Beaumont Brides Collection (Wild Justice, Wild Lady, Wild Fire)

by Liz Fielding

  ‘Fizz, I’m sorry...’ She ignored him, but clutching her dress against her, quartered the floor looking for something. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘Haven’t you done enough?’ Her voice, the merest whisper, conveyed outrage. Outrage? Anyone would think he had pinned her against the wall and ripped the dress off her back. He didn’t kid himself that his intentions were honourable, but she had led the way.

  ‘Here.’ He opened a narrow door concealed in the panelling. Beyond it was a flight of stairs. ‘This goes straight up to my room. You can take your time to get dressed properly.’

  ‘Properly?’ she hissed, furiously. ‘Properly? How can I get dressed properly when I’ve lost my knickers?’ He found them beneath the drinks cabinet, damp with the dew of her desire and handed them to her without a word. She snatched them from him and then blushed crimson. ‘And an earring. And my handbag. I’m quite sure I’ll need a comb.’

  ‘Not for me, sweetheart. Don’t change anything for me.’ Indeed, as she stood in the doorway, her hair gloriously tousled, her eyes blazing, her cheeks flying bright flags she looked more beautiful, more desirable than any woman he had ever known. Unable to help himself he moved to hold her, but she flinched away from him.

  ‘No!’

  He silently cursed both Melanie and Claudia in the same breath. ‘I’ll find it and bring it up.’

  ‘Don’t you dare come near me!’

  He was beginning to lose patience. ‘I’m sorry, Fizz, but I need a fresh tie and I don’t plan to crawl about on my hands and knees looking for my shirt studs either.’ He looked down at himself. ‘Of course I could just go back to the party like this if you would prefer, but I can’t imagine what kind of telephone call would leave me in a state like this, can you?’ She didn’t answer. ‘Go on, now. Before they come back. These stairs lead straight to my room. I’ll be up in a minute.’

  She turned and fled up the stairs, leaving him with a glorious view of her backside. He smiled briefly, then shut the door and looked about him.

  He found her handbag, a couple of his studs before abandoning the search. He crossed to the foot of the stairs, then returned to the sideboard and poured a measure of brandy into a large glass before following Fizz up the stairs.

  She was in the bathroom. He could hear the shower running and he didn’t disturb her. There didn’t seem to be any point. Instead he found a fresh shirt, fitted another set of studs and with hands that lacked his usual rock-steadiness, made a less than perfect job of tying his tie. Then he went back down into the study, picked up his jacket, unlocked the door and rejoined his guests.

  *****

  “It’s all right, the door’s locked.”

  All right? What was so damned all right about the door being locked? It suggested premeditation, forethought, planning. For a moment she had been lost in wonder and joy at the rediscovery of herself, but those six little words had sent splinters of ice down her spine.

  How could she have been so stupid? Fizz stood beneath the fierce shower, her face flaming in hot shame at the wanton way she had just unzipped her dress and stepped out of it.

  “These stairs lead straight to my room.”

  Ice-cold inside, Fizz had heard the words and known exactly what they meant. Straight to his damned four-poster bed he meant. She had lost more than an earring in Luke Devlin’s study. She had lost her pride, her self-respect, and quite obviously her head.

  Claudia was right, she had never been cut out for the stage. She had never been able to pretend. The poised, cool young woman she had been playing had crumpled the moment Luke had touched her.

  She might have been able to live with that. Just. After all, Luke Devlin had it all. Money, good looks, the kind of power that is a real turn-on for some women. He must be used to women throwing themselves into his bed. But she had stepped out of her dress and thrown herself into his arms with a casual ease that suggested a lifetime of practice. And afterwards... Where had she learned to do those things?

  Fizz closed her eyes and groaned, her whole body trembling with mortification. She had had one lover. Only one. And that was seven years ago. The irony of it was that she had flung herself into Patrick’s arms too.

  The speed of it had left her bewildered, unsatisfied, but Patrick hadn’t seemed to realise that anything was wrong and she was young and inexperienced and quite ready to believe that any shortcomings were her own. They had to be, after all Patrick March was sex on a stick. But suddenly she was not so certain. Patrick had never made her feel the way she had felt in Luke’s arms.

