by Penny Jordan
When he returned with an ice-bucket and a magnum of champagne, she looked questioningly at Val.
'This won't rival your elderberry wine,' he told her mother wickedly, 'but I think it's appropriate to drink a toast to the Llewellyn family, whichever side of the world it lives on.'
That toast seemed to set the mood for the evening, which was full of reminiscences about various points of mutual family history, with Val telling them far more about the details of his antecedents than he had done before.
It seemed that the Australian Llewellyns were very conscious of their Welsh heritage, and Val admitted that it had always been an ambition of his father's to visit Wales.
'Oh, they must come over!' Sorrel heard her mother exclaiming impulsively. 'During the summer. They could stay with us… I'd love to meet the rest of your family, Val.'
'They aren't as nice as me,' he told her solemnly, and they all laughed, even Sorrel, but the time for laughter was gone when they had finished eating and gone to sit in the drawing-room, where the parquet floor had been cleared for dancing and a small band was playing on the raised dais at one end of the room.
Sorrel watched as her parents got up to dance, and then Simon and Fiona.
'Dance with me?' Val asked her quietly, and, much as she knew she was dreading going into his arms, she also knew that she had no choice.
It was every bit as bad as she had anticipated. He was a good dancer, and every movement of his body invited hers to move with it, surrendering itself to the spell he was weaving over her. She fought to resist, holding her body stiffly resistant, keeping as much distance between them as she could.
'Has anyone ever told you how much this colour suits you?' Val whispered against her hair. She missed a step and half stumbled, allowing him to gather her up against him. The sensation of his hand against the bare flesh of her back made her shiver and then curse as the music changed and the band started playing a slow, evocative number, the lights going down and the couples on the floor swaying together, cloaked in the intimacy of the darkness and the music.
'I've never seen skin like yours before,' Val told her. 'It's like mother-of-pearl.' His fingertip traced a line along her collarbone, and she shuddered, gasping as he bent his head and bit gently at her flesh.
'How easily do you bruise, Sorrel?' he muttered thickly against her throat, while she looked round wildly, praying that none of her family could see them. What he was doing to her was making her weak to her knees. If he hadn't been holding her, she suspected she would have slid to the floor in a melted puddle of flesh and bones.
'I'd love to leave my mark on you for that complacent idiot to see. Do you know that?' he added roughly, silencing the protest she had been about to utter as her body responded shockingly to his touch.
'Has he ever kissed you like this?' he asked her, and as though he knew the answer he bit almost savagely at her skin, making her stifle a soft sound of pain.
It was unfair that he should torment her like this, practically making love to her while they danced, holding her in such a way that he was… She tensed suddenly, her eyes widening as she felt the sudden stirring of his body. This was no artifice, no game, she acknowledged painfully, knowing that her face was flushed and her breath coming too quickly; but the way he was holding her, the hot, predatory look in his eyes, the movements of his body against hers, each one of them making her intimately aware of his arousal, were things she could not ignore.
The music stopped and she started to pull away from him, but he held on to her and said sharply, 'No.'
She gave him a frantic questioning look and he said roughly, 'For heaven's sake, Sorrel, I can't go back and join the rest of your family, without them knowing…'
He didn't need to say more. A scalding wave of colour washed her skin, and he took advantage of her confusion to grip hold of her arm and walk her across the floor towards the door.
'What are you doing?' she asked him angrily. 'We can't just walk out.'
'You're thirsty. You wanted a drink.'
'The waiter could have brought us one.'
Another couple reached the door from the opposite side, and Val pulled her in front of him to make way for them, holding her there against his body so that she could feel the heat. He was still aroused, and that knowledge made her objections die away.
