Craving the Forbidden

by India Grey

  She clenched her teeth together to stop them chattering, suddenly realising that she was frozen to the bone. Inside the rousing chorus of ‘Happy Birthday’ was coming to an end. If she went in now she could probably slip past unnoticed and reach the staircase while all eyes were focused on the cake.

  Lifting her chin, she met Kit Fitzroy’s eyes. They were as cold and silvery as the surface of the moonlit sea.

  ‘OK. You win. I’ll go.’ She faked a smile. ‘But do me a favour—spend some time with Jasper when I’m gone, would you? You’ll like him when you get to know him.’

  She didn’t wait for his reply. Turning on her heel, holding herself very upright, she walked back to the door and pulled it open, stepping into the warmth just as the party-goers finished singing and burst into a noisy round of cheering and applause. Sophie paused as her eyes adjusted to the brightness in the hall. At the top of the steps at the far end an elaborate cake made to look like Alnburgh Castle stood on a damask-covered table, the light from the candles glowing in its battlements briefly illuminating Ralph’s face as he leaned forwards to blow them out.

  He seemed to hesitate for a moment, his mouth opening in an O of surprise. And then he was pitching sideways, grasping the tablecloth and pulling it, and the cake, with him as he fell to the floor.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  ‘SOMEBODY do something!’

  Tatiana’s voice, shrill with panic, echoed through the sudden silence. Before Sophie had time to process what had happened Kit was pushing past her, shrugging his jacket off as he ran across the hall towards the figure on the floor. The stunned onlookers parted to let him through, recognising by some mutual instinct that he was the person to deal with this shocking turn of events. As the crowd shifted and fell back Sophie caught a glimpse of Ralph’s face. It was the colour of old parchment.

  Kit dropped to his knees beside his father, undoing his silk bow tie with swift, deft fingers and working loose the button at his throat.

  ‘Does anyone know how to do mouth-to-mouth or CPR?’ he shouted.

  The tense silence was broken only by the shuffling of feet as people looked around hopefully, but no one spoke. Before she could think through the wisdom of what she was doing Sophie found herself moving forwards.

  ‘I do.’

  Kit didn’t speak or look up as she knelt down opposite him. Bunching up his dinner jacket, he put it beneath Ralph’s feet.

  ‘Is he breathing?’ she asked in a low voice.

  ‘No.’

  Tatiana, supported now on each side by male guests, let out a wail of distress.

  ‘Jasper,’ Kit barked icily, ‘take her to the drawing room. You can phone for an ambulance from there. Tell them the roads are bad and they’ll need to send a helicopter. Do it now.’

  Bastard, thought Sophie in anguish, glancing round to where Jasper was standing, his face ashen against his black dinner jacket, his eyes wide and glassy with shock. How dared Kit talk to him like that at a time like this? But his voice seemed to snap Jasper out of his trance of shock and he gathered himself, doing as he was told.

  ‘Breathing or heart?’

  He was talking to her, Sophie realised. ‘Breathing,’ she said quickly, and regretted it almost straight away. At the moment she could barely breathe for herself, never mind for Ralph too, but there was no time for second thoughts.

  Kit had already pulled his father’s shirt open and started chest compressions, his lips moving silently as he counted. Sophie’s hand shook as she tilted Ralph’s head back and held his jaw. His skin had a clammy chill to it that filled her with dread, but also banished any lingering uncertainty.

  OK, so she’d only done this on fellow actors in a TV hospital drama, but she’d been taught the technique by the show’s qualified medical advisor and right now that looked like Ralph’s best hope. She had to do it. And fast.

  Kit’s hands stilled. ‘Ready?’

  For the briefest second their eyes met, and she felt an electrical current crackle through her, giving her strength. She took in a breath and bent her head, placing her mouth over Ralph’s and exhaling slowly.

  The seconds ticked by, measured only by the steady tide of her breath, the rhythmic movement of Kit’s hands. They took it in turns, each acutely aware of the movements of the other. It was like a dance in which she let Kit lead her, watching him for cues, her eyes fixed unwaveringly on his as she waited for his signal. Fifteen rapid compressions. Two long, slow breaths.

