by Sara Wood
A little fragment of doubt interrupted her plan, a small voice telling her that Cassian wasn’t an ordinary man, that she was already disturbed by his deep sensuality. But she could surely curb her mad thoughts if it meant she and Adam could stay at Thrushton.
Perhaps she could cook and clean and do Cassian’s washing in addition to holding down a new job. No man would refuse free housekeeping services!
Dreamily planning, she surveyed him from beneath her lashes. With the enjoyment of a true sensualist, he was passing the opened bottle beneath his nose, his face rapt as he inhaled the aroma. Her senses quickened.
Slowly he filled two glasses and carried one over to her. ‘Enjoy,’ he murmured.
Their fingers touched as she took the glass. A flash of heat melted in the core of her body and she felt Cassian’s sharp exhalation of breath warming her lips before he retreated to the sofa again. She was afraid he was annoyed by her gaucheness, but he said nothing. Fortunately, he was totally indifferent to her.
Instead, he concentrated on his wine, quietly studying its colour, sniffing it again and then taking an absorbed sip.
‘What do you think of it?’ he asked, as if her opinion mattered. He shot her a look and his dark eyes suddenly glowed.
She pressed her parted lips together hurriedly and picked up the glass. ‘I don’t know anything about wine.’
‘You have taste buds!’ he growled.
She took a cautious sip. And then another.
‘Describe what you feel,’ Cassian coaxed.
‘I feel warm. From cooking,’ she said, ducking the issue and omitting to say that he had added to that warmth.
When he remained silent, she concentrated harder, tasting the rich, dark red wine and trying to find words to explain the glorious sensation in her mouth and the wickedly pleasurable feeling as the alcohol pooled seductively in her stomach.
‘I love the smell,’ she decided, playing safe. ‘It makes me feel rich.’
‘Let me sniff, Mum!’
Laughing, she held her glass up to Adam who rolled his eyes and declared he was a millionaire.
‘Not far off the truth,’ Cassian acknowledged. ‘Nothing better than good food and wine, to love and to be loved.’
Laura felt a tightening in her chest. He had someone, she thought, quite irrationally disappointed. It had never occurred to her that the wolf that walked alone would have found a soul mate, but there was no mistaking the depth of emotion in his words. He wore no ring, but then Cassian wouldn’t allow any woman to curtail his freedom.
‘I’ve got Mum,’ Adam said, treading where angels and she feared to tread. ‘Who’ve you got?’
‘My son,’ Cassian said softly.
Laura almost spilled her wine. She put it down on the table, her mind whirling. ‘Your son?’ she repeated stupidly.
‘Jai. He’s ten.’
‘I’m nine!’ Adam cried in delight.
Cassian grinned. ‘I know. Small world.’
Adam began rattling off questions. Quickly she realised that this was why he’d had such a sure and empathetic touch with her son. Cassian had practical experience of his own.
And what, she thought in quite extraordinary agitation, about his partner? The woman who’d won his heart, who’d slowly, seductively stripped the clothes from that lithe and lean body…
Laura gulped, appalled at herself. Without any reason whatsoever, she was horribly, stupidly, jealous. She wanted to be close to Cassian…perhaps because it would be wonderful to have the power to conquer someone so quietly strong and independent that his very kiss would be an acknowledgement that she was unique among women. She wanted to sit with him, to be enclosed in his arms and to be soothed by his steady calmness…and to be fired by the passions that lay beneath.
Dear heaven, she thought in horror. What was happening to her?
‘Marrakesh?’ Adam’s exclamation made Laura jump.
Cassian hastily got up and opened the oven door, taking out the pie then prepared a pan for the frozen peas he’d produced. Now he was entering into displacement activities. Anything, he thought, to avoid Laura’s captivating face as she dreamed of…what?
All he knew was that his willpower was being sorely tested and every nerve in his body was begging him to go over and relieve his desire to kiss her soft mouth till his senses reeled. Suicidal!
‘Yes,’ he said, waiting for the water to boil and glad of an excuse to keep his back to her. ‘Jai’s hiking in the High Atlas mountains with friends. They’ll put him on a plane to Heathrow and he’ll make his way here in a couple of days or so, I’m not sure when.’
