Sinful Truths

by Anne Mather

  Jake shook his head. ‘I wouldn’t hold your breath.’

  Lady Hannah bit her lip. ‘She still cares about you, you know. Nothing I say can change that.’

  ‘And you’re still manipulating,’ retorted Jake, reaching the door. ‘Drink your tea. I’ve got work to do.’

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  IT WAS almost light when Isobel drove into the village. She’d driven all night to avoid the traffic and any vigilant policeman or woman who might be looking out for the car. She had no doubt that Jake would have reported her missing. She just hoped he hadn’t frightened Emily by telling her scary stories about why her mother had abandoned her as she had.

  And she had abandoned her daughter. Or rather, she’d needed to get away from Jake and her mother and Piers and Emily had been caught in the middle. There’d been no way she could have taken the child with her. After learning that he really was Emily’s father, Jake would never have allowed her to abduct her as well.

  Well, abduction was rather an emotive word, she acknowledged wearily, the strain of driving for several hours without a break beginning to take its toll. Besides, however she might resent it, Jake needed time to get to know his daughter, for her sake. Time to introduce her to her new stepmother-to-be.

  She was assuming Jake would have taken Emily back to London with him. It was over three weeks since she’d taken off with his Porsche and there was no way he could have neglected his business for so long. She knew Emily wasn’t back at school, but that was no surprise, really. Jake would be doing everything he could to make up for all the years he’d denied her existence.

  As far as Lady Hannah was concerned Isobel did feel some remorse, but generally she’d found it better not to think about her mother at all. She didn’t want to feel sorry for her, didn’t want to feel any sympathy for the state she was in. The woman had lied to her. Not just about the money she’d been accepting from Jake on a regular basis, but about the most fundamental issue of her life.

  She had deliberately—and maliciously—destroyed her daughter’s marriage. Even when Emily was born she’d done nothing to betray her own hand in the events of the past year. Mattingley meant more to her than her own daughter’s happiness. Isobel couldn’t forget that, and forgiveness seemed very far away.

  She stopped at the gates and endeavoured to calm herself before continuing. A glance at her watch told her it was barely six o’clock, and she doubted anyone would be up at this hour. She felt a twinge of guilt at leaving Mrs Edwards to cope with her mother single-handed. But, knowing Jake, he’d probably have arranged for nursing care before he went back to town.

  He was like that, she thought unhappily, resting her aching head on the steering wheel. However unforgiving he had been towards her, he’d always showed compassion towards Lady Hannah. Not that she’d known about that either.

  Pressing her foot on the accelerator, she drove on, only to slow in surprise at the sight of hedges newly trimmed and lawns newly mown. The pond didn’t look much different, but there were lilies growing in the reeds now, and stocks and azaleas making a colourful display between the trees.

  Someone had been busy, she reflected, and she doubted Mr Edwards had accomplished this all on his own. Jake must have hired a firm of landscape gardeners, too, she guessed, before he left. He had certainly gone to a lot of trouble for a house that was going to be sold as soon as—

  But she didn’t finish the sentence. However bitter she felt towards her mother, she didn’t wish the old lady dead. Indeed, she knew that in spite of everything Lady Hannah’s departure would leave a distinct hole in her life. Particularly now that Emily was obviously going to want to spend some of her time with her father. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Jake would soon realise, as she had, how much alike he and Emily were.

  Slowing as she reached the turnaround in front of the house, Isobel brought the car to a halt and turned off the ignition. Then she sat for a moment, admiring the containers of geraniums and impatiens that were set at either side of the heavy door. Although the outside of the house hadn’t been painted, it had definitely lost its air of neglect. Her mother must be delighted, she thought, not without a touch of poignancy. This was what Lady Hannah had always wanted.

  Isobel had no luggage to unload from the car. Just the simple shoulder bag Sarah had provided to hold the few cosmetics and little money she had given her. It had proved an unnecessary kindness. Isobel hadn’t spent any money and she hadn’t worn any make-up for weeks. But then, she hadn’t left the Danielses house since she’d arrived there, red-eyed and desperate, three weeks ago.

