by Anne Mather
‘Well—it turns out Miss Paget has always had an urge to visit an old school-friend in India. Of course, until Great-aunt Elizabeth left her sufficient funds—’ it was strange hearing him call her grandmother his aunt ‘—she couldn’t afford it. Now she can, so—although she’s shattered at having to leave me,’ he pulled a wry face, ‘she’s making arrangements for her flight.’
Helen shook her head. ‘And Mrs Pride?’
‘She’s decided she likes the idea of early retirement. She is over sixty, after all. She’s moving into Copse Cottage as soon as I can organise a new housekeeper. The old order changeth, as they say.’
Helen was appalled. Although she had continually sworn that she would never go back to Castle Howarth, she realised now how hollow that promise had been. Deep inside her, she had always known that so long as Paget and Mrs Pride were still alive, she had a reason to visit the house. But now, with Miss Paget bound for the sub-continent, and Mrs Pride moving into one of the cottages on the estate, she had no excuse to invade his privacy. Oh, she had no doubt he would not stop her from visiting the old housekeeper, but it wouldn’t be the same.
‘You look—distressed,’ he said softly. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’
‘Pleased?’ Helen was bewildered.
‘That I’m being deserted,’ said Rafe drily. ‘The house is going to be pretty empty without a woman in it.’
Helen pressed her uncertain lips together. ‘Oh—I’m sure it won’t be for long,’ she retorted, turning back to the sink. ‘I—please—go through to the living room. I’ll—fetch some coffee, just as soon as I’ve set the dishwasher going.’
There was a moment when she thought he was going to argue, but then, moving silently on his bare feet, he allowed the louvred door to swing closed behind him.
By the time Helen carried the tray of coffee into the living room, she had herself in control again—or as much control as she could muster where he was concerned. Rafe was sitting on the floor now, cross-legged before the hi-fi equipment she had bought in a moment of extravagance. He was examining the LPs she had stacked in a perspex rack, and the vibrant individuality of Brian Ferry’s music throbbed throughout the apartment.
‘You don’t object?’ he queried, and she moved her slim shoulders in a gesture of negation. Far better for him to concentrate his attention on her record collection, she thought grimly, than for her to have to suffer his disruptive appraisal. If she could have done so, without inviting comment, she would have changed the silky caftan for a workmanlike pair of jeans and a sweater. But to do so would have shown a certain unsophistication on her behalf, and she was loath to give him more reason to poke fun at her.
‘What did you mean?’
She had seated herself on the couch, and was presently occupied in pouring his coffee, so that the question came out of the blue. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘I asked what you meant,’ Rafe repeated mildly, without lifting his head from the record sleeve he was reading. ‘You said you didn’t think the house would be empty of a woman for long. What did you mean by it?’
Helen’s face burned. ‘Do you take cream and sugar?’ she asked, staring at the tray, and Rafe turned his head towards her.
‘Sugar, no cream,’ he answered, and she didn’t have to look at him to feel his eyes upon her.
Handing him the cup and saucer was less easy. She had to look at him then, and his brows arched expressively. ‘Do I take it you’re considering my offer?’ he asked, noticing her evasion, and Helen was so infuriated she forgot to be discreet.’
‘I simply thought that finding a woman to keep you company wouldn’t present you with any problems!’ she retorted scornfully. ‘As I understand it, you have plenty of offers!’
‘I like women,’ he agreed, putting the coffee cup down beside him. ‘That doesn’t mean what you think it means.’
‘You don’t know what I think it means.’
‘I have a pretty good idea.’ He rested back on his hands. ‘D’you want me to tell you how it really is?’
‘Don’t bother!’ Helen was trembling, and Rafe heaved a heavy sigh.
‘Look,’ he said gently, ‘ever since that night we made love——’
‘We did not make love!’ He ignored her.
‘—I’ve been trying to figure out why you came on as you did.’
‘I did not come on!’
‘And I think I know the answer.’
‘Don’t you dare to psychoanalyse me!’ Helen was desperate. ‘What happened was all your fault!’
