He looked at her, mocking triumph in his eyes. ‘But each time I touch you, we go just a little bit further. Once it was just a kiss. Then a touch. Now I have you naked. What do you think will be next?’ He smiled at her shocked expression, then released her, running a hand through his dark hair as he strode coolly to the door. ‘I can stand the pressure,’ he said softly. ‘Can you?’ With a cynical smile he left, the door closing quietly behind him.
Serena was shaking so hard that she could barely stand up. Stunned, dazed, she groped her way to the bed and sank on to it, her heart thundering through her body, blood pulsing in her veins like wildfire.
He was right. Her own desire for him was becoming too strong. Just being with him twenty-four hours a day, with his incessant battering at her resistance, would eventually obliterate her defences…and then he would take her. Only then…when her desire had become intolerable. When it had gone beyond red-hot and was burning white.
How could she continue to fight him? Hot tears stung her eyes. She dashed them away angrily. I’ll have to be strong, she told herself. I mustn’t let him take me without a fight…
Later, she dressed in a pale powder-blue silk shift dress, its contours skimming her slender curves with exquisite elegance, her long red-gold hair blow-dried in her usual style, and her green slanting eyes emphasised with a hint of liner.
Going downstairs just before six, she walked into the study and found Nick already there, arranging her paintings carefully, the packing cases almost empty and standing in the corner.
‘Oh…!’ Serena hesitated in the doorway, her eyes racing over his powerful frame, devastatingly sexy in the impeccable grey Savile Row suit he wore. ‘My paintings…’
‘Time was cutting close,’ he drawled, straightening. ‘I thought I’d better get them set out in case he arrived early.’
‘How very efficient of you,’ she said, lifting red-gold brows.
He gave a lazy, cynical smile. ‘Glad you’re thrilled.’
The doorbell rang.
‘That’ll be him,’ Nick said coolly, putting the painting down as the centre-piece on the long mahogany table. ‘Come on. Let’s get this show on the road.’
He strode ahead of her into the drawing-room. He dominated the elegant room, as he dominated every room, and Serena followed him in, her eyes wary, running over his powerful body, intensely aware of him, of his wicked mind, his ruthless mouth and his irresistible sex appeal.
Did she even stand a chance against him? She already half wanted to surrender…she closed her eyes, turning from him, sinking into an armchair, willing herself to be strong.
‘Sir Charles Warwick,’ Chivers announced a moment later.
‘Charles!’ Nick swung from the cool Adam fireplace, strode to Sir Charles, extending a hand. ‘Good to see you! Come in…’
‘My dear chap.’ Sir Charles was an elegant, charming and very dignified man with silver hair and intelligent grey eyes. ‘The pleasure is all mine!’
The two men shook hands with firm grips, respect in each other’s smiles as they faced each other.
‘And you have your lovely wife at your side!’ Sir Charles turned to Serena, smiling. ‘Marvellous to see you again, my dear.’
‘Hello, Sir Charles.’ Serena kissed his austere cheek. ‘How’s Lady Warwick?’
‘Plotting to spring another garden party on me!’ he groaned. ‘How I hate all the work that leads up to them! Women everywhere, arranging flowers and baking cakes…!’
Serena laughed. ‘Hide in your study until the guests arrive! That’s what my father always does!’
‘A drink, Charles?’ Nick drawled from the cabinet. ‘Whisky?’
‘On ice.’ Sir Charles laughed, thrusting his hands in the pockets of his light grey suit. ‘I do love Americanisms. They’re so modern, and my children frequently accuse me of being what they call a “branflake-eater”. Apparently, this is the ultimate in old age.’
Nick handed him his whisky, his body movements as quick and mercurial as always. ‘I shan’t sympathise, Charles. Personally, I’m looking forward to being a father.’
Serena stared at him through her lashes as the words slid into her heart. Children…it was becoming a greater reality than ever. She was helpless to prevent what was going to happen.
‘Oh?’ Sir Charles’s silver brows rose as he glanced at Serena.