  Sarah and her husband, Ross, had proved to be good friends. Even though Isobel had told them little of what had happened, they hadn’t asked any questions, simply giving her a room, a garage to hide the car, and the time she needed to heal.

  When she’d decided to leave, they hadn’t tried to change her mind. Ross had taken the car to a petrol station and filled the Porsche’s tank for her, and she had promised to ring them as soon as she got to Mattingley. That was what she intended to do. Just as soon as she’d made herself a cup of coffee…

  She closed the car door without slamming it, pocketing the keys as she walked towards the house. The tight denim jeans and cropped tee shirt were Sarah’s, too, and she’d worn them deliberately, knowing her mother would deplore such clothes. But her mother’s opinion no longer mattered to her. She was not looking forward to facing the woman who had so selfishly ruined her life.

  She walked round to the back of the building, hoping the kitchen door would be unlocked. It often was. The apartments the Edwardses occupied were accessed via a passageway that opened off the kitchen, and Mrs Edwards invariably forgot to lock the outer door.

  As she’d expected, the handle of the boot room door turned easily, and she stepped quietly into the muddle of Wellington boots and outdoor shoes that littered the floor. No change there, then, she mused wryly, before opening the door into the kitchen itself.

  It was like déjàvu, only this time Jake was fully clothed. He was standing with his hips propped against the counter beside the sink, arms folded across his chest, fingers tucked beneath his arms. He appeared to be lost in thought, and Isobel assumed at first he hadn’t heard her. But then his head turned, and if she’d had any idea of withdrawing again it was swiftly banished by the disbelieving anguish in his face.

  ‘Belle?’ he said faintly, almost as if he believed he was hallucinating. His arms dropped to his sides. ‘God, Belle, is that really you?’

  ‘Really me,’ she echoed, her voice as thready as his. She came into the room and closed the door behind her, leaning back against it, glad of its support. ‘What are you doing here?’

  Jake shook his head, and as he did so Isobel saw the pot of coffee percolating on the stove. In her absence someone—Jake?—had provided a proper coffee-maker, and the smell of the ground beans was tantalisingly familiar.

  Realising he must have been waiting for the coffee to brew, Isobel wondered if the jolt of excitement she’d felt at finding him there was premature. What if Marcie was here, too? Anything was possible. It was Saturday morning, after all.

  Deciding there was only one way to find out, she didn’t give him time to answer her question before saying lightly, ‘That smells good. May I have some?’

  Jake blew out a breath. ‘Is that all you have to say?’ he demanded, and now she heard the underlying note of anger in his voice. ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  Isobel held up her head. ‘I don’t think that’s any business of yours,’ she said, resenting his proprietary attitude, and Jake scowled.

  ‘The hell it’s not,’ he snapped, raking his fingers through his hair and leaving gold-streaked silver strands sticking out in all directions. ‘Do you have any idea how worried we’ve been about you?’

  Isobel straightened her spine. ‘There was no need—’

  ‘No need?’ Jake took two steps towards her and then halted, as if he didn’t trust himself to g
et any nearer without shaking her. ‘Dammit, Belle, where have you been? I’ve been nearly out of my mind.’

  Isobel lifted her shoulders in a nervous gesture, not quite knowing how to answer him. Was this resentment she was hearing, or real concern? Where was Emily? Where had she spent the last three weeks? Surely Jake hadn’t left her here, with two old people and a dying woman?

  ‘I—needed some time to think,’ she said at last, deciding he deserved some explanation. Then, moistening her lips, ‘Where’s Emily? I have to tell her I’m back.’

  ‘Presently.’ Jake stepped between her and the hall door, and she knew there was no way she was going to get out of the kitchen without telling him what she’d been doing for the past three weeks. ‘I want to know where you’ve been staying. Not in this area, I’ll bet. The police have combed every inch of these moors looking for you.’

  ‘The police!’ Isobel was horrified. ‘There was no need to involve the police.’

  ‘Wasn’t there?’ Jake glared at her angrily. ‘When you left here no one knew what the hell you were going to do. And you’re not used to driving the Porsche. That was something else I had to think about. The Range Rover is fine, but it doesn’t have the Porsche’s acceleration.’

