by Anne Mather
‘There was about as much chance of my marrying Antonia as there was of your marrying me!’ he retorted flatly. ‘She knew that, and so should you. If I’d wanted to marry her, I’d have done so years ago.’ He made a weary gesture. ‘For God’s sake, stop avoiding the issue.’
‘Which is?’
‘How soon you want possession of this house, of course.’ Rafe shrugged. ‘I can probably find temporary accommodation in Yelversley if you want to move in right away. However, it might be a good idea if you found my replacement before I left. It would make things easier if whoever’s taking over had a working knowledge——’
‘Stop it!’ Helen almost screamed the words at him, and for a brief moment she had the advantage. ‘I don’t want you to leave, do you hear me? I don’t want to live at Castle Howarth without you! For pity’s sake, this is what I’ve been trying to tell you: the estate is yours! I’ll never take it back!’
There was total silence in the room after she had finished. It was the first time she really understood that on certain occasions one could hear a pin drop, and although she was short of air, her breathing felt suspended.
Rafe was completely still, the glass in his hand arrested halfway to his mouth. For several seconds, he remained like that, frozen in motion, and then, with careful precision, he set the glass back on the tray.
‘You—are—crazy,’ he said after another significant pause, keeping his eyes on the tray in front of him. ‘It was never Great-aunt Elizabeth’s intention that the estate should pass to me. It was simply her quixotic way of trying to bring us together. I begged her not to do it, but she wouldn’t listen to me.’
‘I know.’ Helen quivered. ‘Mr Graham told me how it was. But I don’t care. I want you to stay.’
‘No.’
Rafe was chillingly definite, and Helen drew a tremulous breath. ‘Why?’
He looked up then, his eyes guarded. ‘That’s my problem.’
‘But what problem?’ Helen spread her hands. ‘Rafe, you know you love this place. You always have. Just because we’ve quarrelled, don’t let that drive you away!’
Rafe shook his head. ‘You don’t know, do you?’ he said suddenly, bitterly. ‘You’ve got no idea.’
Helen blinked. ‘About what?’
‘About me; about you; about why your grandmother did what she did.’
Helen gazed at him. ‘I know she did it because she cared about you,’ she exclaimed. ‘She always did.’ She sniffed. ‘That’s why I resented you so much.’
‘I know.’ Rafe thrust his hands into his pockets. ‘I couldn’t help that. It was something to do with my grandfather. I never did find out what.’
‘So I do know,’ said Helen swiftly. ‘You were wrong.’
‘No; you are,’ retorted Rafe drily. ‘The old lady may have cared for me, but she didn’t leave me the estate because of that.’
Helen sighed. ‘Well, you are—or should be—the real heir,’ she pointed out. ‘Rafe, what has this to do with your leaving? All I can see are reasons for you to stay!’
Rafe looked down at the toes of his shoes for a moment, and then, lifting his head, he met her unwary gaze. ‘She left Castle Howarth to me because she knew I wanted you. And it was the only way she knew to make you want me!’
CHAPTER TWENTY
‘I DON’T believe it.’ Helen was trembling.
‘It’s the truth,’ said Rafe wearily. ‘She had some crazy idea that you only saw me as an adversary, because of what happened when you were fifteen!’
‘No.’
‘Yes.’ he sighed. ‘She thought if she could——’
‘No, that’s not what I meant,’ exclaimed Helen, interrupting him. ‘What you said—what you said about—wanting me: that’s what I don’t believe.’
Rafe sucked in his breath. ‘You don’t believe it?’ He uttered a short mirthless laugh. ‘Oh, well—it doesn’t matter now.’
‘Of course it matters.’ Helen took a few unsteady steps towards him. ‘What did you mean? And how did my grandmother know about—about what happened?’
‘I told her.’ Rafe lifted his shoulders. ‘I’d betrayed her trust. I had to.’
‘But if you’d told her what happened, how could she imagine that you and I might——’
‘Because I also explained how I felt about you,’ said Rafe heavily. ‘Helen, I cared about you; I knew I’d destroyed any chance for us by losing my temper, but for God’s sake, what was I supposed to do?’