  And then wait.

  Sophie lost track of time. She lost track of everything except Kit’s eyes, his strong, tanned hands locked together on Ralph’s grey chest … the stillness of that chest. Sometimes she thought there were signs of life—too tenuous for her to feel relief, too strong for her to give up, so again and again she bent her head and breathed for Ralph, willing the life and heat and adrenaline of her own body into the inert figure on the floor.

  And then at last as she lifted her head she saw Ralph’s chest convulse in a sharp, gasping breath of his own. Her gaze flew to Kit’s face as he looked down at his father, pressing his fingers to Ralph’s neck, waiting to see if a pulse had returned. Except for the small frown of concentration between his brows it was expressionless, but a muscle twitched in his jaw.

  And then Ralph breathed again and Kit looked at her.

  ‘Good girl.’

  The sound of running feet echoed through the hall, breaking the spell. Sophie’s head jerked round and she was surprised to see that the guests had all vanished and the huge room was empty now—except for the helicopter paramedics coming towards them, like orange-suited angels from some sci-fi film.

  Kit got to his feet in one lithe movement and dragged a hand through his hair. For the first time Sophie saw that he was grey with exhaustion beneath his tan.

  ‘He’s been unconscious for about seventeen minutes. He’s breathing again. Pulse is weak but present.’

  A female paramedic carrying a defibrillator kit glanced at him, then did a classic double take. ‘Well done,’ she said in a tone that bordered on awestruck. ‘That makes our job so much easier.’

  ‘Come on, sweetheart. We can take over now.’

  Sophie jumped. One of the other paramedics was kneeling beside her, gently edging her out of the way as he fitted an oxygen mask over Ralph’s face.

  ‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ she muttered, attempting to get to her feet. ‘I was miles away … I mean, I wasn’t thinking …’

  Her dress was too tight and her legs were numb from kneeling, making it difficult to stand. Somehow Kit was beside her, his hand gripping her elbow as she swayed on her high heels.

  ‘OK?’

  She nodded, suddenly unable to speak for the lump of emotion that had lodged in her throat. Relief, perhaps. Delayed shock. Powerful things that made her want to collapse into his arms and sob like a little girl.

  She had no idea why. Even when she was a little girl she couldn’t ever remember sobbing so now was hardly the time to start. And Kit Fitzroy, who not half an hour ago had coldly ordered her to leave his family home, was definitely not the person to start on.

  Raising her chin and swallowing hard, she stepped away from him, just as Jasper appeared.

  ‘Soph—what’s h—?’

  He stopped, his reddened eyes widening in horror as the paramedics strapped his father’s body onto the stretcher. Quickly Sophie went to his side, putting her arms around his trembling body.

  ‘It’s OK,’ she soothed, suddenly poleaxed with exhaustion. ‘He’s alive, he’s breathing and he’s in the very best hands now.’

  Briefly he leaned against her and she smelled the booze on his breath and felt his shoulders shake as he sobbed. ‘Sophie, thank God you were here.’ He pulled away, hastily wiping his eyes. ‘I should go. To the hospital, to be with Mum.’

  Sophie nodded.

  ‘I’m afraid there’s only room for one person in the helicopter,’ the pretty blonde paramedic apologised as they lifted the stretcher. ‘The rest of th
e family will have to follow by car.’

  Momentary panic flashed across Jasper’s face as he made a mental calculation of alcohol units.

  ‘I can’t—’

  ‘I can.’ Kit stepped forwards. ‘Tatiana can go in the helicopter and I’ll take Jasper.’ His eyes met Sophie’s. ‘Are you coming?’

  For a long moment they looked at each other. Blood beat in Sophie’s ears and her heart seemed to swell up, squeezing the air from her lungs. She shook her head.

  ‘No. No, I’ll stay and make sure everything’s OK here.’

