handling and his eyes were aflame as they found the revealing cleft between creamy breasts. There was a fluttering in her throat and a wild upsurge of expectancy as she waited breathlessly, unashamedly willing him to take her in his arms.
'My God, Samantha, I want you,' he cried, and she was crushed against the length of him with a force that almost drove the breath from her body. His mouth sought hers with a demanding pressure that drove her lips apart while her heart leapt in response to every caress. When he finally raised his head his glance was tortured and torn with desire. 'You don't know what it's been like, having you near me and not being able to touch you.'
`Brett ...' she sighed against his lips. She slid her arms about his neck and pressed closer to him, offering her lips.
With an exclamation of triumph he plundered her yielding lips, his impatient hands sliding her robe from her shoulders to lie in a silken heap at her feet. Her breathing came shallow and fast when he finally lifted her high in his arms and carried her into the shadows of the bed. She could no longer think coherently, and neither did she want to. She was aflame with emotions and sensations that sharpened on desire, conscious for the first time of the need to satisfy the demands of her own body.
She felt no fear as Brett took her to the heights of ecstasy, merely a joyous desire to give as much as she was receiving. It was only later, while Brett lay sleep-
ing beside her, that she realised with aching despair that he had not one said that he cared. No tender words of love had passed his lips, merely a driving passion that left no room for anything else.
Samantha stirred beneath the unfamiliar weight of his arm and, even as he slept, his arm tightened and drew her against the warmth of his body. Perhaps, she decided drowsily, it would pay to tread carefully for a time. Until he showed signs of caring, her own love must lay hidden in her heart. The realisation was too wonderfully new to survive Brett's mockery or the knowledge that her love would never be returned.
Samantha awoke the following morning to find that she was alone. Stifling a yawn, she stretched lazily and curled up beneath the covers once more, her thoughts turning instantly to Brett. Where was he? What was he doing? Would she see him before breakfast?
Anxious now to be with him, she bathed and changed into warm slacks and a woollen sweater, taking time with her make-up and brushing her spun-gold hair until it fell in soft waves around her face. Her heart was singing on that cold June morning with the frost lying thick and white on the veld until the sun melted it away.
'Where's Brett?' she asked Aunt Emma when she joined her for breakfast in the dining-room.
'He had breakfast early this morning and went out to supervise the repairs to the dam. If I know Brett, then he won't be back until this evening.'
Aunt Emma was right and Samantha had to swallow her disappointment. Brett did not return home for lunch, but arrived shortly before dinner that evening and went directly upstairs to shower and change. When he eventually came down to the dining-room, he was
his usual cool, aloof self, and Samantha, confused and hurt, had to fight against threatening tears. It was almost as though nothing of importance had happened between them, and they were back to where they were before his departure for the city.
He excused himself eventually, saying, 'I've brought work home that needs attention,' and promptly disappeared into his study.
'Aunt Emma?' Samantha questioned helplessly, her eyes filling with tears she could no longer hold back.
'Men are sometimes thoughtless, child,' Aunt Emma said sympathetically. 'They wrap themselves up in their work and don't give a thought for anyone else. Don't let it upset you. He'll come to you later, and all will be well.'
Aunt Emma was right, for, later that evening, when Samantha lay snuggled up in bed, her mind in too much of a turmoil to sleep, her bedroom door opened and Brett stood silhouetted against the light from the passage. He hesitated when he saw that her light was off and, anticipating his retreat, she sat up swiftly and switched on the bedside lamp.
'Did I wake you?' he asked, closing the door behind him and placing a tray beside the bed. 'I thought you might like some cocoa.'
'I wasn't asleep,' she assured him swiftly as she studied him with a quick ache in her throat.
His shoulders drooped with fatigue as he sat down beside her on the bed, and she instantly quelled the desire to smooth away the lines of tiredness beside his mouth with her fingertips. Would she ever be able to hide the flame of love that now burned so steadily in her heart for this man? she wondered, her pulse rate quickening as she accepted the mug of cocoa from him,
sipping at it while she observed him from beneath lowered lashes.
'Samantha, about last night ' he said eventually,
looking at a spot above her head somewhere.
A tender smile quivered on her lips, but she controlled it instantly as she placed her empty mug on the tray and gave him her undivided attention. 'Yes, Brett?'
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