by Anne Mather
Elizabeth cast a venomous look in Catherine's direction. ‘Are you telling me you approve of the exhibition she gave this evening?’ she exclaimed bitterly, and Catherine wondered what she would do if Jared chose this moment to reveal his supposed knowledge of her physical condition. What weapon to put into his stepmother's hands! But she would never forgive him if he did.
Jared merely shook his head, however, tossing his dinner jacket in a heap on a carved chair which stood near the foot of the stairs. ‘I think the less said about that, the better,’ he intoned grimly, striding towards the arched entrance to the left wing of the house. ‘Go to bed'—his gaze licked coldly over Catherine as well as Elizabeth,—‘both of you!'
But of course when Catherine did reach the sanctuary of her room, sleep was elusive. The exhaustion she had felt in bidding goodbye to their guests had been dissipated in that scene with Elizabeth, and now her mind felt sharp and alert.
She paced restlessly about her bedroom in her striped cotton nightshirt. It was a current craze in England to wear men's nightshirts instead of nightdresses, but Catherine had always found them more comfortable than conventional night attire.
Now she pushed open the balcony doors and stood for a few minutes looking down on to the patio. Only the lights remained to be extinguished, and even as she watched the area was plunged into darkness. Now the servants could go to bed and the house could settle down for the night. She sighed, leaning her bare arms upon the balcony rail. It was so warm, and faintly on the breeze she could hear the murmur of the ocean. If only it was nearer she could have gone swimming. The only other occasion she had ever swum at night had been at a barbecue in Italy, and then there had been dozens of other people around, not the silent isolation she was presently seeking. But in any case, it was a useless longing. The beach was miles away. Even so…
Suddenly, in the darkness below her, the glow of a cigar burned brightly for a moment, and she realised that Jared was down there. She frowned, trying to distinguish his whereabouts, and felt a sense of shock when she discovered he was staring up towards her balcony. She drew back hastily into the shadows, but his voice came softly on the night air.
‘It's too late. I know you're there.'
Catherine hesitated a moment and then stepped back to the rail. ‘What are you doing?'
As her eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness she saw him shrug his shoulders. ‘Just taking a stroll before—’ He broke off, lifting his head, the planes of his face shadowed and enigmatic. ‘Can't you sleep?'
She couldn't tell whether he really cared or otherwise, but she shook her head. ‘No.'
‘I don't suppose you're worrying about what Liz said to you, are you?'
Catherine scuffed her bare toes. ‘Not a lot.'
‘I thought not.’ His tone was dry. ‘Nevertheless, be assured, it won't happen again.'
‘Won't it?’ Catherine's voice was almost inaudible, but his retort was not: ‘No!'
Catherine's palm caressed the stone balustrade. ‘Do you know what I was just thinking?’ He made no reply and she went on softly: ‘I was thinking how lovely it must be to go swimming at night.'
There was silence for so long that if she had not been able to see the shadowy figure there below her she might have thought he had gone indoors. But at last he said in a harsh voice: ‘Have you any idea of the scandal there would be if we were discovered doing such a thing?'
Catherine's breath caught in her throat. ‘Is that an invitation, Jared?'
He swore softly. ‘No, damn you, it's not!'
‘But if—if I asked you…'
His booted toe ground over the stub of his cheroot. ‘No. Catherine.'
It was the first time she had heard him use her name, and she liked it on his lips. She would like to hear him say it when he was making love to her…
‘Jared?'
‘You're crazy, do you know that?'
‘Shall I get dressed?'
‘Don't you mean undressed?’ He shifted impatiently, rubbing the back of his neck with one ungentle hand. ‘God, Catherine, I have work to do tomorrow! Do you have any idea what time it is?'
‘Hmm—mmm. It's about three o'clock.'
‘Three-twelve, to be precise,’ he muttered, consulting the plain gold watch on his wrist.
‘So?'
‘Oh, come down,’ he said savagely. ‘I'll get the bike. I've no intention of getting the car out again tonight. Can you—I mean—will you be able to ride the bike?'
‘Of course.’ She smiled, excitement bubbling inside her. ‘I won't be five minutes.'
