SHE heard Saul’s car as she was putting on her make-up, her fears forgotten as she flew to her bedroom window in time to see it disappearing up the drive.
Disappointment ached through her that he had not thought to stop, but then, she reasoned to herself, he was not likely to realise she was here. She glanced at her watch. Almost half past six, not too early surely for her to turn up for their dinner date?
She decided to walk to the house, and passed Mrs Isaacs on the drive as the other woman was on her way home. She slowed down her car and leaned out of the window to say worriedly to Lucy,
‘There’s something worrying Mr Saul. Came in in a real strange mood he did, and now he’s in the library drinking whisky.’
Worry etched a small frown line on her forehead as Lucy hurried up to the house; even allowing for a degree of embellishment Mrs Isaacs voice had held enough genuine anxiety to make her wonder what had happened. Had Saul received another telephone call from America? Was his stepfather’s health showing more signs for concern?
She called out to him as she entered the hall and receiving no reply hurried into the library. The moment she saw his face all her worries about Neville and his plans left her. Saul was frowning, nursing a glass of whisky, as he turned to look at her broodingly.
‘Saul what on earth’s wrong? Is it your stepfather? Is something wrong at home?’
As she flew towards him, it seemed for a second or so that he almost flinched back from her, but no, she must have been mistaken because his fingers were now curling round her upper arm, almost painfully tightly she realised, but such was her concern for him that she didn’t bother to draw this to his attention.
He was looking at her in a very odd way, she realised, searching her face, almost desperately.
‘Saul… What is it?’ She reached out pleadingly towards him, smelling the spirit on his breath. ‘Something’s happened, hasn’t it?’ she demanded positively.
His mouth curled into a totally humourless smile, his expression one of such frozen bleakness that it made her shiver. She had never seen such a cold look in anyone’s eyes before.
‘You could say that, but now isn’t the time to talk about it!’ He was abrupt with her almost to the point of dislike.
‘Would you prefer me not to stay?’
She had to ask him the question, barely recognising the man who had been so tender towards her in this cold, almost frightening stranger.
‘No… No, stay.’ He turned away from her, pouring himself another drink, she noticed worriedly, his back to her as he asked tonelessly, ‘Did you get much done this afternoon?’
‘Er…’ Now was her chance to tell him about Neville, but how could she add to whatever was already on his mind?
‘So… so.’
‘I went to see Patterson this afternoon,’ he told her abruptly. ‘He advises me to sell this place. What do you think?’
His question caught her off guard, and without thinking she replied absently, ‘I don’t see that you’ve much option. It would cost a fortune to live in.’
‘Your father managed it,’ he reminded her tersely.
Lucy didn’t need reminding that what few assets the estate had possessed which might have benefited it had been realised by her father for Oliver’s benefit. A faint tinge of guilty colour washed her skin at Saul’s bitter tone.
‘By the skin of his teeth,’ she agreed quietly.
‘So you think I should sell then?’ he asked her curtly.
He was looking at her now, his eyes glittering almost feverishly, high colour burning over his cheekbones almost as though he had a fever. He looked ill, Lucy realised worriedly, his skin beneath that hectic flush an unhealthy greyish colour.
‘Saul. What is it?’ She went towards him automatically, stopping in shock when he raised his hands as though to rebuff her.
‘You haven’t answered my question yet, Lucy,’ he told her harshly. ‘Would you advise me to sell—to get rid of this place as quickly as I can before it becomes a millstone round my neck?’
This wasn’t the time to ask him if there was some way he could raise the finance to out-manoeuvre Neville and his cronies—not while he was obviously so worried about something else.
‘You don’t need to say a word—your very silence condemns you,’ he muttered thickly. ‘God, when I think how I let you deceive me. How easily I believed.’ He swore suddenly and viciously, flinging his glass into the fireplace where it smashed into a million tiny shards.
‘Saul! Please… What is it?’
