He had danced attendance on her every day for two weeks. He had been charming, gallant, and amusing, and a gentleman, more or less. He had taken her in his arms and his kisses had been sensual and his passions had been fully inflamed. She knew that he was aware that he had aroused the same desire in her, but ultimately he held himself in check. He had made no untoward proposals or attempted to seduce her, and his constraint had baffled her, despite her profound relief at this display of chivalry.
She shivered, recalling his amorous embraces, and instantly crushed down the memory of him. He had apparently forgotten her immediately. Or perhaps he was stinging from the blow to his pride. For a proud devil he was and his self-esteem had more than likely been seriously damaged. She was positive no other woman had ever run out on him. So much for Major McGill, she thought. He’s dangerous and disturbing. Nevertheless, disappointment flared again and she shook her head, musing on her own inconsistencies, and then brought her eyes back to the papers. Her business needed her undivided attention.
Gladys knocked and came in quietly, looking pink and flustered. ‘You have a visitor, Mrs Harte,’ she said, hovering in front of the desk.
‘I don’t have any appointments this morning.’ Emma frowned. ‘What’s the matter, Gladys? You look very fluttery—’ Emma paused and her heart missed a beat. She guessed what Gladys would say. Only one person in this world could bring that special look to a woman’s eyes.
‘It’s a Major McGill, Mrs Harte. He said you weren’t expecting him but that you would see him anyway.’
Emma nodded, her face inscrutable. ‘Yes, of course I will see him, Gladys.’
He strode in, closed the door firmly behind him, and leaned against it. He was wearing a trench coat over his uniform and his cap was pushed rakishly to one side. He was carrying a picnic basket in one hand but he was no longer using the stick.
Paul gave Emma a hard look. ‘Coward,’ he said.
‘What are you doing in Yorkshire?’ Emma managed unsteadily. Her heart was pounding and her legs had turned to water.
‘I’ve come to have lunch with you.’ He held up his hand and wagged a finger at her. ‘I know, don’t say it. You always eat lunch in the office.’ He glanced down at the basket. ‘I anticipated that and brought a picnic. So you have no excuse. I can’t answer for the Metropole’s food, but the champagne is Dom Pérignon.’
‘That’s very enterprising of you,’ she said quietly, recovering some of her composure.
‘Yes, isn’t it just!’ He put the basket on the chair, threw his cap after it, and limped across the floor. He put both of his hands on the desk and leaned forward, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on her pale face. ‘You ran away. You were frightened,’ he said.
Unable to deny it, she did not respond.
‘Who were you afraid of? Me? Or yourself?’ he demanded, his voice unexpectedly harsh.
‘I don’t know.’ She looked down at the desk. ‘Of you, I suppose.’
‘You silly little fool! Don’t you know I’m in love with you!’
He came around the desk and pulled her into his arms, his grip powerful and crushing, his mouth hard and unrelenting on hers. Emma could not resist. Her arms went around him and she returned his kisses, the excitement he aroused in her manifest again, racing through her like fire. Her head swam and she was assailed by a weakness that trickled into her thighs. He pulled away suddenly, as he had done so often in the past, and gazed down at her. He tilted her face to his. His eyes, so darkly violet they looked as black as the brows curving above them, were filled with seriousness.
Paul shook his head. ‘Did you think a few hundred miles would discourage me?’ He laughed. ‘I’m an Australian. Distance means nothing to me. And you haven’t learned much else about me, Emma, have you? Or you would know I’m very tenacious.’ He put his arm around her, hugging her to him, and laughed again. ‘What am I going to do with you, my Emma? My stubborn, wilful, but adorable Emma. Tame you? But I wonder, would a bridle sit well on you, my sweet?’
Emma clung to his trench coat. She was speechless and her mind was chaotic. What had he said? That he was in love with her. Her heart was tight and her legs shook and she dare not open her mouth. If she did she knew she would tell him that she loved him, too.
