'We'll leave the dishes for the moment,' said Hannah firmly. 'Want a brandy? Liqueur?'
Verity shook her head, knowing the moment of truth had arrived. Her mother's antennae were patently working overtime.
'What's the problem, babe?' asked Hannah bluntly. 'A man?'
Verity smiled. 'If I do have a problem, why should you think it's a man?'
Her mother shrugged and lit a cigarette. 'Call it maternal intuition. You sort your own problems out very efficiently as a rule, education, job, paying-guests and so on. So now I think it must be something different, and my bones tell me it's a man. Is it this Niall Gordon you've mentioned?'
'No. In fact Niall is at present in a state of high dungeon because I've been seeing someone else.'
Hannah's eyes narrowed through the cigarette smoke. 'Have you now. Who?'
Verity spread her hands with a wry, helpless little gesture. 'I've been an idiot, Mother. Somehow or other I've managed to get involved with an old flame of Gussie Middleton's.'
'I wouldn't have thought you two shared the same taste, darling.' Hannah stubbed out her cigarette, carefully avoiding her daughter's eyes. 'I seem to remember she had some wild affair with that Dysart boy from Temple Priors—the one who went into the Marines.'
'Got it in one, Mother.'
They looked at each other for a moment.
'How involved is involved?' asked Hannah casually.
'He wants me to marry him.' Verity grinned as her mother let out an inelegant whistle. 'His brother Nicholas died in a fire last year and Ben is now out of the Marines, his sights on a suitable wife to produce an heir to the title—and for some reason he seems to think I fill the bill.'
'I agree with him there, naturally.' Hannah smiled questioningly. 'How do you feel about it?'
'I don't know.' Verity coloured and looked away. 'What I mean, Mother dear, is that I'm not sure what I feel about marrying Ben. I suddenly discovered how I feel about the man himself the other day—which is more or less why I'm here.'
'I'm very glad you are—but slightly in the dark as to what's bothering you. He wants to marry you, and you implied that you're in love with him. So where's the obstacle?'
Verity got up restlessly and moved to the window, looking out blindly into the garden.
'The thing is, I'm greedy,' she said bitterly. 'I want the lot. Sensible, level-headed Verity, who always found the idea of heated emotions rather embarrassing.'
Hannah smiled tenderly at her tall daughter's averted profile. 'And now it isn't.'
'No. Ben considers that our mutual liking and the interests we have in common, not to mention my profession, are a much better basis for marriage than any grande passion, whereas I want him on his knees, laying his heart and soul at my feet on a plate, as well as all his worldly goods.' Verity swung round. 'He likes me, that's obvious, and, well, there's no problem about the physical side either—'
'Which is a help!'
Verity smiled unwillingly.
'As you say, Mother. Well? I've come to consult the oracle. You've been married twice, and each time very successfully, so tell me what to do. Marry him and hope that in time his feelings hot up a bit, or turn him down and let him find some other suitable candidate?'
Hannah began clearing the table. 'If your Ben's going about the whole thing in such a businesslike way it rather surprises me that he does consider you so eligible.'
'Thanks!' Verity grinned as she helped.
'No, seriously darling, his parents must surely have hoped their son would marry into some local family with a background like theirs. There's nothing very aristocratic about us, love. Respectable, but a bit lacking in the old blue blood.'
'Ben seems more interested in my land management qualifications than my pedigree,' said Verity candidly. 'And I rather get the impression that since Nick, his brother, died, the Dysarts are more concerned with Ben being happy than anything else.' She sighed. 'The trouble is, Mother, I can't help feeling Ben still hankers a bit after Gussie, deep down. She certainly still hankers after him.'
Hannah Craig hefted the loaded tray and led the way to the kitchen, where they both began to dispose of the washing up.
'Augusta always was a spoilt brat, and obviously hasn't changed in the slightest. It's time she faced up to reality.' Hannah slid the last of the plates in the dishrack and took off her rubber gloves, looking Verity squarely in the eye—'If you want my opinion, darling, the best thing I can advise is to follow your inclinations. If you want to marry Ben Dysart, marry him. Even if he does feel something still for Gussie, propinquity is a wonderful ally—I'll lay you ten to one you can soon scotch that, or you're no daughter of mine!'
