Книга - Desire For Revenge

Desire For Revenge
PENNY JORDAN


Penny Jordan needs no introduction as arguably the most recognisable name writing for Mills & Boon. We have celebrated her wonderful writing with a special collection, many of which for the first time in eBook format and all available right now.EX-LOVER, NEW BOSS…Sarah believed in love at first sight. But after meeting the man of her dreams, and spending a night of passion in his arms, she was scared the magic couldn't possibly last. So she left before he awoke.Joshua Howard had met his perfect woman, and lost her again in one night. Now he vowed to get his own back on her, and his revenge was going to be slow and sweet. It would begin as soon as he introduced himself as Sarah's new boss!












Desire for Revenge

Penny Jordan







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Table of Contents


Cover (#u38f4e8ab-fcd2-5f66-896f-c56d74d6d14e)

Title Page (#uced49411-0195-5de3-a50d-23ce9f3631c7)

CHAPTER ONE (#u9fd8253b-b279-51cb-9a9c-a0fef6698dbb)

CHAPTER TWO (#u0b1b94c5-d532-5693-b808-4e04973725cf)

CHAPTER THREE (#u52276e2f-d2b6-5ea2-9d61-7de19f00fbea)

CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)

CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)




CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_f08848d5-ff09-57d2-b2bb-7e525dda93cd)


‘LOOK David, I think this has gone far enough I…’

‘I want you Sarah, and I always get what I want, especially when what I want happens to be a green-eyed witch with red hair and a body just made for love, even though something tells me that that body has never actually experienced the total reality of a man’s love.’

She felt trapped; half mesmerised by the deliberately soft monotone of his voice, and not even the fact that they were in her office, within easy screaming distance of her fellow employees, had the power to make her feel fully safe. And besides, what sort of executive would she be if she let one mere man sexually intimidate her to the extent where she was panicked into reacting like a naïve teenager?

Gathering herself together, Sarah took a deep breath and then said as calmly as she could, ‘David we’ve been through all this before. You might be a valuable asset to the company, but I am not prepared to go to bed with you just so that you will continue to use Leichner & Holland as your publishers. And I’m sure that Steven would back me up in this.’

Steven Holland was the owner of Leichner & Holland and it was he who had been responsible for promoting Sarah a year ago from being assistant editor to the status of fiction editor, with a special responsibility for the new avenue of fiction aimed at women, which they were pursuing. Sarah did not delude herself as to her abilities; she had been promoted as a result of something which had really been little more than a lucky fluke. She had been idly reading through a manuscript which James Richards, the chief fiction editor, had thrown on one side and had immediately been struck by the emotive way in which the story had been written. The name of the writer had been unknown to her, but she still found the novel powerfully compelling. She had been reading it one lunch hour over her coffee and sandwich when Steven had passed her on the way to his office. He had questioned her about what she was reading, and after being amused by her enthusiasm had said that since she was so enthusiastic about the work he might as well read it for himself.

Slightly to Sarah’s surprise he had been as enthusiastic as she was herself, and the result was that she was now officially Fiction Editor (Female) for Leichner & Holland.

Of course her promotion had not been without problems. For one thing James Richards had objected strenuously to it, and Sarah had heard only the other day that he had actually now given in his notice. There had been a lot of talk about who might replace him, but as yet nothing official.

‘I mean it Sarah…I want you and I mean to have you…’

‘But not here I trust, David…’ she managed to quip acidly. His remark about her virginity rankled and worse, made her feel acutely vulnerable. Sarah was no fool. She recognised very strongly in David Randal a very basic masculine drive to possess and subjugate the female sex. The fact that, as he had so correctly guessed, she was still a virgin made him all the more keen in his pursuit of her.

She watched him get up and leave her office, gnawing anxiously on her bottom lip. How he felt about the female sex came across very clearly to her in his books. Sarah did not like them at all. He wrote under a female pseudonym, and that in her opinion, was the only reason he managed to get away with some passages that were in effect little more than a lascivious description of female degradation. She had already expressed her doubts to Steven about David’s latest manuscript, but it was an undeniable fact that the long historical novels he wrote, sold well. At the last group meeting of the editors responsible for the various types of books the firm published, James Richards had bitterly opposed her suggestion that they ceased publishing David’s work. He had even accused her of wanting to cut David from their lists because she disliked him personally as a man, which had been a very difficult accusation to refute without revealing the truth.

Sarah had few illusions about either her own ability or the security of her position. If she once admitted that she could not handle sexual harassment from an author she could well soon find herself demoted. It was ridiculous that at the grand old age of twenty-five she should find herself in this position, but trying to make it plain to David Randal that she did not find him in the least attractive was like trying to build a snowman in the Sahara desert—a complete waste of time and effort.

She even suspected that he found her dislike of him a challenge. It was her virginity that attracted him the most, Sarah thought wryly, as she sat back in her chair. Without that she would simply be another passably attractive woman. How had he guessed? Perhaps it had something to do with the way she always recoiled from him whenever he came anywhere near her… She had disliked him even when she had had little to do with him, but now… She had heard it said that an experienced man could always tell when a woman was unawakened. Until now she had never really believed it.

She picked up her pen and toyed absently with it. The simplest answer would be for her to leave and find another job…but where would she find one as congenial as this? And one that paid as much. With her promotion had come a very useful pay rise… And very timely it had been, too, with Gran suddenly too feeble to look after herself, and Jane worrying herself sick about how she was going to cope with triplets under five, a husband, a rambling, half-modernised country vicarage, an assortment of pets, and Gran as well. Especially when the doctor had told them that because of the delusions she sometimes experienced, Gran needed to be watched for most of the time.

The extra money she was earning, plus the sale of Gran’s small house, plus what Jane’s husband, Ralph, could provide had meant that they were able to pay for Gran to stay in a really good residential home close enough to the Gloucestershire village where Jane and her family lived, for Jane to be able to visit once a week, and for Gran to join in all the family events. If she had to go back to working merely as a secretary—even in a really good job—she would not be able to make her contribution any more.

Tears blurred her eyes for a moment and she brushed them away impatiently. She so desperately wanted to do all she could to help Jane and Ralph. They had done so much for her. Jane had been twenty-one and newly engaged when their parents had been killed in a road accident; Sarah had been fourteen.

Ralph had not hesitated. Although he had just been on the point of leaving the firm he worked for and setting up in business on his own, he had said instantly that he and Jane would marry, and that Sarah would make her home with them.

Right through university Ralph had supported her, and it was only in this last year that he had realised his dream of starting up his own computer software business. Ralph was the complete antithesis of a man like David Randal. He was a devoted husband, a caring father…hardworking, good humoured. He had done so much for her… helping out now with the expense of caring for Gran was the least she could do.

So what was the answer? Sarah didn’t really know.

‘You look pensive… Problems?’

She looked up and smiled at the pretty, curly haired brunette standing in the doorway.

Rachel had taken over from her as assistant editor, having been Steven’s secretary previously, and Sarah liked her very much.

‘Not really,’ Sarah lied. ‘Does Steven want me for something?’

