He moved his body weight as his hands went to the waistband of her jeans, and loving him, his lovemaking, just him, her hands went to the buttons of his shirt. She almost told him of her love, but a spasm of unexpected shyness, when she felt his hands caressing her belly, had her stilling for a moment.
Then Blane was still too, one hand coming to the side of her face causing her to open her eyes and to look at him.
'It's—all right with you, Arden?' he asked, his voice thick with desire, a burning look of wanting in his eyes, so that she knew what he was asking.
'I…' she faltered, lowering her eyes, wishing with all her heart that he had not asked but had just taken her. She gave a small shake of her head, meaning only, 'Don't ask—take me,' because she just could not get the words past her emotion-choked throat to tell him the 'Yes, yes, yes!' she wanted him to hear. Her eyes still lowered, suddenly she felt cold air striking where a moment ago Blane's warm caressing hand had been. And just as suddenly, when that hand moved right away from her and he made no further attempt to touch her, she was stupefied, amazed to realise that when he had been burning with desire not a minute ago, all at once, with startling abruptness, he had lost all desire to make her his.
Delcine, she thought—then she had the answer. Though aware she was not thinking very coherently, and in the circumstances that did not surprise her, Arden was then certain that Delcine figured somewhere in the fact that Blane's ardour had cooled.
She made a movement to sit up, and hated Blane when he made no effort to keep her lying beside him. Hated him that he too was now sitting and that he even had the effrontery to begin straightening her clothes.
'I'd…' Her voice came out huskily. Floundering still, unable to bear it, she jumped up from the settee and, needing action of some sort, took up her damp shoes. 'I'll—er—take these to my room and—then—see about dinner,' she choked, and fled.
That he had not made any attempt to stop her was, she thought, just so much more concrete evidence that his ardour had rapidly gone down to zero. Delcine, she thought again. It had to be his love for the dead Delcine that had chosen just that particular moment to rear its head. Knowing she was all mixed up, Arden could not help but wish that it had not been so.
But as more minutes ticked by and common sense came to reassert itself, Arden was on the way to knowing that it had all been for the best.
Which, tough medicine though it was to take, had one fact firmly established in her mind. However much Blane might have desired her, brief though that wanting had been, there was no future for her with him. Thoughts of Delcine had obsessed him for most of the time they had been at Brynmoel, she knew. And while it might be possible to compete with a flesh-and-blood woman, Arden knew she could not compete with the dead Delcine. Blane Hunter was just not prepared to let anyone in.
Her nerves still all of a jangle, not least from the heady response to his lovemaking Blane had so easily flushed out, Arden went to have a quick bath.
A change of clothes and her instincts of self-preservation were on the rampage. So much so that, much though she would have preferred to have stayed in her room, slowly she made her way downstairs.
To find that Blane was in the kitchen already at work on the meal they were to have surprised her. 'I would have done that!' she exclaimed, seeing that potatoes were already boiling.
'Think I'm useless, don't you?' he said, offering a smile.
Feeling redundant, an endorsement there that her self-preservation decision to leave was a .right decision— Blane could well cook his own meals—Arden laid the table. When a plate of perfectly cooked steak, potatoes and peas was placed before her, she saw that she had not the smallest excuse to keep her there.
Not hungry, manfully she forced herself to eat. Blane had witnessed how upset she had been, he just couldn't be allowed to guess that he was the cause of her inner turmoil, that her turmoil was not over with yet.
'I'm sorry I had you worried,' he broke into' her thoughts, his eyes full on her, doing nothing for her inner agitation. She looked away as he continued, though the surprise of what he went on to say had her eyes shooting back to his, 'I found myself walking in the vicinity of the village.'
It was surprise that kept her silent this time, for, accepting that the village was three miles away, she would have thought to take himself anywhere near to where people were was the last thing he would have done! Her surprises for the day weren't over with, she was to find, for when she had no reply to make, as she watched, Blane reached behind him to the dresser.
