Dee followed her mother through to the kitchen.
It was then her mother observed, ‘You’ve hurt your leg again. How did you do that?’
‘I can’t remember.’ Dee didn’t want to discuss her injuries with her mother. She watched her filling the kettle and asked, ‘Where’s Hetty?’
‘It’s her day off.’ Her mother explained the housekeeper’s absence.
‘That’s a shame. I’d have liked to see her.’ Dee spoke without thinking.
Hetty came daily, and it took a moment or two for her mother to pick up the slip. She turned from rattling cups on saucers.
‘You’re not planning to stay?’ She tried to sound disappointed.
But Dee knew. She saw it on her mother’s face. Relief. Maybe things weren’t so bad. Maybe Dee was just passing through.
‘Dunno.’ Dee was deliberately ungracious. ‘I’m keeping my options open.’
‘Oh.’ Her mother looked doubtful, as if she didn’t quite believe in these options.
And Dee found herself rattling on, ‘Actually, Baxter has asked me to marry him and go live in his castle in Scotland. Romantic, isn’t it?’
It was a wild claim, unlikely to go uncontested, but it was good—for a moment—to watch her mother’s disconcertment.
Baxter Ross raised a questioning brow, too, as though asking what game she was playing, but otherwise seemed in no hurry to contradict her.
It was her mother who eventually said, ‘Is this true? You and my daughter are planning to marry?’
Oddly he didn’t deny it outright. ‘It has been discussed, yes.’
Dee, who hadn’t expected any support, stared at him in surprise.
‘Well.’ Her mother didn’t hide her amazement. ‘I don’t know what to say.’
‘You could try congratulations,’ Dee suggested wickedly.
‘Yes, well…’ Her mother was struggling with the credibility gap. Dee might be her daughter but she still couldn’t imagine a respectable-looking character like Baxter Ross falling for a wild child like her. ‘I’m sorry, Mr—?’
‘Ross—’ Baxter supplied.
‘But you’re going to have to give me a chance to take this all in,’ she ran on faintly. ‘I mean…I don’t know anything about you, and—’
‘He’s a doctor,’ Dee supplied. ‘That puts him above suspicion, doesn’t it, Mother? Not likely to be—well, what shall we pick?—a crook, an opportunist, a child molester, maybe?’
Dee appeared to be talking off the top of her head, but her mother knew she wasn’t.
‘Dee.’ Her distress was manifest in the way she was fingering the fine white pearls at her neck. ‘Please. You can’t come back and start this again.’
‘Start?’ Dee echoed. ‘Start what, Mother?’
Dee had no intention of going further, not with a third party present. But her mother wasn’t to know this.
‘I’m sorry.’ Her mother shook her head and backed towards the door. ‘I’m going to have to ring Edward. You know I can’t cope with this.’
Dee pulled a face as her mother flitted away—she was a social butterfly, without the courage to be anything else.
‘Like to fill me in before she gets back?’ Baxter Ross drawled.
‘No,’ Dee replied. ‘Let’s just get out of here before the cavalry arrives. I’ll get Henry.’
She unlocked a set of French doors and walked onto the back terrace.
Baxter followed in disbelief. Did she really mean to leave without saying goodbye?
It seemed she had no conscience. He thought he might do well to remember that.
‘You’re not just going, are you?’ He grabbed her arm and brought her to a halt.
‘You’ve got the idea,’ Dee threw back at him.
‘You can’t—not like this.’ He pulled her back when she would have walked away.
‘You don’t know—’ she began to protest.
‘No, you’re right, I don’t know what wrong—imaginary or otherwise—she’s done to you,’ he talked over her, ‘but she’s your mother. Surely she deserves better?’
‘You don’t get it, do you?’ Dee rounded on him. ‘You take one look at my mother and right away you’re on her side. You think, How could that lovely woman produce a child like Dee? But if you knew the truth…’
‘Tell me, then,’ he demanded.
‘And you’ll believe it?’ she countered.
Baxter hesitated. It was his downfall.
‘I thought not,’ she sneered in reply. ‘Now, let go of me.’
