by Anne Mather
'No!' Ruth's response was instinctive, and Dominic's mouth compressed.
'No?'
'There's no reason why Aunt Davina need be told. She—I—that's in the past. I don't even want to think about it.'
Dominic could feel his patience wearing thin, and endeavoured to control it. 'At least come down and speak to me,' he persisted flatly. 'I promise I won't embarrass you if your aunt appears. I'll tell her I'm selling tickets for one of my mother's charitable organisations.' He exhaled heavily. 'Don't make me have to come up and fetch you.'
Ruth was shocked. 'You wouldn't dare!'
'You know I would,' he told her politely, and with a helpless gesture, she gave in.
'You'd better come up,' she said tautly. 'The sitting room is on the first floor. If you'll follow me—'
Dominic did so, his eyes irresistibly drawn to the long slender legs, now sleekly encased in sheer silk. Following her. he was aware of the perfume she was wearing, and the faint trace of perspiration she exuded, as if the cool exterior she presented belied an inner conflict.
They crossed a wide landing, passing the figure of the elderly housekeeper, who had apparently been awaiting her mistress's instructions. Ruth bade her leave them, and as she went heavily down the stairs again, the girl led the way into a tastefully furnished drawing room. She stood back to allow him to walk into the centre of the room, evidently intending to leave the double doors open. But Dominic firmly took possession of the handles, and closed the gap deliberately before allowing her to speak.
Ruth stood on the hearth before the fireplace. There was a fire in the grate, whose warming glow highlighted the darkened corners of the moulded ceiling, but she was scarcely aware of it. She was obviously ill at ease, and nervous, and Dominic could not entirely deny his own coiling tension.
'So.' he said, coming towards her, 'you're a young lady of leisure at last. I'm glad. I've thought about you a lot since I got home.'
'Have you?' She sounded sceptical, and his lips tightened.
'Yes.' he insisted, halting a few feet from her and pushing his hands into the pockets of his dark blue velvet jacket. 'Believe it or not, I was worried about you. And I'm sorry to hear that your father is dead. Do you want to talk about it?'
'I don't want to talk about anything with you,' Ruth asserted shortly, holding up her head, and a feeling of exasperation gripped him.
'Why not?' he demanded. 'You used to enjoy talking to me.' He sighed, looking down at the polished toes of his boots. 'About what happened, Ruth—'
'Oh, please.' She half turned away from him then. 'Don't you think this is all a waste of time? What happened, happened. It was all my fault. I—I don't blame you for it.'
'Ruth!' Dominic's lean face darkened with sudden colour. 'Ruth, you've got to let me make amends—'
'How?' She turned to look at him then, and he moved his shoulders helplessly.
'I don't know.' He looked at her. 'Is there anything you need? Somewhere to live, somewhere of your own. Money—'
Ruth coloured now. 'As you can see, I'm quite well provided for. thank you.' she responded coldly. 'Aunt Davina has taken care of everything, and Martin gives me anything I need.'
'Martin?'Dominic's jaw hardened. 'Your cousin.'
'My adopted cousin,' she corrected him firmly. 'I think—I know Aunt Davina hopes that we—'
'You can't be serious!' Dominic overrode her now. his voice harsh and incredulous. 'You haven't known him above a couple of weeks! For God's sake. Ruth, don't be stampeded into a relationship you're neither prepared nor ready for!'
'As a matter of fact. I've known Martin and Aunt Davina for a lot longer then two weeks.' Ruth replied coolly. 'They flew out to the islands a few days after Daddy died. It was they who helped me to—to deal with everything.'
Dominic's eyes narrowed. 'You told me you had no relations.'
'I did believe that.' Ruth bent her head. 'It's what Daddy always told me. It was as much a surprise to me as anyone else.'
'So your father did tell you, before he died?'
'No.' Ruth shook her head now. 'No, as a matter of fact. Aunt Davina told me herself.' She paused. 'When—when Daddy died, the income he had had from Mummy's estate had to be transferred to me. As soon as Aunt Davina learned I was—alone, she made arrangements to fly out at once.'