'I thought you might like this,' he said, to complete her astonishment that not only had he been to the village, he had actually gone into the store to purchase something he thought she might like!
Tears she thought she had finished with were stinging the backs of her eyes as she took the thin booklet from him. But as she saw that what Blane had bought for her was the magic painting book of her childhood desire, a gift no one else had ever thought to give her, so Arden knew that if she wasn't strong now she was going to lie down and let him trample all over her.
'I…' she began, and was then struggling harder than she had ever struggled to master the weakness he wrought in her. That he too was surprised that it wasn't her thanks he heard when she found her voice to tell him, 'I'm leaving,' was obvious by his sharp intake of breath, before he fairly bellowed:
'No!'
Firmly she nodded her head. 'Yes, I am,' she said, knowing she could not afford to back down.
'Because of what happened between us in the…' he began shortly.
'I've been away from Hills View long enough,' Arden cut him off. Then she saw that just as he did not care to be left to cook his own meals, neither did he care to be interrupted. And that he disliked intensely any trumped-up excuse she made for leaving, was evident by the way he barked:
'Are all women liars?'
Arden was glad of the fury of anger she felt then. 'With your wealth of experience, you should know,' she answered tartly. But, not expecting him to take her up on her waspish reply, she found she was near to being devastated when, surveying her with a thoughtful expression, suddenly his tone quietened and he asked:
'Is that what has you running—scared? My experience?'
Flattened that he wasn't letting go until he had the truth out of her, near to hating him, Arden threw him an acid glance.
'For your information,' she heard herself telling him indignantly, 'I wasn't scared.' Neither had she been, she thought, she had been too thrilled to be in his arms to think of being scared. Shy eventually, maybe, but never scared.
'So that's it.' Blane, a master at flattening her, went on to terrify her as he added, 'So that's why you want to go.'
Hating him, loving him, she was ready then to rush from the room. Ready then to fly anywhere to hide as she saw he must have put two and two together and seen that she was heart and soul in love with him. But, feeling too frozen to move, she was then to know relief, followed by a fierce anger against him, when he went on to reveal that whatever else he had seen, it had not been her love for him.
'You're clearing out,' he charged, 'because though you're unafraid, more bewildered than frightened of that chemistry that took you by surprise when I kissed you, what you are afraid of is that I might not take no for an answer the next time—and that you might enjoy it.'
No for an answer! Staggered that he had so misconstrued that shake of her head when they had been making love, Arden had no time then to dwell on it. Time only then to feel relief that her love for him remained hidden. But relief was soon to give way to anger as his words 'and that you might enjoy it' hit her. And Arden was furious then that he was delegating what she had thought beautiful down to the basest sexual level.
'You sicken me!' None of the love she felt for him was there; only hate in her voice, she was on her feet, slamming the painting book she had been clutching down on to the sink top.
That his aggression was waiting behind only a thin curtain, stirred by
her contemptuous look as much as by her action in rejecting his simple gift, she didn't doubt; it was there on his face. For sure, he didn't care very much to be spoken to like that. Though it was sarcasm he chose to flatten her with this time.
'Don't you think, Arden,' he drawled laconically, 'that at your age, it's more than high time you said goodbye to your virginity?'
As a low blow, that nearly finished her. But pride came then, never more needed. 'The only goodbye I want to say,' pride retaliated scornfully, as she refused to let him see how his reducing what they had shared to a cheap sexual interlude was crippling her, 'is to you!'
She had guessed his aggression would not stay down for long. She had known before that Blane Hunter was a man who begged from no one. And she saw, as his expression went thunderous, that in the face of her scorn he was not going to beg her to stay now.
'Then say it!' he exploded. 'And go. Go, and be damned to you!'
CHAPTER NINE
Arden had more than enough to keep her sleepless that night. Her nerves shot, she held down the urgent need to tear out to her car and to roar off into the night. But she could not stop those words, the way Blane had said them from echoing and re-echoing through her mind.