Verity's face cleared and her eyes lit with laughter. 'So that's your considered opinion, Mrs Craig? Marry him and make myself indispensable in all departments?'
'Especially bed,' agreed Hannah promptly.
'Mother, really! Is that the right thing to say to your daughter!'
'You asked for advice, babe, so I'm giving it. Go back to Stratford, say yes to your lordling and I'll start saving up for a frivolous hat.'
Verity reached home late on Sunday evening, just as the streetlamps began to blossom in the twilight. The house was deserted, a note on the kitchen table in Henrietta's idiosyncratic scrawl.
'Jen's in work, I'm out socialising, quiche in fridge. Two phone-calls from a CERTAIN PERSON. (Well, well!) Love, H.'
Verity grinned and took her grip into her bedroom, rang her mother, then had a leisurely bath, refusing to leave the warm, scented water when the telephone rang. Some perverse instinct kept her where she was, eyes closed, but as a diversionary tactic it failed somewhat. The ringing began again while she was patting herself dry, and she shrugged into her kimono and went into the bedroom to answer it.
'You've finally come home,' said Ben's voice without greeting.
'Yes.'
'You're late. I've rung you before.'
'I know, I saw the message.'
'Well?' he demanded impatiently. 'What's the answer, yes or no?'
Now that the moment had arrived Verity found it hard to give her consent in cold blood to an impersonal telephone receiver. 'Could we meet tomorrow and talk?' she asked. There was a pause.
'I'll pick you up at twelve-thirty,' he said curtly.
'No—I'm out most of the day. Could you call round tomorrow evening?'
'Eightish then. Good night.' Ben rang off abruptly, leaving her a little deflated. Shrugging, Verity sat on her bed to dry her hair, a lengthy process which normally she found soothing, but tonight her hair crackled with electricity, and the task seemed to take twice as long as usual, getting on her nerves. Her teeth caught her lower lip as her hands went on automatically with their task while her mind worked overtime. In her mother's company the whole thing had seemed so cut and dried. She loved Ben, ergo she should marry him. It had never seemed remotely possible to feel like this about any man, let alone someone always looked upon as Gussie's property. Verity clenched her jaw as she remembered all the unwanted information Gussie had insisted on imparting as to how wonderful Ben Dysart was, and how thrilling a lover he could be. Verity bent her head to her knees to brush her hair forward from root to tip, willing the angry, hard strokes to banish all remembrance of those long ago whispered revelations in the dark.
Verity switched off the hair-dryer but remained for long moments with her head on her knees, her hair hanging down, facing the fact that she wanted to be Ben Dysart's wife at all costs, regardless of the difference in their backgrounds, or even of the fact that he might still be in love with Gussie. Her mother was dead right. Verity Marsh would just have to make sure that there was no room in Benedict Dysart's life for any other woman. She threw back her head and gave a scream of fright as Ben Dysart appeared in the doorway, almost as if conjured up by the vehemence of her mental vow.
'I rang the doorbell,' he said, as Verity stared up at him wordlessly. 'There was no answer, but the kitchen door was open yet again, so I c
ame in.'
In the muted light from the bedside lamp he looked angry and threatening, no gleam of white teeth to break the darkness of his face as he looked at her accusingly.
'I came in through the front door, I didn't check to see if the other one was locked.' Her explanation sounded lame, and Verity felt irritated that she had need to make it.
'If you leave doors unlocked,' he said harshly, 'and lights on in your bedroom window, one day someone with more villainous intent than me is going to break in here and do some real harm.'
'After being frightened to death twice I shan't forget another time,' snapped Verity. 'You've made your point.'
Ben came a little further into the room, his face relaxing a little.
'Did you have a good weekend?' he asked with an effort.
'Yes, thank you.' Verity looked at him curiously, noticing for the first time that his hair was wet, and clung in damp curls, flat against his head. 'You're wet, is it raining?'
