by Anne Mather
Jake swore. ‘Nothing could compensate for that, Isobel,’ he snapped angrily. She had retreated round the bed as she spoke, but now he came after her, trapping her between the heavy canopy and the wall. ‘And why are you interested in how many women I’ve slept with?’ His lips curled. ‘Be careful or I might think you’re jealous.’
Isobel swallowed, tilting her face up to his with sudden passion. ‘Perhaps I am,’ she said, allowing him a glimpse of the unguarded pain that was darkening her eyes. ‘There, that’s something for you and Marcie to relish next time you’re—screwing one another!’
Jake’s stomach hollowed. He had expected her to deny it, to tell him she could think of nothing less likely to arouse her jealousy than the thought of him with some other woman, but her answer totally astounded him. Astounded him and left him hungry to do something about it.
‘You’re crazy,’ he said, the hoarseness of his voice some indication of his emotional turmoil. But she stood her ground.
‘Am I?’ she asked steadily. ‘Well, you would know.’
The hand Jake had splayed against the wall when he’d cornered her balled into a fist. He wanted to hurt someone, he thought—himself, probably—but when his eyes rested on her mouth it wasn’t that kind of pain he was thinking of. Her breasts were rising and falling rapidly, proof that she wasn’t as controlled as she’d like to appear, and his fingers itched to invade the neckline of her sweater and stroke the flesh beneath. Flesh which he knew from experience was smooth and silky. And soft, so soft…
‘This is insane,’ he said harshly, but he didn’t move away. He couldn’t. Besides, his erection made any kind of movement a torment, and what he really wanted was for her to touch him.
‘What do you want me to do, Jake?’ she whispered, and it was as if she’d read his mind. Did she know how he was feeling? Had she any notion of how dangerous this was?
For him!
Yet his free hand lifted almost of its own accord and cupped her face, his thumb brushing roughly over her bottom lip. She quivered. He felt it in his bones. But she didn’t draw away. She let him touch her, let him caress her, let his fingers perform their own particular brand of provocation on her skin.
And Jake’s control snapped. With an exclamation that was more acceptance than denial he bent towards her. And kissed her. Hard.
He didn’t know what he’d anticipated would happen then. Perhaps he’d expected her to balk at his behaviour, to be disgusted by his careless destruction of the fragile truce between them. Perhaps he’d thought that he would be so repelled by his actions that he’d be desperate to let her go.
What he’d never imagined was that her mouth would soften beneath his, that her lips would part and his tongue would be unable to resist the temptation. Like the snake he was, it slipped into her mouth, and he groaned at the sensual pleasure he felt when her tongue tangled with his.
Almost naturally, it seemed, the kiss lengthened and deepened, and it was only when he felt the lush roundness of her breasts against his chest that he realised she was now supporting his weight. Without him being aware of it his hands had dropped to the narrow bones of her hips, and from the way he was pressing himself against her she couldn’t help but be aware of his arousal.
Yet it took the sound of Emily’s voice, calling for her mother, to bring him to his senses. He could hear the child coming up the stairs, knew that at any minute she’d run along the landing and come into the room and see them. But he still found it hard to pull away. His body was programmed for a satisfaction it hadn’t yet received. It took a definite effort to drag himself across the room to the windows, so that when Emily appeared in the doorway she saw nothing out of place.
‘Mummy!’ she exclaimed, and Isobel, who seemed to have recovered far more quickly than he had done, offered her daughter an enquiring smile.
‘I’m here,’ she said, infuriating Jake anew.
But then, she’d probably had more experience at recovering from awkward situations than he had, he thought, his mind returning to an old, familiar theme. God, how many times had he almost caught her and Piers together? he wondered. Whatever she said, he didn’t buy into that ‘once only’ story. Piers had been a regular visitor at Mattingley. His parents had used to live in the district—probably still did, only he and Piers had no contact now. Isobel had come up here with her mother when Lady Hannah paid her annual visits. While he’d been working his butt off in London she’d been here, keeping her mother company. And who else?
Suppressing an oath, he turned and strode towards the door. He needed some air, needed to forget this crazy rush of blood to his groin. Maybe if he went for a walk it would clear his head. Right now, he needed to put some space between them.