There was a deafening silence. Glancing round, he saw that Laura’s eyes were nearly falling out of their sockets.
‘A ten-year-old, finding his way on his own?’ she said in horror. ‘Don’t you think that’s stretching independence too far? Anything might happen to him! There are bad people out there, Cassian—’
‘Allow me to know how to manage my own son,’ he said irritably. ‘Maybe I’ve arranged for someone to watch over him. Maybe he’s thrilled at the thought of planning his own journey. Maybe he has travelled alone before and has developed strategies to stay safe.’ His jaw tightened. How dare she assume he hadn’t thought of Jai’s safety? ‘Maybe,’ he said sarcastically, ‘I don’t care if he’s robbed or attacked or abducted by—’
‘OK, OK, I’m sorry!’ she muttered awkwardly.
He grunted and tipped half the frozen peas into the pan, securing the remainder in the bag with a twist tie. He knew he’d overreacted but no one, just no one, interfered between him and Jai, whose life he’d guard with his own.
‘Here,’ he growled lobbing the bag at Adam. Who fumbled and dropped them. An easy catch. Poor kid had much to catch up on, he mused and softened his expression. ‘Freezer?’ he suggested, when Adam looked at him with a puzzled frown.
‘Oh, yeah.’ The lad disappeared into the scullery and the door banged shut behind him.
He remembered that scullery. He’d stood peeling potatoes for hours there, till his hands were raw. And Laura’s father had been furious, Cassian thought darkly, because he’d been unable to break Cassian’s will.
Of small victories like that, Cassian knew his character had been forged. And consequently he had his own ideas on how to bring up children. Not by making them peel sacks of potatoes, of course! Gradual responsibility. The acquisition of life skills. Knowledge is power.
Hearing Adam fumbling around in the freezer, he took the opportunity to confront Laura. ‘It looks as if we’re going to be together for a short while. The shorter the better, I think. But while we are under the same roof, you can keep your thoughts to yourself where Jai is concerned. We have our own way of living and we’re happy with it. Any problems, bring them to me. You won’t nag Jai and tell him to put his coat on because it’s cold. You won’t tell him to be careful if he decides to cook. He does what he’s capable of. Understand?’ he snapped.
‘So long as Jai’s behaviour doesn’t affect Adam,’ she said, her eyes wide and anxious.
‘Maybe that would be an improvement.’
She bristled, as he knew she would. ‘How d—?’ Adam walked in again and she broke off, biting her lip. ‘How long do you think, before you take those peas off?’ she amended, filling in the awkward silence. But her eyes told him how angry she was. And he felt a small leap of triumph.
‘Now.’
Cassian spun on his heel and took the pan off the heat for straining. But he was thinking all the while that if he strode over and kissed her passionately on that soft, quivering pink mouth then she might unwind a little. And she and her son might begin to live.
She came to his side, fussing with the plates and he let her take over because otherwise he’d grab her arms and pull her against him so he could rain kisses on her long, slender neck and tousle that perfectly tidy hair.
He wanted to muss her up. To murmur wicked, seductive words in her ear, to rouse her beyond her prim and restrictive responses till
she cried out his name and begged for him in husky, unrecognisable tones.
Crazy. The lure of the unattainable. Or perhaps he needed the release of sex. If so, he needed a woman who wanted fun and no strings, not the uptight, emotionally repressed Laura who’d probably expect a ring on her finger if he went so far as to hold her hand.
Grimly he sat at the table. Adam chattered and he answered as best he could. The kiddie had a sweet temperament but was as vulnerable as hell. He itched to set him on the right road. Hated to see a child crushed by life, condemned to feeling inferior to others.
Like Laura. He tore off a piece of crusty new bread and chewed irritably. She’d annoyed him from the first moment he’d set eyes on her, with her mimsy little voice and breathy uncertainty, scuttling to do the evil Enid’s bidding. If his mother hadn’t told him to leave Laura strictly alone, he’d have dragged the kiddie off on his attempts to toughen himself up. Though everyone would have imagined they’d been up to no good.
