Roberta Leigh - It All Depends on Love

by Roberta Leigh

  'Old-fashioned of me to imagine you were,' he drawled, and, before she could think of a suitable answer, he turned on his heel and strode away.

  The instant he was out of sight, she raced back to the attic and stealthily carried the china to the bedroom beneath. Then, locking the door, she raced off to call Angus Boswell.

  Afraid of being overheard, she took a chance and went into the sitting-room, breathing a sigh of relief to find it empty. With trembling fingers she punched out his number, relieved when he answered at the first ring.

  'It's Tessa,' she whispered. 'Sorry it's short notice, but I'd like to show you a few things urgently.'

  'How urgently?' '

  'Now! I can be with you in half an hour.'

  'I'll wait for you.'

  Tiptoeing into the butler's pantry where Withers kept a canvas holdall, she furtively carried the bag upstairs and filled it with a small selection of the Ming china, and the three old masters. Then, making certain the coast was clear, she tiptoed downstairs and out of the house.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  The canvas holdall was heavy, and Tessa was breathing fast when she finally put it into her car and set off for Iverton and Angus Boswell.

  His antique shop was off the high street, and as she parked in front of it—no meters here, thank goodness-he came out to see if she required a helping hand. He was a courtly man in his late sixties, with sparse grey hair and sharp grey eyes.

  Gratefully she gave him the holdall, and he raised an eyebrow at its weight. 'Found a cache of old Roman coins?' he joked.

  'Far more valuable than that—I hope.'

  'You're whetting my curiosity.'

  Tessa followed him into the shop and through to his private office. He set the holdall on his desk and waited for her to unzip it. She did so with shaking hands, as nervous as if she were performing her first operation. Her fingers were all thumbs and the zip stuck halfway, defying all effort to move it until Angus gently pushed her aside and did it himself.

  'They're paintings and china,' she explained, her throat so dry it was difficult to speak. 'I found them in an attic in Lord Finworth's house. I—er—I'm a friend of Patrick Harper, his great-nephew. He was the sole heir.'

  Without another word she lifted out the topmost roll of canvas and handed it to Angus. Carefully he unwound it, then without comment began lifting put the entire contents. Neither by word, gesture nor expression did he give away his thoughts as he painstakingly examined each item.

  The minutes ticked by. Twenty, forty, an hour. Dog-eared books were riffled through, records studied, a long call made to a curator in Paris, and a longer one to another in Munich, and all the time Tessa remained motionless, her heart pounding like a piston.

  After what seemed an eternity, Angus turned to her, voice low, colour high. The paintings are genuine— there's no doubt whatsoever—and come from the Baron Wimburg Collection. They were sold to an unknown private buyer, reputed to be English, more than a hundred years ago. The value of them in today's market is almost impossible to assess. Certainly a king's ransom.'

  Tessa's breath came out on a tremulous sigh. 'I thought so but… I was afraid to believe it. A king's ransom, eh?'

  'Without counting the china! I'm pretty sure all the pieces are Ming, but I won't swear to it. I'm dining with a friend tonight who's an expert in this field, and I'd like to have his opinion on them.'

  'That's fine with me. Will you call as soon as you've any news?'

  Promising he would, Angus escorted her to her car.

  Tessa drove back to Greentrees in a delirium of excitement. Mrs Benson had left for a church meeting, leaving a casserole in the microwave, but Tessa didn't have the patience to sit still and eat. She quickly changed her dusty clothes and paced the floor as she deliberated what to do.

  Was it better to wait until Angus called her, or should she contact Patrick now and let him know him the fabulous news about the paintings?

  She was still undecided when a car screeched to a stop in the drive, and, peering through the window, she was astonished to see the very man she was thinking of. She ran to open the front door and he barged straight in, white around the mouth, eyes glittering.

  'I've caught you this time,' he hissed, gripping her arm and dragging her into the sitting-room.

  'Caught me where?' she gasped, trying to pull free.

  'Don't play the innocent! I saw you sneaking from my house with that hold-all and——-'

  'I wasn't sneaking!' she flared.