'Go, and be damned to you!' he had snarled, and she hadn't waited for more, but had run up to her room and with shaking hands had started to pack. Honesty forced her to own that the risk of seeing him again -before she had calmed down was as much part of her deciding to leave it until the morning before she attempted to steer the Morris over those rough first few miles in the dark.
Early the next morning, having slept little, Arden got out of bed with Blane already there in her head, Blane her first waking thought.
Much calmer than she had been, a tight ball of control now in charge of her, she took up the suitcase she had packed the night before, a glance out of the window telling her it was raining. She paused then, but only to shrug into her raincoat, and went downstairs to reach for her jacket on its peg. Weakness invaded her to see Blane's dear familiar jacket hanging next to hers, weakness she just had to give in to. After today she would not see him again.
Leaving her suitcase in the hall, her jacket draped over it, Arden could no more deny herself that last chance to see him, before she walked away to a life without him, than she could fly.
Knowing that he could well still be in bed, knowing she would leave him undisturbed if that were so, quietly she opened the kitchen door. To see that he was not in bed, but that Blane was up and about and, by the look of it, already at work preparing breakfast for two, had her heart fluttering wildly.
He had heard her come in, but as he swung round and her eyes noted how a grim look came to his face when he saw that she was dressed for the outside elements, she told him quickly:
'I'm off now.'
'You're leaving?'
His tautly asked question had her wondering if he remembered nothing of what, in a fine temper, he had said last night. Never would she forget that dismissive, 'Go, and be damned to you!'
'I—think it's best,' she said quietly, knowing she should go now, and quickly, but unable for the moment to move.
That was until his face darkened, his expression like it had been last night when he had roared at her to say goodbye and go, and she knew she was not going to be spared his wrath this morning.
Though, as she had last night, Arden was to be stung into retaliation when with his face like a thundercloud, sneeringly, or so in her highly sensitive state it seemed to her, he jeered, just as though he couldn't see any man fancying her:
'Got some man waiting for you?'
'Several,' she tossed back at him. And, deeply hurt, she found she was wanting to hurt back, found that Blane didn't own the exclusive rights when it came to dealing low blows, as she added, 'I would have thought you'd have known, from your experience of Delcine, that some women prefer men-friends in quantity.'
Oh God, she thought, appalled, wanting the words back, not wanting him to be hurt at all as he turned from her. She didn't want to leave like this!
'So you can be as bitchy as the next woman when you want to be,' he muttered grimly.
Distressed that she had tried to wound him, Arden looked from him to the sink top where the painting book he had brought specially for her yesterday still lay. Without conscious thought, feeling a need to have something of him with her, her right hand stretched out.
That same hand came from her raincoat pocket when, with a defeated kind of look about him, he turned. 'Goodbye,' she said, holding out her now empty hand.
But Blane was clearly in no mood to shake hands in a civilised way. Her hand was ignored, and fears welled to the surface, barely held back tears that made her turn hurriedly for the door, only one last thing to be said.
'Will you leave the key to the cottage underneath that old lantern in the outhouse,' she said tightly. 'I'll…' Her throat closed, she could go no further.
Her case with her jacket slung over it in one hand, Arden reached the front door, nowhere near to finding the stiffening she wanted when she heard that Blane had followed her out into the hall.
'Drive—carefully,' she heard him instruct her tersely, just as if car accidents were forever in his mind.
She had no answer to make. Swallowing convulsively, silently, she had her fingers on the door handle, and the door open. She was just about to go through it when he called her name:
'Arden,' he said, when she didn't want to be halted.
But just her name on his lips had her rooted, unable to move. Had her frozen, unable to even turn. Though when silence was to follow, it was that silence which was to free her. The thought was with her then that whatever he had been going to say, he had obviously changed his mind. She took a step forward, away from him, and it was then that his voice came again, of harsh quality, taut, and sounding more strained than she had ever heard it. And she nearly dropped on the spot, for what he had stayed her to say was a roughly spoken, not at all inviting:
'Arden—marry me.'
