by Penny Jordan
'You see,' he said unsteadily, not releasing her. 'It makes me as vulnerable as it does you. Don't be afraid, Sorrel. Come to London with me,' he begged her, his eyes suddenly dark. 'Let me show you…'
Show her what? How much he would hurt her when he eventually grew tired of her? What a fool she was.
'No,' she told him sharply, pulling out of his arms, and shivering suddenly, her skin cold beneath her clothes.
'What just happened between us doesn't mean a single damn to you, does it?' he demanded harshly, the words bitten off and filled with acid anger. 'You've decided the way your life is going to be, and you're not going to let anything change that. You're going to marry Andrew, no matter what… Well, I wish you joy of him, Sorrel, but I damn well don't think you'll get any.'
And, with that, he put the car in motion with jerky movements so at odds with his normal grace. Apart from giving him terse necessary directions, Sorrel remained silent.
He might want her now; but that didn't mean anything other than that he was a man used to having what he wanted. Wanting wasn't enough for her, anyway. She needed more than that. Oh, he could bemuse and entice her with the desire he could conjure up in her body, but there would come a time when desire wasn't enough, when she would hate him for his physical dominance of her, and herself for allowing it when she knew that desire was all he felt for her.
'You can drop me here,' she told him when they got to the bottom of the drive that led to Andrew's mother's house. She was uncomfortably conscious of the fact that her lipstick was missing and her hair untidy, but she couldn't do anything about it… not with Val watching her with that cold air of contempt.
He ignored her comment and drove towards the house. As bad luck would have it, Jane, Andrew and Andrew's mother were all standing in the drive. Andrew and Jane must have just arrived, Sorrel recognised, and Andrew's mother was kissing Jane enthusiastically, in a way that she had never kissed her.
Val stopped the car, and she reached shakily for the doorhandle. She could see that Andrew was frowning as he looked at them, and that his mother was looking rather grim.
'Sorrel!' she exclaimed, coming forward. 'I suspect this must be your cousin.' Her smile grew even grimmer as Sorrel's eyes betrayed her wary surprise that she knew who Val was. 'I saw your brother in Ludlow the other day. He told me all about your Australian visitor.'
Something in the way she said the words 'all about' made Sorrel's heart drop. What on earth had Simon been saying? He had promised her…
She felt Val's presence behind her and, despite their quarrel, was glad of it, especially when she saw the unhappy, defensive way in which Andrew was avoiding meeting her eyes. Jane looked smug and just a little triumphant, and her feeling of disquiet grew.
'I must say I was rather surprised to hear that the two of you spent three whole days together alone,' Andrew's mother commented critically, ignoring Sorrel's attempt to introduce Val to her. 'Not quite the sort of thing one expects to hear, but I suppose…'
Wondering what on earth she was supposed to say, Sorrel fumed bitterly that Simon couldn't have caused more trouble for her if he had deliberately planned it that way. She felt like someone on trial and already prejudged by both judge and jury, and she was just wondering what on earth she was going to say when she was appalled to hear Val murmuring laconically behind her, 'It's not the days they ought to be worrying about it, is it, Sorrel? It's the three nights we spent sharing the same bed.'
His words had the effect of a spaceman suddenly materialising in front of them. Sorrel wasn't sure who looked the most stunned. An unpleasant flush was beginning to stain Andrew's mother's face, although why she should look so angry, when surely Val had just confirmed for her everything that she had hoped to hear, Sorrel couldn't understand.
Andrew looked frankly dumbfounded, his eyes bulging a little as he stared accusingly at her. Strange that she had never noticed his similarity to a frog before, she thought half hysterically. Certainly a frog that would never turn into a prince, no matter how much she kissed him, while Jane… Well, Jane was giving Andrew sickeningly compassionate looks of sympathy, her eyes self-righteously averted from Sorrel's face.
No doubt she can't bring herself to look at a fallen woman, Sorrel thought savagely.
