by Penny Jordan
She looked at him in surprise.
'How did you know?'
'It wasn't hard,' he told her with a smile. 'I guess you'd have been about eleven or twelve… a girl trembling on the brink of womanhood, sensitive… too sensitive, perhaps.'
He saw too much, was too perceptive. It frightened her in some way.
'Why are you doing it, Sorrel?' he asked her softly. 'Why the hell are you marrying a man you don't love?'
'I do love him,' she retaliated. 'You don't understand. Some people don't need passion or excitement or…'
'Desire,' he murmured, suddenly standing far too close to her. 'That's not true, Sorrel. All of us need all of those things, and if you believe any differently you're short-changing Andrew, and even worse, you're short-changing yourself.'
'You don't understand,' she said shakily. 'I don't want those things. I want my marriage to be safe.'
'Safe?' His eyebrows shot up. 'Ye gods! You tell me you don't want any of the things that a marriage needs for a strong foundation, and then you tell me you want it to be safe. What is it you're so frightened of, Sorrel? Loving someone, losing them—or is it something within yourself you fear?'
He saw the panic in her eyes and knew he had scored a home point.
Without Sorrel being aware of it, he had reached out and circled her wrist within his fingers. Now they stroked softly against the frantic pulse beating in her wrist. Her blood seemed to take to the rhythmic movement, there was an odd roaring in her ears, like the sound of the sea inside a shell.
'What is it that makes you so frightened, Sorrel?' he pressed. 'What?' She was looking at him, but he sensed that she wasn't seeing him. Some kind of inner conflict was holding her in its grip, her eyes were glittering with tension, the pupils almost black.
'Of losing control, of being caught up in something I can't control, of…' She gave a deep shudder and focused on him, going abruptly silent.
'I see.' He was still stroking her wrist, almost absently, or so it seemed, and yet his movements had a calming effect on her racing pulse, whereas before… She didn't want to think about those tiny shivers he had sent racing up her arm, that odd coiling sensation that had made her ache inside.
'When you say you're frightened of losing control, I take it you mean the kind of loss of control that comes when a man and woman make love… really make love?'
Her eyes reflected her shock at his acuteness. He smiled at her and said gently, 'It wasn't so hard to deduce, you know. A woman as beautiful as you, as made for love as you, could only remain virginal by an extreme effort of will. What happened, Sorrel? Did someone hurt you? A man…'
He was way off the right track, and she shook her head swiftly.
'No, nothing like that…'
A tiny dart of cold dread touched his heart, and his fingers stopped soothing and gripped her wrist.
'Sorrel, you aren't by any chance trying to tell me that you… that you prefer…
'No!'
He wasn't sure if he liked the relief that washed over him.
'What is it, then?' he asked her, genuinely puzzled.
Suddenly Sorrel wanted to tell him, although she couldn't really understand why. She didn't like him or trust him, he made fun of her, teased her and taunted her. He was turning her whole world upside-down, and yet she had the extraordinary feeling that she could stand in front of him and lay her soul bare to him without having him judge or mock her.
'It was when I was eleven,' she told him shakily. 'I was staying here with Gran and Gramps. I'd gone out for a walk. It was a hot sunny day at the end of summer…' Her eyes clouded over, and Val sensed that she was not seeing him but looking back into the past.
'There's a special place almost half-way up the hillside. You can't see it until you're virtually on top of it. A sort of gully, with scree and a couple of scrubby trees. There's a pool at the bottom and the sides are covered with heather. I was going to stop there for my sandwiches, only when I got there…' she swallowed hard, 'there was someone there already. A couple, actually. They were making love.' Her throat felt raw, as though a bone was scraping it, her voice revealing her torment. 'I'd never seen people together like that before. Both of them were naked… oblivious… I saw him touch her breasts… kiss them. At first when she cried out I thought he was hurting her. I knew I ought to go away, at any moment they could look up and see me, but it was as though there was only the two of them left on earth. A flying saucer could have landed and they would have been oblivious to it. Especially the woman. It was as though she was formless clay and he was moulding her… fashioning her into something for his own private pleasure.'
Her voice had become strained and tight, her whole body expressing her tension. 'It frightened me. She was so… so vulnerable. I ran away then. I couldn't bear to see any more. The whole thing terrified me, and I felt guilty because I knew I should never have watched, but I couldn't seem to help myself.'
Val, with certain memories of his own of making love out in the open beneath a summer sky, hid his own amusement and concentrated instead on her anguish. He could well understand how frightening it might be to a too sensitive child-woman to witness the full extent of a woman's passion. He could even understand that she might feel threatened by it, because she had viewed it as a child, and not as an adult; had seen the woman's total subjugation of a need which, to her untutored eyes, seemed to be controlled by the man, not realising that he had probably been as much in thrall to desire as she had been.
'And it's because of that that you're marrying Andrew?' he asked her gently. 'Because…'
'I know it's silly, but the thought of ever feeling like that terrifies me.'
He could see that. Her teeth had literally started to chatter with shock, making her body go cold.
'I know that with Andrew it won't be like that. It won't feel like that,' she told him with painful honesty.