‘Not as far as I know. It’s lunch time and we have a date…remember?’

Lunch time already? Sarah sighed. How long had she been sitting there worrying about David?

‘I see you’ve had a visit from one of our least favourite authors this morning,’ Rachel commented, when Sarah got up to join her. ‘Is he giving you problems?’

‘No more than usual.’ She pulled a wry face. ‘You know what he’s like.’

‘Yeah! Personally I can’t stand those aggressively sexual types. I don’t know how his poor wife puts up with him. He’s always got some woman going on the side, although they don’t normally last long.’

They reached the lift and stopped talking as they got into it and descended to the ground floor.

‘Heard the news about who’s going to take over from James Richards?’ Rachel asked as they stepped out into the gusty March wind. ‘It’s now official.’

‘No. I haven’t heard a thing.’

‘Well, it’s official now,’ Rachel told her as they sat down in the small wine bar they patronised every Friday lunch time. ‘Our new Editor in Chief is going to be no less than the great Joshua Howard, himself.’

‘Joshua Howard!’ Sarah was impressed. There could be few people in the journalistic or publishing world who would not be at the mention of his name. Although only in his early thirties he had a formidable reputation in the media world.

From being a foreign correspondent with The Times he had gone on to write several stunningly successful ‘faction’ novels based on some of the events he had covered during his years as a reporter.

To Sarah’s knowledge at least one of them had been made into a film, and in view of all this it struck her as rather odd that such a famous and surely wealthy man should be content to take a job as editor with such a small, albeit prestigious, firm as Leichner & Holland.

‘Of course, he isn’t coming is as editor,’ Rachel confided. ‘I know you know that the firm’s been having a few financial problems recently—the new Cartwright novel bombed for one thing, and the legal department is still trying to get back that advance we paid to Wayne Johnson.’

Sarah did know. The loss of the massive advance paid to Wayne Johnson the pop singer who had begun his meteoric career in the early sixties, had been a bitter blow to the firm. After over twelve months when the pop singer had still not produced a single chapter of his life story Steven had decided to try to get their advance back. That had been six months ago, and he was still not having success.

Steven had explained much of this to her when he had promoted her, telling her that he hoped a line of literature aimed specifically at the female end of the market might improve their fortunes, but new lines took time to develop and time, it seemed from what Rachel was telling her now, was something the firm simply did not have.

‘Theoretically Joshua is just coming in as Editor in Chief,’ she confided to Sarah, ‘but in reality he’s investing pretty heavily in the firm. Steven’s still the owner and major shareholder of course; the Leichner line has pretty well died out, and neither of Steven’s daughters want to come into the business, so I suspect that he intends grooming Joshua to take over from him when he eventually retires. You know that Joshua brought his first manuscript to Steven before he became well known?’

‘Yes, I do.’

There could be few publishers as morally altruistic as her boss, Sarah reflected, recalling what he had told her, because he had recognised the book as a winner from the very first, but he had also known that his small publishing enterprise did not have the resources to promote the book as it needed to be promoted to ensure the world-wide success it deserved, and so he had recommended that Joshua try another publishing house, and had given the manuscript his own written commendation as well as giving Joshua an introduction to the American firm which had eventually published his work.

It was rather heartwarming to think that his kindness and generosity was now being repaid by Joshua Howard, and without having met him, Sarah felt herself warm to him.

‘What’s he like?’ she asked Rachel curiously, ‘I’ve never seen him.’

In response Rachel rolled her eyes heavenwards and sighed. ‘Fantastic…and his smile is just so sexy that it made my bones melt.’

She saw Sarah’s disbelieving expression, and grinned. ‘Okay, don’t believe me, but just wait until you’ve seen him. Tall, dark, handsome… Believe me he’s got the lot and a body that—’

‘Okay, okay! I think I get the picture. But does Brian know that you—’

She broke off as Rachel grimaced and then grinned. Brian was Rachel’s fiancé, a pleasant, tow-haired young man with a steady placid nature that nicely balanced Rachel’s more extrovert, dizzy personality.

‘Seriously, his personality seems to be just as good as his looks,’ Rachel told her. ‘He’s no James Richards, but I don’t think he’s the type to suffer fools gladly either. He doesn’t seem to hold any sexist views, but I don’t see him as the type to make any special allowances for us females, just because we are females if you know what I mean…’

With a sinking heart Sarah reflected that she did. Steven, for instance, if she told him about the problems she was having with David Randal, would sympathise with her and try to find some way of alleviating the problem, but to turn to Steven meant going over the head of the Senior Editor, which simply was not done. She had not gone to James Richards for help or advice because she knew he would only gloat over her dilemma, and she had been hoping that the new person, whoever that might be, might be someone more understanding. The trouble was that the whole problem was fraught with embarrassment and difficulty… To explain it in full meant explaining her own virginal state, which was something she was extremely reluctant to do. The easiest answer would be to get rid of her virginity, she reflected rather wryly, but at the moment that was easier said than done, since she had no current male friend. There had been opportunities at university, but she had found the work there so taxing and strenuous, and she had been so determined to repay Jane and Ralph for the financial support they were giving her, by getting a first-class degree, that there had been no time for boyfriends.

Afterwards there had been the initial struggle to get work; followed by the realisation that her degree did not really equip her for any particular job, meaning that she had had to work at night to get her secretarial qualifications. All in all there had been scant time for romantic involvements.

Despite her inexperience, Sarah was no fool. She knew quite well that it was the lure of her virginity as much as anything that attracted David to her. Without that… She also suspected it would not be much longer before he stopped asking and started demanding. She half suspected he would even go to the length of actually threatening her. He had hinted as much once or twice already. Even though she personally did not like the work he produced, it did earn money—money which the firm obviously badly needed at the present time. Once David started threatening to take his work elsewhere unless she gave in to him, what was she going to do? And Sarah knew it was only a matter of time before he did make that threat. She had already seriously damaged his ego, she knew that; and he was small-minded enough to want to make her pay for that.

‘You’re shivering…are you all right?’

Rachel’s anxious query brought her back to reality.

‘It’s this icy wind,’ she fibbed. ‘London seems so cold at the moment.’

‘Mmm… Spring’s just round the corner, although you’d never guess it. Doing anything interesting this weekend?’

‘I’m going down to my sister’s. We’re all going to a fancy dress ball—a local charity “do”, and rather grand…’ She pulled a slight face and Rachel laughed.

‘You don’t sound very enthusiastic. What are you going as?’

‘I don’t know. Jane’s organising our costumes.’

In point of fact she wasn’t particularly looking forward to the ball, but Jane had told her that the invitation had come from someone very influential locally, who was also a possible client for Ralph’s business, and she had asked Sarah to support her and go with them.

‘I’m scared out of my wits, that I might do the wrong thing,’ she had confided over the ‘phone, ‘and I need my clever little sister by my side to give me confidence.’

In the face of that, there was little that Sarah could do other than agree to go, but she wasn’t looking forward to it.