She tried to twist from his grip. Baxter held onto her, assuming she would stop struggling. She didn’t, and he finally released her.
She made a point of rubbing the red marks, before asking, ‘Will you take Henry and me back to London?’
‘No.’
‘The nearest railway station, then?’
‘No, not until you resolve things here,’ he told her.
‘Resolve things?’ she echoed scornfully. ‘You sound like a bloody therapist. Well, thanks, but I’ve already worked through my anger, grief, and any other repressed feelings you’d like to name…Henry!’ she shouted at the dog. It was pointless, as he was deaf, but it was a good release for temper.
Baxter shadowed her down the steps to the garden where the dog had taken up residence in his kennel. She patted her leg, a command to come, but the retriever didn’t move. He looked what he was—tired and old.
Baxter saw her face fall, as if her last friend in the world had deserted her.
‘Deborah?’ Her mother called out from the terrace above.
Gone was the chance of a clean getaway.
Baxter heard the note of anxiety in the older woman’s voice, and said, ‘Stay an hour, and then I’ll give you a lift.’
Dee’s eyes narrowed, as though testing if he meant it.
He checked his watch. ‘We’ll drink tea, make polite conversation and, if you still want to go, drive back at four o’clock.’
Back to what? A shop doorway? Dee felt a sudden loss of nerve. Now she was back, wouldn’t she be better staying?
She thought of her last time at home and quickly recovered her nerve. Better the devils she didn’t know.
‘Four o’clock.’ She gave a nod of agreement.
‘So, do we continue the pretence of an engagement?’ he added.
‘If that’s okay?’ Dee needed to impress her mother. ‘Though I suppose we’re not the most convincing of couples.’
‘We could try being more so,’ he suggested, and, putting an arm to her waist, began to gaze down at her.
‘What are you doing?’ she squeaked in surprise.
‘Putting on a performance.’ He nodded in the direction of the house, where her mother watched from the doorway. ‘I could kiss you.’
‘Would you?’ Dee was even more surprised by this offer.
He shrugged. ‘If you like.’
‘I…no…’ Dee wasn’t sure she wanted to do this.
But he was already doing it. His head blocked out the sun and his mouth moved over hers in a slow, unhurried kiss that had Dee catching her breath with the sheer, alarming sensuality of it. Without meaning to, she parted her lips and he deepened the kiss until she gave a moan, somewhere between pleasure and panic.
That she could feel desire for any man came as a shock to Dee, and, rather late, she began to pull away.
Baxter lifted his head from hers, in time to read her changing expression. ‘You don’t have to look quite so horrified just because you responded to me.’
‘I didn’t!’ Even as Dee said it her body said something else, trembling against his lean, hard frame.
‘Really?’ He raised a brow. ‘In that case, I can’t wait until you do respond.’
His eyes lingered on her soft, bruised mouth as if he wanted to kiss her again.
Dee shook her head, denying that she felt anything, but made no effort to free herself.
She was caught between relief and annoyance when her mother call
ed once more. ‘Deborah, tea is ready.’
‘Yes, Mother,’ she called back, but didn’t take her eyes off him.
‘Yes, mother,’ he mocked gently. ‘We’re very dutiful all of a sudden… Never mind, I think we were fairly convincing, don’t you?’
He smiled in satisfaction, and Dee was left feeling used. Surely absurd, because she was using him, wasn’t she?
‘Well, it was no big deal from where I was standing,’ she retaliated, ‘but I guess it might fool someone at a distance.’
Dee was trying to sound blasé rather than insulting.
Whichever way he took it, the smile remained. Because he knew, of course. Knew just how convincing he’d been.
‘Perhaps we should try a rerun,’ he suggested, and started to draw her closer once more.
For a moment Dee had the strongest desire to go with it, shut her eyes and let his lips cover hers, feel again that rush of sensation as he held her in his arms.
But then her mother called once more and the moment was lost, and she broke away. The sound of quiet laughter followed her, telling her it had just been a game… For him, at least.
