Whisper Of Darkness

by Anne Mather

  Joanna’s head jerked back. Was it true? Was that why he had used that excuse to Mrs Parrish? Because he, and not Matt, had intended to drink more than was good for him? If it were true, he could certainly hold his liquor better than the old man, but it had loosened his tongue and relaxed his inhibitions.

  He moved his shoulders in a dismissing gesture now, the harsh mouth twisting in grim self-deprecation. ‘Don’t you believe me?’ he asked, allowing his gaze to move intimately over her shoulders and the undisguised burgeoning of her breasts, to the narrow waist and shapely hips, and slender legs beneath. ‘I assure you, I had every intention of getting roaring drunk this evening, only somehow it doesn’t seem to have worked.’

  Joanna took an unsteady breath. ‘I—I think you have—had too much to drink, I mean,’ she ventured. ‘Otherwise you—you wouldn’t be saying these things to me.’

  ‘Wouldn’t I?’ The tawny eyes smouldered as they returned to her face. ‘You were supposed to have got tired of waiting for me. You were supposed to be in bed. Finding you here—like this——’ he gestured towards her dress and the toffee-coloured glory of her hair, ‘has thrown me off key, and I don’t know how to handle it.’

  Joanna glanced over her shoulder at the door. ‘Then—then I suppose it would be better if—if I just went to bed now, and—and left you to it——’

  ‘No!’ Jake’s denial seemed wrung from him. ‘That is—I wish you wouldn’t. I—what I have to say might as well be said now as in the morning.’

  Joanna licked her dry lips. ‘Mr Sheldon——’

  ‘My name is Jake,’ he corrected her harshly, his hands balling in his pockets. ‘Can’t you use it? At least once? I want to hear you say it.’

  Joanna hesitated. ‘Very well—Jake.’

  He closed his eyes for a moment, the long lashes curling with an almost painful vulnerability against his scarred face. It made her long to reach out and touch him, and her lips trembled as he opened his eyes.

  ‘Again,’ he said huskily. ‘Say it again,’ and when she did so, he uttered a groan of anguish.

  ‘Oh, Joanna,’ he exclaimed, taking his hands out of his pockets and clenching them at his sides. ‘Why in God’s name did you ever have to come to Ravengarth!’

  Joanna was as caught up in emotion as he was now, and there was no way she could walk to the door and leave him. She didn’t want to leave him, she wanted to stay with him, and if that meant a surrender of her self-respect, then so be it.

  ‘Jake,’ she said softly, dropping her sandals again and stepping lightly over the hearth towards him, ‘don’t you want me here? Is that what you’re trying to tell me? Because if it is, I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Joanna——’ As he spoke his breath fanned her cheek, and she smelt the sweet odour of alcohol. So he had not been lying, she thought in wonder, realising that in spite of the harsh exterior he presented to the world, underneath his emotions were as volatile as they had ever been. ‘Joanna, what I want or do not want is not in question here. I—I appreciate all you’ve done for Anya, of course, and I realise it won’t be easy finding someone else with your aptitude for gaining her confidence, but the situation can—cannot continue.’

  ‘Why not?’ Joanna moved closer to him, so that the tips of her breasts were just brushing the soft suede of his waistcoat. She knew the delicate perfume she was wearing would rise to his nostrils, and in spite of a certain incredulity at her own audacity, she maintained an air of calm purposefulness. ‘Jake, stop fighting me, stop fighting yourself!’

  ‘How?’ His voice had harshened, as if he was deliberately trying to introduce anger as a defence against her. ‘By letting you say what you like to me? In front of Matt and Mrs Parrish? In front of Anya?’

  Joanna put her palms against his lapels, allowing her fingers to slide slowly upward, and as Jake had his back to the fire, there was no backward step he could take. ‘Oh, Jake,’ she breathed, allowing her tongue to appear in silent provocation, ‘please, Jake, don’t send me away …’

  His breathing had quickened. She could hear it. It whistled tortuously in his throat, hoarse and laboured. Yet even now he was fighting her, and doing something she had never done to any man before, she reached up and stroked his lips with her own.

