But perhaps it would be insensitive of her to include Leonie’s name in a book which featured a kidnapping. Perhaps something different, but equally awful, should occur to test Drake and bring him and Isabella closer together. Maybe he should just be imprisoned somewhere…
She logged in and started to read.
When she glanced at her watch again, it was seven o’clock. Her research had triggered all kinds of ideas. She was now sure that she wanted Drake to be the victim, and Isabella, in one way or another, was going to have to rescue him then save him psychologically—and perhaps even physically as well.
A warm certainty ran through her. She could feel the plot forming, coming together, and her instincts told her it was going to be a good one…the best yet. But she needed to give it time now—time to let her subconscious do its thing. She knew from experience that more ideas would occur to her at random moments and the small notebook she always carried with her would soon be full of scribbles of half-formed ideas and thoughts which would later be woven into the fabric of the book.
Jumping off the bed with enthusiasm, she went for a shower before putting on her favourite dark green dress. Beautifully cut and made of some miraculous material that never creased, it was always the first item of clothing she packed when travelling. Glancing into the mirror, she nodded in satisfaction. She would do.
At seven-thirty exactly, she ran lightly down the stairs to seek out company and drinks. Once in the elegant hallway, she looked around. One door was ajar, and she spied Mac standing by an elegant-looking fireplace, nursing a brandy. Unaware of her regard, he stood with a bowed head, looking brooding and sombre and dangerously handsome.
I want to be in his arms.
Her pulse quickened. No. She would not allow herself to feel like this.
I want to kiss away that darkness.
No.
To her dismay, he was alone. Obviously, Leonie hadn’t come down yet. If she wanted to keep her distance, it would be easier if there were other people around.
He hadn’t seen her yet, and she considered turning tail and retreating, but at that very second, he looked up and saw her. His brooding eyes warmed with instant pleasure. But then she saw the moment he processed the fact that she was loitering reluctantly outside, and something in his gaze hardened defensively. A mask dropped into place, and when he looked up again, his expression was distant, polite.
Very distant.
She hated it. She wanted to rush over and hold him and bring back the warmth she’d first seen in his expression, but she couldn’t. She was not going to be like her mother, trying to soothe and pander to a man’s emotions, constantly striving to put things right in his world. Besides, she needed to keep apart from him. They’d agreed. And if her reluctance caused him to keep his distance from her…good.
With a subtle inclination of his head, he beckoned her in.
As she stepped into the room, she drew to an abrupt halt, because the living room had a tremendous, overwhelming visual impact. Her startled gaze was immediately drawn to a wall of panoramic windows framing a splendid sunset. Orange, gold and magenta streaks lit up a vast sky and reflected off the sea in a blaze of fiery beauty.
“Wow,” she breathed, momentarily distracted from the tension between them. “What an amazing view!”
“Mmm.” Mac’s dark eyes ran over her slender form in its elegant dark green dress. “Yes. Wow indeed,” he said huskily, and she found herself blushing, knowing he was talking not about the spectacular view but about her. She folded her arms.
He caught himself and flushed, coughed. “Sorry. Ah…drink?”
He looked down at his own as if he’d forgotten it was in his hand and set it on a side table. Holly narrowed her eyes as she wondered why he was so distracted. Something was on his mind besides her. “Yes, please,” she said.
“Something sweet? Like last night?” he asked. He rolled his eyes as he turned away, as if exasperated with himself. “We don’t have mead, but we have some sweet liqueurs—Amaretto…or Baileys, if you like something creamy.”
He suppressed a wince at the seemingly unintended innuendo. Unable to help herself, she laughed. He glanced at her quizzically and his shoulders slumped. The tension between them gave. “Ah, Holly, I’m sorry,” he said, ruefully. “I’m not thinking straight.”
“Baileys would be fine.”
“Coming up.”
He poured her a glass and handed it to her.
“Thank you,” she said appreciatively, then looked at him forthrightly. “So, what’s wrong?” she asked.
He grimaced. “It’s that obvious?”
Holly shrugged. “I’m a writer. I watch people. I notice details.”
“Ah.” He looked, she thought, as if he were wishing she wasn’t quite so observant. He raked a hand through his hair. The resultant tangle made him look even more rough and piratical than usual. Drake.
Clearing his throat, he explained. “Leonie said that Flora was mistaken about her trying to… Trying to…” He took a swift gulp of his drink. “She said she went out for a walk by the cliffs. She was just stood near the edge, looking down at the waves hitting the rocks, but she didn’t intend to jump. She says she’s thought of it now and again, but she wouldn’t actually do it.”
The pain in his eyes at that admission was unbearable to see. Holly desperately wanted to reach out to touch him, to comfort him. No.
So she contented herself with a sympathetic nod. He went on. “Apparently, Flora was gardening when she saw Leonie in the distance, very close to the cliff edge. She panicked because she thought Leonie was going to throw herself off. I think the whole episode has unnerved the pair of them.”
Holly nodded. “It must have been terrifying for Flora,” she said, thinking of the older woman’s kindly features. She had no doubt at all that if anything had happened to Leonie, Flora would have never forgiven herself.