He waited for a moment and then asked her quietly, 'Hasn't it occurred to you that to have a sexual relationship without desire can be just as painful… just as hurtful?'
'Thousands of women have done,' she reminded him. 'Women who were married to men chosen by their families.'
'Women who were never allowed to acknowledge their right to their own sexuality,' Val told her grimly. 'Hell, Sorrel… think—think what you're doing to yourself. When you saw that couple making love, you saw them with the eyes of a child. Your own burgeoning awareness of yourself as a woman distorted your reaction to it.'
'No!' Sorrel told him tightly, pulling away from him. 'I don't want to talk about it any more. I don't want to feel like that… I don't want…' She started to shiver and she heard Val curse as he came towards her.
'You know your trouble don't you?' he told her as he almost pushed her down into a chair. 'You've got a darn sight too active an imagination. It isn't just women who lose control in the act of love. Men do as well.'
'Not in the same way,' Sorrel told him through chattering teeth. 'I don't want to talk about it any more, Val. You don't understand.'
'Oh, but I do,' he told her with a grimness that might have made warning signals of danger flash through her brain if she hadn't been so caught up in her fear. 'Tell me something,' he asked her, turning his back on her, 'when you watched them making love, was it just fear that you felt, Sorrel?'
Her whole body tensed, her mind desperately seeking an escape route. How could he know about that shaming surge of sensation that had made her body go hot and light? That aching feeling between her thighs that had made her touch herself in shocked fear?
'Yes,' she lied frantically, 'just fear.'
'Mm. Well, I don't think you really do have anything to fear, then.' He turned round suddenly, looking directly into her eyes, his own cool and unreadable.
For some odd reason, instead of reassuring her, his words hurt her. Was he saying that there was something wrong with her?
'I should stop worrying about it if I were you,' he told her casually. 'And perhaps you're right about mar
rying Andrew.'
'I am,' she told him stonily, suddenly feeling thoroughly out of charity with him and resenting him for somehow or other tricking her into giving him confidences she had never shared with anyone… nor ever imagined herself doing. It made her feel very vulnerable that he should know so much about her, and she trembled a little, bitterly regretting that she had ever confided in him.
'Is there a spade in the outhouse?'
The question startled her.
'Yes. I should think so.'
'Good. I think I'll have a go at clearing the yard. Lucky I stopped to buy a pair of boots once it started to snow.'
Did he realise how much she needed to be on her own to gather together her scattered thoughts and composure? No, surely not? She risked an upward glance into his face. Hard-boned and very male, it made her shiver a little and marvel at the madness that had made her confide in him so unwisely.
'If I'm not back by the time it gets dark, you'd better send out a search party,' he joked.
Sorrel gave him a wan smile. All she wanted to do was get him out of the house. Her teeth ached with the tension inside her. She had never met anyone who caused her to have so many contrary emotional reactions. It seemed impossible that one mere man could cause her such turbulence… Unless… unless her fear of giving herself in the act of sexual intimacy sprang from some deep inner knowledge of a vulnerability so intense that she had deliberately hidden it from herself. Had deliberately only ever allowed herself to date men who could not have the kind of effect on her that made her vulnerable. Men like Andrew, and not men like Val.
She watched him walk outside and cross the yard. The snow lay deep in drifts against the stone wall that marked the boundary between the yard and the land. She picked up one of the diaries and tried to concentrate on it, ignoring the sounds of activity from the yard, but the written words couldn't hold her attention. She told herself it was because she had read them before and had nothing to do with the fact that Val was outside.
She turned to her tapestry, but she couldn't concentrate on that either. Restlessly she toured the kitchen. They were having soup for lunch by mutual consent, conserving their food just in case Simon couldn't get through, and then for dinner there was the steak chilled in the pantry. She went to the window, giving in to the urge that drove her. Val had cleared a surprisingly large piece of the yard. She watched him working. Her eyes followed the controlled movement of his body. He was used to working outside, his muscles supple. He glanced up and saw her, and to cover her embarrassment at being caught watching him, she indicated that she was making him a hot drink.
Caught in her own trap, she filled the kettle and, while she waited for it to boil, on some impulse she didn't want to analyse she pulled on her own Wellingtons and her jacket, before preparing the drink.
It was cold outside, the icy air stinging her skin and hurting her lungs until they grew used to it, but despite the cold there was something invigorating about being outside, something magical in the crisp unbroken whiteness of the landscape, something oddly exhilarating in feeling as if they were the only two people in the world.
She handed Val the mug of chocolate she had made, careful to avoid any physical contact between them, her face suddenly growing hot as she realised that the accidental touching of their hands was hardly likely to be important after she had spent the night virtually naked in his arms.
'Too cold for you?' Val asked her, noting the sudden surge of colour.
'No. I like the snow. There's something special about it.'
'Yes… like it's cold,' Val agreed, turning his back on her. Before she could guess what he intended, a soft snowball hit her gently, splattering against the front of her jacket.
Unrepentant, he stood grinning at her, almost daring her in the way that the twins and Simon did.
'You asked for this,' she warned him. 'I'll have you know that I won the snowballing championship at school three years running.'