Paul seemed unconcerned by her silence. He said, ‘First of all, we are going to have lunch. Then you are going to show me around your store. After that I want to see Layton’s mill.’ He grinned that engaging lopsided grin, and said, ‘Later I want to meet your children and I hope you will invite me to stay to dinner. You wouldn’t abandon a lonely soldier to an evening by himself in this godforsaken city, would you?’
Emma shook her head.
‘We’re in agreement, then?’
‘Yes, Paul,’ she whispered, and her voice was surprisingly meek.
Paul McGill stayed in Yorkshire for three days and during that time Emma came to know a very different side of him. In London she had felt there was a deep core of sincerity in him, and although he had often given the impression he lacked the inner conviction to remain serious for very long, she had suspected otherwise. She was not wrong. That thoughtful side was now revealed to her. He was also a gentle man, a characteristic that was displayed most obviously with her children. He listened attentively to Edwina, responding with kindness to her questions about Australia, and he treated Kit like an equal. Kit hung on his every word, and was thrilled when Paul took him sledging down the drive and played with his trains in the nursery.
It seemed to Emma that Paul brought out the very best in her children, and even Edwina, always so distant, emerged from her shell under his vivacious influence. Emma watched Paul closely, revelling in his genuine interest in her family, but she frequently noticed a curiously yearning look flickering in those violet eyes when he believed he was unobserved. She speculated on the reason for it and wondered about this extraordinary man who was so contradictory and compelling.
The day he departed he said, ‘I don’t have very much time left, Emma. I’ll be going back to France shortly. Will you come and visit me in London? Very soon?’
Emma did not think twice. ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling up at him.
He touched her cheek lightly. ‘When?’
‘I have a meeting tomorrow morning. But I could come the day after. On Friday.’
‘Couldn’t you make it tomorrow afternoon? Time is running out.’
‘All right, then.’
He tilted her face to his. ‘Are you sure about this, Emma?’
‘Yes, I am.’ As she spoke she knew that she had made a commitment to him.
It was a bitterly cold February evening and drizzling when Emma stepped off the train at King’s Cross. She saw him before he saw her. He was standing at the ticket barrier, the cap pushed back at the same jaunty angle, the collar of his trench coat turned up. Her heart leapt and she began to run. It was undignified but she could not help herself. She did not stop until she was in his arms, breathless and laughing, her face resplendent with happiness.
He held her close, told her she looked beautiful, found the porter with her luggage, and bustled her into his father’s car, taking command in his usual way. As they drove through the evening traffic Emma became aware of a difference in Paul, and although he held her hand and chatted to her casually, his voice light, she sensed a disquiet under the surface. It was a controlled tension but, nonetheless, quite evident to her.
The Daimler came to a standstill before they reached the Ritz Hotel, where Emma was staying. Paul said, ‘I’m going to get out here and walk the rest of the way.’
She stared at him. ‘But why?
He grinned. ‘I know how circumspect you are. I would hate to compromise you the moment you arrive. Check in alone and I’ll join you for a drink in an hour. Anyway, you need a little privacy. Time to change and bathe.’
‘Very well. In an hour, then.’
He nodded, jumped out, and slammed the door. Emma sat back against the seat, touched by his thoughtf
ulness. And then she suffered such a sharp sense of loss, and acute loneliness, she was jolted. How silly she was being. She would see him very shortly.
The sitting room of the suite overlooked Green Park. A fire blazed in the grate, the lamps had been turned on, and there were masses of flowers everywhere, all of them from Paul, Emma discovered on reading the amusing messages on the white cards, reposing in each arrangement. She smiled with delight but did not pause long to admire. She hurriedly unpacked, hung up her clothes, and took a bath in the huge marble tub.
The bath dispelled the chill in her bones and revitalized her, and Emma slipped into a white silk robe and sat down at the dressing table, humming under her breath, feeling happier than she had in years. She brushed out her long hair until it gleamed in the lamplight and slowly began to coil it on top of her head. She was pushing the last hairpin into the coil when she tensed and remained perfectly still, experiencing the strange sensation that she was not alone. She swung her head slowly and jumped back in the chair. Paul was leaning casually against the door of the bedroom, his legs crossed, a glass in his hand, observing her with great concentration.
‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I should have knocked,’ he said. ‘You make a very pretty picture, my sweet.’
‘How did you get in?’ Emma gasped.
‘Why, through the door of course.’ He strolled over to the dressing table and placed a small jewel case in front of her. ‘These are for you,’ he said. ‘Put them on.’
Emma threw him a quick, puzzled glance and opened the case. The emerald earrings shimmered like pools of green fire against the black velvet and she drew in her breath. ‘Oh, Paul! They’re beautiful.’ She frowned. ‘But I can’t possibly accept them. They are far too valuable.’
‘Put them on,’ he ordered.
Emma’s hands trembled as she screwed the emeralds into her ears. She gazed at Paul through the mirror. ‘They are incredible. How did you know emeralds are my favourite stone?’
He smiled. ‘I didn’t. But with eyes your colour you should only wear emeralds. See how they echo the light in your eyes.’ He put down his drink and cupped his hands underneath her chin and, tilting her head back, he bent forward and kissed her forehead. ‘If you don’t accept them I’ll be terribly offended. I might never speak to you again.’
‘In that case I suppose I must. But it was very extravagant of you.’ She smiled at him tenderly. ‘Thank you, Paul.’
He moved away from her. ‘Come into the other room and have a drink,’ he said, pausing at the door.
‘I’ll just put my dress on.’
‘No, don’t bother. I want to talk to you. You’re decent enough.’
Emma pulled the white silk robe around her and followed him, feeling self-conscious, but concerned by his tone and unable to protest. He sounded grave and her heart sank. Was he leaving sooner than expected for France? Was that the reason for his tension? When she walked into the sitting room she saw immediately how he had managed to enter the suite so silently. The door at the far end was open and beyond she could see another identical suite. She faltered, unprepared for such an intimate arrangement and unnerved by the implication.
‘So that’s how you got in,’ she remarked, and there was a hint of anger in her voice.
He ignored the comment. ‘I’m drinking scotch, but I know you prefer wine. I’ll get you a glass of champagne.’
Her eyes followed him as he strode out, and her resentment spilled over into quiet rage. Paul had assumed too much. Assumed she would be an eager and willing partner in this—this—little game of his. She bit her lip. She was being inconsistent again. Had she not known when she stepped on to the train earlier in the day that there would be no going back. This scene now being enacted should not shock her. It was exactly what he had intended from the beginning, and anticipated once she had agreed to come back to London. And she had probably led him to believe it would be so.
Paul returned with the champagne, interrupting her racing thoughts. He handed her the glass and sat down opposite her, and as if he had read those thoughts, he said, ‘I don’t blame you for being angry, Emma. I know you’re also upset and uncomfortable as well, aren’t you?’
She did not answer him, but stared down at the glass and took a fast sip to hide her nervousness.
‘I’m a damn fool. It was presumptuous of me and now I apologize for that presumption. I feel quite certain you understood what my intentions were when you saw that open door and the other suite. Seduction, of course. I had planned it all very carefully for weeks.’ His mouth lifted in a small self-deprecatory smile. ‘I’m not too subtle, am I? However, I realized in the car that I had manoeuvred you into a situation which you would have great difficulty extracting yourself from. So, I am going to do that for you.’ Paul went on, ‘I am going to finish this drink and then I am going to walk through that door. You will lock it. When you are dressed I will come and fetch you. We will go out to dinner. No obligations. Now, or later. All right?’
Emma stared at him. ‘Yes, of course. But why have you changed your mind?’
He laughed ironically. ‘Yes, it is out of character, isn’t it? The reformed rake doing the honourable thing.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m amazed at myself.’
‘Why do you want to do the honourable thing?’
‘Because I love you, and too much to manipulate a situation to suit my own ends, my own advantage, without giving a thought to you and your feelings.’
‘I’m not sure I quite understand.’