‘Saul… Please…!’ he mimicked with savage hurtfulness. ‘Please what? Take you to bed? Sell this place at a knock-down price to your precious cousin?’
He saw the shock mirrored in her eyes and laughed bitterly. ‘Oh yes, I know all about it, Lucy. I overheard the pair of you talking… or plotting, rather. You never for one moment meant a word of what you’ve said to me, did you? It was all a game, a ploy to keep me off guard? And to think I actually…’ She watched the muscles in his jaw lock, too shocked to take in what was happening. It was almost as though she was taking part in a play—something so unreal that she herself could hardly believe what was going on.
‘I saw the car and heard your voices. I was just about to come in when I heard Neville asking you for your help. You didn’t even hesitate did you, Lucy?’
His voice rippled with contempt and she shivered beneath the lash of it.
‘Saul, you don’t understand. I had to pretend to go along with Neville to discover what he was doing. How can you believe I would actually help him to injure you? Is that why you’re so angry?’ Because of what you thought you overheard?’
‘If it was all for my benefit, why haven’t you said anything?’ he asked her curtly.
Exasperation and pain twisted inside her. ‘Because I thought you already had enough on your mind… because I was worried that you might have had bad news from home and I didn’t want to add to it. I was going to tell you, Saul, you must believe that.’ For the first time she allowed panic to invade her voice. ‘I was going to ask you if it might be possible for you to raise enough interest and funds among your father’s business acquaintances to develop the house along the lines Neville was planning yourself. Saul, please, you must believe me.’
He looked at her bleakly and then demanded, ‘Why?’
‘Because I love you.’
It took all her courage to say it, but she sensed that her words had got through to him. He watched for several minutes, studying her as though weighing up one set of facts against another. She could understand him feeling angry and betrayed if he had only caught the tail part of her conversation with Neville—as he must have done; and what had happened in the past must have only reinforced that feeling of betrayal, but surely he must realise how she felt about him. It hurt her that he should so easily believe her capable of deceit and she was forced to recognise how little they really knew of one another as people.
‘Tell me exactly what Neville said,’ he demanded at last.
Slowly, almost hesitantly at first, her voice still betraying the shock his accusation had given her, she did so, conscious that all the time he was watching her, almost broodingly. Thinking what?
She longed to cry out to him to believe her but pride prevented her. Something extremely precious and fragile had been shattered by his harsh words and she wasn’t sure if it could ever be replaced, and then suddenly his expression changed, his voice faintly husky as he muttered,
‘Lucy, for God’s sake, don’t look at me like that. I apologise for what I said to you. Please try to understand; seeing the two of you together, listening to him talking to you, took me back twelve years. I was jealous,’ he told her simply, the words half muffled as his lips moved against her hair. ‘So jealous that I didn’t stop to think beyond what I’d heard. So jealous, in’ fact, that I drove away again and took solace in the village pub—at least until I saw Neville’s car drive past the window.
‘Say you forgive me?’ He was kissing her now, fever-hungry kisses that burned into her face and throat.
Reluctantly she pushed him away.
‘I came here to have dinner,’ she reminded him.
‘I don’t want dinner—I just want you.’
The controlled man of the previous evening was gone, she realised as she looked into his eyes, spears of mingled fear and joy shafting through her body as she realised what he meant.
‘I want you Lucy,’ he reinforced, murmuring the words against her mouth. ‘Now.’
Caution warred with desire. She remembered the glass of whisky he had hurled against the fireplace. How many had there been before that? Was his desire fuelled by love or something darker? And most important of all, did he really believe what she had told him? He had accepted her explanation readily enough—too readily perhaps in view of his earlier almost frenzied rage.
‘Don’t you want me?’
His voice whispered tormentingly against her ear, making her shiver with delight. Of course she wanted him. His hand cupped her face, lifting it so that he could look into her eyes.
‘You know I do.’ Her voice shook slightly.
‘Then come with me now.’
