A Vengeful Deception

by Lee Wilkinson

  ‘You’d better have the nearest one.’

  Opening a door to the left, he carried in one of the candelabra, and returned to ask, ‘If I find your night things for you, do you think you can manage on your own?’

  ‘Of course I can manage,’ she said indignantly. ‘Anyone would think I was drunk.’

  ‘Anyone might be right.’

  Of course she wasn’t drunk. She didn’t drink. But she was so tired that it seemed too much trouble to argue.

  Her case was waiting on an oak chest, and, trying to stifle her yawns, she watched as he unzipped it and took out her nightdress, towelling robe and toilet bag.

  When they had been transferred to the bathroom, he helped her up and, an arm around her waist, steered her through the open door.

  Swaying slightly on her stockinged feet, she held on to the towel rail to steady herself.

  ‘Sure you can manage?’ he asked doubtfully.

  ‘Absholutely sure,’ she said with dignity.

  ‘Call me if you need me.’ He went out, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  Leaning against the sink, she cleaned her teeth and washed her face and hands.

  A hot shower would have been nice, she thought wistfully, only the water was cold. But perhaps she was too tired to bother anyway…

  The candles, placed on a shelf behind her, were reflected in the mirror, and her own face, pale and ghost-like, swam hazily in front of her.

  Needing to steady herself frequently, and sit on the stool whenever possible, she fumbled out of her clothes and tights, shivering as the chilly air wrapped around her naked body.

  It was somewhat easier to pull on her nightdress and robe.

  That accomplished, she thought longingly of bed. Well, she would go, she decided, as soon as the floor stopped tilting.

  There was a light rap, and Gideon’s voice queried, ‘About ready for bed?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Pushing open the door, he suggested, ‘Then you’d better let me give you a hand.’

  He was wearing a burgundy silk dressing-gown that came to his knees. His legs and feet were bare.

  Blinking at him, she asked, ‘Are you going to bed, too?’

  Picking her up in his arms and walking through to the bedroom, he answered, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where are you sleeping?’

  ‘I thought I’d share this room. That way we can keep each other warm.’

  Nestling against him, she agreed, ‘Yes, please, I’d like that.’

  Anna stirred, and began to surface slowly. For a while she lay half-asleep and half-awake, while the mists gradually cleared and thoughts and questions began to filter into her consciousness.

  This didn’t feel at all like her own, rather hard bed-settee. The mattress was a great deal more comfortable, the pillows were softer, and the duvet was feather-light, but warm. So where was she?

  After a short struggle her befuddled brain produced the answer. It was Christmas, and she must be at Cleo’s.

  But she hadn’t a clue how she’d spent the evening, nor could she remember changing into her night things and going to bed.

  She couldn’t even recall drinking Cleo’s home-made punch, as she had the previous year. Though, judging by her throbbing head, she must have done. She never normally got headaches, but the innocent-tasting punch had a kick like a mule.

  Trying to think back, the only thing she could clearly recall was leaving the shop. It had been snowing, and everywhere was white-over. The cobbles had been slippy, and she had walked through to the car park with care…

  Having got so far, memory pressed play, and what followed went through her mind as though she were watching a video.

  The accident… Seeing Gideon Strange for the first time… Driving him home… The blizzard… His offer of a job… Her car refusing to start… The disturbing evening they had spent together… How he’d pressed her to tell him about David…

  Then what?

  But the video stopped there and stubbornly refused to give her any more. She couldn’t remember what had happened after that, or how she had got to bed.

  The only other thing she could recall, the thing she had tried to avoid recalling, was the attraction that had flared between them…

  No, not between them. It had all been on her side. His smooth abrasiveness, his calculated mockery, his attempt to scare her, all went to prove that he felt nothing for her.

  Yet for reasons of his own, reasons she failed to understand, he wanted her to stay.

  And she was torn.

  Common sense—or was it simply self-preservation?—insisted she should go as soon as possible, while that powerful fascination she felt tempted her to throw caution to the winds and stay.