  For a few minutes—seventeen apparently, who knew?—they had shared something. A connection. But it was gone again now. She might just have helped to save his father’s life, but that didn’t alter the fact that Kit Fitzroy had made it very clear he wanted her out of Jasper’s. And his. The sooner the better.

  Hours later, standing in the softly lit corridor of the private hospital, Kit rubbed a hand over his stinging eyes.

  He could defuse a landmine and dismantle the most complex and dangerous IED in extreme heat and under enemy fire, but he couldn’t for the life of him work out how to get a cup of instant coffee from the machine in front of him.

  Stabilised by drugs and hooked up to bags of fluid, Ralph was sleeping peacefully now. The hospital staff, hearing that Lord Hawksworth was on his way, had telephoned Ralph’s private physician at home. He had arranged for Ralph to be admitted to the excellently equipped private hospital in Newcastle, which looked like a hotel and had facilities for relatives to stay too. Once she was reassured that her husband wasn’t in any immediate danger Tatiana, claiming exhaustion, had accepted the sleeping pill the nurse offered and retired to the room adjoining Ralph’s. Jasper, who had obviously knocked back enough champagne to float half the British Navy, didn’t need medication to help him sleep and was now snoring softly in the chair beside Ralph’s bed.

  Which just left Kit.

  He was used to being awake when everyone else was asleep. The silence and stillness of the small hours of the morning were tediously familiar to him, but he had found that the only way of coping with insomnia was to accept it. To relax, even if sleep itself was elusive.

  He groaned inwardly. Tonight even that was out of the question.

  Back in Ralph’s room a small light was on over the bed, by which Kit could see his father’s skin had lost its bluish tinge. An image floated in front of his eyes of Sophie, lowering her head, her mouth opening to fill Ralph’s lungs with oxygen, again and again.

  He closed his eyes momentarily. Details he’d been too focused to take in at the time rising to the surface of his mind. The bumps of her spine standing out beneath the pale skin at the base of her neck. Her green gaze fixing on his in a way that shut out the rest of the world. In a way that showed that she trusted him.

  He winced. In view of everything that had taken place between them that evening, that was something of a surprise.

  But then there was quite a lot about Sophie Greenham that surprised him, such as her ability to make a cheap dress look like something from a Bond Street boutique. The way she’d stood up to him. Fought back. The fact that she could give the kiss of life well enough to make a dead man breathe again.

  And another one feel again.

  Rotating his aching shoulders, he paced restlessly over to the window, willing away the throb of arousal that had instantly started up inside him again.

  The incident in the wine cellar seemed like days rather than hours ago, and thinking about it now he felt a wave of self-disgust. He had told himself he was acting in Jasper’s best interests, that somehow he was deliberately seducing his brother’s girlfriend for his benefit.

  Locking his fingers behind his neck, Kit exhaled deeply and made himself confront the unwelcome truth Sophie had flung at him earlier. He had done it to prove himself right, to get some small, petty revenge on his father and score a private victory over the girl who had so unsettled him from the moment he’d first laid eyes on her. He had barely thought of Jasper at all.

  But he forced himself to look at him now. Slumped in the chair, Jasper slept on, his cheek resting on one hand, his closed eyelids red and puffy from crying. He looked very young and absurdly fragile.

  A pickaxe of guilt smashed through Kit’s head.

  Always look out for your weakest man—his army training overruled the natural inclination forged by his family circumstances. Never exploit that weakness, or take risks with it. Even when it had irritated the hell out of you for as long as you could remember.

  Jasper might lack the steel Kit was used to in the men he served with, but that didn’t give Kit the right to kiss his girlfriend, just to show that he could. And to enjoy kissing her, so much that he had spent the evening thinking of nothing else but kissing her again. Right up until the moment he’d ordered her to leave.

  Horrified realisation jolted through him. He swore sharply.

  ‘Are you OK there?’

  Kit spun round.

  A plump, homely-looking nurse had appeared on silent feet and was checking the bag of fluid that was dripping into Ralph’s arm. She glanced at Kit.