Helen could not take this in. ‘But—you were with Sandra Venables,’ she whispered, unable to think of anything else to say, and Rafe made a sound of self-condemnation.
‘I know it,’ he acknowledged flatly. ‘But then, I’ve never claimed to be a saint. I wanted you, but I couldn’t have you. And with your grandmother warning me of the consequences if I so much as laid a finger on you——’ He broke off unsteadily. ‘Believe me, I’m not proud of the way I acted.’
Helen’s throat felt constricted. ‘Then why are you leaving?’ she asked imploringly, and as if Rafe had at last reached the end of his tether, he came towards her.
‘This is why,’ he muttered, his hands on her neck hard and compelling. With controlled savagery, he brought her mouth to his, and the searching heat of his tongue turned all her bones to water. ‘Because I can’t live with you, and I can’t live at Castle Howarth without you,’ he told her huskily and, threading his fingers into her hair, he sent it tumbling over her shoulders.
His kiss was not gentle, but far from repulsing him, Helen revelled in his crumbling control. With an urgency only equalled by his own, she wound her arms around his neck and kissed him back, pressing herself against him until he was in danger of losing his balance.
‘Dear God!’ he ground out then, grasping her shoulders and forcing her to look at him. ‘Do you know what you’re doing?’ he demanded thickly. ‘Helen, this isn’t going to change my mind.’
‘Isn’t it?’ she breathed, her fingers probing the waistband of his pants and finding the hem of his t-shirt. Pulling it free, she spread her palms against the smooth skin of his midriff. ‘Not even if I tell you I love you? I—I know that’s not a word you recognise, you told me so, but it’s how I feel——’
‘You’re not serious!’
Rafe’s expression was a mixture of anger and disbelief, and taking advantage of his stunned immobility, she twisted free of his hands and slid her arms around his waist. ‘I am,’ she insisted, pushing his t-shirt higher so that she could press her face against the fine curls of hair, still damp from his shower. ‘That was what I’ve been trying to tell you. I didn’t pretend I was pregnant to hurt you or spite Antonia. I said it because I couldn’t bear the thought of your marrying her. I was jealous! And I’m not proud of that either.’
‘Wait!’ Rafe was evidently finding it difficult to concentrate on practical things with her tongue tasting his skin. ‘Oh, God! But when I asked you to marry me, you said no!’
Helen tilted her face to look up at him. ‘I thought you were only doing it because it was what my grandmother wanted,’ she admitted tremulously, and with a groan he cupped her face in his hands.
‘Is that true?’
‘Mmm.’
‘You idiot!’ His voice broke. ‘Oh, God; and I thought that was the only way I stood a chance of persuading you.’
Helen smiled. ‘And now?’
‘Now?’ He shook his head. ‘Now, I’m wondering what I’ll do if you tell me this is just as much of a hoax as your being pregnant was.’
‘It’s not,’ said Helen definitely, pressing herself against him again, delighting in the unmistakable reaction of his body. ‘Do you want me to prove it?’ Her hands invaded the waistband of his trousers once more. ‘Do you want me to make love to you?’
‘I—think that’s something I can do for you,’ said Rafe unevenly against her neck, and when he found her lips, they were smiling.
Helen opened her eyes to moonlight, and the delightful awareness that she
was not alone. Rafe’s warm body was wrapped around hers with possessive intimacy, and when she turned her head, he lazily opened his eyes.
‘What time is it?’ she asked, and with evident reluctance, he removed the leg that had been nestling between hers, and reached across to turn on the lamp.
The room was unfamiliar to her, but Helen knew it was Rafe’s room. It was Rafe’s bed that they were lying in, and Rafe’s quilt which was presently deposited on the floor. Like the other rooms which had been redesigned, it had a certain elegance, but the colours here were muted, a blend of blues and greys.
‘It’s half past one,’ Rafe reported now, and instead of putting out the light, he turned to look at her. ‘You’re much too thin,’ he added candidly, bending to bestow a lingering kiss on her navel. ‘If this is what living in London does for you, then it’s just as well you’re moving to the country.’
‘Am I?’ said Helen sleepily, and Rafe frowned.
‘Well, aren’t you?’ he demanded, a definite edge to his voice now. ‘I thought that was what you intended.’