For the rest of the afternoon she was quite busy. Steven made his announcement about James Richards’ successor at half past four, and Sarah was slightly surprised to learn that Joshua Howard was actually coming into the office on Monday before he was due to begin working there. It seemed that James had demanded to be released from the usual notice period.

Sarah left the office at just gone five. Her suitcase was already packed and all she had to do was to get back to her small flat, shower and change, and then take a taxi to the station.

Ralph would pick her up in Gloucester. It was a routine which had been perfected over the eighteen months Sarah had worked for Leichner & Holland, and one which was now comfortably familiar.

By the time she arrived the triplets would be in bed, asleep, but they would be the first thing in the morning to wake her up—three boisterous and lovable four-year-olds whom Sarah secretly adored.

The three children—two boys and a girl—had been conceived by her sister after only a few months on a fertility drug when she had reached her early thirties with no sign of the child she and Ralph so desperately wanted. Jane had been over the moon, not at all fazed by the information that her doctor suspected that she was carrying more than one child, although up until the last moment no one had guessed the anticipated twins would be triplets. Her sister had a blissfully secure and happy life but no one could deserve it more than Jane. She and Ralph had both been so marvellous to her when Mum and Dad had been killed.

Her journey went smoothly. She found Ralph waiting for her when the train pulled in, his burly form instantly recognisable. He looked more like a farmer than a computer expert, Sarah reflected, returning his warm hug with enthusiasm.

‘How is everyone?’ she asked as they walked through the darkness to his waiting Range Rover.

‘Fine. All dying to see you. Jane’s been in a bit of a tizz this last week about the ball. She’s managed to hire costumes for all of us and I’ve told her there’s nothing to worry about.’

‘I expect she’s worried because she knows how important this contract is to you,’ Sarah suggested, as she fastened her seat-belt.

‘Mmm…I’m seeing Tom Merryweather tomorrow morning. I’m hoping he might give me a decision then. If he does, we’ll push the boat out in style tomorrow night.’

They chatted in a casual fashion as Ralph drove along the familiar roads. Sarah had been brought up in this part of the world and knew it well. She also felt a deep sense of inner peace when she returned here and often wished it was possible for her to stay, but she had her living to earn, and at twenty-five she was far too young, or so Jane claimed, to settle for the stagnation of a country life.

Sarah was not deceived. Jane clucked as anxiously over her lack of menfriends as any mother hen, and Sarah knew that her sister was longing for the day she came home with a fiancé on her arm.

Her sister didn’t wait for them to go inside to greet them. She came runing out of the house the moment the Range Rover turned into the Vicarage’s overgrown drive. Ralph and Jane had only recently moved into their present house. Renovating and furnishing it was going to be a labour of love for both of them, and when they had finished Sarah knew they would have a home they could be justly proud of. At the moment, though, all was chaos. Ralph was doing most of the minor work himself, and since this took time, the back garden seemed constantly to resemble a builder’s yard.

The Vicarage was early eighteenth century and had a substantial garden. There was even a small paddock for ponies for the children later if they required them.

‘Come on inside, you must be shattered after the journey,’ Jane commanded, hugging Sarah quickly as she got out of the Range Rover.

‘Oh, yes indeed,’ Sarah grinned. ‘It took all of two hours or so and at my time of life…’

‘Oh, you know what I mean… Come on I’ve just made some fresh coffee. It seems ages since we last saw you. I want to hear everything that’s been going on.’

‘Well, if you two are going to gossip, I’m off to my study,’ Ralph announced as he carried Sarah’s cases into the large shabby hall. ‘I’ll take these up first for you, Sarah. You’re in your usual room.’

‘But this time you’ll have your own bathroom,’ Jane told her with a grin. ‘Ralph finished converting that old dressing room off your bedroom last week. It looks fantastic.’ She raised herself on tiptoe to kiss her husband’s cheek, and watching them Sarah was conscious of a small piercing sensation of aloneness. What was wrong with her? She had never envied her sister her marital happiness before, why should she start doing so now?’

‘Come on sit down and tell me what’s making you look so miserable,’ Jane commanded, when they were installed in the large, homely kitchen.

Modernising the kitchen had been Ralph’s first priority when they moved in and he had done a marvellous job on it, Sarah reflected, studying the smooth richness of the dark oak kitchen cupboards with their antiqued tile worktops. From the original beams, which he had uncovered and retained, hung a various assortment of herbs and set into one wall was Jane’s pride and joy—an ancient black-leaded fireplace complete with bread oven. On the wall in which the fireplace was set Ralph had exposed the original brickwork, and an assortment of brass pans now decorated it—all original antiques that Jane had cleverly found in local shops. A large, well-scrubbed and very old table took pride of place in the centre of the room, and it was on this that Jane placed their mugs of coffee as she pulled out chairs for them both, and passed a plate of home-made biscuits in Sarah’s direction.

‘I’ve tried a new recipe,’ she commented, ‘sugarfree so they’re much better for the kids.’

‘Speaking of which…’

‘Oh, no you don’t! I know when the subject’s being changed. What’s wrong, Sarah?’ she asked dropping her bantering tone and looking seriously at her sister. ‘Something is I know that much. Come on…give…’

Jane was much more to her than a mere sister, Sarah reflected as she slowly sipped her coffee. She had virtually brought her up from the age of fourteen, succouring her all through those difficult teenage years. It had been Jane who had listened to and answered all her questions about life and sex. Jane who had seen her through all her teenage traumas. She had never hidden anything from her sister, and it was impossible to do so now.

‘Problems at work,’ she said tersely. ‘One of my writers is pushing me to have sex with him.’

‘And the problem is that you don’t want to… or that you do?’ Jane asked frankly.

‘I don’t…’ Sarah gave a tiny betraying shudder. ‘But he’s putting a lot of pressure on me, and I suspect it won’t be long before he actually threatens me. I can’t turn to Steven for help—that would mean admitting that I can’t handle the responsibility that goes with my job.’

‘Mmm…I don’t know about that.’

‘The thing is this writer has guessed that I’m still a virgin, and that’s why he’s so determined to get me into bed.’

‘Mmm…the old story of the male ego. Well, there is one simple solution.’

‘Rid myself of said virginity,’ Sarah said lightly. ‘That had already occurred to me but it’s not quite as easy as that, is it? After all, I can hardly go up to the first passably attractive male I see and say “would you mind making love to me?”, can I?’

‘No,’ Jane laughed, agreeing with her. ‘Is he married?’ she asked.

‘Very much so. I feel dreadfully sorry for his poor wife. He really is a loathsome specimen. The sort that makes your flesh creep. Oh, he’s attractive enough I suppose in his way…but there’s just something about him…’

‘Mmm. I know what you mean, and I can understand your dilemma. Want me to look round for a suitable specimen of manhood for you?’ she teased, bringing a lighter note to their conversation as Sarah grinned and replied threateningly, ‘Just you try!’

They went on to talk about their grandmother, who Jane told her had settled in extremely well at the home.

‘I thought we might go and see her tomorrow afternoon. I’ve got to go into town to collect our costumes.’ She made a wry face. ‘I’m dreading this damned ball. It’s the local social event of the year, you realise and we’re extremely privileged to be invited.’