  'You damn well were! That's why I followed you.'

  'You followed me?'

  'Right to the antique shop. What the hell did you find in the attic that made you rush off to that man?'

  'I—I——-' She was furious with Patrick for misjudging her again, and tears of rage spilled down her cheeks. Was he too blind to know she cared for his best interests? He really was an ungrateful swine!

  'Quit snivelling, you won't get round me that way,' he rasped, dragging her towards the door.

  'Where are you taking me?'

  'To Iverton. I intend finding out what that man bought from you.'

  'He isn't there,' she cried. 'He'll have gone home by now.'

  'Then we'll look for his address inthe phone book. Dammit, Tessa, I gave you a chance to redeem yourself, and what the hell do you do? Repay me by stealing some of my things!'

  Boiling with indignation, Tessa rounded on him in fury, but her retort was drowned by the ringing of the telephone. Reaching for it, she heard Angus at the other end.

  'An emperor's ransom this time!' he said jubilantly. 'Each piece is perfect, and some are so rare they've never appeared on the market.'

  'That's wonderful news, Angus,' she murmured. 'But I'd like you to tell Mr Harper yourself. He's right beside me.'

  She handed the receiver to Patrick, and, watching him as he listened to Angus, she wondered how he must feel to know that even if he sold only a fraction of the Ming and one of the paintings he would have sufficient money to fulfil all his ambitions.

  'Tessa, what can I say?'

  With a start, she saw he had replaced the receiver and was standing in front of her.

  'What can I say,' he repeated huskily, 'other than to apologise and grovel at your feet?'

  'It isn't necessary to grovel,' she said coldly. 'I just hope this has taught you to give people the benefit of the doubt and not jump to nasty conclusions about them.'

  'Generally I don't.'

  'You always think the worst of me'

  '1 know. And I can't fathom out why.' He shook his head in bewilderment. 'You annoy me so much that I— I guess I lose my temper with you.'

  Her spirits sank and she turned away.

  'I suppose it's because I dislike the idea of your wasting your life,' he added. 'I dislike waste in any form.'

  As she felt the same, her anger lessened. 'You can't regiment the human race, you know.'

  'Agreed. But at the moment we're discussing your potential. I'm convinced you can do much more with your life, Tessa.'

  Spirits rising, she made herself pout. 'You're always saying that. It will serve you right if I take your advice and end up a hard-bitten tycoon!'

  'Heaven forbid,' he groaned. 'I'm simply suggesting you train for a worthwhile job until you meet the right man.'

  Tessa hung on to her temper. 'There you go again, talking like someone out of the ark! If I had a "worthwhile" job, as you call it, I wouldn't want to pack it in when I married. You know something? It would serve you right if you fell madly in love with a highly successful career woman! Oh, boy, what a laugh that would be!'

  'I'd prefer to be a bachelor forever,' he said loftily.

  'Don't tell me you might actually marry one day?'

  'I have every intention of doing so.' He half leaned against the side of the settee, arms folded across his chest, rangy frame relaxed. 'It's pretty pointless building up an empire and having no sons to leave it to.'

  'What will you do if you only have daugh
ters?' she couldn't resist asking. 'It would serve you right if you sired a whole brood of career women!'

  'That's enough to put me off marriage completely.'

  'Good. Then I've done my good deed for the day,' she said with the cheek of the young girl she was supposed to be. 'I'll have saved some poor female from the clutches of a chauvinist.'

  He chuckled. 'You and your sharp tongue! Be careful you don't cut yourself with it.'

  ‘I’ll more likely cut you.'

  'Is that so?' he said, straightening and pulling her in one fell swoop close against his chest. 'Let's see you try.'

  But he gave her no chance, for his lips fastened on hers, making it impossible for her to do anything other than stand there like a statue or respond. But the warmth of his lips, their softness, their gentle pressure, made it inevitable that she return the passion swiftly growing in him, a passion that increased as her mouth parted beneath his and he found her tongue to be not sharp, as he had said, but sweet and soft, its warm moisture beguiling and tantalising him.