CHAPTER SIX
WHEN Dee arrived back at the house, her mother led the way through to the drawing room where she’d laid out afternoon tea.
‘I telephoned Edward,’ her mother informed her as they sat down. ‘He’s going to try and get away.’
‘Do you seriously think I want to see him after the last time?’ Dee’s tone was one of disbelief. ‘Or do you still imagine I’m trying to seduce your husband, Mother?’
Her mother looked pained, and, without meeting Dee’s eyes, admitted, ‘That was a misunderstanding. Edward explained it all later, after you’d gone…’
‘I bet.’ Dee had heard her stepfather’s explanations.
‘No, he was quite honest,’ her mother ran on. ‘He said it was entirely his fault. He hadn’t meant to kiss you like that. It just happened. And I suppose, being young and curious, it was perfectly natural for you to respond—’
‘I didn’t!’ It was an echo of the conversation she’d just had with Baxter Ross, only this time Dee had no doubts. She could still remember how she’d felt when her stepfather had kissed her—sick to the stomach.
‘Darling,’ her mother said, a slight whine in her voice, ‘I’m not accusing you of anything, really I’m not. Clearly Edward got carried away. But if I can forgive a moment’s madness…’
Then surely Dee could? Dee gazed at her mother. Did she really believe all this? Was she so stupid? Or just too frightened to believe anything else?
Barbara Litton fingered the pearls at her neck and still wouldn’t look at Dee.
It was a betrayal of nerves, but it was also symbolic, that touching of jewels Edward’s money had supplied. If she accepted Dee’s version, then how could she go on living with Edward? And without Edward, how could she survive?
‘Anyway, darling—’ the forced brightness returned to her voice ‘—we don’t need to speak of it again. Edward’s very sorry, and I’m sure he’ll try his best to make it up to you—’
‘We can’t stay longer than an hour,’ Dee cut across her mother’s fantasies and lied without conscience. ‘We’re on our way to Baxter’s family in Scotland.’
‘They know about you and him?’ her mother queried.
‘Yes, and they’re quite delighted,’ Dee claimed extravagantly. ‘They were beginning to think he’d never find the right woman.’
‘They’ve met you?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Oh.’ Barbara studied Dee a moment before saying tentatively, ‘Do you think…? Well, it’s just a bit of advice, darling…that you might want to dress a little more femininely?’
‘To gain their approval, you mean?’
‘Yes.’
Her mother looked hopeful.
‘Then, no,’ Dee responded, ‘I don’t want to dress more femininely. You see, I no longer care if people approve of me, Mother. I guess that’s what begging does for you.’
‘You’ve been begging?’ Barbara Litton was appalled.
‘It was either that or turn tricks for middle-aged punters in business suits,’ Dee stated bluntly. ‘And I could have stayed at home to do that.’
‘Deborah!’ her mother reproved in shock.
Dee turned cold eyes on her. ‘What?’
It was a challenge. Let her mother face the truth for once.
But, of course, that wasn’t her mother’s way.
‘I don’t understand what’s happened to you,’ Barbara Litton said in distraught tones. ‘You were such a sweet child. You had every advantage, everything you ever wanted. Why do you have to—?’ she broke off as she noticed Baxter Ross in the doorway.
Dee wasn’t similarly inhibited. ‘Why do I have to do what, Mother?’
But her mother ignored her and fixed back on her polite hostess smile. ‘Please come and have some tea.’
Baxter nodded and, passing a vacant armchair, came to sit with Dee on the sofa. Perhaps he intended playing the devoted fiancé.
Dee, however, slumped inelegantly back on her mother’s cream watersilk sofa and took a cigarette out.
‘I wish you wouldn’t,’ her mother appealed quietly. When Dee ignored her and lit up, she added with a sigh, ‘I’ll fetch an ashtray.’
When she was gone, Baxter asked, ‘Why can’t you at least be civil to her?’
It was too much for Dee. ‘You be civil to her if you like her that much,’ she suggested, rising to her feet. ‘I’m going to fetch some things.’
She limped off, leaving him to it. She knew her mother wouldn’t reveal anything important in her absence.
