Confrontation

by Sarah Holland

  Caroline struggled to control herself, lifting her head with savage dignity and giving a brief, curt nod. Turning on her heel, she left the office and closed the door with a harsh click behind her.

  She started to shake at once. Stumbling to her desk, she had to lean on it for a split second, breathing in shallow breaths. Then she pulled herself together and picked up the phone, ringing Venetia Blake, though it killed her to have to do it.

  'Just putting you through, Miss Blake,' she said, and pressed the button for Mark's private line.

  He answered at once. 'Venetia,' his deep, smoky voice was seduction itself. 'Darling, I've missed you...'

  Caroline hung up with a crash, jealousy blazing savagely in her veins. Damn him! Damn her! Damn them both!

  She worked steadily through the morning, typing up the letters Mark had already dictated before she arrived. Listening to his strong, cool voice in her ears made her pulses race, memories of his lovemaking exploding in her mind, heart and body.

  At half-past twelve, the door opened and Mark strode out, dynamic, powerful, handsome and impeccably dressed.

  'Ready, Miss Shaw?' he drawled, eyes like knives. 'Lunch with Rachey at the Ritz, remember?'

  Caroline got to her feet tensely, the red silk shift dress she wore rippling as she walked, highlighting her slender hourglass figure, and Mark's eyes lingered on her full breasts as she approached him.

  'I should have taken you and left the rescue workers to break the door down,' he drawled cynically. 'I'd feel so much better if I'd had you in every possible sense of the word.'

  She sucked in her breath sharply and said, 'If you make one more remark like that, I'll resign, you bastard!'

  He laughed softly. 'Just get your coat, Miss Shaw...'

  They were driven to the Ritz by Mark's chauffeur, and the Rolls-Royce limousine was luxurious, but the electricity flashing between her and her boss was intolerable. Her eyes kept lingering on his tough profile. She was aware of his narrowed gaze on her body. She kept wanting him to push her backwards and kiss her till her legs gave way...

  The Ritz was crowded. Waiters swished about in black tails. The Palm Court glittered under the glass dome, sunlight pouring over marble and gold and green palms.

  Mark strode ahead of her with customary dynamism, up the marble steps, hands thrust in Savile Row trouser pockets, every woman in the place eyeing him with breathless admiration.

  'Mr Rider, sir!' The head waiter bowed. 'Wonderful to see you. I have your favourite table ready...'

  They were lead across to a long pink-gold couch and long marble table. 'Ritz Cuvee champagne,' Mark ordered coolly, sinking down with predatory masculine grace on the couch as Caroline sank down beside him, heart thudding with savage love for him.

  'Rachey appears to be late,' she said, dry-mouthed, when he looked at her with those fantastic grey eyes.

  'True to form,' he said curtly, gaze flicking to her mouth. 'I expect he's still in his room and --'

  'Mark!' A voice drawled, making them both look round. A tall dark man stood at their table, smiling at them both in a nasty way. 'But how interesting to see you! May I ask who the young lady is?'

  Mark's eyes narrowed. 'My secretary, Miss Shaw.' He glanced at her, saying slowly, 'Caroline, this is Paul Devonshire, the gossip columnist of the Daily Gazette.'

  Caroline's eyes widened with recognition. 'How do you do?' She extended a pale, slim hand.

  Paul Devonshire shook hands with her, smiling. 'Just the secretary, eh? A pity. I thought you might be Mark's latest. I'm here to pick up useful titbits, you see, because there's not much going on in the --'

  'I can assure you she is only my secretary,' Mark cut in icily. 'And we're here for a business lunch with Jack Rachey, one of our oldest clients. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have some business to discuss.'

  There was a little silence, then Paul Devonshire smiled. 'OK. Perhaps another time, then?' Turning, he strolled in his expensive suit back to his table.

  As he sank down, Caroline's eyes flickered past him, and she froze with horror, staring at Stephen Daly, a few tables behind Devonshire, staring with a fierce gaze of terrible misery straight at her.

  'Oh, my God...' she whispered, tensing.

  Mark shot her a narrow-eyed look. 'I agree, Devonshire is a nuisance, but he's got nothing on either of us, so you can relax.'