'We had to, you see,' Val continued chattily, as though completely oblivious to the reactions of his audience. 'There was only the one bed, and only one set of bedding. Not that I minded.' He looked across at Andrew and remarked conversationally, 'But then, I suppose I don't need to tell you what a pleasure it is to sleep with Sorrel in your arms.'
Sorrel could hardly believe it. Andrew goggled, looking even more frog-like, and cast an imploring look at his mother.
'Sorrel and I have never slept together,' he announced, stuttering, but he sounded more like a little boy denying a petty crime than a man making a positive statement, Sorrel noticed.
'I should think not,' his mother agreed. Andrew's mother was a large woman with a tendency towards rather too high colouring. Her flushed face did not go well with the mauve tweed skirt she had chosen to wear, Sorrel reflected unkindly. She knew she ought to be feeling humiliated beyond all bearing, but instead she was having to control an appalling urge to laugh. The whole thing was too much like an incredible farce. There was Andrew, fervently denying any physical relationship between them. There was Jane, all bashful blushes and shocked eyes, like the heroine out of a Victorian novelette, and almost in confirmation of her thoughts Sorrel saw Andrew's mother turn to her son and say commandingly, 'Andrew, I think you'd better take Jane inside. I'm sure she is as shocked as I am at what we've just heard.' She pursed her lips. 'Of course, I can't say I'm surprised. I've always told Andrew that you had a wild streak, Sorrel. I couldn't believe it when your brother told me what had happened.'
Oh, yes, you could, Sorrel thought bitterly. You were only too pleased to believe it. But she kept that thought to herself and said coldly instead, 'Good, because while it's true that Val and I did spend two nights sharing the same bed, I'm as virginal after those two nights as I was before them. More's the pity,' she added grimly, as much to her own shock as everyone else's.
Even Val looked slightly astounded, and no wonder, she reflected, a sudden sickening sensation of having well and truly burned her boats overwhelming her. Caution warned her to back down before she committed any further indiscretions, but another part of her refused to listen.
She turned to Andrew and told him curtly, 'There's no need to worry, Andrew. I'd already decided to tell you that I felt it best that we ended our engagement.' She saw the relief and triumph in his mother's eyes and told her, 'Yes, you're pleased, aren't you? Now he can marry your choice. Well, I hope she's more capable of arousing him than I was, otherwise you'll be whistling for your grandchildren.'
There was a concerted shocked gasp from mother and son. Sorrel was shaking from head to foot, no longer really aware of what she was saying or doing.
She turned to Val and said bitterly, 'Happy now, are you?' And then she started to run down the drive, reaction setting in and tears pouring from her eyes.
Behind her she heard Val call out something, and then the hard pounding of his feet behind her.
He overtook her just as she reached the car, wrenching open the door and bundling her inside. When she tried to get out he stopped her, almost hurting her as he pushed her into her seat and locked the door.
They drove in silence, until Sorrel realised abruptly that he wasn't taking her home.
'Where are we going?' she demanded huskily.
'Where do you think?'
The farm. He was taking her back to Wales! She gave a tiny shiver, almost as though part of her recognised the inevitability of what must happen. She ought to stop him… to say something, but she didn't. She just sat there, numb with reaction.
CHAPTER TEN
« ^
It was a long drive to the cottage. Far too long for Sorrel, sitting at Val's side with nothing else to do but go ove
r and over in her mind that horrible interlude with Andrew and his family.
And what she had hated most about it, she recognised miserably, had not been Andrew's defection, but that Val should witness it. That Val should see the true nature of the man she had been prepared to commit her life to.
Andrew hadn't even had the guts to break off their relationship himself. He had let his mother do it for him.
She shivered, remembering the look of gloating pleasure in Andrew's mother's eyes after Val had made his announcement. If only Andrew had spoken up for her then, if only he had silenced his mother and said that it was something the two of them could discuss in private… or, even more unlikely, if only he had simply taken her hand and said that he trusted her, that he had faith in her.