  ‘Oh, right.’ Isobel felt bitter. ‘You were concerned about your car. Well, don’t worry, Jake, it’s still in one piece. It’s been sitting in a friend’s lock-up in Kensington for the past three weeks.’

  Jake swore then. ‘I don’t give a damn about the car,’ he told her savagely. ‘It’s you I was worried about. God, I was beginning to fear the worst.’

  Isobel felt a little guilty now. ‘Well, as I say, there was no need for you to concern yourself,’ she declared defensively. ‘I realised that Emily might worry, and I was sorry about that, but I had to get away. I’ve been staying with a friend, Sarah. I knew—I hoped—that you’d look after Emily for me.’ She glanced beyond him. ‘Is she upstairs?’

  ‘Where else would she be?’ demanded Jake explosively. ‘Like me, she’s had to stay and face the situation. She didn’t have the luxury of anywhere else to go.’

  Isobel blinked. ‘But—didn’t you take her back to London?’

  ‘To London?’ Jake looked perplexed now. ‘Why would I take her to London?’

  Isobel blinked. ‘Well—I assumed you left just after me.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘What do you mean, no?’

  ‘I mean, I haven’t been anywhere,’ retorted Jake, his jaw compressing tensely. ‘Except to get my things from the pub, of course. I hope you don’t mind. I moved back into the house.’

  Isobel was stunned. ‘But I don’t understand—’

  ‘No.’ Jake seemed to accept that assessment. ‘You don’t.’

  Isobel tried to make sense of what he was saying. ‘So—you’ve been here for—for—’

  ‘For the past three weeks, yes.’

  ‘You haven’t been back to London?’

  ‘No.’

  She swallowed. ‘Then—then is—is Ms Duncan here, too?’

  Jake’s face twisted in disbelief. ‘Oh, yeah, right,’ he said harshly. ‘I’d do that, wouldn’t I? Bring another woman into my wife’s house? It’s the sort of thing you’d expect me to do, is it? Rub Emily’s nose in it by bringing Marcie here?’

  Isobel drew a breath. ‘I don’t know what you’re capable of, do I? For a man who professes to love one woman, you seem to have an inordinate interest in another.’

  ‘You being the other?’ suggested Jake tightly. ‘But then, that shouldn’t surprise you. You always could get under my skin.’

  As you can get under mine, thought Isobel painfully, wishing she knew what was going on. What was Jake doing here? Had he only stayed because of Emily? And, if so, why hadn’t he made other arrangements? Emily would have loved going to London with him and staying at his house.

  ‘Please…’ she said, feeling inordinately tired suddenly. ‘I’ve been driving all night. Do you think I could have a cup of coffee before we go on? I realise I’ve misjudged you, and I’m grateful if you’ve stayed on Emily’s account.’ She hesitated. ‘And—and my mother’s. H-how is Lady Hannah? I suppose I have to ask.’

  Jake grabbed a mug, filled it with some of the aromatic liquid and pushed it towards her. ‘Here,’ he said, without much ceremony. ‘You look as though you need it. You’ve hardly got an ounce of colour in your face.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Isobel lifted the mug in both hands and attempted to take a sip. But her hands were shaking and some dribbled down her chin. Then, when she freed one hand to wipe her face, the hot mug burned the other, and, jerking back automatically, she sent coffee flying everywhere.

  Some splashed onto Jake’s arm as he came forward instinctively to help her, and he uttered an impatient oath before wresting the mug out of her unresisting hand.

  ‘It’s okay,’ he said as she cowered back, covering her cheeks with her spread fingers. ‘Accidents happen,’ he added, seeming to sense that she was at the end of her tether. ‘Come on, baby. Relax. You’re among friends here.’

  ‘Am I?’ Isobel looked up at him through her lashes, and Jake thrust the mug aside and pulled her into his arms.

  ‘What do you think?’ he said thickly, pressing her face against his shoulder. ‘God, Belle, you can’t know how glad I am to see you. I was beginning to wonder if you were ever going to come back.’

  ‘And that mattered?’ she whispered huskily, knowing she was going to regret asking that question when she was in such an emotive state, but it was too late now.