‘Well,’ Helen’s tongue emerged to circle her lips, ‘it really depends on what you intend to do, doesn’t it? I mean—if you’re still considering that post in Saudi Arabia, I may have to get used to living on the edge of the desert——’
Rafe’s mouth silenced her, his urgent body crushing her back against the pillows, the sound he made when he sought the scented curve of her shoulder filling her with delight. ‘You know what I thought,’ he muttered, his hands running possessively over her hips. ‘God, don’t ever do that to me again! We’re staying here; both of us. And if you want to work, you’re going to have to open a second branch in Yelversley.’
Helen smiled, sliding her fingers into his hair and pulling him closer. ‘Bully,’ she announced huskily. ‘You know, if Adam had said that, I’d have called him a male chauvinist!’
‘But?’
‘But——’ she twined his hair around her fingers,
‘but because you said it, I don’t mind. In fact, for weeks now I’ve found no satisfaction in my work at all.’
‘Is that why you’ve lost weight?’ he asked gently, and she shook her head.
‘You know why,’ she told him unsteadily. ‘And I know I look a mess——’
‘I didn’t say that,’ he contradicted her softly. ‘You’re still the only woman I’ve ever really wanted. You couldn’t look a mess if you tried. You’re beautiful—and I’m crazy about you. Does that satisfy you?’
‘You—satisfy me,’ she answered, arching her body towards him, and with a little groan of urgency, Rafe slid his length inside her.
Each time it was better than the last, thought Helen passionately, vibrating with the needs he aroused inside her. She was totally his, she realised achingly, mind as well as body, and when his hands caressed her, when his body throbbed inside hers, she experienced a fulfilment she had never known existed before he made love to her. His hunger was her hunger, his passion, her passion, and although he could drive her wild with desire, he could also be exquisitely tender.
Afterwards, they lay in each other’s arms, talking about the past, and the future. ‘You know, I came pretty close to hating you that night after your grandmother’s funeral,’ murmured Rafe thickly. ‘I really thought it was going to work. We were so—good—together. And then you threw that bit about me taking advantage of you at me, and I realised I’d probably blown any chance of us getting together.’
Helen burrowed against his chest. ‘I was pretty horrible, wasn’t I?’ she mumbled. ‘But you don’t know what it was like for me, discovering that the man I thought I hated was the only man who could—who could make me feel!’ She paused. ‘And there was Adam.’
‘Yes, I know.’ Rafe groaned. ‘I went through purgatory imagining you two together. That’s why I concocted that puerile excuse to come up to London.’
‘I wasn’t lying, you know,’ Helen ventured now, her fingers straying over his chest. ‘I never—I mean—Adam didn’t touch me after that night. I couldn’t bear him to. I hated myself for it, but it was no good.’
‘I believe you.’ Rafe’s lips caressed her hair. ‘Was that why he took himself off to Africa?’
‘Partly.’ Helen sighed. ‘Oh, meeting you again made me realise how inadequate my relationship with Adam was—had always been. And after that night—that second night——’
‘Morning, you mean,’ put in Rafe drily. ‘Did Kenmore find out?’
‘Yes.’ Helen didn’t elaborate. There would be time enough to tell Rafe about Adam’s investigations. For the present, they had more important things to discuss.’
‘Was that why you split up?’
‘It—precipitated things,’ she admitted ruefully. ‘And then—when Antonia told him that I was pregnant——’
‘She told him?’ Rafe tilted her chin, and Helen coloured under his gaze.
‘I thought you knew.’
‘Not that,’ said Rafe feelingly. ‘I guess I wasn’t exactly in the mood for confidences of that kind.’
Helen hesitated. ‘You were angry, weren’t you, when you thought I was pregnant. I think you hated me then.’
‘I hated myself,’ Rafe corrected her roughly. ‘God, I thought you’d never forgive me for forcing you into marriage. I really believed you were reluctant to go through with it.’
‘I was.’ Helen shook her head. ‘But not for the reasons you thought. Melanie—you know Melanie?—she was so mad! She said I couldn’t do it—and—well, she was right.’
Rafe sighed. ‘You didn’t exactly let me down lightly.’