A smile touched Nick’s hard mouth. ‘Come and see my wife’s paintings, Charles,’ he drawled coolly, striding towards the door. ‘They really are quite exceptionally good.’
Sir Charles let his gaze linger on Serena for a few seconds, then turned and followed Nick.
In the study, Sir Charles inspected the paintings with a cool, professional eye. He was silent, moving along the mahogany table, his austere face stern.
Serena could hardly bear to wait for his judgement. Tense, she braced herself for a possible rejection. Sir Charles wouldn’t lie to her. Not only that, but he wouldn’t be interested in her name and background as selling points. All he was interested in was artistic merit.
Nick was standing beside her, his face hard, hands thrust in grey trouser-pockets, authority in every line of his body. Suddenly she knew he was tense, too.
Sir Charles turned at last, his face cool.
‘Well?’ Nick asked tersely.
Sir Charles arched silver brows. ‘Well, I must admit I’m surprised at the style. A cross between primitive and Impressionist, with a touch of Van Gogh in the skies.’
‘And?’ Nick arched black brows.
‘And I think an exhibition should be arranged at once.’ Sir Charles flicked his grey gaze to Serena’s face, and he was thoughtful, studying her with new eyes. ‘Well done, my dear. I think you have a very promising future.’
Serena couldn’t speak for a second, then managed to choke out a husky, ‘Thank you…!’
‘You’ll have to keep it up, though,’ Sir Charles warned sternly. ‘One exhibition won’t be enough. The art world isn’t interested in people who make a big splash, a lot of money, and then disappear. Either you continue to paint, grow and develop—or forget it.’
Serena felt a little daunted by that, suddenly realising the commitment she would have to make, but at the same time she could not bring herself to let go of that intense, obsessive little world she had carved for herself.
Nick would still be away frequently on business, even if she did find herself pregnant at some time in the future. She knew she would rely heavily on her easel and paints in his absence. What else would she have in her life? she thought bitterly. Nick was clearly determined to isolate her again.
Dinner was a fascinating affair. They talked about art, finance, London, high society and children. Serena noticed Nick watching her with a cool smile, a gleam in his blue eyes as he listened to her talk so articulately, gesturing with slim hands, her face mercurial, her mind quicksilver as Sir Charles listened intently and joined in.
‘Wonderful evening!’ Sir Charles said as he left, shaking hands firmly with Nick at the door. ‘You must come to my wife’s garden party and rescue me from raffle tickets! How long are you in England for?’
‘I’m not sure yet,’ Nick said coolly, shrugging broad shoulders. ‘But I’ll let you know.’
Sir Charles nodded and kissed Serena. ‘Give my regards to your parents, my dear. Tell them their invitations to the garden party are in the post.’
When he had gone Nick looked down at Serena with a cool smile. Her heart skipped several beats at the look in his eyes, especially when they slid to her full mouth.
‘You’re a success,’ he drawled, a sardonic smile on his mouth. ‘How does it feel?’
‘It feels good. But it would feel much better if I had secured it for myself.’
His smile grew cynical. ‘You had your chance and you blew it.’
‘You mean you blew it for me,’ she returned, arching red-gold brows. ‘You blew it sky-high!’
He laughed softly, blue eyes moving over her. ‘I’m an
explosive kind of guy.’ His strong hand moved to her throat. ‘That’s why you can’t resist me when I put the pressure on.’
‘Your conceit is even greater than your arrogance.’
‘Justified arrogance,’ he said softly, ‘can be intolerably exciting. Don’t you think?’ His dark head bent, and as his mouth met hers she gave a moan of pleasure, her lips parting swiftly beneath his. He was pulling her into his arms, and she went willingly, her hands clasping his strong throat as the kiss deepened. She could pull away…when she wanted to…but for now she wanted his mouth on hers…
Her eyes closed in helpless response, expecting to feel his hands on her body, longing for that wicked seduction to begin, her heart thumping violently as she twined against him, hating him, wanting him…
Suddenly, she was released.
Swaying, she stared hotly through her lashes, her mouth still moist and receptive, not understanding why he had ended the kiss.
