Princess

by Alison Fraser

  ‘But I’m sure you did.’ Serena slanted him a look that could have been read as impudence before she went on, ‘Well, I’m sorry if you were offended.’

  Behind the trite apology she was laughing at him, despite her bland expression; the impulse to slap her hard was killed by the memory of that other physical assault in this girl’s defence.

  ‘You didn’t offend me,’ Adam growled, shoving his fists deep into his pockets.

  ‘It doesn’t sound like it,’ she mocked, and this time there was definite evidence that she was enjoying getting the better of him in the defiant sparkle of the eyes lifted to his. ‘Still, if it’s any consolation, and I’m sure it will be, the film made a lot of money, so some people must have found it... edifying.’

  ‘Edifying,’ he mimicked her derision. ‘Do you think I measure the quality of my work by its commercial success?’

  ‘Don’t you?’ she chipped back.

  ‘No. And I don’t need you to tell me it was unadulterated rubbish.’ His brutal honesty held overtones of self-contempt and he felt momentarily exposed to her suddenly non-aggressive interest. His attention moved back to the painting. ‘I still say your portrait is insipid.’

  ‘You’re entitled to your opinion, Mr Carmichael, even if no one asked you to give it.’ Her reply lacked force, but Adam reckoned she was too clever not to know that the portrait did too.

  ‘I haven’t offended you, have I?’ he murmured, shifting their positions.

  ‘No,’ she denied hotly.

  ‘Oh, I am glad.’ There was no ice encasing her now and Adam realised he was goading her into losing her temper. His eyes rested on her face as he asked, ‘Who is he?’

  ‘Who?’ she snapped, deliberately obtuse.

  Adam added, ‘The adolescent Fauntleroy.’

  ‘A friend,’ she offered tersely.

  ‘Well, he can’t be a very close one, judging by your lack of...’

  ‘It so happens, Mr Carmichael, that John and I are close, very close—not that it’s any of your damn business!’ she cut in, now near to shouting at him.

  ‘Language!’ Adam admonished irritatingly. He could see that she was hating him, but it was almost worthwhile because he was succeeding in reaching her. ‘My mother hasn’t the first idea of what makes you tick, does she?’ He nodded at the painting. ‘Does he, I wonder?’

  ‘The game’s over, Mr Carmichael.’ Serena bent to pick up her palette and clattered it down on the table. ‘Say what you have to say, then I can get on with my insipid painting while there’s still enough natural light.’

  ‘Game?’ Despite the banter in which they had both indulged, Adam had taken it very seriously, and his innocence was not totally assumed.

  ‘I’m sure there’s a point to this little charade—or is it just an exercise to see how far you can push me before I crack. If it is,’ she continued when he simply stared incredulously back at her, ‘you’ll need better weapons than I’ve seen today. I’ve already been through one reign of terror.’

  Said without self-pity or drama, but the words seemed torn from her as she stood hating and defying him with her pain.

  ‘My aunt,’ Adam murmured rhetorically, her distress cutting into him like a whip. He had blundered too far and too fast. Softly he tried, ‘What did she do to you, Serena?’

  She realised the change in his tone but took it merely for a tactical ploy, laughing bitterly, ‘You don’t think I’d give you that sort of ammunition, do you?’

  ‘Don’t close me out, Serena!’ he shouted, and startled by his own loudness, said very low, ‘I want to...’

  She cut him short. ‘I repeat—why are you honouring me with your presence?’

  ‘It could be that I want to get to know you better,’ Adam suggested, struggling for an explanation which even he could understand. ‘You are my ward, after all.’ It sounded lame.

  ‘No, it couldn’t,’ she retorted, ‘and as for being your ward, that situation should be rectified in six months’ time when...’

  ‘I want to know why you’re treating me as though I had some infectious disease,’ Adam interrupted, the gentleness fast disappearing from his voice.

  ‘I suppose you have to have it for your work—a vivid imagination, I mean,’ she went on almost as though she hadn’t heard him, ‘but as far as I’m concerned, you don’t even enter my landscape.’

