He let out a deep breath and turned to unfasten her seatbelt.
'I'm beginning to think this is the only way to keep you convinced,' he said unevenly, and kissed her with a vehemence that gave expression to his relief. He drew back, an intense light in his eyes as he looked into hers. 'We're two responsible adults, Verity, old enough to know our own minds. For me that's what matters. Even if my parents disapproved it still wouldn't matter. You are exactly what I want in a wife. How often do I have to keep saying it?'
Verity smiled crookedly, pushing him gently away. 'You don't any more. I'm sorry, I was just being tiresome. Let's go.'
Ben looked at her a moment longer, then drove off without a word, his brows still drawn together. Truce was declared, decided Verity uneasily, but it was a fragile one.
When they reached Temple Priors Sir Hugh and Lady Dysart were standing in the open doorway to greet them.
'My dear, welcome!' Isabel Dysart came forward with hands outstretched and kissed Verity's cheek warmly. 'We are so very pleased to see you again.'
Sir Hugh added his own welcome, his shrewd eyes, black like Ben's, taking note of Verity's high colour and his son's lack of conversation as they all crossed the cool, dim hall.
'Drinks on the terrace outside,' said Lady Dysart. 'It seemed a pity to waste such a lovely evening—one can't help feeling this weather must surely break at any moment, so I tend to spend as much time as possible out of doors.'
'So do I, out of working hours,' said Verity.
'How do you like to spend your leisure-time?' asked Sir Hugh.
'When the weather's good just sunbathing,' she confessed, 'but I play tennis quite a bit, and in between wage a constant battle with the garden.'
'Say no more,' he laughed. 'Isabel here would spend her entire life on her hands and knees grubbing about in the earth if given the choice.'
Verity could feel Ben's eyes on her as she sat down in a wicker chair, conscious of his amusement as she was immediately plunged into the world of horticulture, any constraint she might have felt dispelled at once by Lady Dysart's enthusiasm. Her gradual unwinding was helped on enormously by the consumption of two lethally dry Martinis in quick succession. She emerged from an account of her mother's special remedy against greenfly to notice Ben waving away the Martini pitcher when his father offered him a refill.
'Driving, Dad.'
Lady Dysart frowned. 'It's pity you have to drive Verity back. After all, we all know why we're here—to welcome Verity into the family. I don't know why we're avoiding the subject!'
'Mother's passion for gardening has side effects,' Ben told Verity, straight-faced. 'She believes in calling a spade a spade.'
Lady Dysart ignored him, turning to Verity with a smile. 'Martha has cooked rather a special meal, Hugh has dug out some Burgundy he's been keeping for a special occasion, not to mention the obligatory champagne, so you must stay the night, then Ben can drink what he likes.'
Verity flashed a look of enquiry at Ben, who shrugged slightly, leaving the decision to her. She waved a hand at her silk dress.
'If Ben doesn't mind getting up early to get me back home to change in the morning, why yes, that's a lovely idea. Thank you.' She looked up deliberately at Ben. 'It really would be a pity if you couldn't celebrate our engagement wholeheartedly, wouldn't it darling?'
Ben's eyes flickered for an instant, then he rose to his feet and bent down to kiss her, her shoulders cupped in his hard hands as his mouth lingered on hers. Verity's cheeks were scarlet when he released her, to the approval of his smiling parents, who plainly enjoyed the little demonstration very much.
'That's more like it, Ben,' said his father, winking. 'Frankly I sensed a bit of a chill in the air when you arrived,' said Lady Dysart candidly.
'There was,' said Ben. He pulled his chair closer to Verity's and took her hand in his. 'We had a slight argument on the way, which is why we're late.'
'My fault entirely,' said Verity. 'I hope it hasn't held up the meal.' The warmth of the hard hand holding hers was generating a warmth through her entire body quite different from the excitement of the night before, a glow of well-being replacing the uncertainty that had dogged her since Ben's proposal. She smiled her apology at Lady Dysart, who shook her head vigorously.