‘You have to love me and want me as much as I love and want you, Emma. Otherwise there is no point to all this.’ He gulped down the drink and stood up. ‘Now run along and dress. I’ll be waiting for you and we’ll go out to dinner.’
He stopped at the door. ‘Lock this after me,’ he said without glancing back. Emma did as he said and turned the key, her face as grave as his. She sat down on the sofa. She did not know what to do. He loved her. She loved him. She had come to London knowing there was an unspoken commitment between them, and yet now she was acting resentful and outraged. Yes, and being a hypocrite, she reproached herself. Her behaviour did not make sense. She closed her eyes and pictured him behind that closed door, waiting to take her to dinner. But also waiting for her decision, one which would determine the outcome of their relationship. Had he passed the decision over to her to avoid responsibility? No, that was unfair. There was no duplicity in him. Why am I frightened of taking this step? she asked herself. And the answer struck her with such force her head spun. She was not afraid of Paul or of her own emotions. She was afraid of the final act of love, of consummation, because of her distasteful sexual experiences with Joe. And she was afraid of hurting Paul by recoiling from him, afraid of failing him as a woman. Perhaps if she explained…
Emma flew across the room, unlocked the door, and stood on the threshold. Paul was hunched over the fireplace, his head bent. He appeared to be in the grips of a terrible anguish.
‘Paul—’
His dark head swung around and he stared at her. She walked to him slowly. ‘I—I—would like to talk to you.’
He nodded, looking down at her soberly. ‘I know I put the burden of the decision on you. But only because I wanted to be absolutely sure of you. I also wanted you to be sure of yourself.’
Emma put out her hand and touched his lapel, her mouth quivering, her eyes darkly green. She had lost all power of speech and she had certainly lost the courage to discuss her feelings.
Paul took her hand in his and kissed the fingertips. ‘Such a small, dear hand,’ he said.
‘Oh, Paul!’
Her face, blazing with her love, told him everything he wanted to know. He pulled her to him and kissed her deeply and then he swept her up in his arms and carried her into the bedroom. He kicked the door shut with his foot and walked over to the bed. He laid her down on it and sat on the edge. ‘Say it, darling,’ he commanded hoarsely. ‘Say it!’ His eyes burned into hers.
‘I l
ove you, Paul.’
‘And?’
‘I want you.’
‘Oh, Emma, Emma, you always have, my darling. Don’t you understand? This was fated to happen from the first moment we set eyes on each other.’ He traced a line down her cheek. ‘I knew. But you had to recognize it, and that is why I would not force the issue tonight. I wanted and needed you to come to me of your own free will.’
He stood up and unbuckled his Sam Browne belt, throwing it to one side. His jacket followed and his tie and his shirt. As he undressed her eyes did not leave his face, and the fear was dissipating, and she thought: I have never seen a man completely naked before. Why, he has a beautiful body. It was tanned and firm with muscle. His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, his legs long, his stomach flat.
‘Take your robe off, my love,’ he said softly, as he came towards her.
He covered her body with his own and cradled her in his arms, smiling down into her expectant face. ‘It’s such a pity to ruin this exotic hairdo,’ he murmured as he began to pull the pins from her hair. The russet tresses spilled around her shoulders, porcelain fragile and pink in the warm glow of the lamp, and he gasped at her loveliness now so perfectly revealed to him. He ran his hand through the heavy lengths and held her by the nape of her neck, bringing her face up to his own. His lips met hers, savouring their warmth and their sweetness, and they were both engulfed by their longing and the emotions which had been denied release for weeks. He moved his mouth into the hollow of her neck, kissing her shoulders, her breasts, and the deep valley between, and his strong hands smoothed over her firm skin and he caressed every part of her until he knew her fervour matched his own.
Emma was suffused with an unfamiliar warmth, a burning heat that flooded her being. Her whole body arched up, cleaved to him. She ached to be joined to him, to become one with him, and she marvelled at her pleasure in his body and in her own, was astonished at the ease with which her reluctance had fallen away as if it had never existed. And she willingly gave herself to him, receiving his kisses and responding wildly to his demands.
A Woman of Substance Page 75
