She glared at him. 'I think you might have consulted me first before making the invitation!'
'There was no opportunity to do that with Madelaine sitting there,' he pointed out derisively.
Jaz's mouth firmed. 'Even so...'
'Even so what?' Beau taunted, stepping forward until he stood only inches away from her. 'You know, Jaz, anyone would think it was me you didn't want to have dinner with on Saturday evening.' He arched mocking brows. 'Which certainly wasn't the impression I had before Davis inopportunely dropped that slate off the roof.' His mouth tightened at the memory.
She could feel the warmth in her cheeks at being reminded of the impression Beau had got of her before Dennis had had his accident; if Dennis hadn't interrupted them when he had then she had no doubts that Madelaine would have arrived at an even more inopportune moment!
Beau's hand moved to cup her cheek, his thumb moving to caress the softness of her lips. 'The next time we make love, Jaz, I would like it to be in the comfort of a bed, with a little privacy thrown in.' The next time?
Was there going to be a next time?
The sensuous warmth in Beau's gaze seemed to say there was. But what of her? How would she feel about that if Beau left the village, as he kept threatening to do?
She stepped back, Beau's hand falling back to his side, his gaze narrowing guardedly. 'I don't think that's a good idea, Beau,' she told him evenly, her outer calm totally belied by the pounding of her heart in her chest.
She was in love with this man, wanted nothing more than to make love with him. But she still had no idea how he felt about her—other than the fact that he liked her and obviously wished that he didn't! Not a very good basis from which to start any sort of relationship.
'No?' he prompted tightly.
'No.' She gave a decisive shake of her head. 'But you are right about my owing Madelaine dinner,' she continued lightly, knowing she owed the other woman so much more than that for the times she had helped her just by listening the last few years. 'And The Old Vicarage is bigger than my cottage. It's just—'
'You're uncomfortable being the hostess here,' Beau completed abruptly. 'I should have thought of that,' he muttered self-disgustedly. 'Should have realized that this is the last place you would want to play hostess.' He shook his head grimly. 'I'll telephone Madelaine later and tell her there's been a change of venue.'
As far as Jaz was concerned, that really would be for the best, but somehow she thought Madelaine might be more comfortable here...
'No, leave things as they are.' She sighed her capit-
ulation. Til just have to get used to the idea, won't I?' Her smile was rueful as she looked at Beau. 'Now I really must be going; I still have quite a lot of work to do today.' And a need to put as much distance as possible between herself and Beau for the immediate future!
She needed time—and space—to sort out her own emotions. If they could be sorted out! Falling in love with Beau certainly complicated her life...
'If it helps, Jaz...' Beau spoke softly '...I'm just as unsettled by all of this as you are,' he admitted ruefully.
No, it didn't help. Because Beau had the determination—and the means—of putting anything he felt for her away in the deepest region of his heart, never to be looked at again, whereas she knew she couldn't do that!
She gave a humourless smile. 'It doesn't.'
He grimaced. 'I had a feeling it wouldn't. But at least I tried.' He shrugged.
She glanced across to where he had stacked the plates from lunch. 'Do you want me to help clear away?'
'No.'
'I—well, okay.' She nodded. 'Thank you for lunch. I—I'll be seeing you.'
'I would hazard a guess that you can count on it,' Beau confirmed dryly.
So would she. They were like two magnets, attracting and yet repelling at one and the same time.
The question was, which of those two forces was going to ultimately be the stronger?
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
'But, Jaz, who could possibly do such a thing?' Madelaine's shock showed clearly on her beautifully made-up face.
Jaz had arrived home from having lunch with Beau a couple of hours ago, only to find yet another letter waiting inside for her on the doormat. There were three words printed on the sheet of white paper this time, all the same word, but obviously written with increasing fury. 'Liar, liar, LIAR.'
She had been so stunned by this second letter arriving in one day that for some time she had just dropped down onto the stairs and sat there in a daze.
Shortly after that the tears had come. Painful, bewildered tears, running hotly and unchecked down her cheeks as she tried to make sense of the nightmare this had become.