“Yes. She’s shaken up, all right. I tried to get her to take a week off, but she won’t. She’s always been protective of us. She worked for my parents, and when they died, she stepped in and looked after both of us. She used to take care of Leonie after school or if I had to go anywhere. She’s like a mother to her.”
“The kidnapping must have hit her hard.”
Mac nodded. “It did. She was distraught. I’ve got her and her husband Pete—he does the garden and looks after the boat and house maintenance—both going to counselling now about it. They need help to cope with what happened—and the ongoing after-effects.”
Holly nodded then said gently, “And you? Are you seeing a counsellor? What about the impact on you?”
For a moment he looked startled. It was obvious to Holly that he hadn’t even considered himself. Then he shook his head. “I get by,” he said.
Holly looked down at her glass, not wanting him to see how concerned she was. It was as she’d thought. He was the kind of man who worried about everyone else but didn’t take a minute to care for his own wellbeing. Still, she had planted the idea of counselling in his head. It was up to him to follow through on it if he wanted to.
After all, trauma wasn’t easy to get over, as she should know. Though actually, she’d never spoken to a counsellor or anyone else about her own experiences either. She winced inwardly. Even the thought of telling someone about what had happened filled her with shame. She couldn’t bear the idea of being so exposed and vulnerable to someone else. She hadn’t even told Melissa. But surely the strength and secrecy of those feelings indicated that they still had a great deal of power over her. Her reaction on the helicopter on the way here had indicated all too clearly that her feelings were still so raw that they had the power to obliterate logical thought and throw her into an emotional tailspin.
She should think about getting some help. She did need to get on top of her past. And she would. But…not yet. Soon.
But she was being a hypocrite, encouraging Mac to consider talking to someone when she hadn’t herself, until now…
; Keen to distract herself from her uncomfortable thoughts, she asked, “And Leonie… She’s still refusing professional help?”
Mac sighed. “Yes. She just doesn’t want to talk about it at all…only a bit to James. I phoned him this morning. He had to go back to London for a couple of days, so he wasn’t here when it all happened, but he’s coming tonight to stay for a week. I heard the helicopter about half an hour ago, so you’ll probably meet him at dinner. When he’s here, he seems to somehow…ground Leonie.”
Holly took a sip of her drink. It was rich, sweet and lovely. She thought about what Mac had said—‘She didn’t intend to jump but she’s thought of it now and again’—and wondered if the rational and the emotional were at war in the younger girl. When she had first escaped from the compound, finding herself alone, penniless and traumatised in a strange world, she’d felt like that. Her flesh had crawled with revulsion at having been touched by Anton and she’d wanted not so much to kill herself as to find relief from existing in her own repulsive body. Sometimes, even now, she felt like that. But her rational self felt guilty at not appreciating her hard-won freedom. Knowing how precious it was, she had felt intensely obligated to make the most of it, to do something productive with her life.
The rational side had won out, just, but it had been a close-run thing for the first couple of years as she had fought to survive in the worst of circumstances. She had often wished not for death but for oblivion. Maybe it was like that for Leonie, too. Maybe she wanted to escape the memories. Maybe she even felt guilty at not appreciating the freedom she had gained.
Her painful reveries jerked to a halt as Mac put two fingers under her chin and raised her face to his. Her breath stopped at his touch and she took a hasty step back. His hand dropped to his side.
“Holly.” His eyes were dark and serious. “Where did you go? I lost you… And you looked like you’d gone to Hell.”
Damn. She needed to be more careful about guarding her facial expressions. Because if she was observant, Mac was eagle-eyed.
She winced. “I… I was just imagining what it must have been like for Leonie,” she said, hedging.
He shook his head, slowly. “No. It was more than that.”
She glared up at him, belatedly aware of what her expression might have revealed. Her stomach knotted. She’d really messed up now. Because if Mac thought there was something wrong that he didn’t know about, she highly doubted he’d let it go. His protective nature was too strong for that. And she didn’t think she could lie convincingly enough to put him off the scent. “Fine,” she bit out. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
He didn’t like it. She could see that. A muscle jerked in his jaw. His eyes blazed, intent and piercing.
“Holly, if you’re in trouble, you need to tell me about it.”
“I’m not in trouble.”
“You looked more upset just then than you did when you found the dead rat. What is it? You looked…scared.”
Her temper flared. “I’m not scared—not of anyone or anything.”
He looked at her. “Sweetheart, everyone’s scared of something,” he said, quietly. “It’s natural. We’re only human. And you will tell me. Now or later, you’ll tell me.”
“You’ll be waiting ‘til Hell freezes before I tell you anything!”
Storm clouds rolled across his face. “If that’s how long it takes.” His face was grim. “But you’re hiding something, and whatever it is, it’s bad.” He paused then set his glass down. “You know you can trust me. You know I’ll help. Whatever it is, I’m on your side.”
“You need to back off,” she said. “My concerns are my own and no business of yours.”
“Of course they’re my concern! You and I made love last night—”
She stared at him, all her fears flooding to the fore. This was the real Mac—one who was trying to claim rights over her, to own her, to force her to do what he wanted because he thought it was best…like Anton.