  She leaned against the tiles and let the water beat against her skin. She had never indulged in casual sex. But then there was nothing remotely casual about her feelings for Luke Devlin. She hated him and she had wanted him since the first moment she set eyes on him. And she was quite old enough to know that such a combination was lethal.

  Thank God that Melanie had given her breathing space to restore the carefully constructed barriers that Luke had somehow managed to crash.

  She began washing herself from head to toe, scrubbing herself to try and rid herself of the taste, the scent of him. But using Luke’s soap it was quite impossible and in the end she gave up trying and dried herself. She wrapped a towel around her and listened at the bathroom door. There was no sound.

  He might of course be waiting quietly, standing by the window, looking out into the night as his garden was blanketed with snow. But she couldn’t hide in the bathroom all night, and if Claudia was launching a hue and cry for her, the sooner she appeared the better.

  Claudia.

  With the unexpected arrival of her sister she was under no illusions that life was about to become even more complicated.

  She had scarcely registered Luke’s bedroom as she had bolted for the bathroom. Now she looked about her. It looked somehow different from the way she remembered it, the colours darker, the furniture heavier, grander. Rich velvet curtains had been drawn over the windows shutting out the night and even the four-poster with its heavy drapes seemed larger in the soft shadows thrown by the lamplight.

  And it was all painfully redolent of its occupant. A pair of men’s silver backed brushes, discarded cufflinks, the box that had contained his shirt studs had been left on the great oak dressing table. There was no sign of Melanie’s presence. Maybe she preferred to have her own room, somewhere softer, frillier, where her stuffed toys would feel at home and she wouldn’t irritate Luke with her clutter. No, this was his domain, his alone and he had been planning to bring her up here.

  Fizz subsided onto the stool before the dressing table and regarded her reflection. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips bee-stung, her hair no longer sleek but tossed every which way by Luke Devlin’s passionate hands. The look was unmistakable. She had been making love and despite the most thorough application of soap and water, it showed.

  Luke had left her small black clutch bag on the dressing table, along with a large brandy glass with a generous measure of the rich amber spirit. He doubtless thought it would give her the strength to face him. She didn’t need brandy for that. Just guts. Or did he expect her to drink the brandy and wait for him to join her when he had made his excuses?

  At the thought her heightened colour drained abruptly away. She opened her bag and began rapidly to repair the damage to her makeup in an attempt to recover the treacherous poise that had deserted her without a backward glance when she had most needed it. She combed out her hair until it glowed sleekly, making up sparingly, her lipstick helping to disguise the startling effect of Luke’s embrace.

  Then she dressed slowly, reluctantly, in her abandoned clothes. The elegant black gown was surprisingly uncreased considering the abuse that it had undergone. But it had been made for a poised and sophisticated woman. Maybe that was one of the requirements.

  He obviously hadn’t found her earring and she overcame the temptation to fling the other into the waste bin. She had made enough mistakes tonight and it would be too easy for Melanie to put two and tw
o together if the housekeeper brought it to her, asking if it was hers. Especially if the other were later found on the study floor. She put it into her handbag to be disposed of later along with everything else she was wearing that evening.

  The dress that had given her such pleasure when she had put it on earlier that evening no longer had a place in her wardrobe.

  She wasn’t poised, she wasn’t sophisticated and it had been a terrible mistake to pretend she was. But pretend she must until she could make good her escape.

  A final glance at her reflection satisfied her that she looked as near like the Fizz she knew as was possible under the circumstances and with a little lift of her head she rose and let herself out of the room without a backward glance at the four-poster bed in which Luke had intended she spend the night. He had obviously tried it out for length and not found it wanting.

  The main staircase descended into the large, panelled entrance hall. Luke was there, leaning against the mantle, every inch the urbane host as he and Melanie chatted to her father and sister.