She was nearing Chalmers Hollow, the sound of the front door at Brynmoel being crashed to behind her by Blane still thundering in her ears, before it occurred to her to wonder where all the tears she had shed on her journey had come from.
Oh, how near she had come, when she realised he had actually said those two words, to spinning round and throwing herself at him! It had been only that lack of eagerness in him, that missing note of excited anticipation as he waited for her answer, that had saved her. For, her senses more aware then than they had ever been, only in the nick of time had she prevented herself from launching herself at him.
It had hurt to leave him. To start walking and to carry on walking - away from him. But oh, how much more it hurt to realise that all love in him was dead—he could never love her. To know that it had been only the loneliness of his soul that had driven him to ask her to be his wife.
Pulling up to a stop in the parking area at Hills View, Arden saw with surprise that Colonel Meredith's car was parked there. She scrabbled for her handbag, to carry out a quick repair to her face, for by the look of it she was not going to have the house to herself as she had anticipated, and covered all traces of weeping. Ten minutes later, feeling more composed, she let herself into the house.
She was greeted by a smell of paint, then suddenly her dear aunt appeared. The sight of Louise clad in an overall, a scarf wound prettily around her hair, not to mention a paint pot in one hand and a paint brush in the other, had the sadness of Arden's thoughts being pushed to one side.
'What…' she began.
'You're back too!' Louise exclaimed at the same time—and looked to be going to hug her niece, only just remembered in time the paint in her hands. 'Better not,' she giggled, and looked so happy then as she added, 'We've been having a lovely time. Come into the kitchen while I put the kettle on—I'll tell you all about it.'
Following Louise into the kitchen, Arden thought there must be a good deal her aunt had to tell her. From
what she remembered of the Brownings, that ''We've been having a lovely time' simply could not have been meant to convey that she had spent a 'lovely time' with them.
'I saw Colonel Meredith's car outside,' she remarked, trying to lift her spirits. From the happy look of Louise, she just knew something good had happened for her. 'Is he staying with us?'
'Oh, Arden,' cried her aunt, undecided where to put the paint pot she was carrying around with her, 'you'll never guess what has happened!'
Taking the paint and paint brush from her and putting them to stand on a dishcloth on the draining board, Arden hoped her guess was the right one. But she had to wait a while to know for sure, for in her usual grasshopper way Louise began:
'I knew I had very little in common with my in-laws before I went, but this visit has shown me just how little.'
'They were unkind to you?' Arden asked sharply, at once ready to take on anyone who had upset her aunt, glad to feel emotion, glad to know that she was not as dead inside as she felt.
'Oh no, dear—well, not really. But you know how acid Tam's sister can be at times.' Arden nodded. 'Well,' said Louise, 'I'd only been there a couple of days, though in reality it seemed like a couple of months, when Pauline started to take me to task about Owen—that is to say, Colonel Meredith.'
'You'd introduced him to them when he dropped you off?'
'Only briefly. There seems to be a permanently gloomy atmosphere in that house, so I didn't encourage him to stay more than a minute.'
'But Pauline took you to task about…'
'Well, not about him giving me a lift so much. But apparently—according to Pauline—I couldn't say a sentence afterwards without his name coming into it. Anyway, I stuck her none too subtle sneaky remarks for as long as I could, but when, with only a week of my visit gone, she made me so cross that I turned on her, it was only then I realised that—that I loved the dear man.'
'Oh, Auntie!' cried Arden, giving her a big postponed hug.
'Exactly,' giggled Louise, meaning nothing in particular. But she had her niece staring disbelievingly as she resumed, 'Honestly, I didn't know I had it in me— your mother was always the fiery one, not me—but when one thing led to another, and Pauline suggested that the Col… Owen,' she amended, 'was only hanging his hat up to me so that he could get his hands on the guest house and all that her dear brother had worked for, I told her that dear Tam had been dead for six years, and that it was my relation who had put in all the hard slog since then, not Tam's.'
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