Taking her hand he led her slowly out of the room and towards the stairs. They climbed them side by side in silence, all the time her heart thudding heavily against her breastbone. Last night she had tormented her fevered brain with the erotic imaginings of this moment, never dreaming that when it came she would feel more frightened than aroused.
At the top of the stairs Saul stopped to look at her, his eyes dark and shuttered. What did he see when he looked at her? What was he really thinking behind that shuttered exterior? She reached out towards him, suddenly nervous and uncertain, her fingers brushing his arm. The sombreness in his eyes shattered, melting in the heat that sprang to life within them, his arms came round her, lifting her, his mouth hot as it touched her throat.
‘Forget about this afternoon,’ he muttered thickly against her skin as he carried her into his bedroom. ‘Forget everything but how you feel about me and how I feel about you.’
He lowered her on to the bed, the mattress depressing slightly beneath her weight. He was using the room which had belonged to her parents, but no ghosts intruded on them as Saul slowly removed her clothes and then, without taking his eyes from her, his own.
The movement of his hands against her skin was music translated into feelings. Her mouth parted eagerly to the gently insistent pressure of his, her arms locking round him as gentleness gave way to passion.
His hand cupped her breast, his lips trailing most, tender kisses down towards it, delicately caressing the deeply pink tip until he felt her tense beneath him as she fought to subdue the fierce clamour of need within her that demanded more, much more from him than mere tenderness.
As though he knew how his delicacy was tormenting her his mouth opened over the hardened centre of her breast, his tongue arousingly abrasive as it stroked her sensitive skin. The tiny cries of pleasure she could no longer hold inside her chest seemed to fuel his passion as his mouth moved with fierce need from one aroused nipple to the other and then to the moist valley in between, trailing a line of hungry kisses from her breastbone down to where the delicate swell of her womanhood was covered in fine, silky hairs.
There he stopped, registering the shudder rippling through her, the thumb of the hand he had curled possessively round her thigh softly stroking against her skin as he raised his head to look into her eyes.
She wanted to tell him that he was rushing into intimacy too fast but the soft movement of his thumb against her flesh was sending conflicting signals to her brain, overwhelming shyness and shock, making her breathe with odd, jerky little movements that mirrored the hurriedly uneven rise and fall of his chest.
He moved, releasing her abruptly, only to pull her down into his arms, his mouth moving urgently against hers, as he muttered thickly, ‘Make love to me, Lucy. Show me that you want me as much as I want you.’
In his thick, almost incoherent plea she recognised the insecure boy he had been that summer twelve years ago, fearing rejection and mockery, and her arms tightened convulsively around him, all her love for him welling up inside her as she touched her lips adoringly to the side of his throat and then more wantonly as she felt his uncontrolled response.
He possessed a sensuality she had never dreamed existed, never even known before, teaching her the pleasure that came from the movement of his tongue against her skin, and the pleasure she herself could take from caressing his in the same way, feeling the hard muscles contract beneath his flesh as she touched the warm skin of his chest.
‘Torment me, would you?’
His voice was thick with pleasure as he growled the words mock-threateningly, his hands sliding possessively over her back until they cupped the rounded fullness of her bottom, pulling her against and into the hardness of his thighs.
The sensation of his aroused body moving seductively against her skin while she herself was not allowed to move was tormentingly erotic, and although Saul pretended that the frantic wriggling of her upper half as she fought to break free was angering him, it wasn’t anger that gleamed out of his eyes as his head bent and his mouth captured the peak of one soft breast.
Feeling the drag of his teeth against her supersensitive skin, Lucy moaned, throwing her head back and arching her spine so that her body moved eagerly against his, her head thrashing wildly from side to side as she fought to subdue the aching need burning through her.
She felt Saul’s hand against her thigh and then shuddered convulsively as he stroked her moist, eager flesh with tenderness and skill. A fierce spasm of pleasure gripped her, and she cried out despairingly to Saul, gripping his shoulders in her frantic need to feel him deep inside her.