  Only she would spot the less than perfectly tied black silk bow at his neck, that he wasn’t wearing the same studs in his shirt and that in his haste, one of them hadn’t been fastened properly. With her sister standing so close to him, who would notice anything but how good they looked together?

  Claudia was certainly too busy flirting, her father too busy talking to Melanie. Luke, it seemed, had eyes for no one but Claudia and who could blame him?

  With her hair blonde once more, rippling over her shoulders and down her back in tiny little waves that caught the light and shone softly as she turned to look up at him, she was enough to fill any man’s eyes. And when, on top of all her natural assets, she wore a scarlet dress that skimmed her breasts and clung to her like a second skin all the way down to her ankles, no red-blooded male stood a chance.

  Yet despite Melanie’s fresh and youthful charms as opposed to Claudia’s more blatant attractions, there was no doubt about one thing. The Australian reporter in the clipping Jim had given her had been right. There was a likeness between the two girls.

  Nothing you could put your finger on. Nothing obvious. And Claudia’s present colouring was not inherited but achieved at great expense in an exclusive salon in Knightsbridge. But it was there. Her father was remarking on it as she approached them. ‘What do you think, Fizz?’ he demanded.

  ‘About what?’

  Luke turned abruptly, as if he hadn’t heard her coming. But he had. She had seen his shoulders tense beneath the smooth cloth of his jacket, his jaw tighten. ‘Are you feeling better, Fizz?’ he asked.

  She turned a pair of expressionless eyes upon him. ‘Better?’ Better than what, she wondered.

  ‘I was just explaining that the noise of the band had given you headache. Did the brandy help?’

  ‘Brandy?’ Melanie was aghast. ‘The poor girl had a headache and you gave her brandy? I couldn’t think of anything worse.’

  ‘I don’t believe there is anything,’ Fizz agreed. ‘But Luke has already told me that he’s not cut out to be a nursemaid.’

  He gave her a look that would have fried onions, before offering the shrug of a helpless male. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time.’

  ‘It’s all right, Melanie, I didn’t drink it,’ Fizz reassured her. ‘I’m driving, you see.’

  ‘Well, can I get you an aspirin or something?’

  ‘Nothing. Thank you,’ she said, her conscience jabbing her painfully. ‘A liberal application of cold water was all I needed to clear my head.’

  ‘Very liberal. Your hair is damp,’ Claudia remarked, her eyes full of mischief.

  ‘And is it?’ Luke enquired. She turned to face him and their eyes clashed over Melanie’s head. Although the effort cost her dear, she raised one questioning brow. ‘Clear?’ he enquired.

  ‘Perfectly. There’s absolutely no chance of a relapse.’

  His mouth tightened slightly, his eyes seemed suddenly colder than she remembered, but otherwise there was nothing to indicate that he had received her message loud and clear. But then with his arms full of Claudia he would scarcely notice her defection. And as if to confirm this he looked down and said, ‘Perhaps you’d like to dance, Claudia?’

  Claudia glanced at Fizz, then back at Luke and with a little cat like smile she snuggled against him. ‘Love to, darling.’

  ‘But I thought you were desperate to talk to Fizz,’ Edward Beaumont, interrupted. ‘That’s why I was so late,’ he explained to his host. ‘She arrived just as I was leaving, but she was so desperate to see Fizz that I had to wait for her.’

  ‘Fizz isn’t going anywhere, Beau. And they’re playing my tune,’ Claudia said, with a husky laugh, as someone opened a door and the soft strains of Lady in Red filtered into the hall.

  Beau. Fizz exchanged a look with her father.

  Beau was the affectionate nickname that everyone in the theatre world used for her father, and when she was working with him Claudia naturally used it too. But he wouldn’t tolerate it at home, largely because she used it to rub in the fact that while she was a success in the family profession, Fizz was stuck in Broomhill running her tedious little radio station.

  Despite the fact that she was all smiles and charm, her use of it now was tantamount to hoisting a storm warning. She had obviously heard about Melanie’s imminent arrival as part of the cast of “Holiday Bay” and she clearly wasn’t in any mood to tolerate it.

  Melanie’s face betrayed her unease. ‘Do you think Claudia will mind working with me?’ she asked Fizz.