  ‘Can I get you anything—coffee perhaps?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ Picking up his car keys, he headed for the door, his need for caffeine paling into insignificance in the light of this new imperative. To get back to Alnburgh and make sure that Sophie Greenham was still there. And that she would stay. For as long as Jasper needed her.

  The red tail lights of the last catering van had disappeared under the archway and the sound of the engines faded into a thick silence that was broken only by the distant hiss of the sea. Shivering with cold and fear, Sophie turned and went back inside, shutting the massive oak door with a creaking sound that came straight from The Crypt and sliding the bolts across with clumsy, frozen fingers.

  She still felt weak with shock and there was a part of her that wished she were in one of those vans, sweeping down the drive to civilisation and a warm bed in a centrally heated home. Going through the hallway beneath the rows of glassy eyes, she hummed the opening lines of ‘My Favourite Things’, but if anything the eerie echo of her voice through the empty rooms made her feel more freaked out than ever. She shut up again.

  Her mind would insist on replaying events from the moment she’d seen Ralph fall, like one of those annoying TV adverts that seemed to be on twice in every break. She found herself hanging on to the memory of Kit’s strength and assurance, his control of the situation. And the way, when her resolve was faltering, he’d wrapped her in his gaze and said ‘good girl’.

  Good girl.

  He’d also said an awful lot of other things to her tonight, she reminded herself with a sniff, so it was completely illogical that those two should have made such an impression. But he was the kind of stern, upright person from whom you couldn’t help but crave approval, that was why it was such a big deal. And that was the biggest irony of all. Because he was also the kind of person who would never in a million years approve of someone like her.

  Miserably she switched the lights out and went into the portrait hall.

  Not just the person he thought she was—Jasper’s two-timing girlfriend—but the real Sophie Greenham, the girl who had been haphazardly brought up on a bus, surrounded by an assortment of hippies and dropouts. The girl who had no qualifications, and who’d blown her chance to get any by being expelled from school. The girl whose family tree didn’t even stretch back as far as her own father, and whose surname came—not from William the Conqueror—but from the peace camp where her mother had discovered feminism, cannabis and self-empowerment.

  In her gilded frame opposite the staircase the superior expression on Tatiana’s painted face said it all.

  Sophie flicked off the light above the portrait and trailed disconsolately into the King’s Hall. The chandeliers still blazed extravagantly, but it was like looking at an empty stage after the play had finished and the actors had gone home. She had to steel herself to look
at the place where Ralph had collapsed, but the caterers had cleaned up so that no evidence remained of the drama that had taken place there only a few hours earlier. She was just switching the lights off when she noticed something lying on the steps. Her pulse quickened a little as she went over to pick it up.

  Kit’s jacket.

  She stood for a second, biting her lip as she held it. It was very cold, and there was absolutely no way she was going to go upstairs along all those dark passageways where the countess’s ghost walked to get a jumper. Quickly she closed her eyes and slid it across her shoulders. Pulling it close around her, she breathed in the scent of him and revelled in the memory of his kiss …

  A kiss that should never have happened, she told herself crossly, opening her eyes. A kiss that in the entire history of disastrous, mistaken, ill-advised kisses would undoubtedly make the top ten. She had to stop this sudden, stupid crush in its tracks; it was doomed from the outset, which of course was why it felt so powerful. Didn’t she always want what she knew would never be hers?

  In the drawing room the fire had burned down to ashes. There was no way she was going to brave the ice-breathed darkness upstairs, so she piled logs on, hoping there was enough heat left for them to catch.

  In the meantime she would keep the jacket on, though …

  It was going to be a long, cold night.

  Perched on its platform of rock above the sea, Alnburgh Castle was visible for ten miles away on the coast road, so by the time Kit pulled into the courtyard he already knew that it was entirely in darkness.

  Lowering his head against the sabre-toothed wind, he let himself in through the kitchen door, remembering how he’d often done the same thing when he came home from boarding school for the holidays and found the place deserted because Ralph and Tatiana were at a party, or had gone away. He’d never been particularly bothered to find the castle empty back then, but now …