But as the tears ceased, and the pain lessened, to become replaced by an anger that was just as forceful, she had known that the time for sitting here in silence was over, that she had to talk to someone about these horrible letters. Madelaine, her only ally over the last few years, had been the obvious choice, and, only waiting long enough to be sure the other woman had returned from the beauty salon, she had driven the short distance to see her.
'And you say there have been several others?' Madelaine prompted frowningly, still holding this latest letter in her hand, her freshly painted nails showing blood-red against the whiteness of the paper.
'Yes,' Jaz confirmed gruffly. 'At first, I—I thought it was just someone's idea of a joke—'
'No one could possibly believe this was in the least funny!' Madelaine snorted disgustedly, her fingers tightening on the letter she held. 'What have you done with the other letters?' she prompted frowningly.
'Thrown them in the bin,' Jaz admitted with a sigh.
'Not clever, Jaz, that just makes their existence your word against—whoever,' Madelaine rebuked gently.
Her eyes widened. 'No one could possibly believe I would make up a thing like this!'
'No,' the older woman acknowledged with distaste. 'Have you talked to Beau about them?' A frown marred the creaminess of her brow.
'Certainly not,' Jaz dismissed anxiously.
'I thought not,' Madelaine nodded slowly.
'And I don't want him to know, either,' Jaz insisted forcefully.
'Why on earth not?' Her friend frowned.
Jaz turned away slightly. 'Because—because—how would it look?' she prompted impatiently. 'He's already told me he's disenchanted with village life, if he knew about those letters he would leave here so fast none of us would see him for the dust!'
Madelaine shook her head slowly. 'I think you're underestimating him, Jaz. I'm sure he'd take charge... control the situation, even confront the sender.' She lingered persuasively over the words.
Maybe she was underestimating him, but she still didn't want Beau to know about those letters, knew that it was because of her friendship with him that the letters were being sent in the first place. He may just decide that the best way to stop them was for the two of them not to be friends any more!
'Jaz, you do realize you have to go to the police—'
'No, I don't.' She stood up agitatedly, snatching the letter back out of Madelaine's hand before crumpling it into a ball. 'I only—I just needed to tell someone about them, Madelaine. Promise me you won't tell anyone else.' She looked at the other woman beseechingly.
'But, Jaz—'
'Please, Madelaine!'
The older woman sighed. 'Okay, I promise. But only on condition that you promise me you will seriously think about informing the police,' she added firmly. 'It's horrible, Jaz,' she continued gently. 'And there's always the possibility it may not stop at just letters.'
She became suddenly still, her face pale as she looked down at Madelaine. 'What do you mean?'
The older woman shrugged. 'Think about it, Jaz. The letters are increasing, definitely becoming more vitriolic; the next step may be damage to either your property—or you.'
'But I just—I can't believe—' She gave a dazed shake of her head. 'Do yo
u really think it might come to that?'
'Don't you?' Madelaine prompted gently.
Until this moment she hadn't really given the idea any thought. But the letters were becoming more frequent, and definitely angrier, so wasn't what Madelaine suggested a possible next step?
She swallowed hard. 'No,' she answered firmly. 'I think it's just someone being nasty because of—well, because of the way my mother behaved,' she concluded huskily. 'It's horrible. And painful. But no one could seriously believe, because of what happened, that I could do something like that too. Besides, Beau is no longer a married man,' she added determinedly. 'So why shouldn't I be friends with him?'
'Well, yes, but aren't you becoming more than friends?' Madelaine asked. 'Don't you think all this is because you're a couple?'
'We are not a couple!' Jaz snapped.
'Of course you aren't.' Madelaine's eyes gleamed. 'I say,' she added suddenly, 'you don't think Dennis Davis could have something to do with these letters, do you? Or that creepy sister of his that he lives with?' she added with a frown. 'Beau did sack Dennis earlier today, and Margaret Davis is a frustrated spinster if ever I've seen one.'