'No. I rang you from John Randall's round the corner. I've been there to dinner, and had a swim in his pool afterwards.' He smiled for the first time. 'Didn't you think I got here rather quickly?'
'I didn't notice the time.' Verity gave a restless glance at the open door. 'Look, it's late, I'm not dressed and Henrietta may be in at any time, don't you think—'
She trailed into silence as Ben shouldered the door shut and leaned against it, arms folded, a mocking smile on his mouth.
'No, Verity, I don't think. I didn't come round here at this time of night to be sent home like a naughty boy. I've come for your answer.'
They stood staring at each other like enemies, hostility and tension crackling in the air between them. Verity felt annoyed. She had no intention of saying yes under these circumstances, in this enforced intimacy. Her chin lifted.
'Ben, please. It's getting late and I'm tired after my trip—I need some sleep. Let's talk tomorrow, as I suggested.'
'All right,' he said off-handedly, taking the wind out of her sails. He came towards her. 'Give me a good night kiss and I'll go.'
Verity eyed him with suspicion, then closed her eyes and offered her mouth with an air of long-suffering.
'Open your eyes,' he commanded.
Her lids flew open, her mouth parting in surprise at his peremptory bark, and at once his mouth was on hers, moving over it persuasively while his arms slid round her, his hands applying pressure on the small of her back so that her body curved involuntarily into his. Suddenly all the hostility seemed childish and unnecessary, as Ben's mouth caressed and kissed not only her mouth, but her throat and her ears, his touch featherlight on her skin as she yielded to him, nestling against his hard body as he buried his face in her hair.
'Are you going to marry me?' he said, his voice muffled.
Verity tipped her head back and looked up at him without prevarication.
'Yes,' she said simply.
He gave an odd little sound, deep in his throat, and kissed her hard, his hands threading through her hair to hold her still beneath the caress, which softened to woo and entice. Verity's lips opened naturally under his, her own hands moving up his shoulders and the taut muscles of his neck to bury themselves in the damp black curls. She felt his body stir with desire against hers and arched herself against him, shamelessly glad when he gasped and pulled her even closer, unconcerned that her robe slackened and fell apart as they twined together. His hands were urgent on her responsive breasts, which hardened and shaped to his touch, the nipples erecting in anticipation of the lips and teeth that kissed and nibbled and tugged, until she was in a frenzy of longing that turned to bitter disappointment as Ben suddenly let her go, turning his back on her and breathing hard as he tucked his shirt back into place and fought for self-control.
Verity wrapped her robe tightly around her, tying the sash with shaking fingers and making vain efforts to smooth down her wayward hair. Ben turned and caught her by the elbows, looking down at her with disturbed eyes.
'I'm sorry,' he said huskily. 'Come into the other room, for God's sake.'
She shook her head.
'Hett will be home in a minute and I don't look very respectable.' Her colour rose as her eyes followed his to the nipples that stood out against the thin cotton of her kimono.
'No,' he agreed gruffly. 'You look—'
'Shameless,' she said flatly, and stooped to pick up her hairbrush.
'Wrong.' He pulled her upright and bent to kiss each taut little peak through the cotton before putting her forcibly from him. 'I'm going, Verity. For reasons obvious to us both. I'll pick you up tomorrow night— make it sevenish though, if you can.'
'Why? Where are we going?'
'Home to dinner with my mother and father, and a trip down to Tern Cottage afterwards where you can tell me how you want it furnished.' He grinned and touched her cheek. 'After all that was where we first met, so it's entirely fitting.'
Verity gave him a cat-like little smile. 'I haven't forgotten anything about that day, believe me!'
Ben frowned, his face abruptly austere. 'Forget about Gussie,' he ordered. 'She belongs to the past. Everyone's entitled to the languishing and sentimentality of calf-love as part of growing up. But you and I have something much better, with so many more things going for us—not least of all this.' Ben kissed her again, lingeringly and explicitly. 'Oh yes,' he breathed, 'most definitely this,' and went on kissing her for some time until he literally pushed her away and made for the door.
