by Kim Lawrence
‘Is there much damage?’ Dignity and forbearance, Hope, she silently encouraged herself.
‘It’s a mess,’ Alex said abruptly. ‘The cold water tank in the attic appears to have burst. There’s a river running down the stairs and some plaster down in the hall.’ He stepped farther into the room. ‘I turned the water off, and the electricity, but there’s nothing much else I can do tonight.’
‘The responsibility of dealing with my parents’ disaster hardly falls to you.’ The haughty mask slipped as she thought of what would await her parents on their return. ‘What a thing to come back to,’ she wailed. ‘I’ve wrecked the house.’
‘There’s no point blaming yourself.’
Hope’s head lifted and she glared at him, her blue eyes swimming with unshed tears. ‘I wasn’t!’ I don’t suppose his waterpipes would dare burst, she thought resentfully.
‘Good. How do you want to do this?’
‘Do what?’ she asked belligerently.
‘How do I carry you out?’ he elaborated. ‘With dignity and a minimum of fuss, or like a sack of coal, kicking and screaming?’
‘Coal neither kicks nor screams, but I’ll do both if you so much as lay a finger on me. I didn’t want or request a knight in shining armour to rescue me.’
Alex appeared insultingly ummoved by her dire threats. ‘You requested Adam, and as I’m his deputy…’
‘If Anna knew what a slimeball you are she wouldn’t have asked you.’
‘In her ignorance,’ he replied drily, ‘she did just that, and I intend to rescue you whether you like it or not. A dashing Lochinvar I may not be…’
‘You can say that again,’ she muttered mutinously. ‘He was young,’ she added with sweet malice.
‘But I’m not leaving without you.’
‘Call me unnatural—’
‘I wouldn’t be so presumptuous.’
Hope’s lips thinned. ‘But I’ve never had fantasies about being swept up by a knight on a white charger.’
‘The Land Rover’s green, and much less temperamental than a horse. Stop stalling, Hope, and swallow your pride. You need help and I’m it,’ he said with brutal bluntness.
She swallowed. It was humiliating, but he was right. She picked up her bag and clutched it to her chest. ‘Go on, then. Don’t make a meal of it.’
‘Gracious to the end,’ he muttered as he scooped her up.
The embrace of his arms was distressingly impersonal. A wave of loss threatened to overwhelm her when she remembered the last time she’d been picked up by those strong arms. Then don’t think about it, dummy, she told herself severely.
The sight of the ruined hallway, covered by several inches of murky water, drove all personal considerations out of her head.
‘This is terrible.’
‘Nothing that can’t be put right,’ he asserted confidently as he pushed a floating umbrella out of his path with the toe of his boot.
‘Easy for you to say. Stop!’ she yelled dramatically.
‘What now?’ He ground the words out like a man coming to the end of his patience. He grunted and heaved her a little higher. ‘Whatever it is, make it quick. You’re not exactly a lightweight.’
Hope’s bosom swelled with indignation at this slur. ‘The kitchen—Daphne’s there.’
‘Daphne? Who the hell’s she?’ Alex asked in bewilderment.
‘Don’t ask silly questions—hurry up!’
When they reached the room Alex placed her on the kitchen table, an island amongst the wreckage.
‘The Aga—quick. The warming oven at the bottom.’
Alex sensed the urgency in her apparently bizarre instructions. ‘Is this the time to be worrying about baking?’ He pulled open the door, which was already ajar. ‘It’s alive,’ he said, shining the light into the dark interior.
‘I should hope so,’ Hope responded briskly. Despite the awfulness of the situation her lips twitched as Alex straightened up with the white woolly bundle in his arms. The big man and the tiny lamb made an incongruous pair. ‘The formula’s in the fridge—you’d better get that too. And there’s a spare tin in the larder—third shelf.’
Without a word Alex handed her the bundle. She opened the zip on her holdall and hollowed out a space for the lamb on top of the designer underwear she’d hastily crammed in. When she looked up, Alex was watching her. The shadows moved over his face, revealing for a split second the distraction on his face.
‘Aren’t you afraid it’ll ruin your things?’ he said, rubbing his thumb over the label of a silky negligee that had spilled over the edge of the bag.