He didn't answer, striding into the house and disappearing from her view.
Her fingers fumbled over the strap of her white bikini, but at last it was secured and she pulled on blue jeans and a soft blue wool sweater. She confined her hair with an elastic band, and carrying her sandals left the room.
The house was in darkness, but as she hesitated in the hall, Jared came through one of the arched ways. His expression was hidden in shadow, but he beckoned for her to follow him, and they went back the way he had come, and out through a side door Catherine had never used before.
Outside, they walked round to the front of the building and she saw the gleam of metal indicating that Jared had left the motor-cycle on the drive. They walked halfway to the gates before Jared swung his leg across the bike and gestured that she should join him. Holding on to his shoulders, she did so, and when she was comfortably settled he started the engine.
The night air was cool, but not cold, and Catherine slid her arms round his middle, resting her cheek against his back. He had put on his dinner jacket again, and she wondered what could be more incongruous than anyone riding a motor-bike in evening dress.
They turned south on the coast road, instead of north towards Flintlock, but Catherine didn't risk shouting her obvious question. Jared knew where he was going, and quite honestly, she would have been content to ride with him all night.
He eventually stopped beside a grassy slope leading down to sand-dunes where the roar of the ocean was a much gentler sound than at Flintlock. He switched off the ignition, and Catherine climbed rather stiffly off her seat.
‘Are you all right?’ he asked, still astride the bike, and she nodded, smiling.
‘Just stiff. It's years since I rode a motor-bike.'
Jared regarded her intently for several seconds, and then with a faint shrug, he dismounted, supporting the bike on its metal stand. He removed his jacket and laid it over the handlebars, and then indicated the dunes. ‘Go ahead.'
A pale moon illuminated the beach, wild and lonely, and to Catherine, incredibly beautiful. Clumps of palms scraped a living amongst the dunes, and long-stemmed grasses were dark against the sand. She left her sandals beside the bike, loving the feeling of the tiny coral grains between her toes. Several yards away, the sea creamed in a white line along the shore, and she longed to feel its soft caress over her heated limbs.
She turned back and found Jared behind her, dark and thoughtful in the pale light. He was still fully dressed, and she plucked doubtfully at the wool of her sweater.
‘Are you—coming in?’ she asked.
Jared looked down at her. ‘After you,’ he said evenly.
‘After me?'
‘The last time I brought you to the beach, your bathing suit never got wet,’ he reminded her.
‘Catherine sighed. ‘That was—different.'
‘How different?'
‘You didn't want to bring me then,’ she told him softly.
‘And this time I did?'
‘Well, didn't you?'
He turned away; stripping off his shirt. ‘Let's swim,’ he said flatly, and taking off his trousers, he walked towards the water.
She had expected him to have changed at the house, but he swam in navy blue underpants, leaving her to take off her clothes and follow him. She hesitated only a moment before doing so, and then with an eagerness she could not disguise, she tugged off her pants and swea
ter and ran towards the waves.
They were just as soft and delightful as she had anticipated, and she swam lazily out from the shore, her arms making little sound in the water. She could see a dark head some distance out from the beach, but the sea-bed shelved rather rapidly, and she remained closer in to shore. Turning on to her back, she floated for a while, trying to distinguish the composition of stars in the night sky, but all the while conscious of Jared only feet away from her. She wondered what Elizabeth would do if she discovered Jared's bed was empty. Would she look to see if Catherine was in her room? Might she think they could be there together? And if she found they were both missing…
Catherine turned over and began to swim again. She didn't want to think about Elizabeth. Doing so led inevitably to Laura, and the cruel way she was treating her. Why was she doing this? She wasn't naturally a selfish girl. But when she was with Jared everything—and everybody—else faded into insignificance.
It was only as she was wading up out of the water that she realised she had brought no towel to dry herself. She ran her hands down her arms, brushing away the surplus moisture and almost jumped out of her skin when a lazy hand curled round her ankle. She had been unaware that Jared had already left the water, and to find him stretched out on the sand almost at her feet brought the blood surging to the surface of her skin.
‘I—haven't got a towel,’ she said jerkily.
‘Nor have I,’ he responded, looking up at her with disturbing intensity. ‘Come here and I'll dry you.'