'So, show me,' Val taunted her with another grin, ducking just in time to avoid the first missile she hurled at him.
After that the snowballs flew fast and furious, no quarter given and none asked. Sorrel had the experience and a good eye, Val had the advantage of his height and strength, and soon both of them were liberally covered in white blobs. Grimacing as she brushed snow out of her hair, Sorrel started to edge towards the wall. If she could get behind it she would have protection from Val's aim, and somehow would stockpile enough ammunition to wipe that grin off his face and show him just what being a Welsh Llewellyn meant.
She was almost there when he suddenly realised what she was doing, lunging towards her and throwing her to the ground with a rugby tackle that made the breath fly out of her body.
The snow cushioned her and she collapsed into a drift, spluttering with a mixture of laughter and chagrin.
'Get off me. You weigh a ton,' she complained.
Val had followed her down into the drift, and now the weight of his body was keeping her there. A pleasurable weight, it had to be admitted; a too pleasurable weight, the startling reaction of her body suddenly told her, making her struggle and push against his chest.
He seemed oblivious to her urgent desire to break free, sliding his arm companionably round her and looking down into her eyes.
'I've heard tell that making love in the snow is something that has to be experienced to be believed,' he murmured softly.
Instantly her body tensed. He was tormenting her again, and her indignant expression told him that she was fully aware of his tactics.
'You mean to say you haven't done?' she taunted back, still struggling to break free. 'You do surprise me.'
'We could experience it together,' he told her, shocking her into immobility, her eyes focusing on his with disbelief.
'Best way to overcome a trauma is to exorcise it,' he added. His mouth seemed to touch her throat, the contact so brief that she couldn't be sure if she had imagined it.
'Would you like that, Sorrel?' he whispered against her ear, his breath stirring her hair, making her feel far too warm. 'Would you like me to make you burn and melt… to…'
What was he trying to do to her? And after what she had told him… Let that be a warning to her, she thought bitterly, to never, ever trust a man.
'Stop it,' she demanded, pushing angrily against his chest. 'I don't know what kind of game you think you're playing, but—'
'Who says it's a game?' he murmured, and this time she was sure that his lips were caressing the soft skin below her ear. It took all her energy not to shiver in reaction. 'Spending the night with a desirable woman curled up naked in his arms has a certain effect on a man's imagination… not to mention his body,' he told her wryly, 'and if you will keep throwing yourself into my arms…'
Her body sagged in relief. He was teasing her, after all. For one moment she had actually thought he was serious, but it was just another game. Another teasing mockery of her susceptibility.
'As I remember it, you were the one who did the throwing,' she pointed out firmly. 'And as for your imagination… remember, I'm a woman with a very low sex drive. A virgin.'
'I'm prepared to make allowances,' he told her magnanimously.
Sorrel shot him a suspicious look.
'You enjoy doing this, don't you?' she demanded bitterly. 'You just love making fun of me, tormenting me…'
'Put it down to the fact that as a child I was bullied to death by three older sisters,' he told her. 'I have to get my own back.'
'Well, not with me,' Sorrel assured him.
He was laughing down at her, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and she had a sudden sensation of falling free of the earth and hanging in space. It made her blink and go quite pale.
Val saw her change colour and frowned.
'Come on,' he said abruptly, getting up and hauling her to her feet. 'Otherwise we'll freeze. Now that would be a sight come the thaw, wouldn't it?' he mused wickedly. 'The two of us clasped in one another's arms. Frozen togethe
r.'
'It's not a sight I would find at all diverting,' Sorrel assured him.
They were half-way towards the porch door when he suddenly stopped and said thoughtfully, 'That couple you saw. He must have been a brave man.'
She stared uncertainly at him, a certain glint in his eyes warning her that he wasn't through tormenting her.
'A hot day… the sun… It isn't very pleasant having a burned backside.'
Sorrel pulled away from him and hurried into the house. Her face was glowing from more than the cold as she bent to remove her Wellingtons. She was a fool to let him do it to her. It was evident to anyone with the intelligence of a two-year-old how much he enjoyed baiting her. She wanted to crawl away and die, but Val wasn't going to let her. He was standing beside her, watching her gravely.
'That was some instant education you got, wasn't it?' he said quietly. 'I'm sorry if my teasing upset you. I guess I'm just not used to being around women as innocent and…'
'Sexless as me,' Sorrel finished brittlely for him. 'There's no need to apologise. I should have realised I was out of my depth.'
And, with that, she stalked past him and slammed into the kitchen.
Why, oh, why was it that in each of their encounters he managed to come off best?
CHAPTER FIVE
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Throughout the afternoon, Sorrel kept giving surreptitious glances out of the kitchen window, hoping to see signs of a thaw, even while experience told her that, if anything, there was likely to be a further drop in the temperature.
Val appeared to be deeply engrossed in the diaries. After lunch he had insisted on doing the washing up and making them both large mugs of coffee, and now, watching him covertly, Sorrel was struck by the air of complete relaxation and ease which he wore. For a man used to an outdoor life, he seemed able to adapt to being forcibly cooped up inside extremely well.
