by Sara Craven
Because Zandor was coming after her. Gaining on her fast, even though Dolly, rudely jolted out of her normal placidity, was now making a fight of it with her stablemate, leaving Alanna to curse her own stupidity.
She tried to pull on the reins, but the mare tossed her head in protest and tore them from her grasp, leaving her clinging desperately to Dolly’s mane.
At the same moment, Zandor drew level with them. He reached an arm across and snatched Alanna from her saddle, his iron grip pinning her to his side and leaving her dangling helplessly as he brought his own horse under control and then to a complete halt.
Alanna began to struggle. She said breathlessly, ‘Let go of me, damn you. Put me down.’
‘With pleasure,’ he returned curtly and dropped her, letting her land on her backside on a tussock of coarse grass with a thud that seemed to jar every bone in her body.
Dolly had slowed too, and was trotting in bewildered circles, apparently realising that the unexpected excitement was over.
Zandor patted his horse’s neck, murmuring something soothing in a language Alanna did not recognise, then dismounted looping his reins round the branch of a small stunted tree, then walked over to Dolly, whistling softly.
At first she shied away, then as he waited, still whistling the same quiet tune, she dropped her head and came to him, allowing him to walk her back and tether her near the bay.
Meanwhile, Alanna, her breathing still flurried, had scrambled ungracefully to her feet, swearing under her breath, as she resisted the need to rub her aching rear.
Zandor observed her, tight-lipped. He said icily, ‘Next time you wish to risk your neck, try jumping off a tall building. Dolly may be past her best, but she doesn’t deserve to end her days with a broken leg or worse.’
He added, ‘I understood you could ride. Don’t you know better than to gallop headlong over unknown country?
‘Especially as there’s marshy ground ahead? And you aren’t wearing a hat.’
The honest answer was ‘Yes, of course I do.’
But Alanna didn’t return it. Instead, she lifted a defiant chin. ‘I had a hat but I left it at the roadside. What are you doing here?’
‘I came to find you.’ He paused. ‘I’m aware you were expecting my cousin, but he will not be joining you after all.’
‘How did you know that?’ she asked sharply.
‘I was in the stableyard when he was talking to Jacko. So, too, was our grandmother, who had other commissions for him after his visit to the Home Farm.’ He gave her a thin smile. ‘So I decided to save you a long, futile wait in the sun.’
Alanna bit her lip. ‘Please don’t expect me to be grateful.’
‘I don’t.’ Zandor shrugged. ‘Besides I also thought it would be a golden opportunity for us to have that talk I promised.’
‘We have nothing to talk about.’
He said quietly, ‘There, once again, we must differ.’ His gaze was steady, the silver eyes intent, making her aware that her sweater had slipped off during that mad, ludicrous dash and that her sweat-dampened shirt was clinging revealingly to her body, emphasising the swell of her rounded breasts. An additional humiliation, she realised angrily.
‘Let us go back to the first time you ran away from me,’ Zandor went on. ‘When I woke up to find you gone without a word—then or later.’
He paused. ‘What the hell did I do to warrant that?
Because I really need to know.’
Her throat was dry. ‘I suppose your usual conquests hang around begging for more. Let’s just say I turned out to be the exception to the rule.’
He said harshly, ‘And that’s a cheap retort which insults us both.’
‘We had a one night stand.’ It was her turn to shrug, struggling to keep her voice casual. ‘No big deal.’
‘Again, I don’t agree.’ His voice took on a purr of intimacy. ‘Shall I go through my reasons?’
‘No!’ In spite of herself, the negation seemed to explode from her and she hastily tempered it with, ‘Thank you.’ She spread her hands. ‘It—it was all a long time ago.’
‘To me, it still seems like yesterday.’
‘Then that’s your problem.’ She swallowed. ‘Why can’t you let the past stay exactly that instead of raking over old mistakes?’
She added defensively, ‘After all, it’s not going to make the slightest difference—to either of us.’