Her eyes tightly closed, her body rigid with the aching need she was fighting to control, Lucy felt him move, cool air shafting momentarily against her skin and she shuddered with relief, anticipating the heated weight of him between her thighs, his body joining hers, filling it.
Only it wasn’t the male weight of Saul’s body she felt moving against her, but the skilled and delicate stroke of his tongue as it adored her body in that most intimate of all lovers’ embraces.
She cried out against this intimacy—her mind shocked by it even while her body voluptuously enjoyed it. Her hands reached down to push him away, and then curled protestingly into the dark thickness of his hair. But it was too late to push him away, too late to do anything other than give in to her body’s shameless response to the pleasure he was giving her.
She was still trembling when he took her back in his arms, tucking her head beneath his chin and rocking her gently as he soothed her shaky limbs.
‘I wanted to feel you inside me,’ she protested tearfully, her voice thick with remembered delight.
She heard him laugh deep in his throat, his breath tickling her ear as he whispered,
‘And you most certainly will. That, my darling cousin, was merely our prelude!’ She felt him frown against her skin as he added softly, ‘For a woman of twenty-five you’re deliciously inexperienced.’
She tensed in his arms, and as though he knew what she was thinking he added, ‘I’m not fishing, Lucy. Whatever happened in the past is past, but it’s a tremendous boost to a man’s ego when he knows he’s given a woman a pleasure she’s never known before.’
She didn’t ask him how he had known, but shivered a little, wondering what he would say when he discovered… But, no, she wasn’t going to think about that now. It wasn’t important, hadn’t he just told her so?
If she had been inclined to believe that his comment that they would make love had merely been made in jest, she soon realised that she was wrong.
The exhaustion which had gripped her in the aftermath of pleasure turned to languor beneath his slowly seductive kisses, and languor to a fine-tuned desire that increased in urgency as his hands caressed her skin—surely now more sensitive even than before to the slow drift of his fingers.
She in turn caressed him, thrilled and almost a little frightened by the maleness of him and the desire she could feel pounding through his body.
This time she had no need to cry out how much she needed him. He seemed to sense exactly the right moment, moving tantalisingly over, then within her, almost teasingly at first, until he felt the fine tension gripping her body. Then he moved differently, making her gasp in surprised shock. The same shock was registered in his eyes as well she saw, as her own opened wide, but already that sharp, unexpected pain had faded, giving way to urgency and the clamour of her senses. Instinctively she kept him within her, wrapping herself round his body, feeling the faint shudder of desire that seized his muscles, and his shock, like hers, gave way to need, desire escalating between them until it reached an unbearable pinnacle to shatter like fragile glass against the pressure of an almost unreachable high note.
This time he didn’t wrap her in his arms. Instead, leaning up on one elbow to study her face, frowning slightly, his voice terse, he asked, ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’
After his earlier words this was not the reaction she had expected. Avoiding his eyes she shrugged and said quietly, ‘It didn’t seem important.’
‘Important enough,’ he responded drily. ‘There can’t be many twenty-five-year-old virgins around.’
His words hurt and to cover her hurt she said flippantly, ‘And now there’s one less.’
‘Why did you let me make love to you, Lucy?’ he asked coldly, without responding. ‘Did you think it would convince me that you weren’t lying about Neville? Will you tell him about this?’ he added before she could speak.
Her body went cold, chilled both by what he was saying and the distant, unemotional tone of his voice. It seemed impossible that they were having this conversation. Less than three hours ago he had been telling her he loved her and now he was acting almost as though he hated her. It was because of her virginity, she thought bitterly… Because he didn’t love her at all but had simply wanted her, and had been shocked to discover that he was her first lover. No doubt he was scared that she would expect some form of commitment from him, so he was trying to freeze her off in this despicable way.
‘Why should I want to discuss what happened between us with Neville?’ she asked him coldly. ‘He’s my business partner—nothing more.’
