‘I’m asking you to believe that I couldn’t help what happened.’
‘Don’t come the innocent with me. I saw you dancing together before you came out here with him.’
‘If you were watching you must know that I didn’t come out here with him. I came out alone and he followed me.’
‘Of course. In the circumstances you must have deemed it a necessary strategy.’
‘It was nothing of the kind,’ she denied hotly. ‘I thought he was an obnoxious man. I was doing my best to get away from him.’
‘I might possibly have believed that if I hadn’t seen you together on the dance floor. When he started getting…shall we say over-familiar?…you made no attempt to stop him.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong! I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen to me.’
‘You didn’t look as if you were trying very hard.’
‘What did you expect me to do? Slap his face in the middle of the dance floor? As far as I was concerned he was a paying guest here and I didn’t want to cause a scene…’
‘If I believed that, I would applaud such noble self-sacrifice. But as you appeared to be enjoying his attentions—’
‘You’re quite mistaken!’ she said hotly. ‘How could you think I was enjoying being made the target of some drunken Casanova who…’ Her voice wobbled dangerously, and she stopped speaking.
‘I must congratulate you on your acting ability. If I didn’t already know what kind of woman you are, I might be convinced by your vehemence.’
‘You don’t know what kind of woman I am.’
‘Oh, I think I do,’ he said, contempt in his voice. ‘There’s only one kind of woman who would hide the fact that she’s newly married and jump into bed with a man she’d only just met. A man,’ he added caustically, ‘who meant absolutely nothing to her except possibly a cheap sexual thrill…’
Cathy had opened her mouth to refute the latter statement but, realizing she couldn’t, she bit her lip and stayed silent.
Noting that silence, Ross went on, ‘The kind of woman who, having been warned not to get up to any tricks, deliberately encourages an obvious lecher like Cunningham—’
‘I did nothing of the kind,’ she cried. Then, in despair she said, ‘Oh, why am I bothering? I’ll never be able to convince you.’
‘You could always try.’
‘I’m getting cold.’
‘Then we’ll go somewhere warmer.’
‘I don’t want to go anywhere with you.’
She turned to head for the French windows, but he caught her arm.
Anger blinding her to the danger signals in his face, the tightening of the skin over his cheekbones, the set of his jaw, she cried, ‘Will you let me be? I’ve had enough of being manhandled for one night.’
‘If you think for one minute that—’
He broke off abruptly as a couple appeared in the doorway and glanced at them curiously.
Knowing he couldn’t detain her now, Cathy made the most of her opportunity. Pulling free, she brushed past him and was through the open door in an instant, the skirt of her dress swirling round her slim legs.
She had started to make her way round the edge of the room when, from behind, strong hands closed lightly around her upper arms and she was steered onto the dance floor.
It was a quickstep, and, turning her in his arms, Ross began to move lightly, easily, amongst the circling couples, leaving her no alternative but to follow him.
When, after a moment or two, that number came to an end, she made a fruitless attempt to free herself.
‘If you don’t let me go,’ she hissed, ‘this time I’m quite willing to cause a scene…’
Unimpressed, he said, ‘I very much doubt it. There would be far too much awkward explaining to do.’
As he finished speaking, Kevin announced, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, as we’ve had a fairly lively mixture so far, the next few dances are specially for all the lovers present.’
The lights were dimmed, and a moment later the soft, romantic strains of an old ballad filled the air.
The words had a certain poignant relevance, and Cathy bit her lip as, one hand imprisoning hers, the other at her slender waist, Ross drew her closer and started to dance.
Once again with no option, she followed his lead.
Though she was tall for a woman, he was appreciably taller, and her head fitted snugly beneath his chin.
Her heart was beating so hard with a combination of anger and other emotions she preferred not to define that she felt almost giddy.
At first she held herself stiff as a poker, until he bent his blond head and said in her ear, ‘Why don’t you unbend a little and try to enjoy it?’