'I see.'
Dominic couldn't help feeling Davina Pascal's intervention had been slightly out of character. She had known of the girl's existence for years without contacting her. yet as soon as her father was dead she immediately appeared to claim her niece. He frowned. Of course, he could be doing the woman a rank injustice. She must have known Curtis Jason before he left England, and no doubt she also realised he was unlikely to approve of his daughter associating with her mother's relatives. All the same, she could have written to the girl from time to time, if she felt any affection towards her. and not simply allowed her to grow up in ignorance of her rightful heritage.
'So you see everything has turned out perfectly,' Ruth was saying now. her voice still a little jerky, in spite of herself. 'You don't need to concern yourself on my behalf any more.' She paused, her darting glance evading his, and then added reluctantly: 'Your—your arm? It's properly healed now, I suppose. You—er—you don't seem to have any stiffness with it.'
'No.' Dominic moved the arm he had injured freely. 'No, it's as good as new. Thanks to you and your father—and Doctor Francis, of course.'
'Yes.' Ruth pressed her lips together. 'Good.'
'Good,' he echoed dryly, and exhaled rather heavily.
There was a silence after that, a pregnant cessation of sound, during which he could hear the uneven tenor of her breathing. She was trying hard to appear calm and casual, but he sensed the struggle she was having to sustain that composed facade. He wondered what she was really thinking, whether she really found his presence as objectionable as she professed—and why he was asking himself that question. with Barbara waiting impatiently for his arrival at Farleigh Terrace.
The remembrance of his fiancee made him suddenly aware of the time. He was already late for the dinner party, without an adequate excuse, and it was obvious he was wasting his time by remaining here. He had done what he came for. He had assured himself that Ruth was well and happy. He need no longer feel responsible for her. But he did!
'Ruth—' he began helplessly, but this time she interrupted him.
'I think you'd better go,' she declared huskily. 'I—it—it was good of you to come,' she finished politely, and his stomach muscles tightened in a sudden wave of frustration.
'Ruth,' he muttered, pulling his hands out of his pockets and capturing her wrist between his fingers. 'Ruth, my telephone number is in the book. Promise me you'll ring if you need anything, anything at all.'
Ruth endeavoured to release herself from his grasp, but when she couldn't, she didn't struggle. Instead she looked up at him squarely, and said very clearly: 'Wouldn't your fiancee have some objections if I did?'
Dominic's senses stirred. He couldn't help it. She was so proud, so courageous, so utterly desirable in every way. He realised he had forgotten how lucid her eyes could be, how delicate the curve of her cheekbone, how soft and vulnerable her mouth. As he looked at her, all thoughts of Barbara faded from his mind, and he wondered how he had lived for almost eight weeks without her. His searching gaze recognised the moment when she became aware of the intensity of his regard, and his eyes lowered to the thrusting evidence of her arousal. Beneath the fine material of her gown, her hardening nipples were outlined in sensuous detail, and his body throbbed with an answering excitement.
She tried to free herself then, realising how dangerous the moment was, but Dominic would not let her go. Against her will she was impelled towards him, and his mouth sought hers with burning urgency. Her lips were pressed tightly together, forbidding his hungry assault, but anger hardened his resolve. She was not as indifferent as she would have him believe, he told himself fiercely, yet still she resisted his
demands.
At last he drew back his head to look into her face, and saw her features contorted with indignation, her eyes brilliant with unshed tears. But she was determined he should not have that satisfaction, and he felt a sense of disappointment out of all proportion to the situation. She didn't say anything—or perhaps couldn't, was nearer the truth—but her feelings had never been clearer. What he saw in her eyes chilled his blood, and with a gesture of impatience he released her. raking tormented fingers through his hair to his scalp.
'I think you'd better leave.' she got out at last, putting up a shaking hand to the now uncertain coronet of braids. 'I don't think we have anything more to say to one another. It's all been said.'
Dominic's brows drew together. 'Oh, Ruth.' he muttered, in a driven tone. 'All right. I'll go. But at least tell me you won't forget that I'm here if you need me!'
