Beloved Intruder
By
Patricia Wilson
Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
A shudder ran right through him and she realised her mistake as fire shot through her own veins, her angry act backfiring on her as she seemed to burst into flame.
It was a kiss that seemed to have no end. A kiss that deepened until her arms tightened around his neck further, to hold herself upright, only relaxing when he moved her to his shoulder, her hair brilliant against his arm, her body tightly pressed against his.
'And just what were you trying to prove?' he asked thickly against her hair as he cradled her against him when her little cries had at last set her free from his devouring mouth. 'You were trying to prove that you were not a child? I already know that. No proof is necessary. Or were you trying to remind me that I am a man? Well—I know that too.'
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First published in Great Britain 1988
by Mills & Boon Limited
© Patricia Wilson 1988
Australian copyright 1988
Philippine copyright 1988
This edition 1988
ISBN 0 263 76032 4
CHAPTER ONE
Beth looked tiredly at the books on the reading-table. Romans in Britain, just about every book they had on the subject, and, having spread them all out over the table, the man had now walked off without even thanking her for bringing them to him. He hadn't even closed the door. She walked over and shut it firmly, wishing that the day would hurry and get itself over.
From the large, plate-glass windows of Collinson's Antique Books she could see the sky was already darkening, making its way towards the short twilight that would herald the end of the day, and it could not come soon enough for her.
She stirred herself into action as Mrs Dennison glanced across at her from the end of the massive shop, as usual sensing the older woman's faint disapproval. Not that Mrs Dennison was ever anything but polite to her; she was impressed by Beth's education, by the name of the school she had attended. It had real snob value.
She was not impressed, however, by the length of Beth's skirts, by the colour of her blouses, nor by the length of her hair which hung down her back like a rope of pure gold, neatly braided but unfashionably long. She was even less impressed by the fact that many nights Beth left the shop on the back of a motorbike, clinging on to Carl Glover's shoulders, her skirts tucked safely around her.
Beth began to sort out the books and take them back to the appropriate shelves. It was a lengthy job, as there were so many and they had to be in very strict order. Many of them were very valuable too, not to be dropped under any circumstances.
'I'm not at all sure that you should have been here today, Elizabeth!' Mrs Dennison caught her as she came from the back of the bookshelves to collect more books. 'You look a little strange. I do hope that you haven't got this bad virus that's going around. If people stayed at home when they had it then it would not be spreading so rapidly!'
'I'm quite all right, Mrs Dennison, thank you, only a little tired.'
In point of fact, Beth was fairly sure that she did have the virus. She had not been well for days, but no work, no pay, and the rent had to be paid. She could not afford time off work now that her allowance had been stopped.
After looking at her with deep suspicion for a moment, Mrs Dennison walked away, her fashionably coiffured head held at a disapproving angle, and Beth surrendered to her innermost urges and pulled a face at her as she left.
She was startled to find that this did not go unobserved. There was a man watching her little impoliteness. He was standing outside, looking through the window, and his dark eyes were so intense that Beth actually jumped.
With more books in her arms, she hastily fled to the back of the shop, praying that it was not some acquaintance of Mrs Dennison who was about to come and report her, and her heart began to beat very fast when she heard the door open and close again. She lingered. That was permissible. Mrs Dennison could see the whole of the shop from her position at the other end; there were huge security mirrors.
It had been strictly drilled into Beth from the very first that this was an establishment of the highest quality and that the customers were not under any circumstances to be pressurised; discreet assistance when required only. She behaved discreetly and stayed where she was. There was a difference between discreet behaviour and actually hiding, however, and soon she had to come out to collect more books.
He was browsing. His dark eyes flashed to hers as she walked to the table, but she looked away very quickly and stood sorting out the next pile of books. She had not had the chance to observe him closely, but he seemed to be very tall, well dressed, the sort of man who could afford to buy here.
It may have been the fright he had given her, or the fact that she suddenly felt very hot, but a wave of nausea washed over her and she felt very light-headed. She put her hands flat on the table for a moment, her eyes closed, but that only made things worse and with a great effort she stood upright before the whole shop began to spin round and she slid to the thickly carpeted floor in a faint.
She came round in the middle of what appeared to be a crisis. Mrs Dennison was kneeling on the floor beside her and so was the tall, dark-eyed man.
'I knew she was looking strange. This is just how the virus acts! Now I'll have to get her home, and how I'm going to do that I can't think. Really, I just can't leave the shop!'
'Do not worry, madame. My car is parked just around the corner. I will take mademoiselle home.'
