The moment was gone; that magic moment when she seemed to see into Dominic’s heart, and she resented Edward’s having shattered it. But Dominic was once more involved in conversation, as if he had never been distracted from it, and Edward was waiting to walk with her in the moonlight. The gold leaf with its solitary tear had probably been intended as no more than a pleasant reminder of a childish pleasure, and she had been silly to suppose it was meant as anything else.
‘It’s going to rain, Ned.’ She managed to sound quite matter-of-fact and Edward’s brown eyes gleamed with speculation, his smile confident.
‘Not yet, it isn’t,’ he assured her, as if he knew with certainty. ‘Come on, Bryony, we can always scoot back to the house if it starts.’
The persuasive arm about her shoulders urged her towards the door, and she really had no reason not to go with him. It wasn’t raining yet, and she had said more than once how much she liked the gardens at night, when the crickets chirruped, and friendly little lizards scuttled away into the undergrowth to watch you with hooded eyes.
Smiling up at Edward, she nodded. ‘All right, I’ll come, but we mustn’t go far.’
‘No, ma’am!’
Laughing, he bent and kissed her mouth, satisfied to have got his way, but Bryony was aware as she went with him of Dominic watching them go and almost inevitably thinking how easily they could be caught if a storm started.
The paths wound about the bushes in a tortuous maze, making the distance twice as far, and giving the impression of complete isolation as giant hibiscus, pouis and frangipani sprang up between them and the house. It was possible to go a long way without realising just how far, and they had gone nearly half a kilometre, close to where the groves began, before they paused.
It was the kind of evening when everything seemed to be standing still. Even the winds had dropped and only the slightest movement stirred the jacaranda leaves above Bryony’s head. The air was sultry and heavy with the promise of rain, but it was the rainy season and by now she was accustomed to the fact that the months that brought most rain coincided with the period when the breathtaking flora of the Caribbean was at its lush and exotic best. The one feature was dependent upon the other, and it was a small price to pay.
The air was heavy and oppressive away from the artificially cooled air indoors, and there was that curious, almost exciting sense of anticipation in the atmosphere that always preceded a storm. She felt sticky and hot and, leaning back against the trunk of the jacaranda, she looked up at the small patch of night sky visible to her through the feathery leaves and clusters of blue bell-like flowers.
The moon was hidden and scrolls of cloud frowned down at them, seeming barely to skim the tree-tops, dark and threatening with a ghostly shimmer of silver edging each black scroll, etched there by the escaping moonlight.
A chittering cricket seemed to sense the approaching storm and kept up his squeaky anxious warning until silenced suddenly, as if his own concern in anything at all had been abruptly cut off. It was hot, oppressively so, and Bryony felt her body droop limply as she leaned back her head, trying to dismiss the intrusive memory of an eleven-year-old girl with a miracle to share.
A child sharing a magic moment with the man who, less than a year later, was to become her guardian and who, after all these years, had given her a beautiful and extravagant reminder of that moment, for her birthday gift. She wished she understood him as easily as she understood Edward Fuller, whose motives were never in any doubt.
Edward was close beside her, resting against the same tree and with the last short length of a cigarette burning between his fingers. It was his action of treading the smouldering end out underfoot that drew her attention to him, and she smiled vaguely.
The evening darkness gave him a look of mystery that betrayed nothing of what was going on in his mind, but she needed little intelligence to guess. Nevertheless she drew an involuntary breath when he slid an arm around behind her and drew her away from the support of the tree so that he could look down into her face, and she thought he smiled.
‘It’s hot!’
It reminded her that he had spent the past few years in England at university, and that he was probably still acclimatising, and she nodded. ‘You feel it more, I expect, having been away for a few years.’
‘Maybe.’
She could sense something of the same taut anticipation and excitement in the encircling arm, and in the body that barely touched hers as he held her, as there was in her own. The anticipation of a storm aroused almost the same disturbing violence in human reaction as it did in the elements, she thought.
Glancing up at the cloudy sky, she eased out of his embrace, trying to make the move as little like a rejection as possible, but standing with her back to him and looking along the path to the tall, ragged fronds of banana at the beginning of the groves.
‘It will be a relief when the storm breaks, and at least this time no one’s out in it. You’re not worried about your boat, are you, Ned?’ She knew the question was unnecessary, but she asked it just the same, switching her gaze quickly in the direction of the house when the first warning roll of thunder grumbled angrily out at sea. ‘Louis will see to the moorings if it blows up too hard, though I don’t think it will.’
Edward left the tree and slid an arm around her once more, a smile on his mouth as he took care she should not evade him this time. His hold was tighter and his fingers curved firmly into her waist as he pulled her close against him.
‘I’m not worried about anything, except that you don’t seem to be enjoying my company very much.’ He had gained such a hold on her that she could not even move, and his voice was close to her ear, his breath warm on her neck. ‘You aren’t trying to escape me, are you, Bryony?’
It wasn’t only the effect of the stormy atmosphere, Bryony realised; they had probably all had rather more wine than they would normally drink. The timbre of Edward’s voice certainly suggested that his usual smooth self-confidence had been further boosted by champagne and the various table wines that Marie had served with dinner.
