by Anne Mather
‘You want me,’ she protested, not knowing where she found the courage to say such a thing to him. God, only a few days ago she’d been convinced he could never be attracted to her. Yet here she was, telling him he wanted her, when he might easily be playing her along.
However, he didn’t deny it. ‘That doesn’t matter,’ Liam declared grimly, but when he put his hands on the cushions at either side of her head to lever himself away from her she wouldn’t let him go.
‘It does matter,’ she insisted, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. ‘I’m not expecting a lifelong commitment here. I just want to—be with you. Is that so wrong?’
Liam groaned. ‘It’s not wrong—’
‘Well, then?’
‘You don’t understand,’ he muttered, and this time he succeeded in pulling away from her. He drew her sweater down again, hiding those luscious breasts from his hungry gaze. ‘I’m not what you think.’
Rosa gazed at him, narrow-eyed. ‘If you’re going to tell me you’re not normal, then—’
‘I’m not a vampire,’ Liam assured her harshly. ‘But just take my word for it. This would never work.’
‘It doesn’t have to work.’ Rosa struggled into a sitting position and stared at him appealingly. ‘I like you, Liam. I have ever since you spoke to me on the ferry. I know I’m not sophisticated or glamorous, but I thought—I really thought you liked me, too.’
‘I do like you,’ muttered Liam savagely. ‘This has nothing to do with liking or disliking you. It has to do with me. Only me!’
Rosa knew when she was beaten. She’d given it her best and Liam had shot her down in flames. She didn’t know what was going on here, but she didn’t believe half of what he was saying. For some reason he’d changed his mind about her.
Was he afraid she might expect something he couldn’t give? Even now? Hurting, she had to deliver one final taunt—if only to salvage something from the wreck of her self-respect. ‘It’s always about you, isn’t it, Mr Jameson?’ she demanded, wrapping her arms about her suddenly chilled body. ‘You’re completely self-motivated, aren’t you? Self first, self last, self everything!’
The injustice of that statement almost choked him. He’d been thinking of her, for God’s sake! And of himself, too, he admitted, and how he’d feel when she saw him and turned away. But mostly of her, mostly to spare her the ugly patchwork his attacker had made of his body. It wouldn’t occur to her that the reason he wore long-sleeved shirts and sweaters was because the man had almost chopped his arms to shreds.
Realising he would regret this, he got to his feet and faced her. Then, as she gazed up at him in sudden alarm, he tore his shirt open. Buttons popped and danced across the floor, and he realised he’d probably torn them off. But he didn’t care. In that moment all he wanted to do was show her the proof of what he’d been saying.
Rosa got to her feet as he dragged the shirt off his shoulders, her breath catching in her throat when she saw the scars on his arms and chest. Someone had attacked him—with a knife, she guessed—and he’d raised his arms to defend himself.
So this was what he’d been hiding, she thought, wondering if he thought they detracted from him as a man. The scars were old, and in many cases fading. But the memories they’d left with him were still strong enough to tear him apart.
Oh, Lord, she fretted, ashamed that she’d made him do this. Not to mention accusing him of having lived a charmed life. But did he really think she’d be repulsed by his appearance? For heaven’s sake, she was ashamed of herself, not him.
‘I—I didn’t know,’ she began, wanting to reassure him. ‘I’m sorry, Liam, I—’
‘Not half as sorry as I am, believe me,’ he snarled harshly. ‘But, as you say, you didn’t know. I suppose that’s some excuse.’ He snatched up his shirt and shoved his arms into the sleeves. ‘But now you do, and I want you to go. I’ll get Sam to show you out.’
‘But, Liam—’
‘Don’t,’ he said, limping heavily to the door. ‘Believe me, I’ve had all the sympathy I can take.’
Rosa fretted about what had happened all the way back to the guesthouse. She didn’t think about the rain, or the fact that the roads were slippy and she had to be careful she didn’t skid into a bog. Her own safety meant nothing to her at that moment. She didn’t even notice the stiffness of the steering wheel. All she could think about was Liam’s face when he’d wrenched off his shirt and shown her those awful scars. She didn’t think she’d ever forget the torment in his eyes.