‘H—how?'
‘I'll show you.’ His hand slid up to her knee. ‘Come here…'
Absurdly, she hesitated. ‘No, I—I'll get my clothes…'
‘Why?’ With a lithe movement he was on his feet beside her. ‘I'd only have to take them off again.'
‘Jared—'
‘Yes?'
‘Jared…’ Her breathing was constricted. He was standing so close that his legs were touching hers. And where they touched, little rivers of fire started along her veins. ‘Are—are you sure?'
He was shaking his head as his arms slid around her, moving possessively over her hips, moulding her yielding body to the thrusting hardness of his. ‘I'm not sure of anything any more,’ he groaned into the nape of her neck. ‘But this is good, isn't it? Tell me it's good.'
‘It's…good,’ she managed chokingly, and grasping his face between her two hands she brought his mouth to hers.
Even she had been unprepared for the urgency which engulfed them. All evening she had been waiting for this—all the time they had been dancing—possessing each other in every way except the physical one—she had been living for this moment, and from the way Jared was holding her, she knew he had been waiting for the same. Her lips parted wide beneath his, and she felt his passionate exploration of the moistness within. His hands probed every inch of her spine, sliding under the weight of her hair and tugging it free of the offending elastic band so that he could wind its wet coils round his fingers. Without lifting his head, he drew her down on to the sand beside him, using his weight as a potent stimulant to her overheated emotions.
‘God, I want you,’ he breathed, in the hollow between her breasts, and she felt the fastening of the bikini bra give beneath the pressure he was exerting. His mouth sought the rose-tinted peaks exposed to his gaze, and Catherine's lower limbs were aching for a satisfaction only he could give her. ‘You're so beautiful,’ he muttered roughly, and when his hungry mouth sought hers again, she wound her arms round his neck, holding him closer.
Catherine's skin had dried rapidly, but there was a film of sand clinging abrasively to her bare back. Jared's love-making had a certain abrasiveness, too, wild and primitive, their almost naked bodies fusing together, limbs entangled, his mouth seeking and possessing, awakening her to an awareness of her own vulnerability where this man was concerned.
It was Jared who broke their embrace, rolling away from her to stretch his length on the sand, both hands pressed to his temples. His features were taut with the effort of controlling his emotions, and his hoarse: ‘In God's name, what am I doing?’ was both a torment and an accusation.
‘Jared—’ Catherine began huskily, but he got violently to his feet, reaching automatically for his pants.
‘Cover yourself!’ he muttered savagely, turning away from her, and she fastened her bra with trembling fingers.
‘What's the matter?’ she cried, getting to her knees and staring up at him. ‘What's wrong?'
‘What's wrong?’ His laugh was harsh. ‘My God, you know what's wrong?’ I forgot, do you believe that? I really forgot that I wasn't the first man to—’ He broke off, his mouth twisting contemptuously. ‘Oh, no, Catherine,’ he intoned brutally, ‘you're not going to use me to shed doubt about the fatherhood of that child you're carrying—'
‘But I'm not—'
It was out before she could retract it, but Jared paid her words no heed. ‘Forget it! I want no part of a deal like that!’ He buttoned his shirt with hands which were not quite steady. ‘You really had me going there for a minute,’ he muttered, angry with himself as well as with her. ‘Oh, for God's sake, Catherine, get your clothes on! We're going back. Right now. I just hope to hell no one's noticed our absence.'
‘Like Elizabeth, for instance?'
A coldness which was as much mental as physical was filling her, and she didn't much care what she said just at that moment.
Jared's brows drew together. ‘Why mention Elizabeth?'
‘Why not?’ Catherine pulled her sweater over her head, with a casualness she was far from feeling. ‘I'd have thought she was the most obvious person.'
Jared's expression was grim. ‘What the hell are you implying?'
Catherine shrugged, stepping carelessly into her jeans. ‘I'm sorry,’ but her tone implied otherwise, ‘I just thought she might have—well, gone to tuck her little boy up for the night!'