Jaz had been through all of this in her own mind in the hours since she received this latest letter, and, much as she found Margaret Davis as unpleasant as her brother, she didn't think the elderly lady was capable of doing something like this.
She gave a dismissive shake of her head. 'I doubt she even knows how to use a computer.'
'Oh, but she does,' Madelaine corrected, sitting forward avidly in her chair. 'She's the one who sends out all Dennis's bills for him.' She stood up to move to the bureau that stood in the corner of her little sitting room where she and Jaz had been drinking tea. 'Here.' She pulled out a letter, unfolding it to show Jaz the last bill she had received from 'Dennis Davis, Builder'.
It was printed on similar—identical—paper to that the letters had been written on. And it had been printed out on a computer...
Jaz gave a shake of her head. 'This doesn't prove anything—except that most households nowadays have, or have access to, computers,' she grimaced.
'I still think you should talk to the police—'
'No!' Jaz repeated firmly. 'The letters are just—unpleasant. They aren't threatening or anything like that.'
Madelaine still frowned worriedly. 'But—'
'No, Madelaine,' she cut in gently. 'I've talked to you about this; let's just leave it at that, hmm?' she prompted encouragingly.
She was really wishing now that she had never come to Madelaine and talked to her like this. The whole situation had been better when it was just herself that knew about the letters. And the person sending them...
Her mouth tightened as she thought of that faceless person, her earlier anger only just below the surface. If—no, when she found out who was sending them she intended telling them exactly what she thought of them!
When.
'I really would rather just forget all about it,' Jaz told Madelaine lightly.
'But is the person that's sending them going to do that?' came Madelaine's worried parting shot.
'Wake up, Jaz. I think it's time you and I had a little talk. In fact, from the look of this, it's past time!'
She recognized that grimly precise voice—how could she not, when it was the voice of the man she loved?— but as she fought her way through the layers of sleep back to consciousness she had no idea where she was. She barely knew who she was!
Although she did try to collect her scattered thoughts, slowly coming back to an awareness of her own comfortable armchair beneath her, of the glow of the fire through the delicate tissue of her lids.
'Jaz!' Beau encouraged determinedly, giving her arm a shake for good measure. 'I know you're awake, and I'm not leaving here until you and I have talked, so you may as well stop pretending you're still asleep,' he added harshly.
How did he do that? She hadn't so much as moved, flickered an eyelash, and yet somehow he knew she was no longer asleep but fully aware of him in the sitting room of her little cottage. Quite how he had got there, she didn't yet know. But she intended finding out!
Besides, wasn't attack the best form of defence...?
Her lids snapped open as she glared up at him. 'What on earth do you think you're doing just walking in here?' she bit out irritably. 'I thought an English-woman's home was as much her castle as an English-man's! Obviously I was wrong.' She gave him a pointed look as he seemed to fill half the tiny room with his sheer presence.
Beau gave a humourless smile. 'That's very good, Jaz,' he drawled. 'Angry indignation,' he mused. 'Pity it isn't working,' he added hardly.
No, she could see that it wasn't, Beau not in the least embarrassed or apologetic at having invaded her home in this way. In fact, he looked just as arrogantly confident as always.
'The back door was unlocked,' he continued hardly.
'So you just let yourself in,' she accused, struggling to sit up in the less-than-well-upholstered chair. A little dignity certainly wouldn't come amiss!
'I did knock first.' He shrugged. 'When you didn't answer, I tried the door—'
'And here you are!' she derided.
'Yes, here I am,' he confirmed slightly challengingly. 'Jaz, what, exactly, is this?'
Jaz felt the colour drain from her face as she looked at the crumpled piece of paper he held up in his hand. Or, at least, it had been crumpled as she had hurled it angrily across the room an hour or so ago when she'd arrived back from Madelaine's; at this moment it was no longer crumpled but straightened out, and—worse— readable.
'Well?' he prompted at her continued silence.
She shrugged. 'It's an old scrap of paper,' she dismissed. 'I never was the best of housekeepers,' she added self-derisively, standing up and reaching out to take the sheet of paper, only to have Beau pull it out of her grasp. 'I was only going to throw it in the fire,' she reasoned lightly.