  His response was uncontrollable, instinctive, an urgent surrender to the needs of his physical self. Sane, sensible thought was suspended, and in its place was wild passionate need. With a moan of capitulation, his hands sought the curving temptation of her hips, compelling her towards him, meeting her softness with the hardened muscles between his thighs. It was the first time she had been so close to him. In the car, the width of the console had prevented any intimate embrace, but now she could feel the swollen length of him against her, and knew that in spite of his attempts to repulse her, he could not hide his urgent need of her.

  With his body arousing emotions she had hardly known existed within her, the probing assault of his mouth was the final devastation. Her lips parted beneath the sensual invasion of his, and her arms wound themselves eagerly around his neck, seeking a closer contact.

  She was hardly aware of him drawing her down on to the rug beside the fire, or of him unbuttoning his waistcoat so that presently all that was between her and the muscular hardness of his chest was the thin silk of his shirt. She wanted to be pressed against him. She wanted to feel his mouth performing a sensuous seduction of its own, and to feel the warmth and maleness of him thrust against her. She would have liked to be as confident as he was and escape from the enveloping confines of the jersey silk, but instead she submitted to his burning caress, her breasts straining against the fine cloth.

  ‘This is crazy,’ he muttered at last, looking down at her with tormented eyes. ‘Why in God’s name didn’t you go to bed? This shouldn’t be happening.’

  ‘But it is,’ she whispered, reaching up to him, slender fingers exploring the harsh planes of his face, until he caught their teasing softness and turned his mouth into her palm. ‘Love me, Jake, love me! Don’t pretend you don’t want to, because I know you do.’

  ‘You don’t know what you’re saying,’ he protested, closing his eyes against the alluring demand of her inviting limbs, and she felt the force of the defences he was trying to build against her.

  ‘I do, I do,’ she told him urgently. ‘I want to go to bed, Jake, but not alone. With you!’

  ‘No!’ He drew back from her abruptly, squatting on the floor beside her, combing his hair with demented fingers. ‘For God’s sake, Joanna, don’t make me lose what little self-respect I have left.’

  ‘Why should it?’ With a sound of frustration she struggled on to her knees beside him, resisting his efforts to escape when she put her hands at the back of his neck. ‘Oh, Jake! Don’t keep me away from you. Let me in! Let me love you. That’s all I want to do.’

  His eyes were dark with anguish, the tawny irises hidden beneath a veil of uncertainty. He gazed at her agonisingly, irresistibly drawn by the lissom beauty he was being offered, and yet fighting an attraction for which he had no solution.

  ‘It’s no use,’ he groaned, getting unsteadily to his feet, and she almost gave up at the determination in his face. But she didn’t. Getting up too, she faced him fearlessly, making no move to put into order the hair which he had so passionately disordered. She just waited, in silence, for him to make the next move.

  He shook his head almost helplessly, dragging his eyes away from hers, brushing the immaculate legs of his pants free of any clinging threads from the rug. He was obviously hoping she would accept his ultimatum and go, but she didn’t, and when he lifted his head she was almost sure she had won.

  ‘Joanna …’ Her name on his lips was a plea for help, but she couldn’t help him. ‘Oh, Joanna!’ and with a heavy sigh, he sought the slender bones of her shoulders as he pulled her back into his arms.

  It was where she wanted to be, where she belonged, she thought wonderingly, returning the hungry pressure of his mouth with equal fervour.
Nothing else mattered but that he should go on making love to her, and she gave herself to him mentally, without fear of his physical possession. She wanted to be a part of him, she wanted him to be a part of her—and if her innocence proved a barrier, it could easily be broken.

  She gasped when Jake swung her off her feet and into his arms, the tawny eyes slumbrous now and glazed with emotion. She was not afraid, only apprehensive of her inexperience, but her instincts told her that Jake would never hurt her. He was not that kind of man, and picturing him without the civilising influence of his clothes brought a purely pagan thrill of anticipation. Skin against skin, she thought with satisfaction, and met his probing lips with hers.

  He carried her across the room and into the hall, climbing the staircase with a determined tread, as if he was trampling his inhibitions, she thought with momentary uncertainty. What if he regretted this in the morning? she fretted. What if he despised her for taking advantage of him?