He was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He said, ‘Then let us turn our attention to the future and allow me to offer you a word of warning.’ He paused. ‘You and Gerard?’ He shook his head. ‘It’s never going to happen. You would be well advised to walk away.’
The obvious and truthful response was ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she thought, stiffening. But that was her decision, not his. And, anyway, what right did he have to interfere—either to warn or advise?
She said coolly, ‘My relationship with Gerard is a private matter for us alone.’
‘Not any longer,’ he said, his mouth twisting. ‘And certainly not in this family. They invented the words “public domain”.’
‘Then let me tell you they’ve all been very kind and—welcoming.’
‘Does that “all” include Aunt Meg and Aunt Caroline?’ He raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘Or my grandmother, for that matter?’
Her hesitation was fractional. ‘She’s been—charming.’
‘Why not? She has bundles of it when she chooses. She sometimes even uses it on me. But that makes no difference to her long-term plans for Gerard, which do not, my lovely one, include you, I can promise you.’
‘Please don’t call me that,’ she said tautly. ‘And Gerard’s future is his own to decide and he may consider I have a role to play in it.’
‘Then why isn’t he here with you now, finding some quiet, sheltered place and getting you out of your clothes?’
As she stared at him, shocked, he added, ‘Or is that not yet part of the agenda?’
Alanna threw back her head. She said chokingly, ‘How—how dare you? That’s none of your business.’
‘But it’s very much my concern.’ Zandor’s voice slowed to a drawl. ‘Having initiated you into the pleasures of physical passion, my sweet, I wouldn’t wish you to feel—short-changed in any way.’
Alanna pressed her hands to her burning face. ‘I don’t,’ she said defiantly. ‘In any way.’
Which, she told herself, was no more than the truth—if not in the way he expected.
She added, ‘I trust you don’t want details.’
He was unfazed. ‘Thank you but I think I prefer my memories.’
He let that sink in. Sting.
‘So Niamh is charming and Gerard attentive,’ he went on musingly. ‘But don’t let that fool you. If you’re also thinking long term, Gerard can’t afford to get married.’
‘You’re his employer,’ she flashed. ‘Perhaps you should pay him more.’
‘Perhaps I would,’ he said, ‘if I was more convinced about his commitment to Bazaar Vert.’
He paused. ‘However, his present salary already allows him a very pleasant flat in Chiswick, his car, and an expensive boat currently moored at Chichester, plus his New Year skiing trips, and his summer vacations in the Caribbean, as I’m sure you’re fully aware,’ he added silkily. ‘All of which hardly puts him on the breadline.’
Alanna bit her lip. ‘And as he’s also aware, I’m not exactly on the breadline myself,’ she mentioned crisply.
‘No, you work in publishing, for a company called Hawkseye,’ he said slowly. ‘And not as an assistant in a bookshop as I once thought.’
‘Does it matter? They’re both perfectly respectable occupations.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But unless you’ve also won millions in the Euro lottery, neither of them equips you financially to be the wife of the heir to Whitestone Abbey.’
He continued drily, ‘Unless, of course, you’re prepared to take on Niamh and convince him he needs that p
articular destiny like a hole in the head.
‘To do that, you’d need to be either very brave or very reckless. And while you certainly don’t lack the second trait, you may not come off unscathed again. Not a third time.’
‘A third?’
‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘The first was the night at my hotel when you let the taxi I’d ordered leave without you.’ He added unsmilingly, ‘Or had you forgotten that small but important detail?’
The silence stretched between them as Alanna tried to think of something to say. And failed.
As if she had spoken, Zandor nodded. ‘What I need to know is—why? Or are you going to use the champagne as your excuse again?’
The words bit at her. She made herself meet his gaze. ‘No—although I’ve never drunk very much alcohol.’
Perhaps because I’ve seen where it can lead...
She went on, ‘Perhaps I was simply—curious. I’d come to realise I was something of an anomaly in this day and age and maybe I wanted to—know what I was missing.’