‘I can tell that by your excitement,’ Sarah responded solemnly, amusement dancing in her eyes. ‘What are we going as?’

Jane smiled at her. ‘Wait until you see our costumes. The do’s being held at Merton Place, and since it was built at the height of the Georgian era, I’ve gone for very traditional Georgian outfits for all three of us. I had to go to Stratford to get them, I’ll have you know—nowhere in Gloucester stocked anything that would do. They’re theatrical costumes and very, very ornate. They’re being sent by express delivery to the local station tonight, that’s why we’ve got to go to town to pick them up tomorrow.’

‘I can’t wait to see Ralph dressed up as a Georgian dandy…’ Sarah commented.

Jane gave a wicked giggle. ‘I’m going to make him powder his hair but he doesn’t know it yet! If it wasn’t for the fact that we’re being invited by one of Ralph’s most important clients, I might be looking forward to it a little bit more.’

‘You’ll enjoy it when we’re there,’ Sarah consoled her sister and then, changing the subject, invited, ‘Now tell me about my niece and nephews…

‘Come on, Auntie Sarah, wake up…’

Stubby fingers touched her eyelids, giggles erupting somewhere in the direction of her left ear. Someone was trying to tickle her ribs, and entering into the spirit of the game, she pretended she was still asleep, waiting until her three tormentors had given up trying to wake her before suddenly sitting up and grasping the nearest cuddly bundle and subjecting its ribs to the same torment so recently inflicted on her own.

The bundle in question just happened to be her niece, her helpless giggles and shrieks almost splitting Sarah’s ears. The two boys, of course, had to join in the game, the three children only subdued when Jane marched into the bedroom carrying a mug of tea which she placed beside Sarah, at the same time, sternly telling her trio of offspring to take themselves off to their own rooms and get dressed.

‘Little horrors,’ she commented balefully when the triplets had finally departed, but Sarah wasn’t deceived.

‘And don’t you just love them,’ she agreed with a grin.

‘Does it show that much? I suppose having had to wait so long for them…I must admit I’d just about given up hope.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘Still there are some days when I do genuinely wonder why I ever bothered, and Louise is worse than the two boys put together. She can twist them and her father round her little finger.’

She sat down on the edge of Sarah’s bed and said. ‘What do you fancy doing this morning? I’ve done all the food shopping. The Vicar’s wife is going to take charge of the kids tonight. Ralph will look after them while we’re out this afternoon.’

‘Well, since I’m feeling rather lazy this morning, how about my taking my niece and nephews for a short walk?’

‘Great idea, if you’re sure you don’t mind,’ Jane enthused. ‘It will give me time to whip round with the vacuum before lunch. But be warned, don’t let them persuade you to take them into the village, or you’ll end up in the post office buying them sweets.

‘Oh, by the way, Haughton House has been sold,’ she added idly. ‘I’m not sure who to…but I thought you’d like to know. You’ve always had a thing about the old place, haven’t you?’

It was true, Sarah reflected half an hour later as she set off with a nephew firmly attached to either hand and her niece clinging firmly to the hand of one of her brothers. She had always been drawn to the beautiful Elizabethan manor house just outside the village.

It had been empty now for several months since the death of the last owner, and Sarah turned automatically in the direction of the footpath that led from the river, through a small wood, and then into the private grounds that went with the house.

At the boundary wall which separated the public footpath from the private, Sarah paused. The trees were not yet in full leaf and so she was able to see the house from where she stood. The sharp March sunlight turned the ancient brickwork to rose-gold, glinting here and there on mullioned windows. Apart from a couple of what appeared to be tradesmen’s vans parked outside, there were no signs of activity.

Sighing faintly she responded to Jeremy’s impatient tug on her left hand, and knew that as she obediently turned away from the house and back in the direction from which they had come that she had just said goodbye to a childhood dream.

As a teenager she had often come to this spot. There was a venerable oak tree several yards away, conveniently growing just by the boundary wall and in earlier years she had often hidden in its leafy branches simply daydreaming away a lazy summer’s afternoon, imagining that she owned the house… In those far off days she had played many roles as chatelaine of the house; sometimes an Elizabethan maid of honour, hidden away down here from the Queen’s wrath because she had caught the eye of one of her handsome courtiers; sometimes a secret Jacobite supporter, recklessly hiding one of the doomed Prince Charlie’s wounded supporters; sometimes a be-muslined Regency girl waiting in trepidation to hand over her childhood home to the distant cousin who had inherited it from her father—whatever the setting for her daydreams might have been, they had always had the same conclusion; the male playing opposite her leading role as chatelaine inevitably fell in love with her and they lived happily ever after with the house as their home.

Sarah grimaced faintly. How long ago those days seemed now.

‘Look, Auntie Sarah!’ Paul tugged importantly on her right hand, speaking in a hushed whisper. ‘There’s a rabbit.’

Sure enough he was right, and all four of them paused for a second to admire the attractive little creature before he caught their scent and bolted for cover.




CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_58aed534-6f6f-5388-81b5-c98aaca791e0)


‘OKAY, are we ready?’

‘As we’re ever likely to be,’ Sarah told her sister affectionately, as they hurried out to Jane’s small Metro.

Her sister was a competent driver, and it didn’t take them long to reach the nearby market town Jane used for most of her day-to-day shopping

‘We’ll go to the station first to collect the outfits and then get everything else.’

She parked neatly in the small station car park and Sarah went with her towards the tiny redbrick building.

The stationmaster greeted them with a smile, handing over the bulky parcels.

‘Them’ll be for that ball everyone’s going to tonight,’ he commented knowingly as Sarah took charge of them. ‘A fine do it’ll be, by all accounts. They say that the new owner of Haughton House will be there as well. A fine lot of work he’s having done up at the place…there’s a new swimming pool being put in—indoors, too—that’ll cost him a fair penny.’

‘Don’t ever have any skeletons in your cupboard if you intend living in the country,’ Jane groaned as she and Sarah stacked the boxes in the back of her car.

‘What else do you need?’ Sarah asked her as she tugged on her seat-belt.

‘Nothing much, some nice biscuits for Mrs Arbuckle—I daredn’t buy any before, the kids would have sneaked the lot. Some flowers for the house. I always like to have fresh ones for Sunday lunch.’

‘Really?’ Sarah kept her face straight as she teased. ‘That’s odd…I always thought Ralph was quite definitely a meat and two veg man!’

‘Oh, for goodness sake you’re as bad as the kids,’ Jane complained but she was grinning, too, as they drove out of the car park.

As it was Saturday a small market was in progress and although they had some problems in parking, once they had done so, it didn’t take them long to buy the bits and pieces Jane wanted.

‘Fancy a cup of coffee before we go back?’ She glanced at her watch. ‘We’ve just about got time, and there’s a rather nice new place that specialises in traditional afternoon teas.’

‘Sounds good.’

The café was situated just off the small town square and had been attractively decorated in soft peach and grey. The cane chairs were painted white with peach seat covers, and despite the obvious bustle they were lucky enough to find an empty table, in the window.