  But she refused to entertain such drab preconceptions. She loved Jake—and if he did not love her now, she would teach him to do so. He had been hurt and confused, but she would make him whole again, and for now that was as far as she dared to go.

  He staggered as he reached the top of the stairs, the effects of the alcohol making his head swim, and Joanna uttered an unwary gasp. It was as uncontrollable as it was audible, and Jake froze, making no move backward or forward. It was as if he was waiting for something to happen, Joanna realised later, and he was not disappointed. Almost instantaneously Anya’s bedroom door opened, and her small face appeared, eyes round and apprehensive in the aperture.

  ‘Daddy!’ she exclaimed, when she saw him, and his burden. ‘What is it? What’s happened? Is Miss Seton ill? Why are you carrying her?’

  Jake’s reaction was slow but deliberate. With unhurried movements he set Joanna on her feet, and she stood there feeling like a reprimanded child beneath his condemning gaze.

  ‘Miss—er—Miss Seton fell asleep downstairs,’ he declared, daring her to contradict him. ‘But she’s wide awake now, as you can see, so she can make her own way to bed.’

  It was doubtful which of them was the most confused, Joanna decided bitterly, realising that Anya’s advent had accomplished all that Jake’s protestations had not. She had reminded him of the past, of everything Joanna tried to erase from his thoughts, and in so doing had destroyed perhaps their only chance of happiness. She didn’t have to be told. It was there in his eyes, in his face, in the downward twist of his mouth, and her frustration at her own foolishness in crying out like that filled her with despair.

  ‘Goodnight, Miss Seton,’ Jake was saying now, making his way towards his daughter’s door. ‘We’ll talk again in the morning. Come along, Anya, say goodnight. It’s much too late and too cold for little girls to be out of bed.’

  And for her, too, thought Joanna wearily, closing her door behind her. Not that she felt an outer cold, only an inner one, and the devastating conviction that after this there would be no second chances.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IF she slept at all, it was doubtful, and she got up the following morning feeling the weight of impending disaster hanging over her. She bathed and dressed in maroon corded pants and a matching silk shirt, and then after securing her hair with a ribbon went downstairs to face her fate.

  Mrs Parrish was preparing breakfast in the kitchen with reassuring normality, but Joanna was not deceived. Her question as to Jake’s whereabouts procured the information that he had eaten earlier, but her shortlived relief was erased by the further advice that he had left instructions for her to meet him in the library at nine o’clock.

  Anya appeared as she was swallowing her second cup of coffee, having refused any of the toast Mrs Parrish had prepared for her, and she found it incredibly difficult to face her after the scene the night before. The fact that the child was wearing one of the dresses they had bought the day before didn’t help, and she avoided making any remark that might precipitate an argument. Anya’s face was sullen as she took her seat, and her mind was obviously not on her appearance, which seemed to diminish Joanna’s hopes that she might have forgotten the previous night’s fiasco.

  Any hopes she had were shortlived. Not that Anya mentioned that humiliating interlude. She said something far more devastating, and Joanna could only sit and look at her while Mrs Parrish clicked her tongue.

  ‘Whatever are you saying, Anya?’ she exclaimed, giving Joanna a half perplexed, half sympathetic look. ‘Miss Seton isn’t leaving. You must have made a mistake.’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’ Anya pursed her lips indignantly. ‘Daddy told me, last night. He—he said that Miss Seton had to go back to London.’

  Mrs Parrish turned a shocked gaze in Joanna’s direction. ‘Is this true?’ she exclaimed. ‘Do you have to go back? I—well, it’s so unexpected.’

  ‘She’s just like all the rest,’ muttered Anya dourly. ‘They all hate it here. They hate me!’

  ‘Anya, that’s not true!’ Joanna was on her feet in a second. ‘I—I——’ She sought desperately for something to say that would not betray her situation. ‘It’s just that—well, your daddy and I don’t agree on—on everything.’

  ‘Well, you are apt to speak a little impertinently to him sometimes,’ Mrs Parrish inserted doubtfully. ‘I mean, you are only an employee, Miss Seton——’

  ‘It’s not that!’ declared Anya sulkily. ‘Daddy doesn’t mind. He—he said he admired Miss Seton for speaking her mind.’