‘Goodnight, Serena!’ Nick drawled in soft mockery, and turned on his heel, striding towards the stairs.
Hot colour flooded her face. Humiliated, bitterly angry, she could only catch her breath and choke back her fury as she stared after him and his cool, arrogant stride. Only when he had disappeared from sight did she put her hands to her hot face and close her eyes, wincing at the depths of her humiliation.
He knew now…he knew…oh, she felt such a fool. How could he have done that to her? How? Rage shot through her. Well, it wouldn’t get him anywhere, she vowed furiously. She might have wanted that kiss to go on, but she certainly wouldn’t have allowed it to lead to lovemaking. Nor would she allow any kisses in the future to lead to that. If he thought he could drive her into bed with taunting, mockery and frustration, he could think again!
Next morning they drove to Flaxton.
The manor gates rose in front of them, clean white stone with the Flaxton crest in shining red and gold, the Boleyn crest on the opposite pillar, and twin stone unicorns rising up holding those shields.
The sign beside the gate listed the hours of public opening, and the guard stepped out of his little blue hut to bend to the window. His eyes widened in surprise when he peered into the rear window of the limousine. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, my lady!’ he said, smiling at Serena. ‘Didn’t recognise the car for a minute. Go right through; they’re expecting you.’
The limousine slid through the extensive parkland, and Serena studied it with pride as she always did, delighted with the changes in the estate since Nick took it over. The land had once been wild and unruly; now it was landscaped, mown to perfection with deer grazing on it, the lake a lovely wild vision on the horizon.
Tourists were milling about in front of the manor. Its Tudor chimneys rose like barley sugar, the turrets of each wing resembling the Tower of London, and the red brick walls kept clean and shining as new.
The car park was packed with cars, the café was doing a roaring trade behind the stables, and the gift shop seemed to have mushroomed to three times its original size.
‘Your father’s garden centre was a good idea,’ Nick observed as they drove past the public apartments. ‘Look at all those cars in front of it. I hear he’s even started importing stone garden statues from China…’
‘Yes, he mentioned that at Christmas,’ Serena said, studying the long glass house on the far side of the manor. ‘But he’s got a way with gardens, plants, landscaping.’
‘We’ll have to call him Capability Flaxton,’ Nick drawled, shooting her a glance.
‘He’d be thrilled if you did!’ she said, thinking of her father’s long admiration for Capability Brown, the greatest British landscape gardener of all time.
The limousine drove around the curving drive to the private gates of her parents’ private wing. The guard waved them through, and they slid up with a crunch of gravel to the West Wing.
Mottram answered the door. ‘Hello, my lady,’ she said with a slight bob, her black and white maid’s uniform starched to within an inch of its life. ‘Mr Colterne, sir. Lovely to have you back. Your apartments are ready, and the Countess is serving tea in the drawing-room in ten minutes.’
Nick and Serena had a brief chat with Mottram about life at Flaxton Manor since Christmas, and heard all about the latest scandal ricocheting around the staff.
‘She got pregnant and eloped to Australia with him.’ Mottram was aflush with excitement, leading Nick and Serena up the carved wooden stairs to their apartments. ‘We got a postcard from her this morning…’
‘Has she had the baby yet?’ Serena asked, agog.
‘Oh, no, she was only three months gone when they went!’
As they entered their apartments Serena gave a sigh and kicked off her high heels. ‘I’m exhausted!’
Nick thanked the chauffeur for bringing their cases, and gave him the rest of the day off, aware that he had taken a fancy to Mottram and would go off in hot pursuit.
‘Home at last!’ Nick stretched, flexing those powerful shoulder muscles, and Serena studied him through her lashes, her mouth dry. He straightened, caught her secretly admiring gaze, and a sardonic smile touched his hard mouth as he turned, drawling, ‘Shall we unpack? Or do you want to go straight to bed?’
She flushed, aware that he had seen the desire in her eyes in that unguarded moment, and hating him for his quick, clever mind. ‘I’ll unpack!’ she said flatly, and went into her bedroom.