‘And, on a whim, chose me for this daring experiment?’ His voice was harsh. ‘Please don’t expect me to be grateful.’
‘I don’t.’ She stumbled on. ‘I—I soon realised I’d committed a terrible—an unforgivable error. That it was the last thing I wanted to happen. I—I couldn’t face you—afterwards—so I—left.’
His eyes were as bleak as winter. ‘It didn’t occur to you to tell me much earlier—maybe when it started—that you’d changed your mind? That you wanted it all to stop?’
‘Oh, sure,’ she said bitterly. ‘And you’ve have accepted that. Patted me on the head and said “That’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” I read about cases like that all the time in the papers.’
‘Of course,’ he said, with equal bitterness. ‘And it was somehow simpler to include me with all the brainless louts who won’t take no for an answer.’
She swallowed. ‘Zan...’
‘No,’ he said almost violently. ‘You don’t call me that. Not now. Not ever again.’
‘I don’t understand...’
‘You don’t have to. Just believe that it’s—safer.’ Shaken, Alanna watched him draw a deep breath. Regain his control.
When he spoke again, his tone was dry. ‘After all, you might make another mistake and use it in front of Gerard. Make him—wonder just how well-acquainted we really are.’ He paused. ‘Unless, that is, you’ve already told him.’
‘No,’ she said, still on edge. ‘Why would I want to admit that I’m damaged goods?’
She saw his mouth tighten and braced herself. But all he said was, ‘Why indeed?’
He became brisk. ‘Now it’s time you went back to the abbey before my grandmother thinks of any other little tasks to keep Gerard occupied and out of reach for the rest of the day.
‘If you turn right by those boulders, you’ll find an easy track that will take you almost straight to the stables—unless you decide on another gallop.’
He unhitched Dolly and led her over.
‘But don’t hope for too much,’ he went on as Alanna mounted and settled herself in the saddle, trying not to wince. ‘Whether you’re damaged goods or pure as the driven snow, it makes no difference. He’s still not for you.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll decide that for myself.’
‘Which,’ he said softly, ‘could be another terrible mistake. You seem prone to them.’
He untied his own horse and swung himself lithely into the saddle.
She said sharply, ‘I can find my own way. You don’t need to accompany me.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he returned. ‘I’m merely going to retrieve the expensive hat you abandoned earlier.’ He paused. ‘Unless, of course, you want to give my grandmother additional ammunition.’
He gave her a mocking salute and rode off.
She watched him go, then slowly turned Dolly for home, grateful that the mare seemed happy to resume her usual staid pace.
But even more thankful, she thought, that Zandor would never know the truth.
And felt the tears she dared not shed burn like acid in her throat.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE RETURN TO the abbey was more of an amble than a ride. Dolly clearly would have known the way blindfold and Alanna, struggling to subdue her inner turmoil, was content, even grateful, to let the mare take charge, and allow her to think.
The important—the only—thing was, had Zandor believed her? Had their previous encounter now been dealt with and laid to rest?
And as she reviewed endlessly everything that had been said, she could start to believe that it had. That it was finally finished. And for that she had to be thankful.
She was recalled to the present by Dolly’s soft whicker as the roofs of the stables came into view, reminding her that she had other problems to attend to.
It seemed her resolve to proceed with caution in her relationship with Gerard had been the right one. Certainly if she’d been allowing herself to fall in love with him, she’d now be devastated.
Not, she reminded herself hastily, that Zandor’s warnings were necessarily valid. The strange dynamics of the Harrington clan alone might well have caused him to adopt his own agenda.
On the other hand, she could see that the abbey clearly needed an injection of seriously hard cash, which she, the daughter of a country solicitor, would never be able to provide, even if she’d felt so inclined.
Because the abbey, she suspected, could well be a bottomless pit.