Verity stood with her fingers against her mouth, staring for some time at her bedroom door after it had closed behind Ben. Eventually she slid her nightgown over her head, subdued her hair to some kind of order and climbed wearily into bed. Well, the deed was done. She had given her promise, and she would keep it. But it was no substitute for what she really wanted. She wanted all the languishing and the sentimentality too, all the frills, a man who not only liked and desired her, but loved her to distraction as well.
CHAPTER SEVEN
'I'm nervous,' said Verity frankly as the Morgan left Stratford the following evening. Ben glanced down at her in amusement and put out a hand to cover hers.
'What would your colleagues say now if they saw the efficient Miss Marsh in a spin over nothing!'
'It may be nothing to you, Ben Dysart, but for me it's a fairly momentous occasion.'
'For me also,' he said emphatically. 'It's not every day of the week I take home a prospective daughter-in-law for my parents.'
'I'm relieved to hear it.' Verity gave him a rueful little grin. 'I feel a bit like the beggar-maid to your King Cophetua—somehow one never hears how she got on with his relatives afterwards.'
Ben chuckled. 'Mine are delighted, Verity, believe me.' He shot a comprehensive glance at her. 'So am I, incidentally. Did I mention that you look extremely attractive tonight? If we weren't a bit late I'd stop somewhere and show you just how suitable I think you are. Perhaps you should keep it in mind that it's my feelings you should be concerned with, madam.'
Ben's eyes returned to the road, missing the frown on Verity's face at the inevitable 'attractive'. She was developing an irrational dislike for the word, which in her opinion could have been applied to the countryside around them just as well. She wanted him to say something less lukewarm, like alluring, sexy even. He noticed her silence, but made no comment, eventually turning the car on to the grass verge when the road widened slightly. He undid his seatbelt and turned to her.
'What is it, Verity?' His eyes searched her face.
She looked at him in surprise. 'Nothing. Why have we stopped, I thought we were late.'
'We are. But something's wrong, and I'd like to put it right.'
Verity avoided his eyes. 'Even sensible girls like me get nervous on occasion, Ben.'
He looked sceptical and touched her lip with his forefinger. 'Do you mean nerves, or cold feet? If you've changed your mind, perhaps now would be the time to tell me, before we involve my parents.'
Verity was silent, a cold feelin
g of dismay in the pit of her stomach.
'Well?' he prompted. 'Have you?'
'No—not exactly.'
'What the hell does that mean? Look at me Verity!' Ben jerked her face round to his, his eyes boring into hers. She stared back at him mutinously, her chin lifting.
'Nothing. I meant I can't help feeling my original reservations, that's all.'
Ben looked at her for a long time, his face grim, until Verity grew restive and pushed away his hand, turning her head away.
'What I should have done last night,' he said at last, his voice almost reflective, 'was finish what I started. I should have gone on making love to you until you had no doubts left about anything. Who knows? The thought of our marriage might have become a cast-iron certainty in your mind—the workings of which I don't pretend to understand.' He gave a mirthless laugh. 'You might have felt it was necessary to be made an honest woman and all that.'
Verity looked at him with distaste, her eyes bright and cold.
'Because you'd had your evil way with me? You're a decade or two behind the times. You may be the squire, but I'm hardly the village maiden. This is the age of equal rights—in all departments.' She added the last deliberately, taking an obscure pleasure in the sudden rigidity of Ben's face.
'I see,' he said distantly, and looked at his watch.
'Well? Speak now, Miss Marsh. Which way shall we go. Forward or back?'
It was plain he meant more than just the evening ahead. Their entire relationship was teetering, hanging on what she said next. Verity felt stricken. The silly disagreement was her fault entirely, and unless she wanted to whistle her marriage down the wind she would have to do something about it, fast. It was unrealistic to want the moon, when everything any sane woman could want was already here, in the palm of her tightly clenched hand. She looked at Ben, who sat staring through the windscreen, his big body tense, the heat from his skin reaching hers across the small space that separated them.
'I'm sorry, Ben,' she said quietly. 'I'm not normally temperamental. If you still want me to I'll be happy to dine with your parents.'
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