  But she knew in her heart of hearts that it would be both foolish and dangerous to remain here. If she let this fascination take over, she would end up badly hurt. He didn’t want her…

  No, that wasn’t so. He did want her; she could instinctively sense it. But if there was an attraction on his side, it was a reluctant one.

  She stiffened her resolve to leave, that morning. In fact, straight after breakfast…

  But how was she to leave if her car wouldn’t start? And she couldn’t phone for a taxi—even supposing any taxi firm was working on Christmas Day. That only left walking back to town.

  Oh, well. Needs must when the devil drives. Though it would depend very much on how bad the conditions were. If it had continued to snow all night…

  Opening her eyes to an almost blinding brilliance, Anna promptly closed them again, and put a hand to her aching head.

  One thing was certain: she couldn’t blame Cleo’s punch for her headache. It must be due to the amount of brandy she’d drunk.

  After a second or two she cautiously opened her eyes once more, to find that the room was full of snow-reflected light and sunshine. Even the fire burning brightly in the grate was diminished by it.

  Through the mullioned windows on her right she could see that the blizzard had blown itself out and the sky was clear and blue.

  Pushing herself up against the pillows, she peered out. Snow covered everything, making wind-blown dunes on the window-sills, half burying the shrubs and bushes, stippling the tree trunks and weighing down the green arms of the pine.

  Taking into account the amount of snow that had fallen, the length of the drive up to the Manor, and the fact that because Old Castle Road wound along a ridge it frequently became impassable in snowy weather, Anna didn’t give much for her chances of getting away just yet.

  It seemed she might have to spend Christmas Day with Gideon Strange, whether she wanted to or not…

  Unless there was a sudden and dramatic thaw, she thought, clutching at straws. The sun was bright enough… It was also high in the sky, she realised. So what time was it?

  As she turned her head to glance at her watch, her eyes were drawn to the space beside her and she froze, sitting like a statue while it sank in that though she was alone in the king-sized bed now, someone else had undoubtedly slept there.

  Knocked completely off balance, she fought against the knowledge, but the pillow to her left bore the unmistakable imprint of another head…

  As though the shock had triggered some release mechanism, Anna’s recollection of the previous night—which had stopped with her talking about David—began to unfold in another series of pictures.

  Though they were foggy and indistinct, she could see herself being carried up the stairs. Sitting by the fire. Being helped into the bathroom. Then Gideon asking if she was ready for bed…

  Though she could go no further than that, the rest was self-evident.

  While she struggled to come to terms with this new and shattering knowledge, there was a tap, the bedroom door opened, and Gideon walked in carrying a large copper kettle.

  He was wearing dark trousers and a fine black polo-necked sweater. His jaw was freshly shaven, and his corn-coloured hair looked damp.

  ‘Good morning,’ he said chee
rfully, putting the kettle on the hearth. ‘Or perhaps, as it’s gone twelve, I should say good afternoon.’

  Taking a couple of logs from the large basket that stood to one side, he built up the fire before coming to stand by the bed and look down at her.

  With her demure cotton nightie, and her dark hair tumbled around her shoulders, she looked absurdly young and innocent, he thought.

  Stiffly, she turned her head and looked up at him.

  Noting her white, stricken face, he queried, ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘You slept in my bed.’

  ‘No, you slept in my bed.’

  ‘Y-you bastard,’ she said shakily.

  He clicked his tongue reprovingly. ‘That’s not a nice word for a well brought-up young lady to use.’

  ‘It might not be nice but it’s justified. Though you knew how I felt about casual sex, you deliberately set out to seduce me…’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  ‘HOW very melodramatic,’ he mocked, making no attempt to deny the accusation.

  ‘You gave me brandy, when I wasn’t used to it,’ she choked, ‘and then took advantage of me.’

  His face amused, he told her, ‘That sounds just like a line from some Victorian novel.’