She felt sick. “No, we didn’t. We had sex. And that doesn’t give you any rights over me at all. So don’t think you can start trying to push me around.”
He took an abrupt step back, as if she’d accused him of physically pushing her.
“I’m not—”
“You are.” Driven past the point of discretion, she told him straight. “You have an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. You think you have to protect everyone. But I’m an adult. I make my own decisions, take responsibility for my own actions and share what I want at my own discretion. Nobody bullies me into doing anything. I won’t allow it. You have no right to push like this and I won’t have it. So, you need to decide. You either respect me, my judgement and my wishes or I leave. Now.”
He looked at her, his face utterly expressionless. He clenched his hands then slowly relaxed them. He breathed deeply. “You’re right,” he said, quietly. “I apologise.”
But he’s watching me like a hunter watches prey, she thought uneasily. She didn’t trust his volte-face one inch. She tightened her fingers around her glass. “I—”
At that moment, there was a discreet cough. She swung round. Leonie was stood in the doorway, dressed in a loose dark-blue shift dress that draped around her in voluminous folds. Her eyes were wide. “Hi,” she said uncertainly. Behind her, a young man appeared. She hesitated. “Umm…have we come at a bad time?”
Chapter Six
“No, not at all,” Mac said.
Oh hell. Had they heard her announcing bluntly, ‘We had sex’? It was bad enough that she was having a full-on argument with her host on her first night in his home.
Wishing the ground would open and swallow her, she pasted on a smile as Leonie and the man—James, presumably—entered the room. Introductions were made, hands shaken and Mac, completely unembarrassed, promptly poured drinks for everyone.
Urbane and sociable, he engaged them all in amusing conversation as they waited for dinner to be served. One would never have guessed from his demeanour that they had just argued.
Until she happened to accidentally catch his eye. There was a moment of tension, a fleeting glimpse of pain and tightly held control, then the impression was gone and his face smoothed over into a mask of pleasant blandness.
Unnerved and distressed at the hurt she’d inflicted, Holly turned her attention to James. He seemed a very unassuming chap—slim, brown haired, softly spoken and mild-mannered. No one would ever notice him if they walked past him in the street. But there was something about him, some alertness or spark of sharp intelligence in his expression that made her think of a hunter. He wore his ordinariness like a disguise. She was sure of it.
And when she saw him that way, it was easy to imagine the kind of man beneath—one who could outwit kidnappers and who would surely be at risk of death himself if they ever discovered his intervention. It was a good job he was on the side of the angels.
Isabella might need a man like that, if she had to find Drake after he’d been kidnapped. Someone to guide her through the maze of negotiations and advise her on ways to outwit his captors.
At that moment, Flora came in to announce that dinner was served, and they all followed her into the dining room. With a view every bit as spectacular as that in the living room, the space was illuminated by the glow of the sunset and the flicker of candles on the table.
It was beautiful. As Holly sat down, she knew she’d never eaten anywhere so lovely. And she’d been to quite a few places in the years since she’d escaped the cult.
The meal was wonderful—chicken in a white wine and cream sauce with crisp roast potatoes and baby vegetables. Conversation flowed easily. Leonie was bubbling over with enthusiasm and questions about the Wayfarer books, whilst James chipped in with the occasional comment. It was quickly apparent that everyone present was aware of the stories. Leonie knew the books so well that she could quote from them. Mac had also read and enjoyed them, and they had all watched the television series. Soon the conversation was revolving around how succ
essful the television adaptation had been.
“Oh, I love Matthew Jordan,” Leonie exclaimed, rolling her eyes. “He’s exactly how I imagined Drake would be!”
Holly laughed. He actually wasn’t anything like she had imagined Drake. In fact, she had been highly doubtful when the casting director had suggested him. But the screen test had been something else. Before her eyes, the young twenty-first-century actor had transformed himself into an eighteenth-century renegade. It had been an utterly convincing performance, and she had been persuaded.
As it turned out, so were the fans who had drooled over his good looks, his wicked expressions and his tough-man-with-a-hint-of-vulnerability persona. Isabella had been a hit too. Patricia Anderson, who played her, had been a virtual unknown before the show, but had made the role hers. She had been nominated for a Golden Globe in the US and a Bafta in Britain. In Holly’s view, she richly deserved to win both.
The conversation segued easily into a discussion of how Leonie might be represented in the next book.
“I still can’t believe you won that auction,” Leonie exclaimed, looking at her brother with appreciation. But then her gaze dropped, and, for a moment, Holly thought she noticed a fleeting look of discomfort. “I saw in the papers that there was a lot of excitement about it. It must have cost you a fortune!”
Mac shrugged. “It was worth it. It was for a good cause. Holly is a patron of the charity…”
“Really?” James leaned forward and smiled at Holly. “Help the Homeless, wasn’t it? What got you involved with that, Holly?”
It was a good question, and one that she didn’t want to answer. How could she tell these people that she had once been homeless herself, and if it weren’t for the charity, she would likely have been dead in a gutter by now?
Midsummer Man Page 9