Beau looked at her searchingly, easily holding her gaze with his compelling one. 'What does it mean, Jaz?' he said softly.
'Mean?' she repeated mockingly. 'Why, I don't think it means anything. In fact, I don't even remember what it says—'
'Jaz,' he grated between gritted teeth. 'At the moment, I'm trying very hard to remain calm and reasonable—being treated like an idiot by you is not conducive to my remaining that way!'
Jaz's cheeks warmed at the deserved rebuke. Although how he knew that she was prevaricating, she had no idea—unless... 'Have you spoken to Madelaine?' she prompted suspiciously.
He raised dark brows. 'Since lunch-time? No,' he answered as she nodded. 'Should I have done?' he added sharply.
Jaz winced as she realized she was tying herself up in even more knots. 'No, of course not. I just—'
'Jaz, I'm not leaving here until I know what's going on,' he cut in forcefully. 'Why should Madelaine have spoken to me?'
'She shouldn't,' she snapped. 'I specifically asked her not to—' She broke off as she saw Beau's expression darken, not liking the way he thrust his empty hand into the back pocket of the black jeans he wore, either—as if he might strangle her if he didn't! 'Look, in the last couple of weeks I've had one or two silly letters delivered through my door—'
'How many?' he rasped, his expression grim. 'Is it one? Or is it two? Or is it more than that? Sorry?' he prompted hardly as she muttered a reply.
'I said it's four, including that one,' she raised her voice defensively. 'It's probably just a child playing silly games—'
'What did the other letters say?' Beau completely ignored her effort to dismiss the letters as unimportant, his eyes glittering dangerously silver.
Jaz gave a shrug of her narrow shoulders. 'Nothing of any—what do poison-pen—or, in this case, poison-computer!—letters usually say?' she said scathingly. 'Nothing that makes any sense to anyone but to the sender!'
'I wouldn't know, I've never received any,' he said softly.
'Well, I can assure you that's w
hat they are—rubbish,' Jaz snapped impatiently, not at all enjoying this conversation, feeling completely on the defensive. Besides, it was none of Beau's business! 'Senseless,' she bit out scathingly. 'Completely senseless.'
Beau frowned. 'That night, the envelope you picked up from the doormat, the one you said was probably someone paying a bill, was that another of them?'
Not much escaped this man's notice. Or was forgotten...
She sighed. 'Yes.'
What else could she say? Besides, Beau had already warned her once about insulting his intelligence! 'And you knew it was too, didn't you?' he rasped.
She swallowed hard. 'Yes.'
His expression was grim as he looked down at the sheet of paper he still held in his hand. 'Why does this person accuse you of being a ' 'liar'' ?'
'I don't know.' She shook her head.
She had wondered the same thing herself earlier, before she'd hurled the letter across the room. That accusation seemed to imply that she had done something she had said she wouldn't, that she had actually spoken to the person who was being so vindictive. And just the thought of that made her feel physically sick!
'I told you, Beau, it's all nonsense.' She moved restlessly. .
'I won't know that until you tell me what the other letters said, now will I?' he reasoned in a deceptively mild tone, the nerve pulsing in his jaw indicative of his real mood. 'Or show me,' he added softly.
Jaz shakily released her breath. 'I don't have them. I either destroyed them or threw them away. I know, I know,' she muttered impatiently. 'Not a very sensible thing to do. Madelaine has already told me that once today!'
Beau straightened. 'You mentioned Madelaine before; does she know about these?' His hand tightened about the letter he still held.
'Yes, I spoke to her about them earlier,' Jaz snapped, standing up impatiently. Not that the room was really big enough for them both to stand up in, but she was tired of having Beau look down at her all the time.
Only to have Beau turn the tables on her by sitting down in the recently vacated chair and looking up at her instead, making Jaz feel like a naughty child before the headmaster, or an employee standing before the boss!
The Vengance Affair Page 13