It was only when she pulled up outside the guesthouse that she realised it had actually stopped raining. Even the wind seemed to have eased a little, and she could actually walk up the path to the door without getting blown off her feet.
Conversely, the knowledge that the storm was waning didn’t cheer her up. The ferry would come and she’d leave the island. She’d never see Liam again.
‘Is everything all right?’ Mrs Ferguson met her in the hallway of the guesthouse, her brow creasing when she saw how drawn Rosa looked.
‘Yes. Yes, everything’s fine,’ lied Rosa, knowing she couldn’t discuss what had happened with anyone. ‘Thank you for the use of your car. I must pay for the petrol, though.’
‘Och, that’s not necessary.’ Mrs Ferguson clicked her tongue dismissively. ‘I don’t want anything for the tiny drop of fuel you’ll have used. Like I said before you left, it will have done the vehicle good to have an outing. When my husband was alive he used to like to go bird-watching all over the island, but since he died I’ve scarcely had a use for it.’
‘You’re very kind.’ Rosa forced a smile. ‘It—er—it seems to be brightening up.’
‘Yes, I thought so myself,’ agreed the landlady, glancing out of the door. ‘But you’re looking a little peaked, Miss Chantry, if you don’t mind my saying so. Are you sure you didn’t find the journey too tiring?’
Tiring!
Rosa stifled the sob that rose in the back of her throat. ‘Just—a bit,’ she said, hoping that would satisfy the woman. ‘I’m used to power steering, you see.’
‘Power steering?’ Mrs Ferguson sounded impressed. ‘And what would that be when it’s at home?’
‘Oh—’ Rosa wished she hadn’t said anything. ‘It just makes it easier to steer,’ she explained, without elaborating, and with that she headed towards the stairs that led to her room.
CHAPTER TEN
THE REST OF THE DAY was an anticlimax.
After refusing Mrs Ferguson’s offer of lunch, Rosa holed up in her room, wondering if she’d ever feel normal again. The events of the morning seemed unbelievable in retrospect. Had she really almost been seduced by a man against his will?
She simply wasn’t the kind of woman things like that happened to. Her marriage to Colin Vincent and his subsequent betrayal had left her distinctly suspicious where men were concerned. Yet from the beginning she’d not had that feeling with Liam. Perhaps because she’d never expected that he might be attracted to her.
Even now, she hardly knew what he felt about her. Not enough to trust her, she acknowledged, wishing she’d had a chance to convince him she didn’t care about his scars. Were they the reason he lived here, miles from any of the people he worked with? She wished she knew him better, wished she could show him that she—
She—what?
Rosa shivered. What was she thinking? She wasn’t in love with him, for heaven’s sake. In lust, maybe, and she very much regretted the way she’d had to leave the castle. But she hardly knew the man. Certainly not enough to trust him with her love.
Nevertheless, that didn’t stop her from regretting what had happened. She still didn’t know what he thought of her—if he imagined she was used to doing that sort of thing.
She wasn’t.
Rosa quivered. She couldn’t ever remember behaving so shamelessly before, even with Colin. But then, the feelings she’d had for Colin had been nothing like this, and that was something else she regretted.<
br />
But had she really asked Liam to have sex with her? Had she really promised him there need be no commitment on his part, other than to take her to bed and make mad, passionate love to her?
Her face burned at the memory. Burned, too, at the realisation that she’d meant it. That she meant it still. She wanted him. Wanted to be with him. And something told her it would have been an experience she would never forget.
But it wasn’t going to happen. Liam had made sure of that. In one devastating move he’d shown her exactly how damaged he was. Not just physically. His physical scars had healed. It was the other scars he carried beneath the surface that worried Rosa.
Because it was that sensitivity, which seemed to be as raw now as when the attack had happened, that had caused him to turn away from her. She was no psychologist, but she’d gamble that someone else was responsible for the protective shell he’d built around himself. Someone had hurt him, and she didn’t believe it was his attacker.