‘Don’t be stupid,’ she said, with a scornful expression that clearly placed an orphaned lamb well above clothes—even pretty ones. She tucked the bottles of formula into the pockets of her jacket. ‘I’m ready.’
‘Does that mean we have permission to place our hands on the royal person?’ Alex enquired obsequiously.
Hope was immediately conscious of her haughty expression. ‘Don’t let it go to your head,’ she responded in kind.
‘This isn’t the way to the Old Rectory,’ Hope protested when he didn’t take the fork in the track that led down to the main road.
Alex didn’t remove his eyes from the track ahead. ‘No.’
‘Is that it? No?’
‘What else did you have in mind?’
Hope closed her eyes and winced as he smoothly steered with the flow as the Land Rover skidded and slid on the wet ice. ‘An explanation,’ she said hoarsely, when the vehicle was headed in a more conventional direction.
‘Banish all notions or hopes that I’m kidnapping you from your head.’
Hopes! The unmitigated cheek of the man. Twin spots of colour burned on her cheeks. She bent her head and buried her face in the warm bundle on her lap. His words sent a shivery sensation through her body. Being in his power and having no say in the matter was an appalling thought. Wasn’t it? ‘Is it too much to ask to know where I’m going?’ she replied hoarsely. This wasn’t the best time to discover a flaw—a gaping, sinful defect—in her nature.
‘As my place is the only habitation I know down this track, I’d have thought that was self-evident. The roads are lethal, and I’ve no intention of driving any farther than necessary tonight. Besides, I don’t think it’s the time of night to disturb a household with small children. Anna sounded whacked when she spoke to me.’
‘Why not call me inconsiderate and selfish and be done with it?’
Alex manoeuvred the Land Rover through the open gate that led to the Mill House. ‘Do you have to take everything so personally?’ he asked in exasperation.
Yes, where you’re concerned, she thought silently. The converted Mill was a stone building three storeys high. Lights from the empty windows spilt out over the terraced gardens that lined the riverbank. When Alex opened the door she could hear the sound of the river in full spate.
‘Put your arm around my neck,’ he instructed tersely.
As he gathered her to him Hope was aware of the tension in his muscular frame. She flicked him a half-wary glance in the semi-darkness. Mistake, she thought as awareness sizzled along her nerve-endings. His anger had slipped away for the moment, and what it had been masking was suddenly exposed. The silver glitter of his eyes, the heavy-lidded sensuality of his steady gaze stole the strength from her body.
‘Don’t do that,’ she pleaded huskily.
‘Do what?’
‘You know wha—!’ She let out a yelp and just managed to stop the holdall from falling onto the snowy ground. ‘Oh, God, look what you made me do! I nearly dropped Daphne. Are you all right, darling?’ she crooned anxiously. At least the spell of sexual tension had been broken, though her feelings about this were distressingly ambiguous.
‘My back’s seen better days.’
‘I wasn’t talking to you.’
‘How cruel of you to dispel the illusion of concern.’
‘I suppose you think I’m ungrateful.’ She was struck somew
hat forcibly that she had been a bit churlish about being rescued. ‘You must be pretty annoyed being dragged from a warm bed on a night like this.’
The studded oak door opened as Alex stepped up to it. ‘Thank goodness. I’ve been so worried.’ The big door opened directly into a large sitting room. Hope wasn’t much interested in its interior decor at that moment.
The nightgown beneath an oversize man’s towelling robe was transparent. In the glamour stakes it left her own utilitarian nightshirt standing. Good breasts were clearly outlined beneath a deceptively modest lace yoke, and she was tall—but not too tall. She could have been anywhere between thirty and forty-five. She had the sort of striking features and strong bones that aged well: nice, dark eyes, an aquiline nose, large mouth and short, well-cut dark hair. She didn’t give the impression of a woman who habitually worried, but she did give the impression of elegance, intelligence and strength.
It took Hope only seconds to assimilate all these alarming details.
Alex stepped into the warmth. ‘Substitute pig-sick for pretty annoyed,’ Hope said in a low voice.
Alex’s brief glance held a very definite warning.