  ‘Completely indifferent, are we?’

  ‘Yes,’ she returned with a boldness that he had to admire because he suspected she knew quite well she was touching a nerve.

  “Well then, you won’t mind a little test, will you?’ he said, stepping forward.

  ‘If you lay a finger on me, I’ll...’ Serena swallowed back the rest of the reckless threat in flushing embarrassment when his hand failed to come near her but instead flipped a cover over John Saxon’s portrait.

  ‘You’ll what—Scream rape? We’ve been through that scene before, remember?’ Adam drawled. ‘I’ve never had to force myself on a woman in my life, but if all that fiery defiance was an invitation to live up to my obviously bad reputation, I wouldn’t like to disappoint you.’

  ‘It bloody well wasn’t!’ she cried aloud as he drew nearer, a smile of pure mockery on his lips. ‘My taste doesn’t run to old broken-down rakes!’

  Adam winced inwardly but made a semblance of recovery with, ‘What a deliciously old-fashioned word! My mother thinks I might hurt you, Princess. I wonder why?’

  There were frustration and speechless fury in the look she shot him before she presented him with her back. Adam moved round the side of the table and leaned casually against the wall, watching as she scrubbed her palette with a cloth dipped in turpentine. Strength and beauty defined her profile.

  ‘Your test, Mr Carmichael?’ she eventually asked in a tone that implied she was indulging a spoilt, irritating child.

  ‘Oh yes,’ he murmured, folding his arms across his chest. ‘If you ask me to, I’ll leave Yorkshire for good.’

  Her head moved fractionally round, but if she was surprised by his offer, she hid it well. ‘And what does that prove?’

  ‘If you’re completely indifferent to my presence,’ Adam returned quietly, ‘you won’t lower yourself, Princess, to ask.’

  It stilled her hands and she gave the matter her full concentration before coming back with a suspicious, rude, ‘There’s a flaw in your little scheme—how do I know you’ll keep your word?’

  ‘I’ve been keeping company with some very dubious people in the last few years,’ Adam replied stiffly, her bad opinion grating on his nerves, ‘but I think you can safely assume my word is still good for something.’

  She didn’t answer straight away, and when she did, her eyes never lifted from the table and her tone was condescending in the extreme. ‘I wouldn’t ask you for anything if my life depended on it!’ ‘

  Inwardly he sighed, feeling as if he had just gained a reprive.

  ‘Such indifference,’ he mocked the anger that lay beneath the cool exterior. No child, this girl, but fire and ice—a thrilling combination that stirred the senses. ‘I wonder what your loving would be like.’

  ‘I guarantee you’ll never find out,’ she rallied back, the gleam in her eyes and the provocative set of her full mouth seeming to issue a challenge.

  ‘I have patience,’ Adam avowed softly.

  For a moment his lazy smile put her out of her stride, but she managed to flash back, ‘You’ll need it—an inexhaustible amount!’

  He caught her arm as she made her first move towards the door.

  ‘One more thing.’ He ignored the contemptuous glance at his hand gripping on to her upper arm, as he continued smoothly, ‘If I really don’t bother you, Princess, perhaps I may see you at dinner tonight. My table manners are impeccable, I promise. I keep my wolfish tendencies at bay, at mealtimes at least.’

  Said lightly and with dry amusement, it almost startled a laugh out of her, but she stifled the sound in her throat and for once the green eyes raisi
ng to his looked less than certain of every move.

  ‘Why don’t you try it?’ Adam spoke his thoughts aloud.

  ‘What?’ she breathed back.

  ‘A suspension of hostilities.’ Unconsciously his hand moved up to her shoulder to mould the fragile bones beneath the cotton smock. And again he said what was in his mind, in the heart that had quickened as his fingers touched the rapid pulse at the base of her soft throat.

  ‘If just once you looked at me without enmity, just once gave me a smile that was real, I could become one of your most loyal, most devoted subjects, Princess.’

  Indeed the hostility left the wide expressive eyes, but no smile was forthcoming as she stammered her disbelief,

  ‘I... I don’t understand you?’