  With a muttered imprecation, he drew her down upon the settee, pressing her back until she was lying flat upon the cushions, her slender body open to his gaze as he raised his head to survey her. Her short skirt had ridden high, disclosing a bare thigh and shapely leg, and her T-shirt was tight across her breasts, showing their full curves.

  Aware of his eyes ranging over her body, Tessa trembled, every part of her pulsatingly alive to his burning blue gaze. Her thighs quivered, her stomach tingled, and her breasts became heavy, tumescent, the nipples upstanding.

  As the heat of desire burned between her legs, she was terribly afraid of her vulnerability to this man. Yet in a strange way she was enjoying the experience, for it showed she was capable of feelings—feelings she had occasionally doubted she possessed these past years, when she had concentrated her entire being on making a success of her career.

  But now her sexual awareness of Patrick, her craving for fulfilment, showed her with a clarity she couldn't deny that work was no longer going to be enough for her. She needed a man to love, she needed to receive and to give.

  She needed Patrick.

  With a km moan, she lifted her arms and clasped them around his neck, aware of his tensing at her touch. He tried to pull away but she'd have none of it, half lifting herself towards him, and arching her back as she did. It was a provocative gesture and it worked, for with sudden fierceness he pushed her on to the cushions again, and fell upon her.

  Tessa sank deeper into the softness, loving the weight of Patrick's body on hers, the heat of his mouth as he began kissing her again, deep, hungry kisses of consuming intensity.

  His tongue was a marauder, fierce, urgent, but his searching hands were gentle, caressing her neck, lifting the T-shirt the better to cup her breasts. Impatiently his fingers sought the front fastening of her bra, deftly un-clipping it to let her breasts tumble forward, full and proud. Feeling the bare skin, he quickly pushed aside her T-shirt and began suckling her nipples, trailing his tongue from one to the other, and arousing her to such a fever-pitch of aching longing that all inhibition fled, and her own hands trailed over his muscled chest, the firm line of his back and the taut curve of his buttocks.

  The swell of his arousal rose hard against her thigh, and he groaned and rubbed himself against her to ease its ache.

  Her hands lowered, her fingers splaying out upon the throbbing bulge, masked by the fine black linen of his trousers.

  At her touch he gasped, and, lifting his head from her breasts, trailed a moist path to the rounded indentation on the satin smoothness of her stomach.

  His hands stroked her skin, his fingers gently moving lower. The waistband of her skirt restricted him, and impatiently he took his hand away and reached beneath the short hem, moving upwards over her thighs to the softly curling hair at the apex.

  As his fingers twined into the tangle of hair, she gave a tremulous moan, her lips parting to nibble his ear, so hungry for him that she was conscious of nothing other than appeasement.

  He muttered deep in his throat, his limbs shaking as though with fever, 'Tessa, no, we mustn't.'

  'Please,' she whispered.

  'No!' Wrenching himself away from her, he straightened her T-shirt and smoothed her skirt, then quickly lifted her into a sitting position. 'I must be out of my mind!' he said thickly. 'I don't know what came over me. God, I'm practically old enough to be your father’

  'I'd much rather you were my lover.'

  'Don't even think it.' His expression was grim. 'You're still a kid and I should be shot for taking advantage of you.'

  'How can you take advantage of me when I'm willing? I didn't push you away, did I?'

  'That only makes me feel worse. You're a warm, generous-hearted girl, and——-' He stopped and frowned, his eyes scanning her face. 'Too warm and too generous. If you act like this with every man who touches you, you'll——-'

  'I don't,' she cut in, deciding there and then to be completely truthful with him, regardless of the risk.

  But she could no longer hide behind this teenage image. Or was it more sensible to wait until his undoubted attraction towards her had deepened and grown stronger, as she felt positive it would? Succumbing to temptation, she took the easy way out.

  'I don't act this way with anyone else,' she reiterated.

  'At least that's something,' he sighed.

  'You've even fired me with ambition.'

  'Indeed?'

  'Yes. I'm beginning to think it's silly of me to keep bumming around instead of doing an interesting job.'

  'I'm glad you're getting some sense.' As he went on regarding her, a puzzled frown marked his forehead. 'What have you done to your hair? It's different.'