‘Mmm…this is nice,’ Jane murmured as she sat down. ‘I daren’t come in here with the brats, they’d cause too much chaos.’

They gave their order to a smiling waitress, and while Jane deliberated over a cream cake or a scone with jam and cream, complaining about the calorie intake of both, Sarah looked out of the window on to the busy street and the square.

A man walked across the road and into the square, his face in profile to her, his thick, black hair ruffled by the cool breeze. His skin looked tanned, his body tall and lean, with just a hint of breadth about the shoulders. Sarah’s breath caught in her throat as he turned to check the traffic and she saw the intense sapphire blue of his eyes. As she looked she could almost see him as her Elizabethan gallant; her romantic Jacobite rebel; her reckless Regency rake. She blinked and swallowed hard and both the man and her inner visions of him were gone.

‘Sarah, are you all right?’

She forced a shaky smile and nodded her head. ‘Sorry, I was miles away…’

‘Daydreaming,’ Jane agreed wryly. ‘I recognised all the signs, although to judge from the rapt expression on your face, it was a very special daydream. You’re not holding out on me by any chance, are you?’ she questioned severely. ‘There isn’t someone in your life I don’t know anything about, is there?’

‘Don’t be silly. What on earth gave you that idea?’

‘The look on your face,’ Jane told her bluntly. ‘You were looking as though Robert Redford had suddenly materialised in front of you.’

In spite of herself Sarah coloured faintly. The romantic daydreams of her teenage years were something she had long ago put behind her, and it was embarrassing to have them called to mind so strongly by the chance sighting of a strange man. She hadn’t even seen him full face…but there had been something about him…quivers of sensation fluttered deep inside her, quickly banished when she realised the complete folly of the direction her thoughts were taking. It was both impossible and ridiculous to be so attracted to a man on mere sight.

‘Come on, we’d better make a move,’ Jane told her, consulting her watch again. ‘I want the holy terrors bathed and in bed before Mrs Arbuckle arrives. Thank goodness Ralph has managed to install a separate bathroom for the guest room and for the nursery now, otherwise, we’d be queuing up for the same one from now until doomsday.’

‘Read me another story, Auntie Sarah…’ Sarah was in Louise’s room, sitting beside the four-year-old’s pretty Laura Ashley decorated bed.

‘You’ve had two already,’ she reminded her niece, hiding an appreciative grin at this bid to delay the moment of going to sleep a little further…

‘Well then will you tell me another one tomorrow?’

‘I tell you what, tomorrow night I’ll tell you all about the ball.’ Sarah offered.

Louise’s eyes widened. ‘Will there be princes there and princesses?’ She was very much into fairy stories and Sarah repressed a small sigh for the vast gulf that lay between romance and reality.

She stood up and bent over the small figure of her niece to tuck the covers more securely around her, bending down to kiss her good night.

Ralph was reading to the boys, while Jane had her bath, and Mrs Arbuckle, the vicar’s wife, was due in half an hour.

Checking that the night light was lit, Sarah let herself out of the room.

In her own room the dress she had unpacked and pressed on their return from town hung on the bathroom door. It was a gloriously rich Georgian costume in the most beautiful eau de nil silk, which opened over an underskirt of white satin embroidered with a complex design of silver flowers and leaves. At intervals the hem of the overskirt was caught up with white silk bows to reveal the satin underdress and the low neckline of the dress had a small pleated frill of white satin. The same fabric lined the sleeves from the elbows down, where they were caught up with ribbons. Sarah had no doubt that the dress was an exact replica of an original Georgian ballgown, and it was so supremely lovely that she felt she hardly dared to wear it.

In addition to the shoes provided to match the outfit there was a box containing combs and flowers attached to them for her hair, and several small patches with a brief handwritten note explaining where each one was to go and the precise meaning appertaining to each placement. Sarah raised her eyes a little over this, having had no idea that these adornments possessed their own special language. To complete the outfit there was even a fan in the same eau de nil silk as her gown.

Luckily her hair was long and naturally curly enough for her to pin it up in a small circlet of ringlets, which she coaxed to form by using her heated tongs. The effect, once she had pinned the flower combs in place, was surprisingly effective.

She took her time over her make-up, remembering that the fashion in the Georgian era was for pale skin, and having placed a small round patch just beneath her eye she sat back to study the whole effect. Even without powdering her hair it was surprising how different she looked. She and Jane had discussed doing this but had decided against it because of the mess involved.

She was just slipping her dress on when Jane came in. Her sister’s eyebrows lifted in silent appreciation.

‘Wow,’ she exclaimed at last. ‘You look fantastic. Turn round, I’ll help you with the zip.’

‘It doesn’t have one,’ Sarah pointed out wryly. ‘Just one hundred million hooks and eyes.’

‘An authentic touch we could well do without,’ Jane grumbled as she fastened each of the tiny fastenings. ‘There,’ she exclaimed at last, ‘now turn round.’

Sarah stared at her reflection in the mirror. It was unbelievable what a difference her costume made. She could have stepped out of a portrait of some Georgian lady.

‘It’s stunning,’ Jane told her quietly. ‘Absolutely stunning…’

Smiling, Sarah dropped her a brief curtsey, and unfurled her fan, looking demurely at her sister over the top of it. ‘Merci, My Lady,’ she cooed dulcetly. ‘You are too kind.’

Jane raised her eyes heavenwards. ‘Okay, you can cut that out,’ she instructed. ‘Heavens, I’d better fly and get ready myself. I just came in to tell you that Mrs Arbuckle has arrived. Ralph is ready and downstairs entertaining her.’

‘I’ll come and give you a hand with your dress then, shall I?’ Sarah offered.

Her sister’s dress was a rich cobalt blue with gold embroidery, but slightly plainer than her own, and since her own hair was short, Jane had elected to wear with her outfit a period wig which she had also hired from the stage company.

Ralph’s stare of amazement when they both went downstairs proved just how much their costumes transformed them. Mrs Arbuckle told them half enviously that they looked wonderful and although Ralph complained that the wig he was wearing was making him itch, Sarah suspected that her brother-in-law was enjoying the opportunity to dress up as much as they were themselves.

Because of the volume of the women’s dresses Ralph had decided that they might as well push the boat out in style and had organised a chauffeur-driven limousine to take them to the ball.

‘Much better than a coach and four,’ Jane exclaimed appreciatively as she sank down into the comfortable leather seat. ‘What do you think, Sarah?’

Sarah agreed that Ralph had shown good sense because between the two of them they took up the entire length of the huge back seat leaving Ralph to sit in front with the driver.

Their destination, the Georgian house where the ball was being held, was only on the other side of the village—a fifteen-minute drive at most.

For the occasion the driveway was illuminated with Japanese flares in soft pastel colours, the front of the house ablaze with lights. Several other cars were disgorging their passengers when they drew up, most of them garbed in Georgian costume.

A liveried flunkey standing by the main door requested their tickets and then ushered them inside, where another liveried attendant indicated the direction of the cloakrooms.