  ‘Don’t you?’ It was suddenly clear enough to Adam. He had fallen in love, for the first time, with the girl backing slowly away from his caressing hand. ‘I won’t hurt you... not knowingly.’

  It wasn’t a taunt, Serena knew that, but suddenly she was scaring herself with her response to this man’s soft undermining tone. She was poising for flight—Why did she hesitate?

  ‘So will I see you at dinner?’ Adam pursued.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said shakily before spinning round and breaking free of his influence.

  Her ponytail swung wildly from side to side as she covered the open ground between the studio and the house. And only when she reached her bedroom and leaned weakly against the door did she regret her impulse to run. Unable to understand his feelings, she felt instead that she had exposed the sham of her indifference by her sudden flight.

  It had all been going so well: in the last month with Adam’s making no attempt to approach her again, she almost ceased believing in him as a threat. Their meetings had been rare; she saw to that. And even those had been manageable, because she kept on the move—always on the move.

  Those first evenings were spent exclusively with John, but that was a mistake, because he had only taken it as a sign of a commitment which she was not ready to make. And the time that followed was filled with cinema dates, extra studying in the college library and those dreadful student parties where she felt so awkward.

  With no hint of unease, Nancy seemed delighted that Serena was getting out more and enjoying herself, and pressed her to use the car as a reward for passing her test after Christmas. Still, even the growing sense of guilt for her deception was preferable to how she might feel if she subjected herself to more of Adam Carmichael’s strange company.

  She had only to hang on, keep avoiding him, until he returned to America.

  As he showered before dinner, Adam whistled tunefully under his breath, an occasional satisfied smile flitting across his features; she’d be there, if only to glare daggers across the table—he was sure of it. He dressed with care in a black velvet suit and tie, and laughed at his reflection. It would take more than sartorial elegance to impress a princess!

  He took the stairs two at a time and halted for a couple of seconds in the hallway to draw in a deep steadying breath. Entering the lounge for the customary aperitif, he registered his mother’s surprise at his appearance as his sweep of the room ascertained she was alone.

  ‘What’s the occasion?’ she teased as she rose to place a kiss on his freshly-shaven cheek, secretly pleased to see him looking so debonair. He had seemed a little strained since his return, although pleasant company after their slight disagreement in the beginning.

  ‘I’m not sure yet,’ he replied enigmatically.

  ‘Sherry?’

  ‘No, whisky. I’ll get them.’ he whistled as he poured out the drinks.

  ‘Must have been a very successful trip to London,’ Nancy commented on his evident good humour as he handed her the glass and relaxed back on the sofa beside her.

  ‘London?’ he repeated blankly.

  ‘Where you’ve been for the last two days,’ she reminded him frowningly; vagueness was certainly not one of her son’s normal traits.

  ‘Oh, yes. Fine. Great.’ He exaggerated, trying to cover up for the fact that he had dismissed the time he had spent in the city completely.

  ‘You sold your book!’ she cried excitedly, believing she had accounted for his air of near celebration.

  ‘Yes. Yes, I did,’ he confirmed, but his attention had wandered from his London trip and his mother to the elegant gold watch on his wrist.

  ‘You don’t sound too bothered.’

  Adam made no comment on her curious reply. ‘Where’s Serena?’

  Nancy was taken aback by his totally unexpected if apparently casual query. It was the first time her son had challenged Serena’s whereabouts, despite her usual absence from the evening meal. She had almost convinced herself that he had lost any interest in the girl.

  ‘I don’t know,’ she murmured warily,’ I think she’s out with John.’

  ‘She’s in your care,’ Adam’s disappointment made him harshly critical. ‘Surely you should know how and with whom she spends her time?’

  ‘She’s free, white and almost over twenty-one,’ Nancy delivered her smart quip with a lightness she was far from feeling, and was relieved to hear the dinner gong that forced them to abandon the conversation.

  That relief was short-lived, for as they were taking their seats at table, Serena suddenly appeared in the room wearing a white dress of broderie anglaise, waisted and full-length, simultaneously virginal and sexy.