‘Daddy!’
Emily’s disappointed cry found no sympathy with him. ‘Don’t call me that,’ he snapped, not caring at that moment who he hurt, and she sucked in a breath.
‘But where are you going?’ she protested, ignoring the warning hand Isobel laid on her shoulder.
‘Out,’ he said shortly, his eyes savage as he met his wife’s gaze. And, before either of them could say anything more, ‘I don’t want any company!’
CHAPTER SEVEN
ISOBEL awakened the next morning feeling as if she’d only just gone to bed. She’d slept, but only fitfully, and the sound of rain pattering against the windows only added to her mood of depression.
The conversation she’d had with Emily when she’d gone to kiss her goodnight hadn’t helped. The little girl hadn’t forgotten the question she’d asked Jake before Isobel had interrupted them, and she’d insisted on knowing how her mother and father had met.
‘We met here, in the village,’ Isobel had told her reluctantly, loath to remember how innocent she had been in those days. ‘Your daddy was spending the weekend with—well, with some people he knew in the neighbourhood.’ The Mallorys. ‘Your grandmother and I were invited for dinner one evening and—and that’s when we met.’
‘And fell in love?’ Emily had asked, still wide-eyed despite the lateness of the hour.
‘Mmm,’ Isobel had said non-committally. ‘Whatever that means. Now, go to sleep, darling. We’ve got a lot to do tomorrow.’
After that she hadn’t felt much like sleeping herself. The memories were far too painful, too acute to be ignored. If only Emily wasn’t so interested in her history, so eager to make a connection between the present and the past.
But, despite everything, Isobel should have slept well. She’d certainly been exhausted when she went to bed. Aside from answering Emily’s questions, installing her mother in the dubious luxury of her apartments hadn’t been easy, particularly as Lady Hannah had found a dead cockroach in the bath, which she had insisted must mean that there was a nest of them hiding beneath the floorboards.
Isobel had checked as thoroughly as she could, but without proper tools, and with no real idea of what she was looking for, she’d had no success. It wasn’t until Jake had got back and assured the old lady that he’d get a firm of exterminators onto it in the morning that she’d eventually settled down.
Which meant what? Isobel fretted now, as she crawled out of bed. Was Jake planning on staying longer than just overnight? And, more to the point, where had he slept last night?
Mrs Edwards had provided them with a hot meal, at least. Isobel and Emily had eaten theirs in the conservatory, after taking a tray up to Lady Hannah, but she had no idea when or even if Jake had had his. The table had been cleared by the time he’d returned, and Isobel had been occupied making up beds for herself and Emily. She had made up a third bed in a spare room, on the off-chance that Jake would want to stay here, but she’d left it to Mrs Edwards to offer him hospitality. After what had happened earlier she hadn’t trusted herself to be alone with him.
Which was ridiculous, and she knew it. It wasn’t as if there was any danger of him repeating his mistake. However violent his reaction had been to her deliberate provocation, he’d regretted it equally as viol
ently. Just for a moment he had let her glimpse the sensual, passionate man she had married, before Emily’s voice, and his own self-disgust, had driven him to put the width of the room between them.
Never mind the fact that she’d felt his erection hot against her stomach. He was a man, and men couldn’t help their instinctive response to a woman’s body. Any woman’s body would have achieved the same result, and she could well imagine his revulsion at the knowledge that it was she of all people who had shamed him in that way.
She padded across to the window, drawing aside the heavy drapes and peering out. As she’d expected, she looked out on a grey world. Lowering clouds hid all but the most immediate objects from view, the rain-wet laurels and rhododendron bushes giving the place a gloomy air. Not the most optimistic day to begin their sojourn at Mattingley, she thought ruefully. But it was up to her to make the best of it, for her mother’s sake if nothing else.
The water in the bathroom was cold, so Isobel contented herself with rinsing her face and hands and cleaning her teeth. Then, after dressing in a serviceable pair of khaki pants and a cream shirt, she went to check on her mother.
