‘Is something wrong?’
She couldn’t imagine what could be wrong, but something was on his mind, that much was clear. He sat with his hands clasped together and his elbows resting on his knees, in the chair next to hers, and she could see the fine lines that ran from the corners of his eyes to the thick dark hair at the side of his head.
It was a good face, she decided, watching the shadows that deepened and darkened the outline of high cheek bones and a strong jaw. His mouth was wide, but it had a strength that could show in the firm straight line of anger, and a gentleness that could kiss away a child’s tears when she wanted so desperately to stay home instead of being sent back to school. It was a face she loved, she realised, and hastily shifted her gaze when he looked up suddenly and caught her eyes on him.
‘I’ve had a letter from your great-aunt,’ he said, and for a moment Bryony stared at him uncomprehendingly.
Then slowly she shook her head, her heart hammering hard in her breast suddenly as she prepared to fight tooth and nail not to be sent away again. ‘I—I don’t see ’ she began, but Dominic cut her short.
‘You didn’t answer her when she wrote to you, did you, ma petite?’
She hadn’t written to Aunt Germyn, she remembered, because it had completely gone out of her mind. In any case, she had nothing to say to someone who wanted to disrupt her life as it was, and she could think of no polite way of telling the old lady so.
‘I forgot—I did really,’ she added hastily when she looked up and saw his smile of disbelief. ‘Anyway, Dom, what could I say to her? All those things—those silly things she said in her letter; what could I say to them?’
He did not attempt to answer her, but instead produced a page from his pocket bearing the familiar thin scrawl in black ink and handed it to her. She took it only reluctantly, and found its contents discomfitingly similar to those of her own letter.
She considered it wise to send Bryony to England for a time, so that she could see something of her mother’s family, and also, as the old lady put it, give some thought to her present situation, which was to say the least unconventional. She felt sure, Miss Germyn continued, that he, as a man of the world, would understand her point of view and she was sure he was gentleman enough to realise her fears.
‘Shall I write to her?’ she ventured, handing back the paper as if she hated the touch of it. ‘I could write this afternoon, Dom, and tell her I’m staying here.’ He hadn’t immediately lent his support to the idea, and that worried her so that she looked across at him anxiously. ‘Dom?’
It was always difficult to know what was going on in his mind and he was careful in this instance to keep the dark lashes lowered sufficiently to hide the look in his eyes. He held the folded page and folded and refolded it into a tiny square before he said anything.
‘I’ve been wondering, Bryony, whether you should go—on a visit, of course. You are English, after all, and you haven’t set foot in England since you were ten years old.’
Bryony’s heart was pounding so hard her head ached with it, and she was staring at him in frank dismay. Clasping her hands tightly, she looked down at them rather than at him after a moment because it hurt to realise that she loved him so much and he was so anxious to send her away.
‘You—you think I should go?’ She scarcely believed it; she didn’t want to believe it, but those carefully evasive eyes were hardly reassuring.
‘You’ve seen very little of the rest of the world since you came here, ma chere.’ His hands moved in a vaguely helpless way that was so unlike him that she felt her heart turn cold and heavy in her breast.
‘Perhaps you should see other places, other people; make comparisons. Since you left school you’ve known so few people that you can’t really know—’ Again that unfamiliar air of helplessness touched sensitive nerves, and she caught her breath hastily.
‘I know how I feel, it’s only your feelings I can’t understand, but if that’s what you want me to do—go away, somewhere, to England or anywhere—’ Her voice was small and, she realised with dismay, alarmingly unsteady. ‘It’s your home after all, Dom, and I’m only here on sufferance since Papa died; I do realise that!’
‘Bryony!’
She couldn’t stand any more, she thought wildly, she had to go where she couldn’t see him. Where she could sit and think without the sight of him to drive home just how much she wanted to stay with him, and she got to her feet, clumsy because her ankle reminded her rather sharply that it was far from healed.
In the doorway she half turned, but she didn’t look at him, only allowed him to see the tremulous lower lip that quivered threateningly, and the defiant toss of her copper-red head as she went out. ‘I’ve got a lot of thinking to do,’ she told him huskily. ‘Please excuse me!’
No matter how long she thought about it, it didn’t hurt any less, knowing how ready Dominic was to send her to her great-aunt, and she wished she could cry, it would have relieved her feelings to some extent. Instead she sat dry-eyed and abjectly miserable, staring out at the deep blue sea under its golden net, where a schooner dipped with the trades and skimmed across the surface in a trail of spindrift, like scattered snow.
She didn’t have to go back to England, she told herself, she could stay in the islands and perhaps get a job. Marion would know someone who could give her work, and even Dominic admitted that she was good with figures. It wouldn’t be the same as here on Petitnue, of course, nowhere could, but at least she would be a little nearer to Dominic than if she was on the other side of the world.