Val would never have allowed anyone to humiliate the woman he loved as she had just been humiliated, and for no reason at all tears clogged her throat and trickled saltily from her eyes.
They were travelling in a fast stream of traffic with no opportunity for Val to stop. She heard him swear softly under his breath, and a large white handkerchief was thrust in her direction, accompanied by a grim, 'He's not worth it. Hell, he didn't even try to defend you.'
'How could he, after what you'd said?' Sorrel demanded shakily. 'You wanted it to happen. You knew…'
'What? What did I know, Sorrel? That he didn't give a single damn about you? Yes, I knew it, and if you'd any sense you'd have known it too.'
She had known it, of course, but she couldn't tell him that.
'A year from now you'll be thanking me for doing you a favour,' he added curtly.
'A year from now?' her voice was bitter. 'And in the meantime, what am I supposed to do, Val? Ludlow's a small place. How do you think I'm going to feel knowing that people will be gossiping, believing that Andrew broke our engagement because you and I were lovers?'
'There's an easy solution to that,' he told her equably. 'Come back to Perth with me.'
She froze and stared at him. He was concentrating on the traffic, his eyes slightly narrowed. Had she really heard him say that, or was she imagining things?
'It will do you good… broaden your horizons,' he told her. 'You can stay with my parents. My mother will enjoy having someone to fuss over, and Perth's full of men who will be only too glad to help you forget him.'
The fierce shock of delight left her. For a second she had imagined… What? That he was inviting her to go back to Perth with him as his lover? Hardly; he had just made that quite clear. What he was offering was a family visit. An excuse to get away from Ludlow and sample another kind of life. In other circumstances, if she had been capable of merely seeing him as a distant relative, she would have jumped at the suggestion, but loving him as she did…
'We need petrol,' he told her abruptly, pulling into a garage. Sorrel wondered if she ought to get out of the car and make a scene, demanding to be taken home. She had no idea why he was insisting on taking her to the cottage. Perhaps he intended to keep her there until she agreed to go back to Perth with him. She was beginning to think he was capable of doing it. Look at the ruthless way he had destroyed her engagement…
The fact that she had spent three days at the farm alone with him would be all over Ludlow within hours. Andrew's mother would see to that, and the story would no doubt have the kind of insidious embellishment to it that would make it impossible for her to tell anyone the truth. They would all assume that… that she and Val were lovers. Her face flamed as she remembered what she had said about her virginity. What on earth had possessed her?
She watched Val walking back to the car. The wind whipped the dark hair sleekly against his scalp. He moved quickly and easily, like a man used to wide open spaces.
'I've rung your mother and told her what's happened,' he announced briefly as he got into the car and started the engine.
'You've what? Have you also told her you've kidnapped me?' she asked him sardonically.
He gave her an unfathomable look and said quietly, 'You and I have some unfinished business to deal with,' but he wouldn't say any more and soon they were leaving the rest of the traffic behind, climbing up into the hills, whose sides were barren and bare under the lash of the March wind.
The snow had gone, apart from that covering the tops of the distant mountains. Val drove into the yard and parked the car with easy familiarity, going round to her door to open it for her.
She shivered as the wind buffeted her. Her thin lambswool jumper and pleated skirt were not designed for such an exposed environment. Nor were her high-heeled shoes, she acknowledged as she pulled away from Val and tried to hurry across the yard.
The cobblestones trapped her heels and she went over on one ankle, crying out sharply.
'Idiotic things,' Val growled, picking her up and carrying her the rest of the way to the door. 'Why the hell are you wearing them?'
'Because if you remember, I was on my way to lunch with my prospective mother-in-law… my ex-prospective mother-in-law,' she added as he put her down and opened the door.
The cottage felt chilly and she shivered, hugging her arms round her body, trying to ward off the cold.
'I'll light the range,' Val told her, disappearing in the direction of one of the outhouses.