  Edward roused himself from contemplation of Melanie’s face. ‘Why on earth would she mind? She’s glad enough of the work when there’s nothing else to be had.’

  ‘Oh, but she’s rather a grand actress. I saw her when she came to Australia last year.’ She smiled shyly at Edward Beaumont. ‘You too, of course. I thought you were both terribly good.’

  ‘Did you?’ Edward asked, thoughtfully. ‘Is your mother English?

  ‘She was,’ Melanie confirmed, a little sadly. ‘She died last year. How did you guess?’

  ‘The way you said “terribly good”. You don’t hear it much these days.’ He took a deep breath. ‘Will you two young ladies excuse me for a moment? I think I need a drink.’

  ‘And something to eat,’ Melanie exclaimed. ‘Giving a party is such hard work. I’m positively starving.’ She linked her arms through theirs and led them both into the drawing room.

  ‘Are you all right, Dad?’ Fizz asked, quietly, as Melanie led the way along the table, heaping food upon their plates.

  ‘Me? Absolutely fine. It was just something Melanie said reminded me of someone I once knew, that was all. Silly. It was years ago.’

  She wasn’t shocked. Her father, after all, had never pretended to be a saint. That had been her mother’s role.

  ‘What happened?’

  He shrugged. ‘Your mother’s accident. Poor woman-’ Fizz stopped him with a warning touch to his arm as Melanie reached the end of the table. ‘We lost touch. She moved on. Found someone else I suppose.’

  He turned away as an acquaintance claimed his attention and she was left holding two plates of food that she didn’t want. Spotting Andy sulking in a corner, she took one of them across to him. He didn’t look as if he was enjoying himself any more than she was.

  ‘You’re an unlikely wallflower at a party, Andy, but since you’re not dancing would you help me out with one of these?’

  He took the plate she proffered and gave Fizz a tentative smile. ‘Does this mean I’m forgiven for being an absolute heel earlier on?’

  ‘No. It means I’ve been lumbered with a spare plate.’ She gave him a look that betrayed her exasperation. ‘You’re handling this very badly, Andy. I know you’re not used to having to make much of an effort, but Melanie Brett isn’t your average girl.’ She no longer felt the slightest guilt in urging Andy to woo Melanie away from a man who was clearly capable of such brutal infidelity.
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  ‘You’ve changed your tune,’ Andy said, with surprise. ‘Anyway Melanie’s been told by that pompous great -’ He managed to stop himself before using a word that Fizz’s expression told him he would regret. ‘She has been told to be a good little girl and play hostess to her guests. No dancing, no disappearing act. Not that he’s making the same sacrifice I notice.’

  Fizz ignored this. Her own behaviour wouldn’t bear close scrutiny and she certainly had no wish to discuss Luke Devlin’s. ‘You know Andy, you could try using your imagination for a change.’

  He gave her a long look. ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  Advice to the lovelorn. It would make a good programme. Letters, music and advice. Maybe she could start a new career as an agony aunt. With a sigh, she buried her impatience. This was all new territory for Andy.

  ‘You could try being a little less selfish. This is her party, so she can’t just waltz off and have a good time. She has to make sure everyone else is enjoying themselves, that no one is left on their own. But I’m sure she’d love to have your company, your help, particularly with some of the locals. They are simply dying to talk to her but don’t quite dare. Now Luke Devlin can hardly object to that, can he? And I’m sure that Melanie will be very grateful.’

  ‘How grateful?’

  He was a slow learner. ‘If you’ll take my advice, Andy, for what it’s worth, don’t try and take it too fast.’

  Andy grinned. ‘You mean I should invite her to tea with my dear old Mum?’

  She shrugged. ‘Why not. It’s certainly original enough to tempt her.’

  ‘Is that what it’s going to take to woo you, Fizz?’ he asked.

  ‘I’m not in the market for wooing, Andy.’

  He leaned across and kissed her cheek. ‘That’s a pity. You’ve a glow about you tonight. You haven’t been on the Thunderbolt have you?’