‘The ballroom’s on the second floor,’ Jane hissed to her sister as they followed several other women in the direction of the ladies’ cloakroom.

Having checked that her wig wasn’t in any danger of disgracing her, Jane suggested that they go upstairs.

Outside the doors to the ballroom Ralph was waiting for them, talking to another couple. His male companion was rather portly, and looked flushed beneath his heavy wig. He greeted Jane with a brief kiss on the cheek as did the woman with him.

‘And this is Sarah, my sister-in-law,’ Ralph introduced her. ‘Tom and Veronica Merryweather… Veronica was partially responsible for organising this affair tonight.’

Veronica Merryweather was small and plump, wearing a gown that displayed her pretty shoulders. Sarah guessed shrewdly that the collar of diamonds she was wearing round her throat was genuine, and she also suspected from the slight tension she could feel emanating from her sister that Jane was a little on edge in her presence.

‘I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to desert you,’ Veronica Merryweather apologised with a smile. ‘I’m on the committee organising the ball…and I’m supposed to be on duty downstairs greeting the new arrivals.’

‘See you in the bar later, eh, Ralph,’ her husband suggested, clapping Ralph genially on the back, as he turned to follow his wife.

The ballroom was easily large enough to hold the five hundred guests invited, and off it were three other reception rooms which had been converted into supper rooms for the purpose of the ball, Jane explained to her sister, breaking off her commentary to exclaim, ‘Good heavens…look over there…isn’t that Lady Fentham? Over there in the puce satin trimmed with some sort of fur. No, there, Sarah.’ She tugged her sister’s arm pointing her in the direction she wished her to look, and all of a sudden Sarah froze. She could see the woman Jane was talking about—but she wasn’t the one who held her interest. Just behind her, but clearly discernible to Sarah, was the man she had seen in the town square that afternoon. It was true that now he was wearing a powdered queue of hair, but there was no mistaking that distinctly masculine profile, nor the intense blue of those sapphire eyes. He turned his head and for a moment it seemed as though he were looking directly at her. For the first time in her life Sarah knew what it meant when someone said their heart missed a beat. Hers seemed to stop completely, the world tilting slowly and then equally slowly righting itself again. She could feel the colour crawling up under her skin, mirroring the intense heat building up inside her. She felt both light-headed enough to float and at the same time almost unable to make any movement that might disengage her attention from the man she was watching.

‘Sarah, come back…’

Reluctantly she looked away and met her sister’s exasperated eyes.

‘For goodness sake…stop worrying about work. You’re here tonight to enjoy yourself—remember?’

It seemed impossible to Sarah that Jane had not realised the real reason for her inattention. She heard herself make some absent remark about Lady Fentham’s outfit, and she listened while Jane pointed out other local dignitaries to her. Some of them she recognised from her teens… others were people Jane and Ralph had got to know since Ralph had been in business on his own.

Several people came up to talk to them; more than one commented on the attractiveness of her own and Jane’s costumes, and Sarah had to admit that they were vastly superior to those most of the guests were wearing.

When she made a comment to this effect Jane pulled a slight face. ‘I know it seems trivial and petty, but now that Ralph’s in business on his own, we do have to keep up appearances. Nothing inspires confidence in the business world quite as much as an outward show of success…but our dresses are lovely, aren’t they?’ She smoothed an appreciative hand over her own skirt. ‘Worth every extra penny it cost to hire them. It was Veronica who tipped me off about where to get them. She’s quite an old hand at these charity dos.

‘Where on earth is Ralph?’ she added frowning slightly. ‘He’s been gone ages. He’s probably talking business somewhere in the bar!’

‘He’s coming now,’ Sarah told her, having spotted her brother-in-law making his way towards them.

‘Come on with me, you two,’ he instructed, ‘we’ve got some celebrating to do.’ He was standing closer to Sarah than to Jane, and slipped his arm round Sarah’s waist, hugging her to him and kissed her on the cheek.

Without knowing why she did so Sarah looked across the room. Her heart started to thud with slow heavy beats as sapphire eyes engaged her own. It was as though a message passed between them; hers saying, ‘His kiss means nothing,’ and his replying, ‘No. I know…but mine will.’

She shuddered, only half listening as Ralph enquired anxiously. ‘Are you cold? You shivered…’

Sarah shook her head, her heart beating so fast, she felt as though it might choke her. Ralph had his other arm round Jane now and he was propelling them both towards the door to one of the supper rooms. Sarah felt as though she didn’t want to move; as though she would give anything not to break that contact so recently and so powerfully established.

The sensation she was experiencing was like nothing she had known before; a sexual magnetism so strong that it seemed almost other-worldly. It was as though a rapport had been established that was so strong and direct that no words were necessary. Unwillingly she let Ralph urge her away, amazed that neither he nor Jane seemed to be aware of what was happening to her. She had felt the power of that concentrated sapphire gaze so intensely that she couldn’t believe that no one else was aware of it.

‘This way,’ Ralph directed once they were in the supper room, guiding them in the direction of a table at which the Merryweathers sat.

Tom Merryweather stood up as they approached, pulling out chairs first for Jane and then for Sarah.

A bottle of champagne in an ice bucket stood beside the table, five tulip-shaped glasses waiting to receive the bubbly liquid.

‘Well, Ralph?’ Tom queried jovially. ‘Have you told them the good news yet?’

‘I thought I’d better get Jane sitting down first,’ Ralph grinned. ‘Tom’s just told me that we’ve got the contract for the software program for his new computer.’

After the buzz of excitement had died down, Tom Merryweather signalled to a hovering waiter to pour the champagne, getting to his feet to toast the success of Ralph’s business.

Sarah was thrilled for her sister and brother-in-law, knowing from what they had told her, what a difference this important contract would make to their lives, and Ralph had also confided that where Tom Merryweather led, others were likely to follow.

The bottle of champagne Tom ordered was a magnum, and by the time Ralph was pressing her third glass of champagne on her, Sarah was feeling decidedly light-headed. She had little head for alcohol at the best of times and the euphoria of hearing about Ralph’s success, combined with the dizzying sense of instantaneous recognition that had flashed between her and the man she had seen in the town square that afternoon seemed to have completely removed her normal reticence. She found herself laughing as easily as Jane at Tom Merryweather’s teasing jokes, and even flirting rather mildly with the older man when he praised her outfit.

Veronica Merryweather was quieter than her husband; a pretty rather than elegant woman, who Sarah suspected was a perfect foil for her more exuberant mate. There was no doubt that they were an extremely happily married couple. They had two daughters, Sarah learned, as she drank her champagne, both married and with children of their own now, and it had been as a direct result of one of their grandchildren desperately needing a very difficult heart operation as a baby which had led to Veronica’s heavy involvement in charity fund raising.

Despite the muzzy sensation brought on by the unaccustomed champagne Sarah could see that through Ralph’s business connections with Tom, her sister was also likely to become involved in working alongside Veronica in her fund raising work. It was a role that would ideally suit her sister, who was already beginning to wonder what she would do with her time once the triplets were at school. Jane had a tremendous flair for organisation and Sarah was pleased to see that this gift would find a proper outlet.