‘Oh, stop it, Helen, will you?’ His patience was wearing thin. ‘We both know how it happened, and why. But give me credit for knowing when a woman is experienced and when she’s not. And you’re not.’
‘Compared with the women you’re used to, you mean?’ Helen snapped, and he groaned.
‘Compared with any woman,’ he contradicted her harshly. ‘That’s what made it so damn fantastic! I was the one who——’
‘I won’t listen to any more of this.’ Helen sprang to her feet. ‘That night—that night I didn’t know what I was doing. I was so bewildered—so confused! I can’t even remember what happened——’
‘Liar!’
‘It’s true!’ She had to convince him. ‘I remember our argument; I remember Miss Paget being worried because you had disappeared; I even remember your coming to my door. But—but the rest: it’s just a blur!’
Rafe took his weight off his hands and leaned forward. ‘If it is, you’ve made it so,’ he told her grimly. ‘What’s the matter? Can’t you cope with the realisation that you’re not the cold automaton you’d like to think you are?’
Helen swallowed convulsively. ‘Adam—Adam does not think I’m an automaton!’ she retorted, and Rafe’s mouth curled.
‘Then you’re a better actress with him than you are with me,’ he replied savagely. ‘But don’t expect me to believe that he has had you tearing his skin to shreds, because I won’t!’
Helen took several steps away from the couch. Then turned to face him, saying tautly: ‘I should have realised you hadn’t changed. I hope you’re pleased with the way you’re repaying my hospitality. I offer you a bed for the night, because I feel sorry for you, and you use the situation to hurt and insult me!’
Tor God’s sake!’ Rafe sprang abruptly to his feet. ‘I am not insulting you! What happened between us was good. I told you so. Hell, it was better than good. It was the best time I’ve ever had. Why should that upset you?’
Helen quivered. ‘You’re talking about sex!’
‘Sex—carnal knowledge—making love!’ Rafe spread his hands. ‘What’s the difference?’
‘You don’t know!’ Helen was horrified.
‘I know there’s a lot of empty talk about love and pain and all that shit!’ Rafe sighed. ‘All I know is, you wanted me.’ He paused. ‘Just like you did when you were fifteen!’
‘No!’
‘Yes.’ His voice was flat. ‘D’you think I didn’t know it? D’you think I hadn’t felt your eyes upon me? And, believe me, I considered giving you what you wanted. You were temptation enough, God knows! All summer long, putting yourself in my way, making me aware of you, losing me sleep!’
Helen sniffed. ‘I doubt if Sandra noticed.’
‘No.’ Rafe acknowledged the dig philosophically. ‘But thank God for Sandra, that’s all. Without her—generous intervention, you might have found you’d bitten off more than you bargained for.’ He shook his head. ‘You know, if I hadn’t had so much respect for your grandmother; if I hadn’t known how she would feel if I betrayed her trust——’
‘But you did, didn’t you?’ Helen cut in tremulously, and Rafe regarded her with grim impatience.
‘What did I do?’ he demanded harshly.
‘You betrayed her trust,’ replied Helen triumphantly. ‘Just because I was too—embarrassed to tell her what happened——’
‘Don’t you mean ashamed?’
‘No!’ Helen wrapped
her arms about her midriff in an instinctively defensive gesture. ‘Why should I be ashamed? I’d done nothing wrong.’
Rafe shook his head. ‘If you believe that, then there’s nothing more to be said.’
Helen trembled, but she had to ask: ‘Well? What did I do?’
‘You brought it all on yourself,’ he declared heavily, turning back to the records. ‘I guess you thought it was a game, playing with people instead of toys. But, when the game went sour, your fantasy world tumbled round your ears. And you blamed me for the consequences you had invited.’
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
HELEN tossed and turned all night. She was tired after the drive back from Derbyshire and her visit to the shops, but although she slept it was only shallowly. She was plagued by dreams in which Rafe was pursuing her, sometimes through the fields around Castle Howarth, sometimes through the rooms of the apartment. But no matter how she tried, she couldn’t get away from him, and she awakened on several occasions, bathed in sweat and panting for air. It didn’t help to know that he was sleeping in the room next door, and although her conscious brain reassured her she need have no fear of him, her subconscious thoughts told an entirely different story.