The moment she voiced the lie she wanted to retract it, but Saul was looking down at her with burning, bitter eyes, his mouth curling into biting contempt as he said thickly,
‘So you were lying. You were in league with him all the time. And this was just a way of softening me up wasn’t it, Lucy? Wasn’t it?’
He was shaking her now, his fingers biting painfully into her upper arms.
‘You always were easily fooled, Saul,’ she told him icily. ‘I had to tell you what Neville had planned when you said you’d overheard us, but of course, I’d never any intention of changing sides. How on earth could you raise the money to fund such a project?’
‘And money of course means everything to you. I should have known that from the start… all that soft soap about regretting what your father had done. No doubt you were right there with him, planning every step. Well I’ve got news for you, my dear cousin. I could buy and sell this place a hundred times over.’ He saw her expression and laughed savagely. ‘Oh yes, that shocks you, doesn’t it and you don’t want to believe me, but it’s true, I assure you. My stepfather is a multi-millionaire; and what I didn’t tell you before was that, when he and my mother married, my father agreed that he could adopt me legally as his son. Now that he’s retired I run his business empire for him, and I’m a wealthy man in my own right, from what I’ve learned from him, Lucy. So you see, my dear, you’d have been much better off casting in your lot with me. What a pity you were so impetuous and so greedy.’
‘But then you knew that all along, didn’t you,’ she said wildly. ‘Right from the start you…’
‘I wondered what you’d be like,’ he agreed curtly, ‘but you’re wrong about one thing. I’m obviously a lot more gullible than I knew because for a while there you had me convinced. I came very close to falling in love with you, Lucy. Too bad I had to overhear that conversation today, otherwise you could have had my millions to play with instead of Neville’s thousands. Now get out,’ he told her brutally, turning his back on her. ‘I’m going to go and have a shower—I want to wash the scent and feel of you off my skin before it pollutes me. When I come back I don’t want to find you here. Oh, and you can tell your cousin that he’s got absolutely no chance of buying this place… no chance at all. I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes when you do, Lucy. He looks like a man who has a cruel streak to me.’
He got off the bed and walked towards the door, pausing to turn round and demand thickly, ‘For God’s sake, what is it about him that you can’t resist? He doesn’t even want you—any fool can see that… He hasn’t even made love to you… But then having done so myself, I can see why. At least cerebrally it was satisfying—knowing that I was cheating you just as much as you were cheating me.’
He was gone; the door had slammed behind him, but instead of getting dressed she was still sitting up in his bed shivering violently, no longer trying to control the wild tide of tears flooding her eyes.
It was shock, she told herself numbly as she sought to dress herself and control her palsied limbs, shock that made her shake like this and believe that it was all a bitter dream. He could not have said those things to her—not Saul. But he had… smashing her dreams and her life, and it would do no good to tell him that he was wrong, so wrong about her feelings for Neville because he would never believe her now. And even if he did… He had come near to falling in love with her, he had said, but she didn’t believe that. He had suspected her right from the start; he had been waiting for her to make a mistake; and he had deliberately allowed her to think… to think that he cared about her, while all the time he had been waiting to trap her.
She was dressed. All she had to do was to walk out. It was the longest walk she ever made, and for ever afterwards she never knew how she managed to get back to the Dower House.
Once there she curled up in a chair downstairs, too shocked and distraught to even think of sleep. On her skin the scent of Saul remained elusive and tantalising, but she didn’t even have the energy to go upstairs and wash. She would never see him again. She was determined on that. She had too much pride… and too much fear, she acknowledged weepily. If she stayed, how could she stop herself from begging him to believe the truth? She loved him, but he had never loved her, she reminded herself. He had pretended to, yes, but that was all it had been: a pretence. Perhaps he had even come over here with the deliberate intention of hurting her, of getting back at her for his own pain all those years ago.
At last, exhausted and muddled by increasingly miserable thoughts, she fell asleep.