They heard the small dance combo striking up a waltz, and across the table Veronica grinned at her husband and instructed, ‘We’re going to dance this waltz, even if it’s the only time I manage to get you on the floor tonight—they played it for us at our reception when we were married,’ she explained to everyone else.

‘And I asked them to play it for us tonight,’ Tom told her with a corresponding grin.

‘What do you think of them?’ Jane asked Sarah when they had gone.

‘I like them. He seems very down to earth, shrewd, but completely honest, not the sort of man it would be easy to fool, or deceive.’

‘No, he’s got no time for what he calls “posers”,’ Ralph told her. ‘A few of the old brigade locally don’t care for him—but I’ve always found him pleasant enough. He’s apt to call a spade a spade, and he’s come on in life the hard way. He’ll have no truck with any pretence but he’s exceptionally kind-hearted—and not because he’s one of these self-made millionaires who’s out to buy himself a peerage, either.’

‘You must be thrilled to bits about the contract,’ Sarah enthused to Ralph. ‘It will make all the difference to the business. The pair of you should be out celebrating alone tonight without having me tagging along.’

‘Oh, we can celebrate in private later on.’

Ralph grinned, laughing when Jane blushed slightly and said reprovingly, ‘Ralph…’

‘But if you’ll excuse us, Sarah, I would like to dance with my wife.’

‘Dancing…is that what you call it,’ Jane groaned, but nevertheless she stood up, pausing only to say to Sarah, ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Don’t be silly. Off you go.’

Slowly sipping what was left of her champagne Sarah sat back in her chair and studied her surroundings. Apart from a disconcerting tendency to sway rather unnervingly whenever she chanced to move her head too quickly, she could find nothing to criticise in the very traditional Adam décor of the room she was in. The walls had panels in the same eau de nil as her gown, a similar colour contrasted with a soft butter yellow used on the intricately plasterworked ceiling, with the plasterwork itself picked out in white and embellished with gold.

At one end of the room was an Adam fireplace over which hung a giltwood mirror. Several portraits ornamented the rooms, and Sarah was studying one several yards away, a mother and daughter study very much in the style of Lely, wondering if it was genuine, when a voice against her ear made her jump and clutch wildly at the stem of her champagne glass, her eyes swivelling from the picture to those of the man bending over her.

‘She was reputed to be one of Charles II’s many mistresses,’ he murmured dulcetly. ‘That was how the family got this land. Lely in his time had a reputation for being the portraitist of the “Royal Whores”.’

‘So it is genuine?’

The last thing she wanted to do was to talk about their hostess’s art collection. Her heart was thumping so loudly it seemed impossible that she was actually able to carry on a normal conversation. How she managed to be so deeply engrossed in staring at the portrait that she had not heard him approach, especially since she had had every sense attuned for him ever since she had seen him in the ballroom, she had no idea.

At close quarters his eyes were even more darkly blue than she had realised, fringed with thick black lashes, his tanned skin, and slightly mocking expression somehow making him look far more at ease in his costume than any of the other men present.

‘I shouldn’t think so…but it’s a passable enough copy. The original was probably sold years ago. Would you care for another drink?’

Sarah grimaced ruefully into her empty glass. ‘I don’t think I’d better,’ she admitted frankly, ‘I have absolutely no head for chamgagne and that was my third glass. At the moment I doubt if I could so much as walk in a straight line from here to the ballroom!’

‘Why don’t we give it a try?’

Before she knew what was happening he was gently tugging her out of her seat, sliding his hands to her waist to support her as she stood somewhat shakily. As he bent to steady her his jaw was on a level with her mouth and she ached to touch her lips to its hard firmness. A sensation of mild shock quivered through her, its intensity muted by the champagne she had consumed, and as he guided her towards the ballroom, it suddenly struck Sarah that here was the ideal candidate with whom to rid herself of the tiresome burden of her virginity. Every female sense she possessed told her that this man would be a lover whose touch, once experienced, would never be forgotten, and above and beyond that there was something about him that reached out to her on the most primitive and intense level of her being. She wanted to make love with him, she acknowledged inwardly; and the admission brought her no shame or shock, merely a sense of rightness. She trembled, and although she knew he must have felt her physical reaction, unlike Ralph he did not ask her if she was cold, merely lifting one eyebrow and smiling down at her rather quizzically.

‘Before I steal you away, I take it the gentleman I saw you with earlier has no prior claim on you that I should know about?’

She liked that in him, Sarah thought muzzily; that he should so clearly and yet so inoffensively make his desire for her plain, and yet at the same time want to make sure that she was free to reciprocate that desire.

‘None at all,’ she assured him. ‘Ralph is my brother-in-law.’

‘Unfortunate man.’ He drawled the words softly, releasing her waist with his right hand to hold her arm, his thumb stroking softly over the vulnerable underside of her skin where the sleeve fell away from her elbow. While she was still shuddering with delicate pleasure he bent his head and caressed the inner curve of her elbow with his mouth before lifting her hand to his lips and slowly kissing the tip of each finger.

A weird swooning sensation turned her blood hot and sluggish in her veins, a pleasure so intense and all-consuming enveloping her that she moved automatically into his arms, clinging to his shoulders as her body trembled its age-old message against his.

‘I want to make love to you.’

The words fell gently against her skin as he murmured them into her ear.

In an almost dreamlike sequence Sarah heard herself replying huskily, ‘I want it too…’

It was something she had never envisaged happening to herself; this instantaneous rapport; this surge of sheer physical desire so strong that nothing could make itself heard above it. Already she could imagine herself in his arms, touching his skin, caressing him as he caressed her in turn; and as her body trembled beneath the erotic images her mind was conjuring up, Sarah knew that her desire to give herself to this man had little or nothing to do with losing her virginity, but she dismissed that knowledge, banishing it to the furthermost recess of her mind, knowing that to admit it was to open herself to a danger she was not yet ready to face.




CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_b97696ac-0364-5174-9292-7f49c7b0eb9a)


THEY danced, once…twice…on the surface, neither of them in a hurry to precipitate what they both knew would be the culmination of the evening, but beneath it… Every time his body brushed hers in the movement of the dance Sarah was conscious of heightening excitement…of intense hunger, of an ache that tightened to a refined form of torture, and she knew that he felt it, too.

She had long ago forgotten about Ralph and Jane, and when the grandfather clock in one of the ante-rooms finally struck twelve she looked questioningly at her partner.

‘Yes,’ he murmured softly. ‘I think it’s time we left…I have a cottage a few miles away.’

The prosaic words held a question, and Sarah nodded her head and whispered shakily, ‘Take me there.’

She saw the smile curl his mouth and the rather whimsical expression in his eyes. ‘Just like that? You’re very trusting. We don’t even know one another’s names…’

Without knowing why she did it, Sarah reached up and pressed her fingers to his mouth. It felt hot against her skin, his lips parting to moistly caress her fingertips. Rivulets of sensation spread through her body, like darts of lightning.