She eventually gave up the unequal battle around six and, after taking a swift shower, she went to make herself some coffee. It was still dark outside, and she stood by the windows in the living room drinking the reviving beverage, watching the city coming slowly to life. She felt scratchy-eyed and nervy after her restless night, and not a little apprehensive of the future. She couldn’t forget the things Rafe had said, nor her own reactions to them and, although she clung to her interpretation of what had happened, nothing could alter the fact that Rafe did have some peculiar power over her.
Not that she had let him say any more the night before. She had never been able to win an argument with him, so instead, she had gathered up the coffee cups and carried them into the kitchen. Cowardly perhaps, she acknowledged now, remembering she had gone to bed without even wishing him good night. But she had been terrified he might lay a hand on her, and she was afraid she might not be able to trust herself where he was concerned.
And the morning had brought no solutions. She was still faced with the unpalatable truth that where Rafe was concerned she had no defence, and it was only down to him that he had refrained from using the weapons she had given him.
Finishing her coffee, she went back to the kitchen, eager to do anything to distract her mind from the abyss into which it was leading her. Just a few more hours, she told herself fiercely. If she could just sustain her composure for a few more hours, she need never see Rafe again. She had behaved recklessly inviting him to stay here, but in all decency, what else could she have done? He was her cousin, whether she liked it or not, and she would have only been heaping more guilt at her door to send him away in conditions like that. But, once he was gone, she had to stop thinking about him. Maybe Adam was right. Maybe she should give up her job after they were married. Maybe that way, by devoting herself totally to her husband, she would remove herself completely from the dangers of independence.
A couple of hours later she was pacing the living room, wondering if she could leave Mrs Argyll to deal with her unwanted guest. She was ready to leave for the shop, and she had expected Rafe to appear when he smelled the grilling bacon she had prepared for him. But although she propped open the door so that the aromatic smell could waft into the hall, there had been no movement from his room, and Helen, who never touched anything but toast in the mornings, eventually threw the over-cooked curls of gammon into the waste disposal.
It was typical of him to do this, she thought, rather unfairly. He must have smelt the bacon, and guessed she was making a concerted effort to restore their relationship to a normal footing, but he wasn’t prepared to meet her halfway. What did he expect her to do, for God’s sake? If he was waiting for an apology, he was going to be sadly disappointed.
Even so, the idea of leaving him to face an unprepared Mrs Argyll was not one she favoured. Apart from anything else, the little Scots woman was going to be quite concerned to find her employer had had an unexpected houseguest, particularly one who was unknown to her, and aggressively male. She might even get the wrong impression, God forbid! and Helen could not allow that to happen. An unwary word in Adam’s ear might precipitate a situation she was not yet prepared to face, and although she would have trusted Mrs Argyll with her life, she was not averse to gossip.
Of course, Helen reflected, there was always the possibility that she was fretting unnecessarily. Rafe could have left already, even before she got up. But, no. His boots were still residing by the cooker, and when she opened the door to the drying cupboard, the sight of his navy suede jacket doused any lingering hopes she might have had.
Returning to her own room, she surveyed her reflection in the wardrobe mirror. At least, this morning, she felt reasonably satisfied with her appearance. Gone was the loose swathe of hair and revealing satin caftan. Instead, her hair was confined in a severe knot on top of her head, and the dark green corded jacket and matching trousers completed an impression of sombre dedication. No one, looking at her now, would ever believe Rafe’s accusations of wild debauchery, she decided firmly. She should go to his room right now and awaken him herself, just to prove that for all his arrogance, she was not afraid of him.
And that was what she was going to have to do if she wanted him out of here before Mrs Argyll arrived, she acknowledged with rather less confidence. If she wanted him out of bed even! Had he no consideration? Didn’t he realise she had to go to work? Or was he really so insensitive he was actually still asleep?’