‘I know. But, I thought you were just using me. And I couldn’t let you do it.’
‘Oh, what a tangled web we weave …’ murmured Rafe softly. ‘Thank God for Frank Graham, that’s all I can say!’
‘I would have come to see you,’ exclaimed Helen, drawing away so that she could look at him. ‘If I’d suspected you might be considering leaving the country.’
‘Or died for love,’ he ventured gently, and she bent her head.
‘We’ve both been such fools. When I saw you, I was horrified.’
‘Thanks.’ Rafe’s voice was dry, but Helen felt the prick of tears behind her eyes.
‘You know what I mean,’ she declared. She touched the hollows of his shoulder. ‘Did I do this?’
‘Among other things,’ he conceded huskily. ‘But after I’ve made my apologies to the Saudi Arabian authorities, and assured Mrs Pride I’m a fit husband for her Ladyship’s granddaughter, I’m going to exact my revenge, little by little …’
Six months later, Helen relaxed on the sofa in the sitting room, waiting for Rafe to come home. It was warm and cosy in the room, but snowing hard outside, and Rafe had gone to help Amos Robinson fetch the ewes in from the fields. Helen would have gone with him, but she had had an appointment with the doctor, and although she knew nothing was wrong, Rafe had been concerned.
Now, however, she had something else to tell him, as well as what the doctor had said. Turning over the envelope in her hands she smiled to think how long it had lain there in the bureau, hidden in its secret drawer. If it hadn’t been for the American’s interest in the bureau she had bought in Derbyshire, she would never have discovered its secret. But, restless to impart her news to Rafe, she had attempted to write a letter to Melanie, and the idea of examining the bureau had happened quite on impulse.
The letter she had extracted was addressed to her grandmother, but as Lady Elizabeth had been dead for over a year, Helen felt no compunction about reading it. Beside, the faded lettering bore witness to its age, and she was hardly surprised to discover it had been written in 1924. But it was the content of the letter that had been so amazing—and moving, she acknowledged now. No wonder Nan had had such affection for Rate. He must have seemed like the reincarnation of the man she had once loved.
Suddenly, she heard the sound of voices in the hall outside, and she had barely scrambled off the couch before R
afe came into the room. He glowed with health, she thought contentedly, delighting in the knowledge that it was their happiness that had wrought the change in him. He was more attractive than ever in a sweater, skin-tight jeans and his bare feet, and she shivered in anticipation when he came directly to her.
‘Thank God, you’re back!’ he muttered, parting her lips with his mouth in total indifference to the housekeeper’s presence behind him. ‘According to old Jessop, the roads will be blocked by morning. I’ve been worried sick in case you didn’t make it.’
Helen returned his kiss eagerly, and then, looking over his shoulder, she said: ‘We’ll eat later, Mrs Argyll. I’m sure Rafe will prefer something a little stronger than tea right now.’
‘Very well, miss.’ The Scotswoman had still not got used to her married name. ‘I’ll ask Angus to make up the fire, shall I? I’m sure Mr Fleming must be cold.’
‘Not right now, Mrs Argyll,’ said Rafe, turning with one arm about Helen’s shoulders. ‘I—er—I’d like to talk to my wife, if you don’t mind. I’ll make up the fire myself later.’
Mrs Argyll withdrew, and with a rueful grimace at his wife, Rafe flung himself on to the couch and pulled her down on top of him. ‘I must say for someone who went to see the doctor this morning, you’re looking absurdly healthy,’ he remarked, burying his face in her neck. ‘Come on: what happened? Is it something I should know?’
‘That depends,’ said Helen teasingly, struggling to hold on to the letter that was slipping from her grasp. ‘Hmm—Rafe, don’t do that! What if Mr Argyll should come in?’
‘He’s too well-mannered for that,’ declared Rafe unrepentantly, but he obediently buttoned her shirt again. ‘All right. I’ll be good. What did the doctor say?’
‘He said—I’m pregnant,’ Helen told him, not without some hesitation. ‘Do—do you mind? I know it’s earlier than what we thought but—but——’
‘——but I can’t leave you alone,’ Rafe finished for her huskily. ‘God, of course I don’t mind.’ He paused. ‘Do you?’