Angrily he replenished Laura’s glass and his own. He wasn’t used to walking on tiptoe around people and the next few days were going to be foul. It was his habit not to pussyfoot around but to be straight with people. If he did that, he and Laura would be in the sack and Adam would be doing press-ups in the garden each morning.
‘Is the pie all right?’ Laura’s anxious voice impinged on his thoughts.
He looked at his plate and realised he hadn’t been eating. ‘It’s great,’ he said honestly, tucking in. ‘And the bread is wonderful.’
At least she could cook. That suggested one sensual delight in her repertoire.
‘I’m glad you like it!’
He looked up and was shaken by her pleased smile. His jaw clenched. She was terrifyingly vulnerable too. One wrong word from him and she could be seriously wounded. It was a hell of a burden to carry.
‘I’m going out,’ he said when he’d finished. ‘Excuse me—’
‘But…your pudding!’ she cried.
Impatiently he sighed. ‘It’s not compulsory.’
She flushed and he was back into whipping puppies again. ‘But…you haven’t even unpacked yet,’ she pointed out hesitantly as if he might have forgotten.
‘I know,’ he bit irritably and she had the grace to look contrite. ‘But that can wait and I want to walk.’
Before she could come up with some other conventional chain to wrap around his neck, he strode out.
It wouldn’t work, he thought darkly, changing into walking boots and slinging a small rucksack on his back. Laura and he would never live in the same world. Somehow he had to force her out. Before he did something he’d regret for the rest of his life.
Or he could sell up. Perhaps coming here had been a mistake after all.
He set off at a blistering pace, walking off his frustrations.
By the time three hours had passed by, the magic of the fells had made his heart sing again. His route had taken him way beyond the ruined buildings of the medieval lead mines above Thrushton, and past the narrow fourteenth-century hump-backed packhorse bridge with its ankle-high parapets, designed so that a train of forty mules could pass with their laden panniers unimpeded.
Taking delight in treading in the footsteps of history, he walked along the corpse way. He could almost feel the weight of the past, hear the mourners as they carried a loved one to the church, along the narrow path and over the treacherous stepping stones from some remote settlement.
From the track he had climbed high above the beautiful valley where the River Wharfe glinted and sparkled far below and as he climbed he felt a soaring joy at being alive.
The air was sharp and clear and filled with swooping swallows creating a ballet in the air. Overcome by powerful emotions which shook him to the core, he sat on the edge of a limestone pavement, watching an adder drawing the last vestiges of warmth from the late afternoon sun.
He closed his eyes, almost pained by the beauty of his surroundings. And he knew then that he had to spend time here. Wanted… His breath knifed in, snapping his eyes open again. Shock ran through his body. For a brief moment it had crossed his mind that this would be a suitable place to settle. To put down roots.
In a dazed blur, he saw himself creating a herb garden and feeding hens. And then, totally unbalanced by such uncharacteristic dreams, he leapt up and headed at a half-run for Grassington, determined to drink or wench away any potential curbs on his personal freedom.
‘I can live here,’ he muttered to himself like a mantra, his loping stride swiftly devouring the ground. ‘But there’s no way I’m going into pipe and slippers mode!’
The beer was good. The women less so. He smiled ruefully on his way back to Thrushton Hall. Women had recognised him. Fluttered their lashes in the hope that he’d remember their totally unsatisfactory teenage embraces. He’d raised his glass in acknowledgement and remained aloof. The loner.
And despite the attentions of what he assumed to be the landlord’s ‘bosomy’ daughters, he felt nothing; no desire, no stirring, no interest whatsoever.
Worse, he found himself comparing them with Laura. Her quiet beauty. Solemn eyes of cerulean-blue, the colour of a Mediterranean sky. Untouched lips he wanted to explore. The body of a siren and the innocence of an angel.
A woman alone. Unique. Unaware that she was close to spilling out her long-hidden passions and needing someone who wouldn’t hurt her, who wouldn’t damage her fragile self-esteem but who would build it up till she realised her full potential.