Without quite understanding her reason, Bryony wanted to be free of that unyielding arm, but she was unwilling at the moment to make an issue of it, so she did no more than use her hands to slightly ease the firm hold on her waist.
‘I’m not trying to escape, Ned, nothing so dramatic, but it’s very hot, and you’re not making it any more comfortable by squeezing me so tightly.’
‘Don’t you like being squeezed?’
He pulled his arm so tightly around her that she caught her breath and struggled against him. ‘Ned, you hurt, don’t do that!’
‘Oh, Bryony!’
His laughter sounded close to her ear, and he bent his head to kiss her neck, a light soft caress that sent little shivers down the length of her spine. Then he turned her within the curve of his arm and held her facing him, both arms clasping her tightly to make sure she did not elude him. His eyes had a glowing darkness that was almost black in the stormy light, and she glimpsed just the slightest gleam of white between his lips, as if his smile was tight-lipped rather than the broad confident beam it usually was.
‘I never saw such a girl for making excuses not to be kissed! It’s your birthday—come on and enjoy it!’
Her hands were flat against his chest and she could feel the increased beat of his heart and smell the masculine scent he used, made more powerful by the heat of his body, as she held against the determined strength of his arms about her. He had never left his intention in any doubt, and she had no one to blame but herself, but all the same the situation was unwelcome and she wished she could see some way out of it.
Edward Fuller was young and good-looking and reasonably wealthy; he was the brother of her closest friend and she liked him quite a lot, and yet she did not want to be in his arms. She did not want him to become as amorous as the look in his eyes showed her he wanted to be.
The storm was closer now and she saw it as a possible means of en
ding the situation without having to resort to personal rejection. The sky was ripped open with great gashes of lightning and the rumbling growl of thunder moved nearer every second, and she knew they must be going; should have gone before this if they were to get back to the house before the rain came.
‘Ned, it’s time we went back—the storm’s getting close and it’s quite a long way to go.’
‘It’s not here yet!’ He sounded almost savage in his determination, and she tried once more to ease away from him. ‘Oh, come on, Bryony, let yourself relax and have fun!’
His arms tightened and his face came closer, looming over her and alarmingly unfamiliar, so that she instinctively turned away to avoid the mouth that would have descended on hers. There was a tense urgency in the arms that held her that seemed to echo the approaching fury of the storm, and she tried once more to free herself.
‘Ned, please, we—’
When she turned her face to speak to him, he took immediate advantage of it and sought her mouth unerringly, taking her by surprise so that for a second or so she became passive, almost responsive, to his kiss. When he let her go she felt too breathless to do anything other than shake her head, while she stood with her hands tightly curled against the softness of his shirt.
‘You don’t dislike me, do you?’
The question was half-teasing, but yet she thought it had an underlying seriousness. It would be difficult for Edward to believe anyone could actually dislike him, she guessed, but he was puzzled by her reluctance to let him have his way, and she supposed it was her own fault that he laboured under the obvious delusion. She had agreed to come out there with him and he had left his intention in little doubt.
Instead of breaking contact with him completely, she simply leaned back against his arms and looked at the slightly sulky mouth as she sought to explain. ‘You know I don’t dislike you, Ned, I wouldn’t have asked you to come here with Marion if I did.’
‘But you don’t like me kissing you!’
‘I didn’t—’ She broke off abruptly when the sky above them seemed to erupt—a huge slash of lightning followed immediately by a thunderous roar that seemed to shake the very ground beneath their feet. ‘Ned, we must go!’
‘Bryony—’
‘We must, Ned, we’ll get soaked as it is!’
He hated to yield, even now, she thought, but he had no option. The rain came suddenly, as it always did; a heavy, soaking deluge that tapped and hissed on the leaves around them, channelled as if down a chute from the jacaranda leaves to add to the downpour. It pounded the path and swished about their feet in fury. Her dress was thin and Bryony fervently wished they had not come so far from the house, when all the signs had been that a storm was due.
Edward took her hand, pulling her along with him as he ran, along the path towards the warm glow of light that was the house, winding round and between shrubs and trees that brushed their faces and shoulders with wet leaves and added to the deluge.
‘Ned!’
She caught her foot and went sprawling on the path, face down with the wind knocked out of her and the coolness of rain soaking through her thin dress. She lay there until hands reached down to haul her to her feet, hasty impatient hands that took no account of the fact that she was not only winded but grazed, and she once more stumbled along in his wake, shaking the wet hair from her face.
She had lost a shoe and for a second or two she stumbled over the remaining high heel that threw her completely off balance. ‘Ned!’ She hopped on one leg trying to take off the other shoe. ‘Ned, wait, please!’
He turned his face to her, dark and streaming wet, lit by vivid flashes of lightning that slashed jaggedly back and forth across the sky, ripping great gashes in the overcast of clouds, and his eyes were black and questioning.
‘What’s wrong, Bryony?’
Impatience edged his voice and she resented it. ‘I’ve lost a shoe and I can’t keep my balance.’
‘Then take off the other one!’