She went upstairs to her room. It was light and airy, with anything a teenaged girl could want, but she felt no desire to stay. She started rifling through drawers and the wardrobe for clothing that would be practical on the street. Much of it was dresses, and trendy tops and skirts that could only be worn indoors.
She selected jeans and a ribbed T-shirt and changed into them, discarding her torn clothes on the floor. She was shocked to discover how loose they were at the waist, although oddly her breasts hadn’t shrunk. She found a wide belt and tied it to the last hole to make the jeans fit.
She packed another set of trousers and a T-shirt in a duffle bag and looked unsuccessfully for a jacket before settling for a long wool jumper which might offer some warmth at night. Then, fairly certain it was the last time she would be home, she started to sort through a shoe box where she kept her personal possessions.
Mostly it contained certificates, photographs and mementoes from past holidays and happier times. She went through it systematically, tearing up much of it, taking out a couple of photographs of her father. She was saying a final goodbye to her childhood, and she knew it.
She wasn’t aware of time passing until the door opened behind her. She stood and turned, expecting to see Baxter. Then she froze.
Dressed in his expensive Savile Row suit was Edward Litton—the epitome of a successful surgeon. Suave, handsome and as cultured as they came. Once Dee would have trusted him with her life.
‘Deborah.’ He smiled in greeting. ‘It’s so good to see you.’
He took a step towards her, arms outstretched. Dee violently recoiled.
‘Touch me and I’ll kill you,’ she said.
The smile faded, but his manner remained smooth. ‘Don’t be so dramatic, darling. I’m not going to hurt you. I’d never hurt you. You know that.’
‘Stop it.’ Dee couldn’t stomach listening to this once more.
He frowned, as if he had no idea what she meant. ‘I’m so glad you’re home,’ he continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘We’ve been out of our minds with worry. You hear such stories of the things that happen to young girls in London… That is where you’ve been?’
Dee nodded rather than speak. She couldn’t believe his concerned tones. Didn’t he remember the last time they’d seen each other?
‘Well,
you can tell us about it in your own time,’ he said, as if she’d merely been on holiday. ‘The important thing is that you’ve returned. We’ve really missed you.’
He caught and held her eyes for a moment and Dee realised it was true. He, at least, had missed her. It was an irony, when her own mother clearly hadn’t.
‘What have you done to your hair?’ His tone was indulgent, though he probably hated it.
‘I couldn’t keep it clean so I had it cut,’ Dee replied shortly.
‘You look thinner, too.’ His eyes travelled over her body.
Baxter Ross had made a similar comment, but it wasn’t the same thing. He hadn’t made her flesh creep.
‘Nothing a few good meals won’t put right.’ He smiled once more.
‘I’m not staying,’ she said.
‘We’ll see,’ he replied, as if he didn’t believe her. After all, she’d been persuaded to stay the last time.
‘No, we won’t see.’ Her voice hardened and she crossed to the door, forgetting her packed bag.
Edward took warning from her expression and stepped out of her way, but he trailed after her along the landing. ‘Come on, Deborah, listen to me just for a moment…’
‘No, you listen to me!’ Dee rounded on him furiously. ‘This isn’t stupid, trusting little Deborah any more. You destroyed her, remember?’
He looked sad rather than angry. Why did she have to say these things?
‘Aren’t you being a little harsh…? I admit I behaved impetuously.’ He gave her a rueful look. ‘But your mother’s forgiven me so why can’t you?’
Dee shook her head in disbelief. Was she the only person in this house with a grasp of reality?
‘Edward, I’m your stepdaughter and you tried to…to rape me!’ She forced out the words so there would be no going back. No pretending everything was sunshine and light. No kidding herself or him that they could live in the same house.
She watched the colour—of rage or shame?—seep into Edward’s face. She made to walk away, but he caught her arm. ‘Deborah—’
He was going to plead with her, but he didn’t get the chance.
‘Dee!’ Baxter called from downstairs.
‘Up here,’ she called back in relief.
Bride Required Page 9