  She moistened her lips, glanced at him, and decided to say nothing about Stephen's presence here at the Ritz. He must have come here to reminisce on the evening he'd asked her to marry him. How long ago that seemed! Should she go over and speak to him? She remembered him telling her to keep away from him. She picked up her champagne glass and drank. Better abide by his wishes and not approach him.

  'You're very pale,' Mark said tightly beside her. 'I'm sure the thought of being reported in the Gazette as my latest mistress is quite abhorrent to you.'

  She flushed, put down her glass. 'That's right.'

  'But it was so nearly true, wasn't it?' he drawled unpleasantly. 'How well I remember those moments on the bed. The way you --'

  'Shut up,' she said under her breath, face tight.

  'That's not quite what you said, is it? Let me see now...' He leaned closer, eyes narrowed, and whispered thickly in her ear, '"Mark, take me! Make love to me.. .1 want you to..."'

  Hot colour flooded her face. Her pulses were leaping violently. 'If you don't stop this, Mark, I shall resign and --'

  'You resign, missy,' he bit out under his breath, 'and I'll be at your flat in five seconds flat to take what you so passionately offered me at the cottage!'

  'You wouldn't get it offered to you a second time,' she said through tight lips.

  'Want to bet on that?' he said through his teeth.

  Their eyes met and warred. Caroline's body was jumping with hot desire, love running like wildfire through her heart, and she suddenly knew she had to get away from him to think.

  'I'll go up to Rachey's room and get him,' she said thickly, and got to her feet. 'I shan't be long...'

  Before he could stop her,, she was on her feet and walking across the Palm Court, her legs weak beneath her. She had to resign. There was no question now. Even if he carried out that threat, she knew she wouldn't let him take her, however deep the temptation.

  Walking into the shelter of the lift alcove, she leant weakly against the wall, hidden from view by the archway, breathing in shallow gasps as she thought of her future. In love with Mark, leaving the firm, her engagement over, going into the future with nothing... nothing...

  Mark strode into the lift alcove suddenly, face black with rage. 'Don't you ever walk out on me in the middle of a sentence like that again!'

  She stared at him, feeling weak with love. 'Jack Rachey is fifteen minutes late! I didn't want to just sit there and wait for him when we all know he could be --'

  'You didn't walk out because of that!' he bit out. 'You walked out because what I was saying was unacceptable to you! Do you think I'm stupid?'

  Her face flamed. 'Well, what do you expect? You were reminding me of my own folly at the cottage and --'

  'It wasn't folly,' he said thickly, towering over her with an air of menace. 'It was natural. You wanted me, you've always wanted me, you still want me and you --'

  'Why are you doing this?' she whispered shakingly. 'You know it's impossible, you know it's over --'

  'It'll never be over until I make love to you!' he cut in harshly.

  There was a breathless silence. She stared into his eyes.

  'Mark, don't...' she whispered, legs going weak.

  'I've tried to stop it,' he said under his breath. 'Tried to play boss to your secretary all bloody morning, but I just can't forget the woman you are, Caro.'

  'You only want me in your bed...'

  'And how!' he said thickly, and his hands slid onto her shoulders.

  Her pulses leapt violently. 'Oh, God... don't touch me!'

  Fury blazed in his eyes. 'The hell I won't!' he said hoarsely,
and then he was dragging her against his hard body, his mouth closing over hers with ruthless hot insistence.

  Excitement leapt in her veins. Moaning in hoarse need, she opened her mouth to his fiery kiss, and heard his rough gasp of desire as he pressed her against the wall, his hard thighs against hers and his hands moving over her body while she shook, whispering his name, pushing her hands shakingly through his black hair.

  A footfall behind them made them break apart wildly, flushed and fevered.

  Stephen stood in the doorway, white, shell-shocked, devastated.

  'Oh, no...' Caroline's shaking hands went to her bruised mouth. 'Stephen...'

  Stephen stepped forwards angrily. 'This is the real reason you broke off our engagement, isn't it? Him! That swine you profess to hate so much! But you don't hate him, do you? You bloody well fancy him! You're in love with him! You're --'

  'Stephen, you're misinterpreting --' she began in agony.