  ‘It mattered,’ he assured her, his fingers moving in her hair. ‘We’ve all been worried sick about you. However despicably the old girl upstairs behaved, she loves you. You must never doubt that.’

  ‘In her own way,’ said Isobel in a muffled voice, realising she was reading much too much into the embrace. Besides which, she still hadn’t forgiven Jake for not believing in her all these years. Okay, so her mother had deceived him, too, but he should have had more faith in her.

  Yet would she, in his position? If she’d come upon him and—Marcie, say—in his bed, wouldn’t she have believed the worst if Marcie said she was pregnant? She rather thought so.

  ‘I—I’d better go up and tell Emily I’m back,’ she said now, making a belated effort to rescue the situation. It wouldn’t do for Jake to think she wanted a repeat of that morning in his hotel room. She had to accept the fact that Jake would always have some lingering attraction to her. But it wasn’t fair for her to act upon it, not when his emotions had not been stirred by passion, but relief.

  Ironically, Jake didn’t seem to want to let her go. When she tried to step back from him he moved, so that she was between him and the counter, the hard edge of the steel drainer digging into her back.

  ‘Not yet,’ he said, his voice thickening as his eyes dropped to her mouth. The look he bestowed upon her was almost tangible, and the sweet anticipation of what he was thinking caused a weakness in her legs.

  ‘Jake—’ She felt the dryness in her mouth and swallowed convulsively. ‘This isn’t a good idea.’

  ‘It’s the only idea I’ve got,’ he muttered, taking her face between his hands and staring down at her hungrily. ‘For Em’s sake, Belle, have a little pity. We can’t let one old woman’s selfishness ruin the rest of our lives.’

  Isobel quivered. Although he was cupping her face in his hands, his body was resting against hers, and she was not indifferent to the fact that he was becoming aroused. His manhood was hard and pulsing with desire, his thigh wedged between hers inflaming the dampening core between her legs. He wanted to make love to her. He was making no secret of the fact. And she wanted it, too. Right here, right now; on the draining board, if necessary. Just so long as he satisfied the ache that refused to go away.

  ‘Jake—’

  She tried to make one plea to his better nature, but he wasn’t listening to her. Bending his head, he covered her trembling mouth with his. She inhaled
raggedly as his lips bled fire into her senses, and against all the advice she’d given herself these past weeks she tilted her head and wound her arms around his neck.

  It was heaven and it was hell. Heaven because this was what she really wanted, where she really wanted to be. And hell because she knew it was wrong. She couldn’t be his part-time lover. Whatever self-respect she had left would soon vanish if she allowed him to use her as and when he felt the need.

  His hand was on her breast now, sliding beneath the conveniently short hem of the tee shirt, unfastening her bra and letting her flesh swell against his palm. Her nipples were hard, achingly sensitive. Whatever message her body was getting, it wasn’t the one she was sending from her brain.

  ‘God, you drive me crazy,’ he muttered, his hands skimming down her spine to the rounded curve of her hip. With obvious deliberation he pressed her against him, rotating his hips against hers, making her dizzily aware of how this was going to end.

  ‘Jake—I can’t do this,’ she moaned, before her body betrayed her completely, and Jake drew back only far enough to rest his forehead against hers.

  ‘It’s what you want,’ he said in an anguished voice. ‘It’s what we both want.’

  ‘I know,’ she whispered brokenly. ‘But I can’t be a substitute for Marcie. I realise you’ve not seen her for several weeks, and you’re—you’re—’

  ‘Horny?’ he asked huskily, a trace of humour lifting his lips, and she blinked away the tears that threatened at this evidence of his duplicity.

  ‘Yes,’ she said staunchly, prepared to make a fight of it if she had to. But Jake only stared into her eyes and said steadily, ‘I don’t want a divorce.’

  Isobel was confused. What did he mean? That he was going to remain married to her—for Emily’s sake, perhaps?—and keep the other woman on the side?’

  ‘I don’t—’

  ‘Marcie and I are finished,’ Jake told her softly. ‘I came to tell you that the morning I found Mallory in the house. Since then, what with Emily’s tears and Lady Hannah’s revelations, not to mention the disappearing act you put on, I haven’t had a chance to explain.’