  ‘He did?’ Joanna said this almost incredulously, and then sobered again as she encountered Anya’s brooding stare. ‘That is—oh, Anya! I don’t want to leave, but perhaps I don’t have a choice.’

  Anya’s expression faltered. ‘What do you mean?’

  Joanna sighed, wishing she hadn’t started this. ‘Sometimes—sometimes people just—can’t get along.’

  ‘You and Daddy, you mean?’

  Joanna hesitated. ‘Perhaps.’

  ‘But he likes you. I know he does,’ exclaimed Anya vehemently. ‘Just because you quarrel sometimes, it doesn’t mean you have to leave!’

  Joanna spread her hands. ‘Anya, it’s not that simple.’

  The child sniffed. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  Joanna made a helpless gesture. ‘Then ask your father. After all, he makes the decisions around here.’

  Anya hunched over the plate of cereal Mrs Parrish had put before her and didn’t reply. Joanna guessed speaking to her father was a daunting proposition even for her, and with a feeling of desperation she finished her own breakfast and left the table.

  She knocked at the library door at five minutes to nine only to find the room empty. Obviously, her employer had not expected her to be early, and she paced anxiously across the floor, arms crossed protectively around her midriff.

  Promptly at nine o’clock Jake arrived to join her. He came into the room with a firm decisive tread, and one look at his dark forbidding features was enough to convince Joanna that she would be wasting her time in trying to reason with him. Last night had been a moment out of time, a brief glimpse of the vulnerable man behind the mask. But such a liberty was not to be repeated.

  ‘Miss Seton!’ He nodded politely as he closed the door and gestured to the chairs by the desk, where she and Anya normally worked. ‘Sit down, won’t you? This won’t take long.’

  Joanna hesitated, then, realising her ability to control her unsteady limbs might more easily be accomplished from the chair, she acquiesced, seating herself on the edge of the cushion, hands twisted tightly together in her lap. Jake did not sit down, however. He merely walked round to the other side of the desk, as if this gave him some sort of an advantage, and faced her with cool, uncompromising eyes.

  ‘You know what I’m going to say, of course,’ he remarked without preamble. ‘I said as much—last night. Unfortunately, the rest of what happened yesterday evening was—unforgivable, and I think it’s in the best interests of all of us if—if we curtail our asso
ciation forthwith.’

  Joanna’s nails dug into her palms. ‘Is that why you needed a drink so badly?’ she asked, forcing an insolence she was far from feeling. ‘Because you couldn’t say what you had to say sober?’

  ‘I’m sober now, Miss Seton!’ Jake’s jaw hardened instantly, but she was somewhat reassured by the vehemence of his reaction. ‘I prefer not to discuss the events of last evening. I merely wish to obliterate them from my memory, and I wish you would do the same.’

  Joanna looked up. ‘Why?’ Her lips parted. ‘Were they so unpleasant?’

  ‘Miss Seton——’

  ‘You called me Joanna last night.’

  ‘Miss Seton,’ Jake flexed the muscles of his spine rather wearily, ‘I do not propose to argue with you. Last night—last night I’d had too much to drink, as you say. This morning I’m rather more logical.’

  Joanna got up from her chair. ‘Don’t you mean equivocal?’ she countered, challenging him. ‘You don’t really want me to leave. You’re just afraid to let me stay. You’re afraid I’ll become too important to Anya—and to you!’

  ‘That’s lunacy!’ His voice was harsh and grating now. ‘For God’s sake, what did you read into last night’s little fiasco? All right, so I find you physically attractive—that’s not so surprising, is it? You’re a beautiful young woman, and don’t pretend you’re not aware of it, because I know you are. Perhaps I did find it difficult to put my feelings into words last evening, but have you thought why that might be so? Other than some great passion you’re presuming I feel for you?’ He was being insolent now, and her limbs froze. ‘Miss Seton, I’m a lonely man. I don’t deny it. Who could, living in these surroundings? The idea of dismissing you and starting again with someone else is not appealing, but better that than get involved in some futile, and dangerous, relationship.’ When she would have defended herself, he made a silencing gesture and went on: ‘Don’t deny your behaviour has not been that of someone who imagines she holds a special position. You thought yourself indispensable. Well, you’re not, Miss Seton, and I am—dispensing with you.’