  'You went to bed with him over the weekend!' Stephen said fiercely. 'You're his mistress! You're --'

  'Shut up!' Mark bit out, taking a violent step towards him as Paul Devonshire strolled innocently into the archway, then stopped dead, his gaze flashing from face to face as he froze where he stood and a gleam entered his eyes.

  'I will not shut up!' Stephen was saying furiously, unaware of Devonshire standing right behind him. 'I was engaged to Caroline before you took her away for the weekend. You seduced her, didn't you? You made her your mistress and ruined my life and now --'

  'I didn't make her my mistress.' Mark lifted his dark head, a ring of hard authority in his voice as he put his arm around Caroline. 'But I fully intend to make her my wife.'

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  'How could you have said that?' Caroline demanded hoarsely as the chauffeur-driven Rolls sped back across West London. 'Poor Stephen was so hurt. He just walked away with a face like stone, and I had to let him go because that awful man was listening --'

  'It was precisely because Devonshire was listening that I said it,' he bit out. 'How many more times have I got to tell you?'

  'I could have lived it down,' she said, running a hand through her gold-brown hair. 'Even if he'd printed the story, I would have survived it. Not everyone reads the Gazette. And not everyone believes what they read in the papers, anyway.'

  'Fine,' he said tightly beside her in the luxurious rear of the limousine. 'But I wasn't letting Daly get away with any of that, either.'

  She winced at the memory. 'Poor Stephen. I shall have to go and see him, talk to him, make him understand...'

  'You'll do no such thing,' he said tightly, eyes warring with hers.

  'Mark, I must try to make amends.'

  'You can't,' he said flatly. 'Leave him alone to get over it in his own time, Caro. Any contact from you will only make it harder for him.'

  She gave a miserable sigh. 'I suppose you're right...'

  'Besides,' his voice was tough, 'he can't have been in love with you, or he would never have said all of that. He knows perfectly well you wouldn't have slept with me. Unless...' His grey eyes darted over her face and his face drained slowly of all colour.

  Caroline looked up, meeting his gaze, and caught her breath at the expression there.

  'Unless you've been to bed with Daly,' Mark said through white lips.

  She just stared at him, thinking, Does he care?

  'Well?' he bit out thickly, his hand catching her chin. 'Answer me, Caro, or so help me I'll strangle you with my bare hands!'

  'What do you want to know?' she asked, heart leaping violently.

  He was silent for a long moment, then his deep voice asked unsteadily, 'Have you let Daly make love to you?'

  She considered telling him it was none of his business. Then she wondered with tears in her eyes what would be the point. Lowering her lashes to hide her tears, she whispered, 'No, Mark. No, I haven't let Stephen make love to me.'

  He expelled his breath harshly, his hand still on her chin. His grey eyes watched her bent head. The car sped through London, slowing for a set of traffic lights.

  Mark released her slowly, then murmured, 'We'll have to get you a ring.'

  Her lashes flickered wetly and she looked up, tensing. 'A ring?'

  'An engagement ring,' he said flatly and leant forwards, rapping on the glass. 'Take us to Cartier's!'

  Caroline caught her breath, whitening, grabbing his powerful forearm. 'Mark, for God's sake, you can't be serious!'

  He looked down at her, black brows jerking together. 'Of course I'm serious! Caro—I told the most famous gossip columnist in England that I intended to marry you! I'm not backing down!' He sat back, his eyes a harsh grey. 'I'm marrying you, whether you like it or not.'

  'But...' Her lips were bleached. 'But...you can't mean it! We can't marry. We're not in love, we --'

  'Shut up,' he said bitingly, his face hard. 'Love is bloody irrelevant.'

  Pain shot through her. 'It may be to you, but it's not to me!'

  'You're hardly qualified to lecture on the subject!' he bit out thickly. 'You broke that engagement to Daly, you broke his heart and you accepted his proposal without loving him enough to follow it through!'

  She sucked in her breath, whitening. 'My God, you swine!'

  He gave a harsh laugh. 'That's rich! All I did was try to get you into bed. At least I didn't go all out to smash your heart into tiny pieces!'

  She jerked her face away before he could see the broken pieces of her heart in her green eyes.

  'Why did you break the engagement, Caro?'

  'I...' Her heart was banging violently. 'I just realised I couldn't marry him. That's all.'