'What's the matter?' he asked her when the other couple had gone. 'Have you never experienced the same kind of embarrassing incidents with Andrew? But of course you haven't,' he taunted her. 'Andrew is far too much a gentleman to ever dream of forgetting himself in such a way. Isn't that what you're going to tell me? Well, I'll tell you something, Sorrel. When you're lying in bed with that husband of yours, you're going to remember tonight and you're going to wish like hell for…'
'Stop it,' she begged him in a choking voice. 'I won't listen to any more.' And she would have pulled away from him and left him there if he hadn't constrained her.
'Come on, you two. Dad's ordered another magnum. He wants to drink your health, Val,' Simon announced, suddenly materialising at their side, his smile fading as he saw their faces. 'What's wrong?' he asked.
'Nothing,' Val assured him, adding quietly, 'Look, just give us a couple of minutes, will you? And then we'll rejoin you.' He saw that Simon was looking uncertainly towards their table, and told him frankly, 'Your sister has the knack of reminding me that I'm only human.'
And Sorrel flushed as she saw the enlightenment dawn in Simon's eyes, followed by distinct amusement.
'Ah, yes,' he agreed, ignoring the furious looks Sorrel was sending him. 'I know exactly what you mean.'
And he sauntered off, leaving Sorrel to round angrily on Val and demand breathlessly, 'How could you do that? How could you…'
'I didn't have much option,' Val told her drily. 'He looked as though he was about to drag us back to the table by force. Now that would have been embarrassing, don't you agree?'
'But now he'll know… he'll think…'
'That I find you physically desirable?' Val asked her, looking at her. 'What makes you think he doesn't already?'
And that comment did take her breath away. What was Val saying? That he found her physically attractive, that he desired her, and that moreover Simon knew it? She looked up at Val, but his face was shuttered, his eyes coolly remote, as though he was regretting what he had said.
She wondered if he was afraid that she might read more into his admission than there was. That she might be foolish enough to imagine that, because he wanted her on a physical level, he must love her as well.
With a little pang, she wondered if she ought to put his mind at rest and assure him that he was quite safe, that she wasn't quite that much of an idiot, even if she had been silly enough to fall in love with him.
CHAPTER NINE
« ^ »
'Well, it's today you're having lunch with Andrew's mother, isn't it?' Simon commented at breakfast on Sunday. 'I don't envy you.'
'So you've already said, 'Sorrel reminded him tartly.
She had been prickly and on edge ever since the night of the dinner dance, alternately praying that Val would announce that he was going to leave and hoping that he would stay. She was on an emotional seesaw that left her illuminatingly aware of how very right she had been to fear the strength of her own feelings.
Now her mother was trying to persuade Val to stay on until Uncle Giles returned from Cardiff, and that was not until the middle of next week.
A phone call had been made to Australia with Val's connivance, and all of them, including Sorrel herself, had been persuaded to speak to their Australian relatives, who apparently were in the habit of gathering together on Saturday afternoons. Her mother had suggested that Val might want to have the privacy of speaking to his family alone, but he had vetoed this idea, had almost seemed apprehensive of it, Sorrel recognised.
His sisters, far from seeming as formidable as she had feared, had talked eagerly of them all getting together, and now it seemed a fair probabilit
y that some form of gathering would be organised.
Even her father had become suddenly garrulous under the influence of the excitement, and now, abruptly, out of the blue he commented, 'I knew there was something I meant to ask you, Val…' All of them waited expectantly.
'Do you remember, Amy?' he asked. 'It's mentioned in one of the diaries. I forget which one now, but there was definitely something about a relative coming back from Australia.'
'Yes, of course! Heavens, how could I have forgotten that?' Sorrel's mother chimed in. 'I remember at the time thinking how romantic it all was. You must have read it, Sorrel,' she began, turning to where Sorrel was sitting. Then she checked and said thoughtfully, 'But maybe not. Don't you remember, Dan, that diary was the one that your father spilled tea on? Sorrel would only have been about seven or so at the time.'
'Lord, yes. Ma was furious, wasn't she?'
'Would one of you mind translating, for the benefit of those of us who are completely fogbound?' Simon interrupted them humorously.