She watched him listlessly. It was as though that terrible scene with Andrew and his mother had robbed her of all energy and will-power. Instead of formulating her own decisions… It was all too much of an effort to make her own decisions; it was much easier to let someone else do it for her.
Val came back and she watched him lighting the fire. He had large, capable hands that dealt efficiently with the firelighters and coal, and then adjusted the range to get the proper draught.
'There, I think it will be OK now.'
'Aren't you going to light the one upstairs?' she asked him uninterestedly, and earned herself a sharp look.
'Do you want me to?'
Something in the soft words evoked a shudder of sensation deep inside her body, but she was too emotionally weary to worry about it.
She gave a tired shrug and went to look out of the window.
'Since when has what I wanted influenced you?' she asked him.
He came up behind her, and in the window she saw him lift his hands as though to take hold of her. She held her breath, not sure whether to be glad or sorry when they fell to his sides.
'You blame me for what happened with Andrew…'
She gave a mirthless laugh. 'Are you trying to say that you didn't deliberately plan the whole thing? You and Simon between you?'
'It was for your own good, Sorrel,' he told her, not making any attempt to deny it.
'My own good?' Hysteria coloured her voice. 'What was? The humiliation of having Andrew's mother virtually tell me I was a… a whore…' She saw him wince. 'Do you realise what you've done?'
She turned away from him, shaking violently, and then said in an impassioned voice, 'For your information, I had already decided to bring my engagement with Andrew to an end.' She saw the fierce light burn in his eyes and stepped back from him, her own eyes shadowing warily.
'So you see, it was all quite unnecessary. I went to see Andrew the other day at the shop. Jane was there. When I saw them together, I realised then that she would make him a far better wife than I ever could.'
She raised her head and frowned as she saw the light die out of his eyes.
He took hold of her and shook her roughly. 'You little fool! Even now you're still putting his needs before your own, aren't you? Aren't you? If you hadn't seen him with her, you'd have gone on with it… sacrificing yourself.'
'Sacrificing myself? I wanted to marry him, remember.'
'Yes, I remember,' he told her grimly. 'And I also remember hearing you tell his mother that you wished that I had taken your virginity during those nights we spent together.'
She opened her mouth to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. Now it was there between them, almost a presence in the room with them. She could feel
it beating at the defences of her mind and body, impelling her onwards, past the safety barriers she had erected around her emotions.
'Was that true, Sorrel?' he asked her softly. 'Do you wish that I'd been your lover?'
All she had to do was to say no. He wouldn't force her. He wasn't that sort of man.
She moistened her lips, but the denial wouldn't come.
'Is that why you brought me here, to make love to me… as a consolation prize for losing Andrew?'
She had pushed him too far, she saw in the split-second darkening of his eyes and the rage that burned in them.
He muttered something bitingly sarcastic under his breath and took hold of her. 'I brought you here because I thought you needed time to… to adjust to what has happened. The thought of making love to you was the last thing on my mind. For pete's sake, just what do you think I am?' He saw the look in her eyes and said with sudden savagery, 'All right then, since you think it of me anyway, I might as well fulfil your worst expectations, mightn't I?'
The bedroom was as they'd left it: the quilt neatly folded, the bed stripped, the hearth empty. Simon had been so anxious to get them safely home that they hadn't bothered packing the bedding into the Land Rover.
'Not exactly the romantic venue it was,' he told her angrily. 'No comfortable darkness to hide the lies we're going to tell one another. No bright fire flames to warm the coldness of lovemaking without love, but for all that, Sorrel, I promise you I'll give you a taste of pleasure that you will never, never forget. Unless, of course, you want me to stop.'
Of course she wanted him to stop. She didn't want him to touch her like this, in anger and guilt, out of some misguided belief that he owed her something for what he had done. And yet, even as one half of her acknowledged these thoughts, another part which was fiercer, more bitter, more tormented by everything that had happened, demanded reparation, urged her on down a path of self-destruction from which there could be no going back.