The wave of intense nausea passed. It had nothing to do with her if Alex Matheson slept with a hundred women, she told herself. But it didn’t make any difference. The fierce sense of betrayal was illogical, but she couldn’t lose it. The sheer hypocrisy of his behaviour took her breath away and fanned the flames of her wrath. He had the cheek to criticise her relationship with Lloyd when all along he…! The nausea returned with a vengeance when she dwelt on what he’d been doing all along.
‘You should have stayed in bed, Rebecca.’
Hope had a vivid mental picture of Alex slipping beneath the covers and pressing his cold body against a warm, soft, yielding feminine one. Masochistically she dwelt on the powerful image.
‘Don’t be silly, Alex. I’ve made up a bed for—Hope, is it?’ She smiled with what appeared to be genuine warmth in Hope’s direction.
The attitude between them spoke of easy intimacy and long familiarity. The look, the casual touch of her hand on his arm. Jealousy located Hope’s most vulnerable spots and stabbed repeatedly with a poison-tipped dart. Oh, God, she looks nice, Hope thought dismally. It would have been so much easier if she’d been unfriendly and hostile. Or at least an empty-headed bimbo. A horrifying truth suddenly presented itself to her. I’m the empty sexual experience, the light relief, the bimbo, and she’s the real relationship. After years of refusing to be type-cast Hope had finally succumbed in a big way.
The attraction of the enormous room, with its lofty ceiling and large stone open grate, big enough to hold a small tree, was lost on her. Hope wanted to be home—actually, she wanted to be anywhere but here.
Alex’s wet boots had left, wet, snowy imprints on one of the rugs, which had all the faded splendour of an original Eastern work of art. Hope noticed that Rebecca’s bare feet were silent on the polished wood boards and that her feet were long and narrow. It was easier to dwell on inconsequential details.
The sofa he placed her on was generously proportioned, as were most of the pieces of furniture in the sparingly furnished room. The rough-plastered walls were colour-washed a warm shade of burnt sienna, and plants were trained around what must once have been the original waterwheel, set in an alcove along one wall.
‘You both need a warm drink,’ Rebecca said, glancing with some concern from Alex’s expressionless features to Hope’s pale, distraught face.
‘I could do with something stronger,’ Hope said suddenly.
‘Will brandy do, or would you prefer—?’
‘Brandy’s fine,’ Hope interrupted abruptly.
The amber liquid burnt as it went down and pooled in her stomach, leaving a warm glow. A bleat suddenly reminded her of her charge.
‘A lamb! How delightful.’
‘An orphan born too early. She’s hungry,’ Hope said, digging into her pocket for a bottle. ‘Could you warm this a little, please?’
‘Oh, can I feed her?’ Rebecca pleaded, with a childish delight that seemed out of step with her sophisticated aura.
Hope shrugged. ‘If you want to.’ You’ve got everything else, why not her too? she thought dully. She gave over her charge reluctantly.
‘It’s called Daphne,’ Alex said drily.
‘Is that a classical allusion?’ Rebecca asked, laughing as she held the lamb up to her face.
‘No, she looks like a girl I went to school with. People always wanted to cuddle and pet her too.’
‘What happened to your Daphne?’ Alex asked as Rebecca disappeared from the room.
‘She has five children and three ex-husbands. I can’t stay here, Alex!’ she hissed, glancing furtively over her shoulder at the closed door.
‘Why not?’
‘Don’t be obtuse! Don’t you care if Rebecca’s hurt?’ It would be pretty pointless asking if he cared how she felt. The answer to that question was blindingly obvious.
‘Why should Rebecca be hurt?’ He continued to loosen the laces on his boots.
‘Are you trying to tell me she doesn’t mind if you sleep with other women? To think you had the gall to read me the riot act over Lloyd when all along you were coming back here to her. Double standards doesn’t even begin to cover it!’
She might as well have been talking to the three-feet-thick stone wall behind him for all the impact her scornful words made. He kicked off his boots, and the wet socks followed them. One hand went up behind his head and he leant back into the deeply upholstered sofa—a twin to the one she lay on.
‘Don’t compare my relationship with Rebecca to yours with Elliot.’
Ironically this was a fair comment—but not for the reason he implied. There was one big difference: Lloyd wasn’t and never had been her lover. Right at this moment it helped her that Alex thought the opposite. She couldn’t match his calculating attitude to sex, but he wasn’t going to know that if he imagined she was as casual as him. If he knew I’d actually fallen in love…! She shuddered. The humiliation didn’t bear thinking about.