  'I thought you'd never notice! Do you like it?'

  'Very much.' He smoothed a silky, red-gold wave from her forehead. 'It makes you look a little older.'

  'I'm not a baby,' she insisted. 'Plenty of girls my age are already married.'

  'Married?' As if lanced by a knife, he jumped to his feet and headed for the door. 'I must be going. It's late.'

  'Not as late as all that, Patrick,' she called. 'And I don't have a rope.'

  'A what?' He swung round to look at her.

  'I can't lasso you and tie you to me. All I said was, some girls my age are already married, but I didn't mean I wanted to be.'

  He swallowed visibly. 'I'm glad to hear it.'

  'I'm quite prepared to be your girlfriend, though.'

  Tor God's sake, Tessa,' he burst out, 'don't read so much into a kiss.'

  'Didn't it mean anything to you, then?'

  He went to say no, then thought better of it. 'It meant enough for me to know I won't let it happen again.'

  That's what you think, she told herself, careful to keep her face expressionless.

  'About Mr Anderson's silver bowl,' Patrick said, and Tessa tensed. If he asked her once again to return it, she'd blow her top.

  'Yes?' she queried, face ingenuous.

  'I don't believe you took it. It must have been a burglar.'

  She went weak with relief, and felt a surprisingly silly desire to burst into tears. 'Actually Mr Anderson took it to be mended and forgot to tell his housekeeper,' she stated.

  'When did you find out?'

  'When I came back from London and heard it was missing. I—er—we called him in New Zealand.'

  He strode back to the couch. 'Why the hell didn't you tell me, instead of letting me think the worst of you?'

  'And spoil your fun? You've always given the impression you enjoy thinking the worst of me.’

  He looked ashamed, which was unusual for Patrick, and with a tentative gesture he reached out and ran the tip of one finger down the side of her cheek.

  'I've never known a girl who puts me in the wrong as often as you. You're like a hair shirt to a monk.'

  'You're no monk!' she replied cheekily. 'Anyway, it's good for your soul. Remember that under your cold shower tonight, Mr
Harper.'

  'I doubt if even an icy shower will do the trick!' he said drily.

  Tessa hid her delight at this acknowledgement, pleased he was as vulnerable to her as she was to him.

  'I think that's what I like about you,’ he went on.

  'My sex appeal?'

  'No, your oddball humour.'

  She pulled a face at him. 'One can't be passionate the whole time, and it's important to be able to laugh at the same things.'

  'How worldly-wise you are.'

  Tessa couldn't imagine him and Ingrid sharing a zany joke, but refrained from saying so, knowing men disliked it when women were bitchy about one another. Unfortunately her thoughts were apparent on her face, for Patrick gave her a reproving tap on the head.

  'Ingrid has other qualities, my dear. Anyway, she's no competition for you.'

  'Honestly?' Tessa beamed, ready to throw herself into his arms.

  'Honestly. You're not long out of the schoolroom, and she and I are——-'

  'I know where you both are,' Tessa interrupted and would have given a great deal to know how deeply she herself had got under his skin. A moment ago she had been confident. Now she wasn't, conceding that what had happened between them this evening could have stemmed from nothing more than propinquity, and her deliberately teasing manner towards him.

  'I'm not rejecting you,' he said gently. 'But we don't tread the same path, my dear, and very soon we'll be diverging completely.'

  She was still thinking of a suitable answer when he closed the door behind him.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Tessa was having breakfast the next morning when there was a message from Patrick asking her to collect the china and pictures from Angus Boswell.

  Pausing only for coffee, she drove into Iverton to do so, and, bowling along the country lanes, pondered on last night. How passionate yet tender Patrick had been. It was a good thing he had exercised sufficient control to call a halt, for she might well have surrendered. The knowledge frightened her, for no man had aroused her to such a degree, and it showed how deeply she cared for him.

  At the moment he despised himself for being attracted to a 'kid', but once she started acting mature—as she planned to do from here on—he would realise she had more to offer than the physical, and would stop fighting against his attraction for her.