'The soup is chilled and Martha is only now concocting the sauce to go with the meat, so nothing's spoiled, Verity.' She glanced from one to the other with undisguised curiosity in her pretty blue eyes. 'Are we allowed to ask why you disagreed?' 'A matter of snobbery, Mother,' said Ben, 'the inverted variety.' Verity shot a kindling look at him but he went on blandly, 'Verity is obsessed with the notion that you two would prefer a more aristocratic daughter-in-law.'
Verity tried to withdraw her hand, but Ben's fingers tightened.
'I see.' Lady Dysart shook her head at her son. 'And of course you told her it didn't matter a hang what we thought, as you were the one she was marrying.'
Ben's smile flashed in a gleaming grin. 'Bang on target, Mother.'
'Idiot,' said his father amiably, and topped up Verity's drink. 'No wonder the girl looked a bit tense when she arrived.' He patted her cheek. 'All right now though, eh?'
'Perfectly, thank you.' Verity smiled serenely and raised her glass to him.
'Mind you, I can appreciate how you felt,' Lady Dysart said matter-of-factly. 'Old Lady Dysart, Hugh's mother, thought he could have done a lot better than me, I assure you, but all that sort of thing is frightfully out of date these days.' She gave Verity a knowing little smile. 'Ben says you spent the weekend with your mother—I'm sure she disagreed with you.'
Verity laughed. 'Yes. She did. Her view was that our family is rather longer on respectability than lineage, but otherwise her daughter was good enough for anybody.'
'Hear, hear,' said Sir, Hugh genially.
'A lady of good sense,' said Ben. 'I shall ask her formal consent as soon as possible—I'd like to meet her.'
The sound of a gong interrupted them, and Lady Dysart shepherded them off to the dining-room at the double, confiding that Martha was a dear soul, but inclined to turn belligerent if her meals were kept hanging about.
With good reason, as Verity found out with her first spoonful of asparagus soup, which was as good to look at as to taste, with its small island of parsley-speckled cream floating in each gold-rimmed white bowl. Now that the air had been cleared so successfully she approached dinner with her normal healthy appetite, finishing off the pale green soup to await the main course with anticipation as Martha carried the dishes in. Sir Hugh noted her enthusiasm warmly.
'Can't stand a female who pecks at her food,' he announced and passed a superb oyster sauce for Verity to spoon over her rump steak. 'I like to see a woman enjoy her food.'
'Then Verity's your girl,' Ben told him.
'Very sensible.' His mother pressed Verity to mushrooms en brochette and soufflé potatoes. 'If you work hard and take a lot of exercise, you need good food. Salad, dear?'
Verity accepted everything offered her, including the quite magnificent wine that Sir Hugh poured into the crystal goblet in front of her. Under the mellowing effect of the delicious food and the feeling of celebration in the air she became quite expansive about her work and the property market in general, even asking Sir Hugh questions about the Temple Priors estate, which seemed to please him a great deal. After a pudding of pears poached in Chablis, followed by some ripe Stilton, they drank coffee and brandy in the drawing-room, lingering for only a short time before Ben sprang to his feet, holding out his hand to Verity.
'We'll be back for the champagne later, Mother. I'd like Verity to have a look at Tern Cottage—see what she wants in the way of furniture.'
'Yes, of course. Thank goodness that tiresome Layton girl has moved. Having her so near at hand was somewhat embarrassing,' said his mother with candour.
'Her name's Middleton now, Mother.' Ben glanced at Verity slyly. 'And be careful—Verity was at school with Gussie, you know.'
'So
rry, dear,' said Lady Dysart, unperturbed. 'You'll get used to me—I'm inclined to put my foot in it now and then.'
Verity was quite unconcerned. 'That was a long time ago, Lady Dysart. Gussie just happened to be my room-mate in school—we were never really close.' She smiled at Ben sweetly. 'But it meant I did learn rather a lot about Ben before I ever actually met him.'
Sir Hugh coughed loudly as he lit a cigar. 'Nothing very good, I'll be bound. Silly little thing she was at one time.'
'No more silly than I was,' said Ben, and took Verity's arm. 'Come on, let's go for a little drive.'
'Oh, but I thought—'
'I haven't had all that much to drink, and in any case I'll use the Landrover and keep to the farm track on our land. It runs down to the water-meadows on this side of the river. We can reach the cottage on foot from there.'