‘She knows that you spent last night in my bed, does she?’ she challenged.
‘She doesn’t, and she won’t—unless you tell her.’ His steady gaze openly challenged her.
‘Don’t worry,’ Hope choked. ‘It’s not something I’m likely to boast about.’
‘I wasn’t worried.’ He yawned lazily.
‘My God, I pity her!’ she said unsteadily
‘No, you don’t,’ he contradicted. ‘You’re as jealous as hell of her. What’s wrong, Hope? Don’t you like the idea of my hands on her warm skin? My mouth—’
‘Shut up, shut up!’ she yelled, placing her hands over her ears to shut out the slyly insidious sound of his voice. ‘You’re disgusting,’ she spat.
‘But you liked all the disgusting things I did, didn’t you, Hope? Your body responds just thinking about them, doesn’t it?’ His cruel confidence made her grow pale. ‘Is that how you aroused yourself with Lloyd? Did you close your eyes and think of me?’
‘You’re sick!’ Had he just predicted her future? she wondered bleakly. Had he spoilt her for any other man? If it had been just sex, she could have lived with it, but it was her love she’d wasted on this man. What a fool I am, she despaired.
Alex rubbed his closed fist across his cheekbone. The gesture made her realise for the first time how tired he looked. ‘That possibility had occurred to me,’ he agreed cryptically.
‘She fell asleep. So sweet. I’ve given her the cat basket and put it by the radiator.’ Rebecca cinched the belt of the robe about her narrow middle and looked at Alex, a question in her eyes. A person would have needed to be deaf and blind not to notice the atmosphere in the room. Alex just smiled sardonically in response.
‘What about the cat?’ Hope asked. Rebecca’s presence rescued her from any further displays of Alex’s warped, but uncannily accurate perception.
‘It lost the last of
its nine lives in the summer,’ Rebecca explained. ‘I never did know what you saw in the creature, Alex. It was a horrid, bad-tempered beast.’
‘Cat lacked polish, but it had a lot of originality.’
‘It scratched me.’
‘It didn’t like being stroked.’
Alex’s eyes sought Hope’s. His soft words had conjured up an image of his big hands moving down the curve of her arched spine. He couldn’t know…it wasn’t possible. She felt cold perspiration break out over her body.
‘Perhaps we should get some sleep for what’s left of the night,’ Alex said slowly as Hope licked her lips nervously.
‘Good idea,’ Rebecca approved.
Hope nodded. She welcomed anything that gave her the opportunity to escape the scrutiny of those eyes.
The staircase was circular, with a wrought-iron balustrade. Even when she closed her eyes she could smell him and feel the warm strength of him as he carried her up.
Just when she needed them the breathing exercises she’d learnt in Yoga deserted her. Instead of having a calming and soothing effect, they alerted her to the fact that breathing wasn’t the autonomic response people liked to believe. Her respirations were painfully laboured and erratic. At least suffocating should be diverting.
‘If you need anything just yell.’
She nodded faintly and wished he’d put her down.
‘Rebecca will see to the lamb.’
‘I couldn’t possibly impose…’ she began stiffly.
‘It’ll be her pleasure. She’ll dine out on the story for weeks whilst she regales her friends with tales of her bucolic adventures. Will you sleep?’
‘If I ever make it to my bed.’ She turned her head to look pointedly at the neatly turned down twin divan beside the window.
‘Sleep well, Hope Lacey.’ His throaty voice had a husky edge that felt like a caress to her body. Does he know I’m aching for him? she wondered dreamily. He adjusted the pillow before he relinquished his hold across her shoulders.
Lying supine, with Alex looming over her, she came close to total panic. She couldn’t think; she forgot her own name for the space of several breaths. The divan was low and he was kneeling on the floor, his hands flat on either side of her head. She bit her lip to repress a groan when his hand stroked the hair fanned around her face. She should reject his touch, but she couldn’t, by word or gesture. Her whole body was infused with a warm, weak longing. No matter how wrong it was, something inside her would always respond helplessly to him. This insight frightened her more than anything in her young life.