Taking a deep breath, she went back to the kitchen and poured another cup of coffee. Then, after adding sugar and no cream, just as she had the night before, she carried the cup along the hall to the spare room. Her tentative tap at the door elicited no response, and with a rapidly accelerating heart, she turned the handle.
The room was shadowy. The curtains were still drawn, and although it was no longer raining, it was dull outside and what illumination there was had to be filtered through embossed linen. Nevertheless, it was light enough for her to see that Rafe was apparently still asleep, and her mouth was dry as she approached the bed.
He was lying on his stomach, his head turned away from her, the tousled lightness of his hair curling into the nape of his neck. The quilt had slipped halfway to his waist, exposing his shoulders and one arm looped beneath the pillow. She had known he had nothing to sleep in but even so, the naked beauty of his skin was disturbing. She wished she could just put the cup of coffee down and escape without attracting his attention, but that was not her purpose here, and she steeled herself to do what she had come for.
‘Rafe,’ she began, halting beside the bed and looking down at him. ‘Rafe, I’ve brought you a cup of coffee. It’s a quarter to nine. And I’ve got to leave for work in a few minutes.’
He didn’t stir and Helen’s frustration grew. Imagine sleeping so soundly he couldn’t even hear her when she was standing next to him! It wasn’t flattering; not when she had spent such a troubled night.
And then, after she had bent and put the cup of coffee on the cabinet beside the bed and was about to do what she least wanted and shake him, he spoke. ‘I don’t like coffee first thing,’ he remarked, revealing he had been awake all along. ‘I prefer tea. Unless, I have a hangover.’
Helen’s lips compressed, but as she bent to pick up the coffee again, indignation simmering inside her, he turned on to his back and looked at her. With an economy of movement which belied its speed, his hand intercepted her angry retrieval, brushing against her breast as he reached to stop her.
She dropped the cup, and a flood of brown liquid spilled on to the blue carpet; but she paid it little heed. The involuntary touch of Rafe’s fingers had awakened an automatic response inside her, and as if sensing her weakness, he grasped her arm and brought her down on to the bed beside him.
‘Don�
�t,’ she protested faintly as his free hand slid from her elbow to her shoulder, loosening the hair at her nape and pulling her down to him. But he wasn’t listening to her. The green eyes were sensually intent as he overcame her feeble resistance and, although she tried to keep her lips together, his mouth was hot and compelling.
And then, everything got out of control. As if the involuntary response she gave ignited a flame inside both of them, the tenor of the embrace changed. With a muffled groan, Rafe kicked the quilt aside, and she had scarcely time to register it was his only covering before he had rolled over, taking her with him and imprisoning her beneath him. With a passion she found herself meeting, he devoured her mouth with hungry vehemence, his tongue plunging ever more deeply into her mouth until all coherence left her.
With an ease she could only admire, he quickly disposed of her jacket and shirt, though one or two buttons did give way beneath the impatience he was exhibiting. Her bra was a minor obstruction to the eager threat of his fingers, and then he was caressing her breasts, running his hot mouth over them, before taking each nipple between his teeth in turn, evoking a painful pleasure.
Her own hands made their own voyage of discovery, moving from his chest to his shoulders, and from there down the smooth column of his spine to the tight curve of his buttocks. Her innocent exploration caused him to tremble beneath her touch, and when he grasped one of her hands and pressed it down between them, she felt the pulsating heat of his manhood.
He bit her tongue then, his hands seeking the fastener at her waist and quickly opening the zip. Then, with his mouth still ravaging hers, he pressed her trousers down over her hips, taking with them the little scrap of silk that was all that now protected her from his gaze.
‘Want me,’ he commanded when he felt her heated flesh beneath him and, aware of the slippery moistness between her legs, Helen could only nod vigorously.
‘Yes—oh, yes,’ she breathed, arching her back towards him in a frantic show of urgency, but as if content with her reply, Rafe’s mouth left hers to travel slowly and rapturously down the curve of her breast to the palpitating skin of her stomach. He seemed to be taking an inordinate delight in controlling her distracted efforts to get closer to him and, although what he was doing was driving her wild with delight, she desperately wanted the consummation of his passion.