  Nancy Carmichael had never seen the girl look quite so stunningly beautiful, and it was obvious that Adam agreed with her as he stared quite openly at her. It did not take a supernatural power to realise that something had happened between her two children—as Nancy thought of them—and she was unsure, for the first time for whom she was most afraid, as she felt a shiver of apprehension run up her spine.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late,’ Serena made her apologies in a breathless whisper, her glance barely touching Adam.

  ‘Better late than never, Princess,’ Adam muttered quite seriously, as he rose to his feet and came round the table to draw out the chair opposite his for the girl still hovering in the doorway. His smile was not returned as she held herself aloof, although permitting his courtesy of settling her down on the seat.

  The first course served, Adam broke the embarrassing silence that developed. ‘If I may say so, you’re looking very lovely tonight, Princess.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Her stiff acknowledgement of the compliment was directed at the tablecloth.

  It would not have been polite for Adam to ignore Serena’s appearance, and yet something in his voice made Nancy Carmichael angry with her son.

  ‘Don’t call Serena that!’ Nancy’s sharp tone, if anything, heightened the tension, and she was then cross with herself for having said anything at all.

  Adam was all infuriating innocence. ‘What?’

  ‘Princess,’ said Nancy, quite unnecessarily, she was sure.

  ‘Serena doesn’t mind, do you?’ Adam baited, and although she looked directly at him, she did not rise.

  ‘No,’ she affirmed coolly.

  ‘After all, what more appropriate title,’ Adam continued, his eyes encompassing the white bodice of the dress and the very pale skin exposed by its square neckline, ‘unless it was... Snow White?’

  ‘And does that make you one of the Seven Dwarfs?’

  The girl’s calm rejoinder caused an explosion of laughter from her son, but Nancy was far from tempted to a similar outburst. As disturbed as she was by his behaviour, it did not match the shock she felt at Serena’s cool put-down. Never before had she seen that side of the girl’s nature, the underlying toughness suggested by the remark.

  ‘Which one?’ Adam countered, when he regained control.

  ‘I haven’t decided yet,’ Serena flipped back, with a sweet utterly false smile.

  The older woman quickly stepped in, guiding the talk towards less personal lines by asking about his short trip to London. Had he seen any friends? Was the house in Kensington in
need of external repairs? She chattered about how the capital was changing and how much she noticed this redevelopment now she no longer lived there. With a supreme effort she sustained this topic through most of the meal, but she was all too aware that Adam was allowing her to do this. Serena said little, but concentrated on her food, and when she was called to the telephone in between themain and sweet course, she quietly excused herself.

  His mother launched her attack the second they were alone.

  ‘I demand to know what’s going on?’

  ‘What makes you think there is anything going on?’ Adam said, lifting an enquiring eyebrow.

  ‘Drop the act of innocence—it doesn’t impress me. In the rare moments you move your eyes off Serena’s face, she starts watching you.’ Nancy’s mood was not improved by Adam’s smile of satisfaction. ‘What’s happened between you and her?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he dismissed, but his mother added the qualifying ‘yet’ for herself.

  ‘Adam, if you think...’ Her angry words were bitten back on Serena’s return.

  He was glad of the halt to his mother’s cross-questioning, even if it was based on the false assumption that Serena was too delicate for strong words. His interest shifted back to her face, and disregarding Nancy’s disapproval coming from the head of the table, he noticed that her cheeks were flushed. He wondered what had caused the colour that on most women would have detracted rather than intensified her attraction for him. But then she wasn’t most women. She was the woman, and the fact that he hadn’t been waiting for her his whole life had made the discovery that much more difficult to accept.

  The meal over, they returned to the lounge.

  ‘Who was that on the telephone?’ Nancy asked innocently.

  ‘Only John,’ Serena replied hesitantly.

  ‘Is he coming over?’ Nancy asked hopefully, for she liked John Saxon very much.

  ‘No, he just telephoned because he half expected me over for dinner,’ Serena replied in a quiet undertone that was solely for Nancy’s benefit. ‘Must have got our days mixed up.’