  He watched her in silence, then asked unsteadily, 'Anything to do with me? I mean—what happened between us?'

  Caroline shook her head but could not speak.

  The Rolls stopped outside Carrier's. He glanced up at it, then at her bent head. 'Daly said something about your being in love with me.'

  She froze, not daring to look round, her pulses leaping violently.

  Mark waited, then said, 'Just jealousy, I guess? No truth in it.'

  She swallowed, her throat dry, then said huskily, 'No truth in it.'

  He was very still suddenly and the silence lengthened until she turned her head slowly to look up into his tough face. At once, he looked away, his hand reaching for the door-handle.

  'Let's get that ring,' he said thickly, and stepped out of the car.

  Caroline stepped out, green eyes a fire in her white face as she watched him stride round to her, his body arrogant and his face hard.

  'Mark,' she touched his arm as they stood outside that fabled black-gold window, 'I can't do it.'

  He stared down at her, mouth tight. 'I've announced it. There's no way back for either of us.'

  Pain lit her eyes. 'But marriage, Mark! I know how you feel about it! You'll hate me for trapping you, we'll fight all the time, we'll --'

  'You'll marry me if I have to drag you to the altar by your long hair, Caro!' he bit out thickly, and dragged her into Cartier's with hard possessive fingers.

  They looked at rings in a silence fraught with tension. The jewels blazed on black velvet and she stared down at them in an agony of emotion, thinking, I've fallen in love with him and now I'm going to have to pay for it in blood during a marriage that will be a battlefield of love and hate.

  'The ruby,' she said hoarsely, seeing it suddenly blazing in silver against that black velvet, the silver of his eyes.

  Mark reached for it wordlessly, then his eyes flicked slowly to meet hers. They studied one another in silence. His hand found hers, slid the ring on to her finger, the cool metal a brand on her skin.

  Mark turned to the jeweller. 'We'll take it,' he said thickly. 'Send me the box it comes in and the bill. My fiancée will wear it as we leave.'

  'Very good, Mr Rider,' murmured the jeweller with a discreet nod.

  They, left in silence, got into the rear of the Rolls. Caroline was trembling, starin
g down at the ruby on her finger, and she looked ravishing, her red silk dress a blaze against the white of her skin and the long silky gold-brown of her hair.

  Mark said thickly, 'We can't go back to the office.'

  Wordlessly, she looked up at him.

  'We'll just be inundated with calls,' he said, staring at her through those hooded eyelids. 'I think we should take the rest of the day off and go back to my place.'

  Her eyes widened. 'Mark, we can't! Jack Rachey's signature is on that contract now and --'

  'And it can wait till tomorrow,' he said flatly, and rapped on the glass partition. 'Ashworth Manor, and make it snappy!'

  Her heart leapt. She was finally going to see his home. 'We're going to Hampshire?'

  'It seems sensible,' he said, looking away from her. 'If we're going to be married, you'll have to see where I live and --'

  'I'm still far from sure we should even be considering marriage!' she said thickly. 'We don't even get on, let alone love each other.'

  His face tightened. 'Just shut up and accept it, Caro!'

  She closed her eyes and looked out of the window in silent misery for the rest of the journey. The car sped out of London, through green fields, eventually turning off the motorway and sliding along narrow country lanes until they sped through the gates of Ashworth Manor.

  It was a beautiful house, a red-brick Elizabethan manor set in acres of sweeping parkland, deer grazing by a lake, a few acres of forest to the west, and the house itself twisting in Tudor beauty against a halcyon blue sky.

  They stepped out on to a gravel drive and Mark said flatly, 'I'll give you a quick tour of the main rooms. There's too much to see all at once.'

  Caroline met his gaze bitterly. 'I feel like an employee.'

  His grey eyes blazed. 'Well, you're not!' he bit out thickly and took her wrist in hard fingers. 'You're my fiancée—remember? You're wearing my bloody ring and we're going to be married; now stop trying to get out of it!'

  He pulled her angrily behind him as they went up the steps and through the vast arched doorway.

  'Sir!' The butler did a double-take as he saw Mark enter with Caroline. 'I had no idea you'd be home so soon. Did you telephone or --?'