He was a good dancer, lithe and easy to follow, and gradually the anger drained away, leaving a kind of melancholy weariness, an acceptance of the tricks fate seemed to be playing on her.
Eventually, with his hand moving in a slow caress up and down her spine, and his cheek resting lightly against her hair, she relaxed and, yearning for the truce he seemed to be offering, momentarily let her forehead rest against his chest.
His breath stirring a loose tendril of hair at her temple, he asked softly, mockingly, ‘Trying your wiles on me again?’
The injustice of it stung like a nettle, and, missing a step, she stumbled slightly.
Then, pulling away from him as much as he would allow, she lifted her head and, her voice low and bewildered, said, ‘That wasn’t fair.’
‘It wasn’t meant to be.’
His cruel words and the coldness in his face, when she had been hoping for a lessening of hostilities, came as a blow.
Tears sprang into her beautiful eyes, making them gleam like the opals he’d likened them to.
He drew her hard against him and turned her so that his wide shoulders hid her from the majority of the couples dancing.
‘Don’t cry,’ he said, his voice harsh.
She shook her head, and a fine strand of silky hair clung momentarily to his jacket as she denied fiercely, ‘I’m not crying.’
But a single tear spilled over and rolled slowly down her cheek, making her a liar.
He released her hand just briefly to brush the glittering drop away with his thumb, before demanding with a sigh, ‘Don’t you care about your marriage at all? When you have a husband like Carl, why do you find it necessary to encourage every man you meet?’
‘I’ve told you repeatedly, but you won’t believe me, that I thought Nigel Cunningham was obnoxious, and I certainly never gave him any encouragement.’
‘Just as you never gave me any encouragement?’
His face sardonic, he watched the colour rise in her cheeks and the downward sweep of her long lashes.
‘But as it happens I wasn’t talking about Cunningham. I was talking about Robert Munro. It’s no use telling me you didn’t encourage him. I was standing watching you. When he obviously didn’t want to go on the dance floor, I saw you take hold of his hand to persuade him. So don’t try to deny it.’
It struck her that he was reacting just like a jealous lover, and she might almost have believed Nigel Cunningham’s accusation had it been anyone other than herself who was involved.
But, as it was, she knew all he felt for her was anger and contempt.
Taking a deep breath, she tried to explain. ‘Robert is a thoroughly nice man and I like him. But though he enjoys dancing he lacks confidence. When I took hold of his hand I was encouraging him to dance. Nothing more. Ask him if you don’t believe me…’
‘How can I believe a woman who deliberately takes off her wedding ring so she can—?’
‘I didn’t take it off,’ Cathy broke in hoarsely. ‘I was wearing it when Carl and I left the flat earlier tonight.’ Then in a sudden panic of realization she said, ‘I must have lost it somewhere.’
Clearly not believing her, Ross drawled, ‘Try again, sweetheart.’
‘But it’s the truth,’ she insisted urgently.
&nbs
p; His voice dismissive, he observed, ‘Well, it can’t mean much to you.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong! It means a great deal to me. Much more than I can say.’
‘Don’t bother to lie,’ he said wearily. ‘If it really meant that much, you’d give up your alley cat ways and—’
He broke off as the dance came to an end.
At the same instant a man appeared at Ross’s elbow and said, ‘Excuse me, Mr Dalgowan, but when you’ve got a minute to spare, the man who’s running the orienteering classes would like your advice…’
As Ross’s grip loosened, trembling in every limb, Cathy pulled free and, brushing past the newcomer with a murmured, ‘Excuse me,’ hurriedly made her way through the crowd.
On reaching the foyer she glanced around, but could see no sign of Carl or anyone else she knew amongst the laughing, chattering throng.
Things were hotting up, and, knowing it was useless to start looking for the ring, suddenly bone-weary and at the end of her emotional tether, she wanted nothing more than to find her coat and go.
But first, so Carl wouldn’t worry about her, she had to find someone to leave a message with.