She was also realising that she’d probably totally misinterpreted Joanne’s comments about potential clashes over money during the weekend. Because the family history she’d subsequently heard indicated that it would not be Zandor—the gipsy, the outsider—asking his grandmother for financial help, as she’d assumed, but quite the other way round.
Not, she thought, a happy state of affairs.
However, from a purely selfish point of view, no business of hers. And something else she could soon put behind her altogether.
But at least this interlude with Gerard had been enjoyable enough to bring her permanently out of her self-imposed seclusion. In future, she’d be as much of a social animal as even Susie could wish.
And one day she might find herself involved in a real relationship. Something to hope for, anyway, she thought, sternly stifling the odd pang twisting inside her.
* * *
She was in Dolly’s stall, removing her saddle, when Jacko appeared.
‘You’d best leave that to me, and get yourself up to the house,’ he said gruffly. ‘The Missus is asking for you.’
Well, the Missus could wait, Alanna decided, relinquishing Dolly reluctantly, at least until she’d soothed in a hot bath the last of the aches and pains from being summarily dumped on the common, and put on some clothes free of mud and grass stains.
She let herself into the house by the side entrance and was just crossing the hall to the stairs when she was intercepted by the housekeeper, Mrs Jackson.
‘Oh, you’re back, Miss Beckett. That’s good. Mrs Harrington has been waiting for you to join her for coffee in the library.’
A note in her voice told Alanna unequivocally that this was not a suggestion but a command that she would do well to obey.
Reluctantly, she followed Mrs Jackson to the unexpected and unwanted rendezvous.
It wasn’t a large room, and the oak shelving that covered three of its walls from floor to ceiling, filled with leather bound tomes that Alanna could bet were never opened from one year to the next, made it seem smaller and darker, making her glad she wasn’t claustrophobic.
The fourth wall was occupied by an ornate fireplace, its grate, at this time of year, filled with an attractive arrangement of dried flowers.
Two high-backed leather armchairs, a coffee table between them, confronted each other on either side of the hearth, and Niamh Harrington, predictably, Alanna thought sourly, was seated in the one facing the door.
S
ince breakfast, she’d changed into a silk caftan in sapphire blue, embroidered with butterflies.
‘So here you are at last!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was becoming anxious, dear girl, when I found Jacko had come back without you. The common can be treacherous in parts,’ she added, shaking her head gravely.
Treacherous, plus bloody dangerous and unexpectedly disturbing, Alanna supplied silently as she sat down, still with a certain care.
‘So, how did you like Dolly?’ Mrs Harrington went on. ‘A bit quiet now, I dare say, bless her. But come out with me tomorrow, and I’ll put you on Caradoc.
‘My brother-in-law in Ireland bought him as a stallion, but he nearly wrecked the horse box, kicked out his stall and attacked his girl groom, as well as fighting with the other horses, so Patrick had him gelded and offered him to me as a point to pointer for Gerard.
‘But he was still a wild one, and I’d just decided to sell him on when Gerard’s cousin took a fancy to him. Came down here at weekends to work with him until Caradoc would come when he whistled.
‘Turned him into a lovely smooth ride with the manners of a saint, would you believe? But then,’ she added, shrugging, ‘gypsies always seem to have a way with horses. It’s in their genes, I dare say.’
It was the overt contempt in her voice that told Alanna that it was Zandor’s own grandmother who would never intend ‘gypsy’ to be a compliment—or even a joke. And how vile was that?
Mrs Harrington sent Alanna another bright smile. ‘So we’ll go out in the morning and see what you make of the darling boy.’
The smile was transferred seamlessly to the housekeeper, entering with a tray. ‘Set the coffee down here, Mrs Jackson dear, and we’ll serve ourselves.’
She picked up the heavy silver pot. ‘I’d guess cream but no sugar. Am I right?’
Alanna, whose mind’s eye had been suddenly filled with a sunlit image of a man riding a powerful bay as if they were fused into one, like some ancient Greek centaur, dragged herself back to reality with a start. ‘Actually, I take it black.’