Ruth bent her head. 'And will you tell your fiancee about what happened between us—as you told Daddy?' she asked suddenly, and his lips parted.
'What?'
Ruth repeated what she had said, adding with difficulty: 'You swore you wouldn't tell him. but you did.'
Dominic was totally confused. 'Tell him? Tell him what?'
'About us. About what happened,' she exclaimed tearfully, her emotions getting the better of her in spite of herself. 'If—if you hadn't told him. he might still be alive. Doctor Francis said—'
'Wait a minute.' Dominic could feel the adrenalin flowing inside him. 'What is it I'm supposed to have told your father? That I made love to you? That I took you down to the beach and seduced you?' His lips twisted. 'I didn't. You know I didn't. My god, what kind of a bastard do you think I am?'
Ruth gazed up at him. 'You—didn't? But you must have. How—how else did he find out?'
'I don't know.' Dominic ran a restless hand inside his jacket, over the ruffled silk of his shirt front. Then he shook his head. 'Did you really believe I would do a thing like that? My God, what would have been the point?'
Ruth turned away in confusion. 'I—I don't know. What am I supposed to think? He knew. Somehow, he knew. No one else could have told him.'
'How about Celeste?' suggested Dominic shortly. 'She didn't exactly treat you with kid gloves, did she? Maybe she wanted to stir up trouble. Perhaps she was still aggrieved over the way you'd treated her.'
Ruth shook her head. 'Celeste didn't know—'
'You mean you didn't tell her,' Dominic corrected cynically. 'Oh, Ruth, you're an innocent, but Celeste's not. Do you think she didn't guess what had happened?'
'Was it so obvious?' Ruth's face burned with colour, and Dominic knew an almost overwhelming desire to comfort her. But this time he suppressed the emotions she aroused. He had no right to demand anything more of her. when he had no intention of breaking his engagement. Still, he consoled himself, there was no reason why they should not be friends, and he put out his hand to run the back of his knuckles down her averted cheek.
He felt a moment's irritation when she flinched away from him, but he refused to be deterred. 'You do believe me, don't you?' he asked, determinedly keeping his voice gentle, and she pushed the tips of her fingers across her damp cheeks.
'Does it matter?' she countered, giving a sniff, and his patience wavered.
'Of course it matters.' he said, between his teeth. 'Ruth. I'm sorry—for everything. But isn't it possible for us to—to start again?'
'Start again?' She looked at him blankly. 'What do you mean?'
Dominic sighed. 'We were friends once. I'd like us to be friends again.'
'Oh. no!' A faintly hysterical note had entered her voice now. 'Dominic, you can't be serious!'
'Why not?'
'Why not?' Ruth spread her hands. 'Because we can never be friends. You're going to marry—your fiancee, and I—I shall very probably marry Martin.' She took a deep breath. 'End of explanation.'
Dominic's impatience flared. 'I suggested you take a little more time before deciding you want to marry anyone.' he retorted bleakly. 'Whatever you say. you can't be sure that Pascal, or whatever he calls himself, is the right man for you. Give yourself more time. Go out and meet people. Don't tie yourself down again!'
Ruth shook her head. 'I've met lots of people since I left the island.' she asserted. 'Aunt Davina took me to New York before we came to London. I met people there, young and old.' She paused, before adding, deliberately, he thought, 'None of whom I liked as much as Martin.'
Dominic could feel the anger building up inside him. It was ridiculous. He had no reason to care what she did with her life. But nonetheless he was involved.
'I want you to think very carefully, before you agree to anything.' he averred roughly. 'Don't let gratitude to your aunt blind you to the facts of life. You're still an innocent. Ruth, whatever you think. So. keep your independence. Have some fun!'
'As you do.' She suggested, looking up at him through her lashes, and Dominic felt the hairs lifting along the back of his neck. He couldn't help it. She was infuriating—but as he felt the quickening of desire coursing through his blood again, he knew he still wanted her.
With a feeling of impotence he abruptly turned away from her. walking towards the door, eager to put himself beyond temptation. But now she came after him. moving with a lissom grace, in the high- heeled sandals she had learned to wear, and which complemented the slender curve of her ankles. She came up behind him as he reached the doors, and her hand touched his sleeve.