And he wanted to be that man. Even though he knew he couldn’t give her what she would want. Marriage. Security. Two point four children and a mortgage and the ritual of cleaning the car every Saturday morning after doing the weekly shop.
So he had to keep his hands and his eyes to himself. And save them both from disaster.
Trying to settle his thoughts, he walked down to the river, knowing the narrow path so well that the occasional light from the thin crescent moon was enough when the clouds lifted, and so he did not need to use his torch.
He let the soft rush of water soothe his mind. Listened to the scops owl, the sounds of badgers snuffling up roots somewhere in the mid distance. Simple pleasures which money could never buy.
It wasn’t until after midnight that he returned, letting himself into the house silently. He took a deep breath to steel himself. Now he would face the house, at its darkest and most sinister and chase away the memories till only stone and mortar remained.
CHAPTER FIVE
LAURA had been unable to sleep. It bothered her that Cassian hadn’t stopped to sort out which bedroom he’d use or even unpacked his night things. Did he think he could come back in the early hours and wake her up, demanding sheets and pillows? she thought crossly.
So here she was, having to stay awake to tell him that she’d made up a bed in the back room. It was typically selfish of him that he did his own thing and never mind anyone else!
Her mouth pruned in. That was him now. Grudgingly she admitted that he had been extraordinarily quiet, but she had been waiting for that slight creak of the door, her ears tuned like interstellar radar to an invading Martian.
Flinging her cosy blue dressing gown over her short cotton nightie, she angrily tied the cord around her waist as if girding herself up for battle.
Her head cocked on one side. Instead of coming up the stairs, he was moving around in the dark downstairs. That was the study door opening. Her eyes narrowed. What was he doing?
She listened but there was no sound from below. Then the boards creaked in the hall and there came the unmistakable sound of the latch being lifted on the dining room door.
Well, she thought grimly, if he was looking for money, he’d be disappointed! Curiosity got the better of her and she tiptoed onto the landing, intending to catch him red-handed at whatever he was doing.
At the top of the stairs she froze as Cassian’s dark figure crossed the hall beneath her and glided stealthily into the sitting room. With the utmost care she c
rept down and by the time she peered into the room her nerves were strung along wires.
He stood with his back to her, his bulk just visible in the pale light which filtered through the thin curtains. He seemed to be listening, his very muscles and sinews straining from powerful emotion as he remained rooted to the spot with that deep inner stillness which was peculiar to him.
Laura frowned. Something about him kept her from calling out. He wasn’t searching for anything. More like…making a reaquaintance with the house.
She stiffened, her hand going to her mouth as she realised why he was creeping about like a burglar. Earlier on, he hadn’t ventured into the rest of the house but had remained in the kitchen, and briefly, the hall.
Intuitively she knew that he must be reliving bad memories. A chill iced her spine.
‘Cassian!’ she breathed, aching to see what this was doing to him.
But he ignored her because no sound had emerged from her dry throat.
Unaware that he was being watched from the darkness of the hall, he scanned the sitting room with painstaking slowness. Half-turning, his eyes focused on the inglenook and she felt her heart lurch. In the gloom she could see that his face was bleak, his jaw rigid with tension.
‘Cassian!’ she pleaded in soft concern.
His body jerked. When he swung around she saw with shock that his eyes were silvered and as hard as bullets.
‘This is private!’ he said fiercely.
She felt like an intruder in her own house. His house. ‘But—’
‘Don’t crowd me! Leave me alone!’ he snapped.
Taking a deep breath, his face set, he strode to the fireplace. Picking up a log from the stack, he weighed it in his hand then sniffed its resiny smell. Slowly he returned it to the neatly-stacked pile. Placing his palm on the massive granite lintel across the fireplace, he stared moodily at the hearth.
Laura swallowed, knowing what must be going through his mind. He’d chopped logs in all weathers and had never complained or run to his blissfully unaware mother. Bathsheba was usually engrossed in painting her wonderful landscapes but, even so, Laura had found it hard to understand why Cassian had suffered in silence.