She knew at once that she had gone too far. Jared reached for her furiously, and only by jack-knifing backwards did she succeed in evading him. With her heart thumping rapidly in her ears, and a sob of hysteria rising in her throat, she turned and ran up the beach and across the sanddunes to where Jared had left the motor-bike. At any moment she expected to hear him behind her. His long legs would outstrip hers in any race they cared to run, and her escape could only be a postponement of what was surely to come.
She reached the motor-bike and glanced fearfully over her shoulder. Jared was still some distance away from her, following without haste, but with a relentless persistence which seemed that much more threatening. He thought she was trapped here. He had no need to hurry. If she ran, he would catch her easily on the motor-bike.
The motor-bike!
Catherine turned to it urgently. It was bigger than the two-stroke she had ridden back home, but basically the controls were the same. And the keys were in the ignition.
Before he could hazard her intentions and put on sufficient speed to prevent her, she had swung her leg across the seat, thrown his jacket down, and started the engine. The noise was deafening, but she still heard his angry exclamation, and that was enough to compel her forward. With a few jerky accelerations, she was off the grass and on to the road, and then it was plain sailing. A laugh of pure delight escaped her as she glanced back over her shoulder once and saw Jared standing in the middle of the road staring after her. Oh, glory, she thought unrepentantly, she had really done it now!
CHAPTER SIX
IT was after eleven when Catherine was awakened next morning, and then it was to find Susie standing beside her bed holding a tray of fruit juice and coffee. The curiously ominous feeling of apprehension that awaited her return to consciousness had nothing to do with the smiling face of the serving girl, and she struggled up on to her pillows and thanked Susie for her thoughtfulness.
‘Miz Prentiss is downstairs,’ the girl explained apologetically, setting the legs of the tray across Catherine's knees. ‘I told her you will be very tired, but she said yo
u'd want to be up now.'
Catherine gave her an understanding smile. ‘That's all right, Susie. Miss Prentiss is right anyway—I ought to be up. I—where is everyone else?'
‘Miz Royal is down at the stables, Miz Fulton. And Mr Royal—he's not here.'
‘Not here?’ Catherine couldn't prevent the automatic rejoinder.
‘No, Miz Fulton.'
‘Then where is he?’ Memories of Jared standing alone in the middle of that lonely road came back to torment her. Nothing had happened to him, had it? She would never forgive herself…‘I—have you seen him this morning?'
Susie regarded her curiously. ‘Yes, Miz Fulton.' She paused, frowning. ‘You want to see him?'
Catherine wondered how much of what had happened last night had filtered through to the kitchen. Probably enough to arouse conjecture among the other servants. It would not do to supplement that speculation by revealing so intent an interest in Jared's affairs.
‘Not now, Susie,’ she said quickly, hoping to divert the girl. ‘Mmm, this looks appetising. How did you know I wouldn't want anything to eat?'
‘I don't know, miz.’ Susie looked pleased. ‘Shall I tell Miz Prentiss you'll be down directly?'
‘Yes, you do that.’ Catherine forced a lightness to her tone. ‘Where is she?'
‘On the patio, Miz Fulton. I'll tell her.'
After the maid had left, Catherine put the tray aside and slid out of bed. Surreptitiously, she opened the balcony doors which she had locked the night before, half afraid that Jared might use this method to try and reach her after he got back. But she had fallen asleep without hearing anyone enter the house.
Laura was sitting disconsolately on one of the colourful loungers, watching Henry disconnecting coloured bulbs from the trees around the pool area. Her body was hunched, spine curved, elbows resting on her knees, chin cupped in her palms. She looked low and dejected, and Catherine felt the full weight of her own treachery. Whatever Jared's motives for abandoning their lovemaking the night before, the end result had achieved something which she should have wanted in the first place. She didn't know what had possessed her, and the memory of that abandoned embrace brought the blood rushing to the surface of her skin all over her body. She guessed she had destroyed any faint hope of convincing him that she was not the free-loving individual he thought her, but in the circumstances, perhaps that was just as well. What had begun as a game had drastically altered, and although sooner or later he was bound to discover she was not pregnant, he would doubtless consider that to be more good luck than management. What an awful cliché that was, she thought disgustedly. But it contained the essential truth of the situation, and she had no one but herself to blame…