'Oh!' Beth could hear the suspicion in Mrs Dennison's voice. 'Well, I'm sure it's very kind, but I can't just hand a young girl over to a stranger. I mean one hears so many dreadful things!'
'That is very wise, madame, your caution does you credit. However, you may set your mind at rest. I am Mademoiselle Craig's guardian. I am here in England to see her. Naturally I will take her home.'
Mrs Dennison was now in a quandary. For the first time in living memory she was silent, brightening up when she saw that Beth's eyes were open.
'Oh, Elizabeth!' Her exclamation of relief brought the dark eyes of the man back to Beth but she avoided them by looking the other way. 'I do have to be careful, dear. Tell me, do you have a guardian?'
'Theoretically, yes,' Beth admitted, her v
oice a little weak. 'He's a Frenchman. Monsieur Vernais.'
The dark-eyed stranger slid his hand into his pocket and pulled out a passport, flicking it open under Mrs Dennison's nose.
'Gaetan Vernais, madame, as you see. Now, if you do not mind, I will see to it that Mademoiselle Craig gets home safely.'
Beth was not able for the moment to react at all. She really felt dreadfully ill and she could see that Mrs Dennison was thankful to have the Frenchman taking the responsibility. He helped Beth to her feet, sitting her in a chair before leaving her to fetch his car.
She had a peculiar trapped feeling, not at the moment with enough energy to fight her way out of this situation. The moment that she got to her bedsit, though, she would be on home ground, then she would take charge of her own affairs. At the moment she was feeling too ill and not a little stunned.
She had no reason to be anything but infuriated by Gaetan Vernais. She had faced a lot of trouble because of him, and if now he thought that she would greet him in any way other than with annoyance he was very much mistaken. He was not quite as she had imagined him. Although she still had not had a very good look at him she knew one thing for sure: he was much younger than she had thought.
He was back within minutes, his hand beneath her arm, guiding her out of the shop.
'Don't come back until you're quite better, Elizabeth!' Mrs Dennison said in a voice that was more threatening then concerned, but Beth had no chance to speak.
'Mademoiselle Craig will not be back at all, madame!' the Frenchman said firmly. 'In future she will be living in Paris. If you owe her any wages, you may keep them in lieu of notice.'
'But…!' Beth tried to intervene, her voice more than a little alarmed, but she was given no opportunity to decide her own fate.
'Come!' He ushered her through the door, across the pavement and into his car, a great silver-grey Rolls-Royce, sitting her firmly in the passenger seat and pulling off at once.
'I—I live at the…'
'I know where you live, mademoiselle!' he said shortly. 'I have been there already today, that is how I discovered where you were working. You may rest. I am quite capable of driving us there!'
Beth fell silent. She was not nearly as confident as she appeared to be. In her daily life she put on a face that fooled everyone, but at this moment she was not quite capable of it. Silence seemed to be a good idea. In any case, she was shivering although the car was warm and comfortable.
He turned into the street, stopping at the house where she had the second-floor front bedsit, and it was clear that the situation did not amuse him at all. The street seemed especially dark tonight and Beth shivered, pulling her jacket closely around her, knowing that it would be cold in the flat. She was cold too and trembling, more from the virus, she reminded herself, than from the thought of the tall, dark man who helped her to the front door, his hand unnecessarily hard on her arm.
In the end, it was he who opened the front door, taking her key impatiently from her after her third attempt to insert it. She noticed with a new wave of alarm that he slid it into his pocket with no offer to return it to her, and it was with relief mixed with fear that she opened her own door, getting the key in first time now and stepping inside, switching on the overhead light.
'Dieu! It is colder in here than outside!' he grated from the doorway. 'No wonder that you are ill! Presumably you are accustomed to handling that ancient contraption of a gas fire? Turn it on! Any attempt on my part to do so would probably result in the whole building being exploded!'
Beth found herself obeying meekly, her head swimming as she bent. She told herself that this subservient reaction was due to her illness and nothing more, but truly, he was alarming her very much. To call his attitude severe would be a great understatement. Still, she couldn't put off facing him any more. She had ducked out of his way in the shop, avoided looking at him on the way here but he had to be faced now, even though she knew that she would be looking at her only real enemy in the whole world.
In her mind, she had always imagined him to be someone of her Uncle John's age, a man in his sixties, someone perhaps balding, running to fat. She had imagined him as ugly, cruel, mean and vicious, and for a few seconds her mind refused to believe what she saw as he stood tall and angry in the doorway.