All at once she spotted Janet, standing near the bar, and with some difficulty made her way over.
Janet greeted her with a warm smile and, having introduced her to the couple she was with, went on in her soft Scottish accent, ‘If you’re looking for Carl, he’s in the morning room having a pow-wow with the New Venture Group. They’re trying to make arrangements to fit in an overnight winter survival course before Christmas. So if you don’t go and root him out you may not see him for hours.’
‘It’s all right,’ Cathy said quickly. ‘I won’t disturb him. But if he should come looking for me, I’d be grateful if you’d tell him that I’ve gone back to the flat.’
‘Oh, do you have to go?’ Janet exclaimed. ‘We haven’t even had supper yet. Our après-ski parties usually go on until after midnight. Why don’t you join us?’
Appreciating the other woman’s kindness, Cathy said, ‘Thanks, but I’d rather go. I’ve had a couple of bad nights, and I’m feeling really tired, so I’d like to get to bed.’
‘Well, if that’s what you want.’
‘Yes, it is.’
‘But how will you get back?’ Janet asked in sudden concern. ‘It’s nearly a mile to Dunbar itself if you go by the main drive. That’s much too far for you to walk in these conditions.’
‘It’s all right. Carl told me he has all his winter gear here, and he knows the shortcut, so I’ll take the car.’
‘You have the keys?’
‘They’ll be in his coat pocket… Oh, when you do see him, will you please tell him that I’ve got my own keys to the flat, so there’s really no need for him to hurry back.’
‘I’ll tell him… By the way, as it’s been snowing all evening, you’ll go steady, won’t you?’
‘Of course,’ Cathy assured her. ‘Though it doesn’t seem to have been coming down too fast.’
‘It’s surprising how quickly it accumulates, and because of the need to keep the trails to the cabins passable, the drive hasn’t been properly cleared since yesterday.’
‘It wasn’t bad when we came,’ Cathy told her. Then, seeing that the other woman was genuinely anxious, she added, ‘But I promise I’ll drive carefully.’
Janet smiled her relief. ‘I hope you get a good night’s sleep. Margaret was quite concerned to find that because the rest of us work Saturdays, Ross is expecting you to do the same.’
‘Please tell her not to worry,’ Cathy said as evenly as possible. ‘It’s only right that I should work the same hours as everyone else.’
As soon as they had said their goodnights, anxious to get away in case Ross caught up with her again, Cathy hurried to the cloakroom.
Looking back as she reached the door, she saw his blond head at the far side of the room and ducked in hastily, hoping he hadn’t spotted her.
Having located both Carl’s jacket and her own, she slipped hers on and put her bag over her shoulder, before feeling in Carl’s pockets for the car keys.
She found his driving gloves and his lucky-dip Christmas gift, but it was an unpleasant shock to discover that there was no sign of the car keys.
When a second, more thorough, search failed to produce them, she bit her lip in vexation. He must have slipped them in his trouser pocket.
But if she went looking for him she risked running into Ross again, and she just couldn’t face the thought of that.
Which left only one alternative. She must walk.
No doubt the conditions weren’t too good, but if she kept to the main drive, in spite of Janet’s misgivings she couldn’t possibly come to any harm.
She made her way to the outer door and, trying to look casual, glanced around. To her relief she could no longer see Ross, and no one seemed to be paying her the slightest attention.
Slipping out, she closed the door, pulled up her fur-trimmed hood and, head bent against the driving snow, left the lights of Beinn Mor behind her and set off up the drive.
As she had known quite well, but stubbornly refused to admit even to herself, her clothing and footwear were totally inadequate and her feet were soon icy cold and saturated.
She had been hoping to keep to the broad tyre tracks of the four-wheel drive but the snow had already completely obliterated them.
Slipping and sliding, she tried to stay where the cover of snow was at its thinnest, but even so it was over her shoes, and, more often than not, she was ankle deep.