'Dominic. . .'
He halted, aware of her with every nerve of his being, and then forced himself to face her expressionlessly. 'Yes?'
'I do thank you.' she said softly, and his hands clenched at his sides. 'For coming, I mean. And—and for reassuring me about Daddy. I do believe you, if it means anything.'
Dominic could feel the blood pounding in his ears, and he knew he had to get out of there before he did something he would almost certainly regret. With a curt nod, he bowed his head, and then wrenching open the door, he bounded down the stairs, without even looking back.
Behind the wheel of the Porsche his pulses slowed, and the blood receded from his temples. The recollection of Barbara's dinner party, now surely well into its second course, was a sobering thought, and he inserted the keys in the ignition. He badly needed a drink, but that would have to wait. Right now. he had to think of a reason for his late arrival, and somehow he sensed that whatever he said. Barbara was unlikely to forgive him.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Ruth awakened to the noise of the milk float clattering around Wellington Grove. She was still not accustomed to the normal sounds associated with early morning in London, and she invariably awoke long before the rest of the household.
Even her bed was a source of annoyance at times. She was used to a much harder mattress, and the minimum amount of covering; the linen sheets and soft woollen blankets that her aunt's housekeeper had provided seemed weighty and confining, yet without them she shivered in the early morning chill.
The climate in England was still cold to her, although not as unpleasant as her father had led her to believe. It did not rain every day, as she had expected, and Aunt Davina had told her that they seldom had a lot of snow, even in the depths of winter. Just now, it was spring, and the flowers in the Park delighted her, as too did the ducks on the pond, and the dozens of small children, and their mothers, who flocked to feed them. She liked the mellowed old buildings, and the shops, although the press of people who used them frightened her a little, and as she was learning to drive, she was looking forward to being able to drive out of London and see more of the country where she had been born.It was strange how she had lived so many years without knowing of Aunt Davina's existence. Now, it seemed she had always known her, and the affection the older woman had shown her filled her with warmth and gratitude. Gratitude!
Her lips clung together in sudden uncertainty. She wished she had not thought of that particular word, and her skin prickled at the images it evoked. Why had Dominic come to see h
er? Why had he come here, when she had succeeded in convincing herself that she should never see him again? Why had he appeared and destroyed her fragile shell of indifference?
Her breath escaped on a tiny sob, and she turned to bury her face in the pillow. For weeks now, she realised, she had been practising a kind of self- deception . Ever since Aunt Davina had arrived like a fairy godmother, to solve all her problems, she had endeavoured to forget what had happened to her. Her father's sudden death, the awful solemnity of his funeral, her subsequent feelings of raw bereavement—these things had served to keep other thoughts at bay. A kind of numbness had gripped her. and she had welcomed it. If Doctor Francis had suspected anything, he had kept his own counsel. His opinion had been that Professor Jason's death had been a mercy, and there had been nothing left for her father but pain and distress. Ruth had embraced that reassurance, and tried to live with it.
Dominic's reappearance had probed a nerve, alerting her once again to an awareness of her own weaknesses. Although she might regret what had happened between them, she could never forget it, and she was very much afraid that given the same circumstances, it could happen again.
She fumbled for the handkerchief she had taken to bed with her the night before. She had stuffed it under her pillow, before crying herself to sleep, and now she scrubbed its still damp folds across her cheek. Why was she so vulnerable where Dominic was concerned? she asked herself bitterly. Why couldn't she condemn him completely for what he had done? He was unscrupulous. He was quite prepared to conduct an affair with her, and still maintain a facade of respectability with his fiancee, yet when he kissed her as he had kissed her last night she had found it desperately hard to resist him. That she had succeeded was due in no small part to his lack of persistence, and she knew that had he continued his assault on her senses, she would have succumbed.
It was humiliating, and she was overwhelmingly relieved that Aunt Davina had not been there to witness her niece's distress after his departure. That would have been utterly degrading, and she doubted if even Martin would have forgiven her.