He was a superb male animal, even her innocent mind saw that, and he looked just about ready to spring on her in a fury like a dark, sleek panther. His hair was thick and black, a little longer than she would have thought someone with such beautifully tailored clothes would wish it to be, and his eyes beneath winged brows were glitteringly dark.
He was deeply tanned, and there was a power about his broad shoulders and chest that spoke of tightly packed muscles just below the surface of the expensive clothes. His height seemed to be filling the doorway, his anger filling the room, and she simply stared mutely, her eyes running over him from the black trousers and black high necked sweater to his grey tweed jacket that only emphasised the darkness of the rest of him. He made an alarming picture, like the Prince of Darkness or his emissary, and she gulped in growing fear.
He was not old at all, her mind assured her in some astonishment. He was no more than thirty-two or three, but that didn't seem to help at all. There was no pushing this man aside or ordering him out. He could probably snap her neck with one powerful hand, and he looked just about ready to do it.
'I—I…' She swayed on her feet and he was against her instantly, terrifying at close quarters.
'Sit down, mademoiselle!' He lowered her into the only armchair in the room and she sank down thankfully. 'I will make a drink for you if you will tell me where you keep the coffee.'
'I don't think there's any left,' she said apologetically, half rising. 'I usually have tea,' she added quickly, not wanting him to do anything for her, but he motioned her back to the chair with an imperious gesture, his eyes seeking out the cupboard she had indicated.
'I have never made tea, but I imagine that I will be able to master the general principles,' he assured her sardonically. 'You will be able to tell me your English opinion of the result.'
She watched him like someone in a daze. If she had been well, if she had been herself she would probably have found it quite hilarious to see a very well dressed Frenchman studiously spooning tea into a teapot and making up a tray for his defiant ward. At the moment, though, she felt that it would only serve to increase his already obvious anger.
'It—it's very good. Thank you.' She sipped the tea as he handed her a cup, grateful for the hot, sweet drink, still shivering though.
He looked impatiently round and pulled the cover off her neatly made bed, wrapping it around her shoulders, leaving her arms free, and she sat wide-eyed in her cocoon of warmth as he grasped a high-backed chair as if it were cardboard, swinging it round with its back to her and straddling it, his arms folded along its straight back as he looked her over mercilessly.
She really felt like a small and valueless object under a microscope as his eyes raked slowly over her, missing nothing. From her long and heavy thick gold hair with its tightly bound braid, over the pale, almost translucent skin of her face which held not one vestige of colour, to her soft and trembling lips, his eyes wandered irritably. His gaze lingered on her rather outlandish clothes and all she could do was to gaze helplessly back.
Many times she had paced this room, rehearsing bitterly the things she would say to this man should they ever meet, but not one word came to her head now. In the first place, he was not the man she had imagined and built her bitterness around, and also, his whole presence frightened her. He was shockingly masculine, his eyes pitilessly intent, holding her grey eyes with no mercy in their dark depths.
'You will now explain to me, mademoiselle, why you felt it necessary to refuse the offer of my protection and why you choose to disobey and disregard your uncle's last wishes!'
'I do not need a guardian, Monsieur Vernais,' Beth said quietly, her eyes on her clenched hands. 'In England, a p
erson is of age at eighteen. I am nineteen and a half, one could say almost twenty. I could marry, have children, do exactly as I please in that direction and it would be permissible in the eyes of the law.'
'Possibly!' he said scathingly. 'In your particular case, however, it would be breaking the terms of both your uncle's and your parents' will. You would be unable to claim your inheritance until you were thirty-five and would therefore be as penniless as you so clearly are now. Rather a long time to wait when you merely need to follow the terms of your uncle's will until you are twenty-one! If you wish to marry and have children then I am afraid that it, too, will have to wait. You cannot do either without my approval, and I most certainly do not approve!'
'I do not intend to marry and have children, monsieur!' Beth said spiritedly.
'That is fortunate, mademoiselle, as you are obviously still a child in your outlook!' he snapped. 'You are not accustomed to this way of life, to living in these circumstances!' His long fingered hand swept the room. 'It is outrageous that you have chosen to live like this!'
'There is nothing wrong with this place, monsieur!' Beth said as heatedly as she could manage. 'It is a perfectly normal place to live, and in any case, accommodation is very expensive in London. I am perfectly comfortable and happy here! My wages are not very high, but with my allowance I would have been quite well off. You probably remember though that you stopped my allowance!'
'It was not only my right to stop your allowance but my duty!' he grated savagely. 'You saw fit to disregard the provisions that had been made for your comfort and safety, and short of dragging you to Paris by your long hair there was nothing else that I could do!'
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