Lady Hannah was still asleep, which was a blessing. Isobel hoped she’d had a better night than she had. She glanced into Emily’s room, too, before going downstairs, and discovered that her daughter’s bed was empty.
It was only a little after seven o’clock, and for a moment Isobel was alarmed. But they were here, at Mattingley, she reassured herself. Surely Emily couldn’t get into any mischief here? She was eager to explore her new home, that was all. Isobel could only hope she wouldn’t be too disappointed.
As she went downstairs she heard the familiar creaks and groans that announced the fact that the boiler was working. Radiators older than Isobel herself were heating and expanding, and she crossed her fingers that there were no unwelcome leaks in the system, just waiting to confound her. Getting the old house into habitable order was going to take all her energies, without the added expense of plumbers’ bills to add to her troubles.
She opened the kitchen door, expecting to find Mrs Edwards at the stove, and then stopped aghast at the sight of her husband sluicing his neck and arms at the sink. He was stripped to the waist, the shirt he’d worn the day before lying on the drainer beside him.
Isobel felt momentarily frozen to the spot. It was so long since she’d seen Jake even semi-nude. When he’d finished his ablutions and turned towards her to reach for the towel that someone—Mrs Edwards, probably—had left for him, she saw that his jeans were zipped but unbuttoned, exposing the arrowing of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his underpants.
Her mouth dried, and she wished she could turn around and go out and come in again. But it was too late. Jake had seen her. As he dried his beard-roughened jaw his green eyes caught and narrowed on Isobel’s, and with a gesture of resignation he met her consternation with studied indifference.
Clearly he had had time to get his instincts under control, and there was no trace of either anger or frustration in his mocking gaze. ‘Don’t look like that,’ he said carelessly, reaching for his shirt. ‘You’ve seen me half-naked before. It can’t be such a novelty for a woman like you.’
Isobel refused to let him provoke her. ‘No novelty at all,’ she assured him, coming into the room and closing the door behind her. ‘Where’s Mrs Edwards?’
‘Where she usually is at this hour of the morning, I suppose,’ replied Jake, buttoning his shirt with unconscious sensuality. ‘Still in bed.’
‘But—’ Isobel glanced behind her. ‘That is, I heard the radiators creaking. I assumed someone had started the boiler.’
‘The boiler’s been on all night,’ said Jake, shoving his shirt into his pants and finally fastening his belt. ‘But the radiators needed bleeding so that’s what I’ve been doing.’
‘I see.’ Isobel shook her head. ‘Thanks.’
‘No problem.’ Jake indicated the Aga. ‘Do you know how to boil a kettle on this thing? I could sure use a coffee.’
‘I do.’ Isobel nodded. ‘But there’s an electric kettle around here somewhere. That would probably be quicker.’
‘Cleaner, certainly,’ agreed Jake drily, rolling down the sleeves of his shirt. ‘Give me good old-fashioned gas and electricity any day. Solid fuel may be more traditional, but it’s no substitute for convenience.’
Isobel frowned. ‘Have you had to clean out the boiler?’
‘Let’s just say I’ve solved the immediate problem of getting the place warm,’ Jake responded, starting to open cupboards and drawers. ‘Where do you think Mrs Edwards keeps the coffee?’
Isobel was nonplussed. She had never expected Jake to take matters into his own hands as he had, and she wished she didn’t have to feel so grateful to him. But there was no denying that Mattingley needed a man’s hand. A much younger man’s hand than old Mr Edwards was able to offer.
‘So,’ she said, finding the kettle tucked in a corner and filling it at the sink, ‘have you seen Em?’
Jake pulled a wry face. ‘I have,’ he said evenly. ‘And I assume you didn’t send her downstairs at six o’clock to get a drink of water?’
Isobel gasped. ‘A drink of water?’ she echoed. ‘But she could have got a drink of water from the bathroom upstairs.’
‘Tell me about it,’ said Jake drily.
‘Well, where is she now?’ She moistened her lips. ‘She’s not in her room.’
‘I believe she’s opening the curtains in the dining room and the parlour,’ said Jake, making a sound of satisfaction when he found what he was looking for. ‘I told her to get out of here while I had a wash.’