  ‘How can you stand there and laugh when you know it’s true?’ she asked bitterly.

  He shook his head. ‘I plead guilty to the first half of the charge, but not the second.’

  ‘Don’t try and deny you slept in the same bed.’

  ‘I won’t. But that doesn’t mean I took advantage of you. Or even that I intended to.’

  ‘Why else would you have done it?’

  ‘Because it was the sensible option. The rest of the bedrooms are like ice-boxes. Even this room got cold in the early morning, as I knew it would when the fire died down. But, sleeping together, we kept each other warm. Nothing more, nothing less.’

  Though she badly wanted to believe him, remembering that look of naked desire she’d seen on his face earlier in the evening, she couldn’t. ‘You’re lying!’ she cried hoarsely.

  ‘I can assure you that, apart from carrying you to bed and tucking you in, I never laid a finger on you.’

  With a reminiscent smile, he added, ‘Though I must say you were in a very receptive mood—’

  ‘I don’t believe you,’ she choked.

  ‘It’s the truth.’

  Flushing painfully, she said, ‘I’d had far too much to drink.’

  Then, accusingly, ‘If you weren’t planning to seduce me, why did you give me so much?’ Guessing what he was going to say, she added sharply, ‘And don’t tell me it was just for medicinal purposes.’

  ‘You were very uptight. You’d been that way all evening. A little alcohol is useful for loosening things up.’

  ‘You mean doing away with inhibitions?’

  Sounding completely unrepentant, he agreed, ‘It certainly helps. But it seems you really weren’t used to drinking…’

  Suddenly uneasy, wondering just what she had said or done, she demanded, ‘What exactly did you mean by a “receptive” mood?’

  ‘You asked where I was sleeping, and when I said I thought I’d share this room so we could keep each other warm, you snuggled up to me and said, “Yes, please, I’d like that.”’

  ‘I didn’t!’

  ‘You most certainly did.’

  As she gaped at him, aghast, he said with a twisted grin, ‘I can’t say what might have happened if you’d stayed awake, but you went out like a light.’

  ‘Which made everything only too easy for you.’

  A white line appearing round his mouth, he told her tightly, ‘I don’t get my kicks making love to unconscious women. I like my partners to be wide awake, and responsive.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered after a moment. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. It was unforgivable.’

  When he showed no sign of being appeased, she stammered, ‘I—I didn’t really mean it, truly I didn’t.’ Pressing waxy fingers to her throbbing temples, she repeated, ‘I’m sorry…’

  Suddenly it was all too much. Biting her lip, she stared down at the maroon and cream duvet.

  He sat on the edge of the bed and a warm hand lifted her chin. When he saw her brimming eyes, his hard face softened.

  ‘Don’t worry about it…’

  Even through her distress she was aware that he smelled fresh and clean and wholesome.

  ‘And don’t cry, whatever you do! Otherwise I might have to kiss you better.’

  Taking a deep breath, she observed shakily, ‘That sounds like a threat.’

  ‘It was meant to.’ Studying her pale face, the faint shadows beneath her eyes, he queried, ‘Headache?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll find you something for it. Now, would you prefer to have brunch in bed, or in front of the kitchen fire?’

  Trying hard not to blink, in case the tears escaped, she said, ‘In front of the kitchen fire.’

  It seemed he never missed a thing. Taking a spotless hankie from his trouser pocket, he put it in her hand. ‘This might come in handy.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She pressed it to her eyes and blew her nose.

  ‘I wouldn’t recommend a shower,’ he went on drily. ‘The water’s glacial. But there’s hot water in the kettle, so at least you can have a warm wash.’

  ‘Sounds like heaven.’

  ‘Would you like a cup of tea or coffee first?’

  ‘I’d love a cup of tea.’

  ‘There’s a pot already made, so if you stay where you are for a moment I’ll fetch you one.’

  The mattress moved as his weight lifted from it.