Sorrel's mother laughed, turning to Val to say, 'One of the diaries made mention of a young Australian coming to the farm. There were vague hints of him having been something of a black sheep, but Marsha, the girl who wrote the diary, wrote that he had come back home to claim her sister as his bride. Apparently there'd been a secret understanding between them, despite the fact that he was actually transported. She'd waited for him. And he took her back to Australia with him in the teeth of her parents' opposition, and Marsha's father told her that if she went he would disown her…' She broke off and looked at Val. 'Good heavens, do you suppose that's why there's never been any communication between the two families?'
'It sounds like it,' Val confirmed. 'We have the other side of the story, though. How my ancestor was transported for stealing a loaf of bread to feed his starving brothers and sisters, and how he was lucky enough to be bonded to a reasonable master. After he'd served his seven years' indenture, he was set free. According to our family diaries, he won enough money gambling to sail back to Wales, but once he got there he realised that he could never settle, and that somehow or other his home had become too small and narrow for him. Very circumspect, our ancestors. There was no mention of disapproval in our diaries, just the blissful ravings of a new wife, who came to love Australia as much as her husband did. That and the start of a tradition that…'
He broke off suddenly, looking rather bleak, while Amy Llewellyn, not noticing, said eagerly, 'Oh, don't stop there, Val. What tradition?'
'Oh, it's nothing really, and it doesn't mean a thing. It's just that, by chance really, the eldest sons of our families have always married girls from home.'
'Home?' Sorrel queried sharply. 'You mean… here… Britain? But you said your mother was Russian.'
'She is, but my father met her over here while he was at university. She's English by birth, even though she has Russian antecedents. White Russian,' he explained. 'Her grandparents were émigrés, having fled from the Russian revolution. I believe there was a whole community of Russians living in London at one time.'
'Yes. That's true,' Sorrel's mother agreed. 'Heavens, how interesting and how romantic. Well, Val,' she looked expectantly at him, 'do you think you will continue the tradition and take an English bride home with you?'
'Not this trip,' he said curtly.
Sorrel got up from the table, a feeling of shocked misery making her insides ache. Ever since Friday night Val had been distant with her, no longer teasing her, tending to spend most of his time with Simon and her father. She tried to pretend that she didn't mind, that it was for the best, but she missed the warm intimacy she had shared with him, and her loneliness was just a foretaste of what she would actually experience once he was really gone, she knew.
She prepared for her lunch date with Andrew's mother without any real enthusiasm. Simon and Fiona were going out for the afternoon to see some friends, and she watched enviously from her bedroom window as she saw them walking across the yard arm in arm. They had invited Val to go with them, but he had declined. He had become noticeably withdrawn, or so it seemed to Sorrel; a faintly austere look about him that she would never have originally associated with the tormentingly outrageous character he had seemed to be at first. But now she had come to realise that there were hidden and deceptive aspects to Val. She wondered if any woman had ever really known him… or ever would.
She saw Simon and Fiona drive away, and acknowledged that if she didn't leave soon she was going to be late. Just for a moment she contemplated not going, but knew she was being a coward. Squaring her shoulders, she picked up her jacket and went downstairs.
Val was standing in the yard when she walked out, but since he ignored her she went towards her car and got in, slamming the door.
The engine fired, and she slipped the car into gear, and then realised as she tried to drive away that she had a flat tyre.
A flat tyre and no spare, she acknowledged grimly as she stopped the engine and got out. She would have to ask her mother if she could borrow her car. Her tyre must have had a slow puncture, probably caused that day in the car park.
Sighing faintly, she started to hurry back to the house.
'What's wrong?' Val asked her, walking into the yard. 'Changed your mind?'
'No, I have not,' she told him tiredly. 'If you must know, I've got a flat tyre. I'll have to ask Ma if I can use her car.'
'No need. I'll drive you there,' he offered laconically.