Isobel stared at him. ‘You mean, she woke you up?’
‘Did I say that?’
‘No, but—’ Isobel halted, and then started again. ‘You said she came downstairs at six o’clock. How do you know that? Did you hear her?’
Jake hesitated. ‘I may have done.’
Isobel frowned. ‘Look, I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I know Em can be a bit—well, in your face. I never thought she’d go into your room.’
‘What room?’ Jake scowled. ‘I slept down here.’
‘You did?’ Isobel caught her breath. ‘But—I made you up a bed.’
‘Really?’ Jake gave her a funny look. ‘I’m surprised. I half expected you to invite me into yours. Isn’t that what you were hoping for when you jumped me in your mother’s bedroom?’
Isobel didn’t make the mistake of trying to slap his face. Instead, she gave him a look which she hoped told him what she thought of his childish suggestion, and crossed the room to take two cups and saucers from the cupboard. Then, taking the jar of instant coffee he pushed towards her, she spooned a generous measure of dry grains into each cup.
‘Sugar?’ she asked without expression, and he gave an exasperated sigh.
‘Well, you asked for it,’ he said, not answering her. ‘Dammit, Belle, what did you expect?’
Isobel was grateful that the kettle boiled at that moment, and she could concentrate on adding hot water to the cups. How dared he suggest that she had ‘jumped’ him when what had happened had been all his doing?
Ah, but you didn’t object, an insidious voice whispered inside her. She ignored it. It had been his call, she told herself. All she had done was—encourage him?
No!
‘I asked if you wanted any sugar,’ she persisted doggedly, and with a savage exclamation he took the hint. ‘No,’ he said, taking the cup from her with scowling acquiescence. Then, as if needing to change the subject, he added, ‘It’s still bloody cold in here. Are you sure this is what you want to do? Stay here, I mean?’
‘It’s what my mother wants,’ said Isobel, not finding it as easy to ignore his earlier comments as he obviously did. ‘When are you leaving?’
Jake sucked in a breath. ‘Well, that’s cutting to the chase with a vengeance, isn’t it? When do you want me to leave? Now?’
Isobel expelled a weary breath.
‘It’s obviously what you want,’ she said flatly. ‘I’m surprised you spent the night here. Particularly as you were so afraid to go to bed.’
Jake gritted his teeth. ‘For God’s sake, Belle, how was I supposed to know you’d make up a bed for me? We didn’t exactly hit it off, did we?’
‘And whose fault was that?’
Jake glared at her for a moment. Then his shoulders hunched. ‘Mine, I guess,’ he said, with unexpected honesty. ‘Okay, what happened was as much my fault as yours. But how the hell was I supposed to react when you let me—?’ He broke off abruptly. ‘Put it down to frustration. I guess you can still rattle my cage when it suits you.’
Isobel gave him a narrow look. ‘Is that supposed to be an apology?’
‘Not an apology, no.’
‘I thought not.’
‘Ah—screw you, Isobel,’ he muttered irritably. ‘I’ve a good mind to leave you to stew in your own juice!’
‘So why don’t you?’ she demanded, even though her heart quivered at the thought of him leaving, this time maybe for good.
But thankfully Jake wasn’t quite that cold-blooded. ‘Because you can’t cope here on your own,’ he snapped, swallowing a generous mouthful of his coffee. ‘Not yet, anyway. That old lady upstairs needs more than you can possibly provide.’
By the end of the day, Jake was reasonably pleased with what he had achieved.
Mr Edwards had directed him to a firm of household repairers in the village who swept chimneys as a sideline and, with some financial encouragement, they had agreed to inspect every flue in the house.
Similarly, with his influence, the place had been checked by the local pest-control department, and no infestation of vermin or insects had been found. Their opinion was that the cockroach Lady Hannah had found had been a tourist, and that she was in no danger of being eaten alive in her bed.
For her part, Isobel had, with Mrs Edwards’s assistance, spring-cleaned the morning room so that her mother had somewhere besides the conservatory to sit and issue her orders. The old lady herself seemed not at all surprised to find that Jake was still there, and he could only assume that she was prepared to suffer in silence if she thought he could be of some use.