  Sitting motionless, she watched his broad back disappear through the door.

  She was still trying to gather the remnants of her composure when he returned with a cup of tea and two white tablets, which he placed on the bedside table.

  ‘These should take care of the headache. Now, while you sort yourself out I’ll go and get on with the meal.’ A twinkle in his eye, he added, ‘When it’s ready, I’ll sound the gong.’

  He was more than halfway across the room when she spoke his name. ‘Gideon…’

  His hand on the latch, he turned to look at her.

  ‘Thank you.’

  They both knew she was thanking him for a great deal more than a cup of tea.

  He smiled at her, and his face held genuine warmth. A moment later the door closed softly behind him.

  Still feeling shaken, Anna sat where she was while she swallowed the tablets and drank her tea. For the first time in her life she had shared a bed with a man. It was, as Cleo had once joked, a momentous occasion.

  Only she couldn’t recall any of it.

  Which was just as well, she reminded herself sternly. If she hadn’t ‘gone out like a light’, things might have ended differently.

  Though he hadn’t exactly admitted it, there was no doubt in her mind that Gideon had planned to seduce her, and had she stayed awake, her inhibitions lowered by alcohol, he would have found it all too easy.

  Her face grew hot as she recalled him saying, ‘When I said I thought I’d share this room so we could keep each other warm, you snuggled up to me and said, “Yes, please, I’d like that.”’

  Though she didn’t want to believe it, it had the unmistakable ring of truth.

  In vino veritas.

  Thank the Lord she had flaked out. It had proved to be the best defence, not only against him, but against her own weakness. Because she did want him. She had wanted him from the moment she saw him. It had been love at first sight…

  Oh, don’t be an idiot, she berated herself. Of course she didn’t love him. Call what she felt for Gideon Strange fascination, infatuation, physical attraction, straightforward lust—anything rather than love.

  Though being in love was what it felt like.

  She had thought herself in love only once before, and what she’d felt then for David had been just a pale imitation of what she felt now.


  The one real similarity they shared was that the men involved, though both charming, had only wanted to use her. It seemed that in the love stakes she was fated to be a loser.

  Last night had proved to be a close call; she had been extremely lucky to keep what remained of her self-respect.

  Though the decision brought a feeling of cold desolation, she determined that, once she had left the Manor, she would take care to steer well clear of any further involvement with its master.

  But, for the moment at least, she was unable to leave. There was still a few precious hours that Fate had pressed on her to spend with Gideon.

  It was the only time they would ever have together so, instead of regretting it, she would make the most of it. Enjoy it to the full.

  Pushing back the duvet, she got out of bed, and donning her towelling robe, which lay over a chair, opened the nearest door and peered in.

  In the oyster-tiled bathroom a tangy smell of shower-gel hung on the air, and spots of water still clung to the frosted glass of the shower-stall.

  A man’s toilet bag sat in a recess above the sink, next to a battery-operated razor and a bottle of aftershave. The air was cold.

  There was no sign of her own toilet bag, and vaguely she recalled Gideon saying something about two bathrooms.

  Crossing the room, she found a second luxurious bathroom tiled in pearly-pink. Thankfully the door had been left ajar, and some warmth had seeped in.

  Her clothes were in a little pile on the floor, and her toilet bag lay on a shelf next to a candelabra with burnt-out candles.

  The water in the kettle was very hot, and half filled the sink. Feeling grateful to Gideon for thinking of it, she washed herself from head to toe and cleaned her teeth.

  Standing in front of the fire, so that the heat toasted her legs, she donned clean undies, a pair of burgundy slacks, a fine wool shirt the colour of clotted cream, and her slippers.

  She had just finished brushing her hair and knotting it loosely on top of her head, when she heard the resonant sound of a gong being struck.

  Closing the bedroom door behind her, she trotted along the passage to the head of the stairs and, leaning over the oak balustrade, looked down into the hall, where Gideon was standing with a large, round-headed padded hammer in his hand.