She started when she heard someone coming across the sand behind her, and half-turned expecting it to be Tim, for this was their favourite beach. ‘Bryony.’
She got to her feet, ready to run she realised with a start, when she recognised Dominic’s deep and unmistakable voice, and when she turned to face him, her eyes were wide, almost desperate, in their appeal. She felt a sense of helplessness suddenly and the tears that had refused to comfort her earlier now streamed down her face as she looked at him.
‘Ah, ma petite!’
He took her in his arms as he had so often done when she was in need of comfort, and held her close with his face resting on the silky red softness of her hair. But there was more than just comfort in his arms this time, she realised, and closed her eyes as she let the warmth of his nearness flow over her, recalling how he had held her with the same possessive fierceness once before. When Jenny had made her inopportune entrance into the office one day.
‘Don’t cry, cherie—ssh, mon amie, s’il te plait!’
Bryony lifted her face to look at him, her eyes bright but still misty with tears and her mouth tremblingly unsteady as she gazed at him with parted lips. ‘You—you said you wanted me to go away.’
He made a wry face at the accusation, and his mouth hinted at a smile. ‘I mused aloud, ma petite; you have heard me do so before. I was considering the wisdom of letting you see something more of the world than Petitnue—and me!’
He was looking at her with such intensity that she could feel her body responding to the force that made him hold her so tightly, and her own breast echoed the hard strong beat of his heart. ‘Oh, Dom, I—’
‘Did you really believe that I wanted to send you away?’
‘I don’t know!’ She remembered the times she had tried to read what was going on behind those unfathomable grey eyes, and failed. ‘I’ve never known what you want, how you feel! When I was at school and you used to send me back after I’d been home, I hated it, and you were always so—so gentle and sweet to me, but you still made me go back!’
‘Because I had to, cherie, you must have known that.’
‘And now?’
The grey eyes warmed and smiled and she felt her heart expand like a flower in the sun when he bent and kissed her lightly on her mouth. ‘Now you go only if you want to, petite! I can’t pretend I want you to, I can’t even think about it any more.’
‘Oh, Dom!’
&nbs
p; She buried her head against him until a hand in her hair pulled her head back and the grey eyes searched her face, a fierce, intense scrutiny that sent shivering thrills all through her body until she literally trembled with emotions she scarcely recognised.
Then his face filled her vision for a moment; grey eyes, dark and unfathomable, and a mouth that promised the kisses she hungered for; the dark craggy features that she loved more than life itself. His arms tightened and drew her so close she could feel every muscle that strained her to him, and the warm smoothness of tanned skin tempted her to open his shirt with her finger-tips and stroke lightly while she kept her eyes only as high as his firm strong jaw.
Then his mouth touched hers lightly and she reached up to draw down his dark head closer still, stretching up to press as close as she could, until he buried his mouth in hers and she seemed to have stopped breathing. Then his voice was close to her ear and his lips pressed to the warm soft skin of her neck as she half-opened her eyes to look up at the incredible blueness of the sky between feathery palm leaves.
‘I wish I could teach you French, right at this moment, mon amie!’
Her whisper of laughter stirred the hair at the nape of his neck and he lifted his head to look at her, a large hand still cradling the back of her head, long fingers teasing the thick, silky red hair. The grey eyes swept slowly over her face and she smiled at him with her parted lips soft and inviting, hungry for his kisses.
‘If you spoke my language I could say so much better how much I love you!’ He kissed the side of her neck, nuzzling her ear while he spoke. ‘Only in French can I do you justice, ma belle petite amie!’
He whispered to her in his own tongue, his mouth emphasising each softly spoken word with a kiss, and Bryony asked no more than to be allowed to stay there for ever as they were. His arms holding her close and his voice murmuring those whispered words in her ear.
When she had breath enough, she looked up into his face and smiled, a small and very satisfied smile that made him bend his head and kiss her once more. ‘Shall I write to Aunt Germyn or will you?’ she asked, and Dominic considered for a moment, so that she immediately took it upon herself. ‘I’d like to,’ she told him with a hint of mischief. ‘I can’t wait to tell her that I’m staying here with you after all.’
A gleam of laughter lit Dominic’s grey eyes and he kissed her mouth slowly. ‘Better tell her you’re going to marry me, ma cherie, it will sound better!’
‘I’d stay anyway!’ She lifted her face to him and her heart beat so hard she could not control the shivery sound of her voice. ‘I love you, Dom, I think I always have.’
Dominic was shaking his head and the smile in his grey eyes warmed her even more than the bright Caribbean sun. ‘This is not like always, mon amour,’ he said softly. ‘You will see!’
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