Nick followed her lazily in, put her suitcase on the floor.
Serena turned, deeply aware of him, and her heart started to beat with abrupt violence at the look in his eyes.
‘Do you still have that dress?’ he asked softly.
‘What dress?’
‘You know which dress I mean,’ he said, his eyes mocking. ‘See if you can find it. I might want to make love to you tonight, and I’d like you to be wearing it when I do.’
He turned, leaving the room, the door closing behind him with a cool click, leaving Serena angrily breathless, her pulses racing, her body shaking with a desire that went so deep that she could barely stand to live with it unsated any more.
Dry-mouthed, she sank on to the bed. Did he mean it? He might make love to her tonight? Oh, God…her body was throbbing with a need she hated herself for feeling.
Struggling to come to terms with the dynamic shift in their relationship, Serena drew a long unsteady breath, telling herself this was all just nonsense, she didn’t want him to make love to her, he was a ruthless bastard and she hated him…
Getting to her feet, she unpacked, ignoring the tremor in her hands as she hung her expensive dresses in the wardrobe. The bedroom was as familiar to her now as her old room in the Queen’s apartments had been when she first met Nick. Of course, the Queen’s apartments were now on show to the public. Anne Boleyn’s frequent visits to Flaxton Manor were one of the most famous aspects of the house, and a big draw for the public, particularly combined with Henry VIII’s apartments.
The sun glinted through the lattice windows, casting diamond light on the old four-poster bed with its bright new red velvet curtains and handmade patchwork quilt.
Suddenly, she remembered the wooden drawers below that bed, and went to them, thinking, I wonder…
Kneeling, she pulled out a rickety drawer, rifled through the memorabilia from her teens, and there was the dress, at the bottom of the drawer, the demure lace dress she had first worn when she met Nick Colterne three years ago…
The knock at the door made her jump, turning.
Nick opened the door slowly, and saw her kneeling on the floor, the dress in her hands and a fierce hot rush of colour rising to her cheeks as she looked up guiltily.
He stared at her in tense silence. Then he crossed the room to her in three strides, taking her shoulders in hard hands and lifting her. ‘Put it on for me!’ he said thickly, hands sliding to her waist, pulling her hard against him. ‘Put it on and let me take it off.’
‘No!’ she said fiercely, aware that she desperately wanted to do as he c
ommanded, and also aware that the war was no longer just between her and Nick: it was now breaking out inside her as she fought her own desire. ‘I don’t want to put it on for you, and I certainly wouldn’t let you take it off! Besides—my mother’s waiting and I—’
‘So am I,’ he bit out thickly. ‘I’ve been waiting for three damned years! Let me see you in it…’
‘My mother is waiting downstairs for us,’ she said again. ‘Do you really want to start this now? I’ll fight you, Nick. Do you want to go downstairs in an hour with another scratch on your face?’
‘I wouldn’t mind going down with a few scratches on my back,’ he drawled sardonically, then drew a harsh breath, releasing her. ‘Very well. But put the damned dress down and come out of the bedroom immediately, or I won’t be answerable for the consequences.’
Silent, ashen, she pushed the dress on to the bed and walked out of the bedroom. He watched her pass with brooding eyes. She felt his intent gaze on her body and quivered inwardly, her heart pounding.
‘Before we go down to your mother, though,’ Nick said coolly, following her into the drawing-room, ‘I think we should discuss the finer points of your new life in respect to them.’
Serena turned, green eyes wary. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Your art,’ he said sardonically, and thrust his hands into his trouser-pockets, the stance of masculine authority deeply exciting to her. ‘This is the time to tell them, Serena. Now or never. You’ve just been accepted for a major exhibition at one of the top galleries in London. If you don’t tell both your parents about it now, they’ll find out themselves, and then your opportunity will be lost.’
She frowned, folded her arms, green eyes even more wary. ‘I don’t see that they have to know at all.’
He laughed. ‘Come off it. And quit being so secretive. It’s time you grew out of it.’
‘I’m not secretive,’ she denied angrily, stiffening.
Ruthless Lover Page 10