He let go her hand and she did as he said, her discomfort making his manner even less acceptable, so that she stopped to wonder why she had thought Ned Fuller smoothly charming when he could prove so cavalier at a time like this. He took her hand again as soon as she had dispensed with the other shoe and she was once more taken along without really having much option.
There wasn’t much further to go, just past the next clump of hibiscus, shining like fragrant wet stars in the light from the house windows, but the familiar path had never seemed so long before and she was panting with the exertion of running faster than she was normally capable of.
‘Ned, I can’t keep up!’
Her voice had been pitched to be heard above the ear-splitting shriek of thunder, and in the following lull it sounded shrill and urgent as she sought to free herself from Edward’s hold. A movement just ahead of them caught her eye and a moment later Dominic appeared out of the streaming darkness, illuminated from behind by the house Lights. The thunder roared in the wake of another ragged lightning flash so that his arrival seemed almost theatrical in its drama, and she stared at him.
His raincoat was barely wet, she noticed, so he could only just have left the house, and she wondered why he was out at all; Louis could check the moorings and there was nothing anyone could do about possible damage to the crops until it was all over. Without a word he came on down the path to meet them, snatching her hand from Edward’s and lifting her into his arms in almost the same movement.
‘I lost my shoes and—’
‘Save it!’
The instruction was curt and abrupt and Bryony bit her lip on the rest of her explanation; obviously he was not interested, but he was angry. With one arm about his neck she was thrillingly aware of the strength of him, and of the fierce, hot passion that made every muscle taut and hard as steel.
Edward didn’t argue; perhaps he was too anxious to gain shelter himself, or perhaps he had seen that look of Dominic’s and decided against explanations at this point. He hurried on into the house with Dominic only a step or two behind him carrying Bryony in his arms, wet and bedraggled and showing blood on both knees.
He set her down carefully on the floor and her bare feet curled involuntarily at the cool smooth touch of the tiles. She kept one hand on him, flat-palmed and pressed to the dampness of his shoulder, as if she did not want to lose the touch of him.
‘Are you badly hurt?’ The grey eyes were storm-dark and she hastily avoided them because of the response they brought from her senses. She shook her head without saying anything, merely looking down at the grazed flesh of her knees that still bled a little and looked probably much more serious than it was. ‘Marie will put something on for you as soon as you’ve dried off.’
‘I can see to it, Dom, I—’
‘Just for once do as you’re told, Bryony!’
A bristle of resentment brought her chin up and she looked at him for a second with bright blue eyes that showed how she felt. She sensed Edward move where he stood at the foot of the stairs, and spoke hastily to forestall any protest he might think of making, not knowing whether he intended one or not.
‘I’ll get Marie to find me some balm after I’ve washed them clean—I can manage that myself.’
He simply nodded, then gave his attention to Edward, a swift raking glance that noted the condition of the once smart and expensive suit he had worn for the celebration dinner. ‘I’ll see that Marie finds you extra towels and get her to do something about your suit.’ He raised his voice. ‘Marie!’
Marie appeared almost at once, her face wrinkled with concern when she saw Bryony, and murmuring softly in her own tongue she took her arm, barely sparing a glance for Edward. ‘Come, petite, Marie make you better, hein?’
Marie had never learned to treat her any differently, and to Bryony her maternal fussing was sometimes quite welcome, like now, when she felt sore and bedraggled and quite certain that Dominic was only waiting a more opportune moment before wanting to know how she
had hurt herself.
‘See that Mr. Fuller has extra towels, and try and do something about his suit, will you, Marie?’
Edward looked ruefully at his soaking wet clothes and pulled a face. ‘I’m afraid it’s beyond redemption,’ he mourned, but Marie was shaking her head as she hustled both her charges towards the stairs.
‘I’ll fix him,’ she promised cheerfully. ‘Good as new!’
Obviously from Edward’s face he did not share her confidence, but he made no argument, merely glancing at Bryony before he took the lead. Unable to resist it, Bryony glanced back over her shoulder to where Dominic was stripping off his raincoat. Flinging it down on to a chair, after a token shake to remove some of the wet, he looked up suddenly and caught her eye, but his expression was unsmiling and it was impossible to read anything in the eyes so carefully hidden by thick dark lashes. It was hard to believe he was jealous, and yet the thought persisted as she followed Edward and Marie upstairs.
Stripped and towelled dry, she felt much better, and she answered Marie’s knock quite cheerfully, smiling to counteract her anxious expression. ‘I’m all right, Marie, really— I was just wet, that’s all.’
‘An’ you got hurt.’ Marie pointed to her grazed knees that still looked tender and bled a little, and she was shaking her head and clucking reproachfully as she bent to take a closer look. ‘I don’ know what we gon’ do with you, petite!’
‘I’m not a child, Marie!’
Marie said nothing, but gave her attention to dressing the wounds while Bryony sat on the bathroom stool and watched her. It still surprised her to realise how uncaring Edward had been when she fell, and she pondered on whether or not she had been rather spoiled by the unusually gentle way her two brothers treated her. Even Dominic had been concerned for all his impatience with her; concerned enough to carry her back to the house.
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