Verity asked the Dysarts to pass on her compliments to Martha on the splendid dinner and went with Ben. The mention of Gussie had failed to disturb her in the slightest she found, as she was hoisted into the front seat of the Landrover by Ben's powerful arms. He looked in doubt at the fragile heels of her kid sandals and touched a finger to her bare instep.
'Will you be able to walk in those?'
She was unconcerned. 'If not I'll go barefoot.'
'Or I can carry you.' His fingers encircled her ankle.
'I'm no featherweight!'
'I've carried heavier packs than you before now.' He smiled and released her ankle slowly before getting in to drive off.
Verity seemed filled with some new vitality, the blood throbbing along her veins with a new awareness of life as the vehicle went carefully along the bumpy track between fields bleached silver in the moonlight. The moon appeared brighter, the stars more luminous, the scent of the grass more aromatic than ever before as they reached the watermeadows. And there, across the river on its rise, its back towards them, stood the cottage.
Verity gazed at it like a pilgrim in sight of Mecca. The plaster walls glimmered white between weathered timbers, the steep, pointed gables casting black angular shadows in the moonlight; a dream house, ephemeral and unreal. She was hardly aware of Ben as she slid off her sandals and took his hand to step down, heedless of uneven hummocky ground beneath her feet, or grass that brushed against her bare legs as he led her towards a narrow, flimsy footbridge, half hidden by protective willows a little way upstream from the house.
'I didn't know there was another bridge at the back of the house!' She broke away from him and danced across, throwing a glittering look at Ben over her shoulder.
'Be careful, Verity—you could get splinters in your feet,' he warned.
She shook her hair back, laughing.
'Nothing so mundane as splinters, Ben—not tonight. It's a magic night. Can't you feel it in the air?' She reached the other side and pirouetted round, her arms flung wide, the pleats of her heavy silk dress furling round her. 'See, Ben? I'm not sensible and efficient and capable tonight. I feel reckless, fey—too much wine perhaps, or possibly I'm moonstruck.' She whirled like a dervish, collapsing laughing against him as he caught her in his arms.
'You'll make yourself dizzy,' he muttered, holding her close. Verity leaned back against his arms, her eyes dancing.
'Only tonight, Ben. Tomorrow I'll be sober. That's a song, isn't it? "For tonight I'll merry, merry be, For tonight I'll merry, merry be"…'
'Here,' he said, laughing, and pulled her after him up the steep path. 'Come and see the house. Tell me how you want it.'
Verity was breathless when he let her go to unlock the kitchen door, then astonished as he turned on the lights. The room was empty. All the chrome and white space-age gadgetry had gone, leaving the walls bare in all their original glory. Verity rounded on Ben in amazement.
'What happened to all the cupboards and things?'
'I had them taken out,' he said, grinning. 'All that white and red and glitter looked wrong in here. I was sure you'd prefer something different.'
She gave him a spontaneous kiss on the cheek for the first time.
'Clever man, I would, I would.' She circled the room on her bare feet, her eyes shining as she furnished it in imagination. 'Oak cupboards, Ben? With cream and brown rippled tops and the floor the same to counteract the darkness of the wood. Hobs let in here—oven here—double sinks and drainers, overhead cupboards here, yellow curtains, a proper table and ladder-back chairs.' She met Ben's smile guiltily. 'Am I being over-extravagant?'
He shook his head, his eyes indulgent on her flushed face. 'Not so far—come and look at the rest of it.'
The house was empty. Polished black floors reflected white walls and rough-hewn black beams in silence as Verity wandered everywhere at leisure. Nothing remained to remind her of the former tenants. Stripped of its pink velvet and white fur the parlour waited proudly for furnishings more fitting for its age and dignity.
'I was a fool,' said Ben suddenly, his voice echoing.
Verity paused half-way up the stairs, her face mischievous as she looked down at him. 'In which particular instance?' she asked sweetly.
He gave her a sharp tap on her behind, and propelled her up to the landing at speed, standing with her at the top to look down into the hall below.
'I now realise that I should have brought you here first and then asked you to marry me,' he explained, a wry twist to his mouth. 'I needn't have had last weekend to endure. You'd have said yes at once, without putting me through all that uncertainty.'
'Was it so bad?' she asked curiously, wishing that his face were more expressive.