‘Tonight’s a fairytale night,’ she told him softly. ‘A gift from a fairy godmother…let’s keep it like that.’

She didn’t want to talk to him…she didn’t want him to take on a more real form for her than the one he already had. Already some part of her knew that she must preserve something of herself from him for her own safety. It was easier like this…easier to pretend that this was all part of a dream, a fantasy come to life. Instinct told her that she could trust him, that he was no sadist, no violent psychopath who would do her any physical harm. The pull of her senses towards him was so strong that she dared not let there be anything more than that between them.

He was a lover sent to her as a gift by fate, or so her champagne-bemused brain told her, and she didn’t want to analyse the situation any further than that.

It never even occurred to her to tell Ralph and Jane that she was leaving. She had no wrap with her, and it was the simplest thing in the world to let him lead her downstairs and out into the night; for them to stop beside a sleek Porsche sports car, which he unlocked and then carefully tucked her into.

She felt too dreamily hazy even to fasten her seat-belt, letting him do it for her, breathing in the male scent of his skin. He took off the periwig he had been wearing as part of his costume and tossed it into the back of the car before starting the engine. His hair, thick and black, lay close to his skull, making her ache to touch it; to feel its softness beneath her fingertips. She closed her eyes as he set the car in motion.

His cottage was a middle one in a short row of what had once been estate workers’ homes, down by the river. The headlights from the Porsche as he swung it to a halt picked out the stone façade with its white-painted trellis on which a clematis was just beginning to put out new spring tendrils of green.

As he switched off the engine silence enveloped them. This was the moment when she ought to be having second thoughts Sarah realised, but instead she was wrapped in a blanket of euphoria, a feeling of such intense happiness spreading through her that she herself could hardly believe it was real. She seemed to have been freed of all moral and mental restraints; free to follow her emotions and her desires in a way that was totally unfamiliar.

It was only as he helped her out of the car that her companion said rawly, ‘Do you realise that we haven’t even exchanged first names yet?’

Sarah smiled at him. She felt no fear; no hesitation, only an intense sense of rightness.

‘Is that a gentlemanly way of telling me that you’re having second thoughts?’

They were standing under the small porch by the front door and he turned her towards him, his hands cupping her face so tightly that she could feel the faint callouses on his fingers imprinting against her face.

‘No way,’ he told her huskily. ‘I wanted you the moment I set eyes on you.’

‘Even without knowing my name?’

It was the first time Sarah had ever played such a teasing flirtations game and the look that darkened his eyes was as heady to her senses as the earlier champagne had been.

‘What’s in a name?’ He muttered it against her skin, caressing her jawline with his lips, smoothing a stray ringlet behind her ear. ‘I only know that from the first moment I saw you, I knew I wanted you in my arms…in my bed,’ he told her fiercely, adding on a lighter note, ‘What is your name?’

‘Sarah,’ she told him promptly, not vouchsafing her surname; it didn’t seem necessary.

‘Mine’s Joss,’ he responded, smothering her response with the fierce, heated pressure of his mouth.

His kiss obliterated the last remnants of her other saner self. She clung to him, welcoming the taut contraction of his muscles as she slid her hands beneath his jacket and clutched his shoulders. Her own body seemed to be a boneless, fluid entity incomplete without the hard strength of his against it. Her lips parted readily to welcome the heat of his tongue. His hand stroked up from her waist, moulding her breast, caressing her convulsively, and immediately she ached to be rid of the barriers of her clothes. She wanted his hands on her body…his skin, his mouth… against her own.

When his mouth abruptly left hers, she felt bereft; almost abandoned. Her lungs ached from the cold night air and she was shivering.

Joss was as affected as she was herself, fighting to control his own ragged breathing. His voice was deep and raw as he muttered, ‘For God’s sake, what are you doing to me? You’ve got me in such a state I could almost take you right here. We’d better go inside while I’m still capable of doing anything that doesn’t involve having you in my arms.’

He turned away from her to unlock the door, and then preceded her inside to switch on a light.

Sarah followed him, blinking in the light which illuminated the tiny sitting room. She noticed rather absently that the small room had been attractively renovated, and that it was pleasantly furnished, but her mind was not on the décor. A flight of open stairs led up from the sitting room and involuntarily her eyes followed it.

She managed to drag her attention away, feeling the colour crawl up over her skin as she saw that Joss was watching her, the same hungry burning need she could feel eating away at her, openly displayed in his eyes. She felt oddly light-headed, and moved automatically towards him.

He held out his hands, not to take hold of her, but to hold her off. For a moment rejection and pain sliced through her.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he demanded thickly. ‘If I touch you now, I’ll end up making love to you here where we’re standing like a raw teenager. Who are you, lovely Sarah?’ he whispered huskily. ‘What magic do you possess to make me feel this way?’

Slowly Sarah reached out and touched her fingers to his lips, her body tensing under their warmth, her senses relaying to her the knowledge that he was as affected as she was herself by that brief contact.

‘No questions. Tonight is special,’ she told him softly. ‘If there is any magic, it’s in the fact that tonight we’ve found one another. Let’s not spoil it by questioning why.’

She saw his eyes narrow faintly, and tensed herself, unwilling to question too deeply her desire to keep her image of him as a complete stranger. It was because she didn’t want to be disillusioned that she didn’t want to know more about him, she told herself defensively, but somewhere deep inside her part of her knew better. It was fear that urged the secrecy on her; fear that the more she knew about this man the more she would want to know.

Joss took her hand and led her towards the stairs, pausing there to demand rawly, ‘Are you sure this is what you want, Sarah?’

She liked that in him; that he was man enough to give her the chance to back out if she wished.

‘More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life,’ she told him and it was no less than the truth.

The smile he gave her was whimsical, edged with faint self-mockery. ‘You might not believe this…but this is the first time anything like this has ever happened to me,’ he told her softly. ‘Just for the record, I don’t make a habit of making love to strange ladies, no matter how beautiful they might be.’

‘I’m glad that in my case you’re prepared to make an exception.’ Sarah said it demurely, but there was nothing demure about the way she looked at him, letting him lead her up the narrow flight of stairs.

Two doors opened off the small landing, and Joss turned the handle of the first of them, flicking a switch that snapped on a bedside lamp.

The room was furnished in soft greys and blues; the walls papered in a fabric that looked vaguely Sandersonish. A matching bedspread covered the bed, a soft blue-grey carpet underfoot.

Somehow, the room did not match the man; neither had the room downstairs Sarah thought reflectively. Intuitively she suspected that this was not his permanent home, and then she closed her mind to such thoughts because Joss was removing the satin coat that was part of his costume and coming towards her.

It struck her then vaguely that Ralph and Jane might be missing her, but she dismissed the knowledge. She was an adult, capable of making her own decisions in life. Perhaps after their discussion, Jane might even guess what she was doing. But was it purely because of David that she was here tonight with Joss? Sarah knew it was not; even without David she would still be here. Tonight was something she was embracing for herself, because intuitively she knew that not to do so was to deprive herself in a way she would regret for the rest of her life.





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