Though tired, she was young and fit and, in better weather conditions, a mile would have meant nothing to her. But now her jacket and the skirt of her dress were clinging round her wetly, and the wind and snow beating into her face slowed her down and seemed to sap her strength.
After covering what seemed like miles, but in reality could only have been about half a mile, she veered a little off course and, stumbling over some hidden obstacle, went sprawling.
When she had got her breath back, she struggled unsteadily to her feet and, wielding will-power like a whip, battled on.
But bone-weary, numbed by the intense cold and starting to feel strangely light-headed, she found it almost impossible to steer a straight course.
Weaving about, and falling more and more often, she was forced to battle against a strong desire to lie down in the snow and go to sleep.
She was picking herself up for the umpteenth time when she became aware that there were headlights coming up the drive behind her.
Relief flooded through her, helping to clear her muddled state. No doubt Janet had given Carl her message, and, realizing that he still had the car keys and she must be on foot, he had come after her.
Standing swaying a little, blinded by the headlights, she waited until the big car drew up alongside and Carl jumped out.
Only it wasn’t Carl.
‘What the devil do you think you’re playing at?’ Ross demanded, with a kind of raging calm. ‘Have you no sense? You’re not in a London suburb now. You’re in the Cairngorms…’
Bundling her unceremoniously into the big black Range Rover, he stripped off her saturated jacket and replaced it with his own fleece-lined anorak.
It was far too big across the shoulders, and the sleeves came over her hands, but it still held the comforting heat of his body, and that brought such a surge of emotion welling up that she was forced to bite her lip.
Clambering behind the wheel once more, he set off up the drive, the clash of gears showing only too clearly the extent of his fury.
‘It’s a blessing Janet noticed that Carl’s car was still there. Even then she could hardly believe you’d been quite so foolish and spent precious time looking for you, until one of the guests mentioned that she’d seen you slip out. When Janet realized you really had gone, and she was unable to locate Carl, she came to find me…
‘Damn it, woman,’ he berated her, ‘haven’t you any idea what a risk you were
taking?’
‘I thought if I kept to the drive—’
He brushed that aside. ‘If you’d twisted an ankle, strayed off course, or lost consciousness exposed to temperatures this low without being properly equipped, you’d almost certainly have been dead before any search party could find you…’
Flayed by his quiet fury, she fought back. ‘I can’t see why you’re so angry. As you think so badly of me, why should you care what happens to me?’
‘I don’t,’ he said brutally. ‘But if someone is found dead just before Christmas it’s bound to cast a blight over both the festivities and the skiing…’
Stricken by that I don’t, and realizing only too clearly the truth of what he was saying, she whispered, ‘I’m sorry.’
But as though she hadn’t spoken he went on, ‘Added to that, it isn’t the kind of publicity Beinn Mor is looking for. But I don’t suppose that matters a great deal to someone like you.’
The contempt in his voice did what his angry words had been unable to do, and she was forced to turn her head away so he wouldn’t see the tears she could no longer hold back.
But perhaps he sensed that she was crying, because he said no more.
In the ensuing silence, broken only by the shush of the tyres and the click of the windscreen wipers as they cleared the snow, she fought to regain command of her emotions.
Without success.
Since childhood, she had always displayed great self-control and had seldom cried. Even when her parents had died, for Carl’s sake she had tried to hide her grief. But now the floodgates had been opened she was unable to halt the flow of tears.
She found herself crying silently, bitterly, for all the sadness in her life. For the death of her parents, for the loss of her mother’s ring, for a failed marriage and for a magical, unexpected attraction that had sprung into life so suddenly and so strongly, only to die. And—perhaps the saddest thing of all—for what might have been.
Then, blurred by her tears, the lights of Dunbar came into view, and a moment later they were pulling up by the side door.
CHAPTER SIX
PURPOSEFULLY, Ross switched off the engine, doused the headlights and came round to help her out.
The Boss's Forbidden Secretary Page 8