She wanted to refuse, but couldn't think of a good enough reason. Time was ticking away and she was already in a mild state of panic, knowing Andrew's mother's obsession with good timekeeping.
'Well, if you're sure you don't mind—' she began doubtfully. Commanding her not to be a fool, Val told her to get in the car while he told her parents where he was going.
He looked surprisingly grim when he rejoined her and started the engine of his hired Ford.
'You're not going to listen to what anyone tells you are you, Sorrel?' he demanded as he drove out of the yard. 'You're going to go ahead and destroy your life by marrying him.'
Sorrel looked away from him. She desperately wanted to admit the truth, but she couldn't. If she did…
'Hell,' she heard him saying thickly, 'I ought to take you and shake you until your spine rattles. How can you be such a fool?'
'For what, preferring Andrew to you?' she challenged him hotly, appalled by her own folly the moment she realised what she had said.
Immediately she froze, wishing herself a thousand miles away, but for once Val didn't seem to realise the opening she had given him because, instead of making the kind of retort she was expecting, he simply looked at her in a way that made her body shiver in nervous awareness of the fact that beneath that controlled exterior there lurked a temper which, if it ever exploded, could rage dangerously out of control.
'Which way?' he asked her curtly, and it was several seconds before she realised he was asking her for directions. She gave them shakily, wishing to heaven she had not accepted his offer of a lift. The atmosphere inside the car was explosive to the point where she wouldn't have been remotely surprised to see it bursting into spontaneous combustion.
They were half-way there when Val who, like her, had maintained the taut silence during the journey, suddenly asked her harshly, 'Would you like me to pick you up, or will he bring you back?'
'He' meant Andrew, of course. Would Andrew drive her home, or would he be too concerned about 'dear Jane' to worry about her? She suspected that she already knew the answer to that one, but her pride wouldn't let her admit it to Val.
'I'll make my own arrangements,' she told him stiffly.
'Really, and what will they be?' he asked her cuttingly. 'A detour to his flat so that you can prove to him that "nothing happened" between us. I may not have taken your virginity, Sorrel, but if I had wanted to…'
Sorrel could hardly believe what she was hearing. Her self-control went up in flames as her temper overcame her good sense
.
'Right, that's it!' she told him stormily. 'I've had enough. You can just stop right here. I'm not going another mile with you. I'm tired of your innuendoes, of you making fun of me. All right, so I am a virgin. So what? I realise it makes me into some kind of freak. Something to be avoided at all costs.'
She didn't get any further. To her shock, Val pulled abruptly off the road and on to the muddy verge. It was only a narrow country lane, and there was no other traffic. She would have a long walk if he took her at her word and threw her out, she recognised wildly—and she would certainly be late for lunch. For some reason, that made her want to laugh, a hysterical high-pitched sound, which she suppressed as soon as it bubbled up in her throat.
'To hell with your damn virginity!' Val was saying, and before she could react he had taken hold of her and pulled her into his arms, his fingers biting into her as she hung dizzily between disbelief and wonderment at the look she saw in his eyes.
'I want you, Sorrel,' he muttered against her mouth. 'I want you and by heaven, if you were mine you wouldn't be untouched… unloved…'
His voice faded, the sound smothered by his mouth as it brushed tormentingly against her own, back and forth, until she was desperate to hold on to him and keep his mouth on hers and hold it there.
She couldn't help it. She clung to him, her fingers burrowing beneath the tweed jacket he was wearing to the cloth covering the solid muscles of his back.
Beneath his mouth, she made a sound that was half a protest and half an acknowledgement of her need, and then there was no more thought, no more anything other than the feeling that was pouring through her as he answered her unspoken pleas and held her mouth beneath his own. His tongue opened her lips and she trembled wildly. She tensed and he held on to her, his arms tense, a fierce tremor seizing him, and he watched her as she felt it, his eyes half closed, an odd smile curling his mouth.