'Yes,' he said briefly. 'It was. Do you want to see the bedrooms?'
'Are they empty?' asked Verity, wandering into the master bedroom to find it was not. She stopped short at the sight of the made-up bed that was the only item of furniture.
'I sleep here for the time being.' Ben leaned in the doorway, arms folded, the light of mockery in his eyes very pronounced for once. 'I don't keep it for private orgies, I merely dislike the idea of the place empty and vulnerable.'
'Oh.' Verity looked at him in silence. Ben looked back steadily, then put out a hand and switched off the light. Faint moonlight lit the room, transforming it to an other-worldly place of light and shadow, turning Verity's eyes to pools of darkness as she stood perfectly still, rooted to the floor, the polished boards cool against the soles of her feet as Ben left the doorway and moved towards her slowly.
'Time we went home,' he said.
Verity nodded wordlessly and stayed where she was.
'You'll have cold feet,' he added.
'Warm them, then,' she whispered and melted into the arms he held out to her, her mouth meeting his hungrily as their bodies flowed together, eager for contact. Verity stirred reluctantly. 'My dress will crease—your parents—'
He laid a finger on her lips then turned her round, sliding down the zip on her dress until she could step out of it. Verity stood quietly in her satin slip, watching Ben hang her dress over the wooden balustrade outside on the landing, waiting for him to come back to her. He lifted her and sat down on the bed with her on his knees, looking at her questioningly for a moment. She said nothing but, satisfied with what he read in her eyes, Ben drew her down to lie full length against him. They were silent, not even kissing, strangely peaceful in the uncurtained room, a ray of moonlight falling across their closely entwined bodies.
For a long, almost unreal interval Ben went on holding Verity close without speaking, until gradually the quality of the silence altered. The posture of his body changed, tensed, and communicated its tension to hers. His arms tightened, and involuntarily she moved closer to him, feeling his breath hot against her cheek as it quickened. Gently one of his hands began to stroke her shining hair, moving down to her shoulders and her yielding waist, then down her spine, lower and lower, retreating as he felt her stiffen slightly. The hand retraced its path upwards until it reached her chin and brought her mouth to his, and he made a muffled sound deep in his throat as she returned his k
iss with an ardour that left him shaken.
'Verity.' His face was stern as he held her away from him. 'I know it's hard to believe, but when I took off your dress I never intended—'
'I know.' Verity laid a finger dreamily on his lips. He took it between his teeth and bit gently, his chest rising and falling unevenly against hers, his heart hammering in a way that aroused and excited her. Voluptuously she curled closer against him, only half aware of her actions, the moonlight, the wine, the walk barefoot in the moonlight all components of the enchantment that held them fast in a fragile, sensuous bubble.
'I want you,' he said abruptly.
'I know.'
'You should be trying to escape.'
'Why? I don't want to.'
'Verity—'
'Sh, Ben,' her dreamy sigh ended against his mouth as he gave up, victim of the same inevitability affecting the girl in his arms. Swiftly and silently he stripped off his clothes, then, with infinite care, the remainder of hers before taking her in his arms. Neither was proof against the effect of body touching body, bare skin on bare skin. Mere physical contact was the ignition to the fire that enveloped them both simultaneously as each caressed the other in an ecstatic harmony of lips and hands and bodies ruled by a mutual, irresistible desire to merge and possess. It was over quite quickly, too fierce a heat to burn for very long without consuming them completely. Afterwards they lay in stunned silence, still locked together, unwilling to break apart. At last Verity stirred.
'We should go back,' she whispered.
'Is that all you have to say?' Ben held her fast, refusing to move.
'Ben—' but her protest was half-hearted and he knew it. Nothing more was said as the fire rekindled, to burn steadily for much longer this time before the final conflagration overtook them once more.
'Now we really must go—it's late,' said Verity imperatively, and reluctantly Ben released her, getting to his feet to dress himself with speed while she did the same. They stole back down the stairs, pausing to laugh at their own stealth as they switched off lights and locked up. Heedless of her bare feet in her moon-mad euphoria on the way up to the cottage, Verity found she was conscious of every bump and stone on the way back, but refused to let Ben carry her on the grounds of speed.
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