So who? It had to be a woman, she decided painfully. A special woman. A woman he’d been in love with. Someone he’d been relying on to support him through his ordeal…
The phone rang downstairs and Rosa tensed. Not that she expected it to be for her. Liam wasn’t likely to try and get in touch with her again.
Nevertheless, her heart leapt when Mrs Ferguson called, ‘It’s for you, Miss Chantry.’ And then sank again when she added, ‘It’s your mother.’
What now?
Rosa felt the weight of her own inadequacy descend on her as she hurried down the stairs to take the call. Yes, she’d asked Liam about the film, she rehearsed silently. But, no, she had no further news to give her mother.
‘Hello, Mum,’ she said, picking up the receiver, injecting a note of optimism into her voice. ‘You’ll be pleased to hear the storm’s over at last. I’ll be leaving the island on Monday at the latest.’
‘Will you, dear?’ Mrs Chantry sounded strangely agitated. ‘Well, that’s good.’ She paused. ‘Will you come straight home?’
Rosa frowned. ‘I thought I might contact an information centre on the mainland and find out if they know—’
‘Sophie’s not in Scotland,’ broke in her mother swiftly. And then, before Rosa could object, she added, ‘She’s been in London, but she’s home now.’
Rosa was stunned. ‘In London?’ she echoed, blankly.
‘Yes.’ Her mother didn’t sound as if she was enjoying this. ‘She’s been with some man she met at the pop festival. Some musician, I believe.’
‘You’re not serious!’
‘I am.’ Mrs Chantry sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Rosa.’
‘But why did she tell Mark she was going to Scotland?’
‘I don’t know.’ Clearly her mother would have preferred not to go on with this. ‘To put us off the scent, I suppose. She knew I’d have worried if I’d known she was with some guitarist with a pop group. What with all the drug-taking that goes on and—’
‘But you were worried, Mum,’ Rosa reminded her. ‘My God, when you rang me last Saturday night you were practically hysterical.’
‘Oh, I wasn’t, Rosa. You’re exaggerating. Good heavens, we all know what Sophie’s like. She’s so impetuous!’
‘So irresponsible,’ muttered Rosa darkly. ‘Is she there? Put her on. I want to speak to her.’
‘You can’t.’ Before Rosa could argue, Mrs Chantry explained her reasons. ‘Mark called a little while ago, and she’s gone round to his house to try and patch things up with him.’
‘Well, he’s a fool if he believes anything she tells him,’ said Rosa irritably. For heaven’s sake, was she the only one in the family with a lick of sense? ‘I can’t believe you’re letting her get away with this. If it had been me at her age, I’d have been grounded for a month!’
‘Well, it’s no good me going on at her, Rosa,’ declared Mrs Chantry unhappily. ‘She’s going away to university soon enough, and if I play the heavy she’s not going to want to come home at all.’
‘Oh, Mum!’ Rosa groaned. ‘You can’t let her blackmail you. She ran off with a musician, a man she’d only just met, who she knew nothing about. He could have been a—a white slaver for all she knew.’
‘Oh, Rosa.’ Mrs Chantry gave a little laugh now. ‘White slaver, indeed!’ She waited a beat, and when Rosa didn’t say anything she added firmly, ‘Anyway, she’s learned her lesson. She says he dumped her when she refused to go to bed with him.’
And believe that if you will, thought Rosa cynically. But all she said was, ‘Did she tell you why she went with him in the first place?’
‘Oh, apparently he said he could introduce her to some people he knew in television,’ said her mother, relaxing a little now that she’d delivered her news. ‘She shouldn’t have believed him. I told her that.’
‘And where did Liam Jameson come in?’ asked Rosa shortly. ‘Or hasn’t she told you that?’
Her mother hesitated. ‘Oh—well, that might have been my fault.’
‘Your fault?’ Rosa was confused. ‘How could it be your fault?’
‘Well…’ Mrs Chantry was obviously searching for words. ‘I evidently jumped to the wrong conclusion.’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘No.’ Her mother sighed. ‘No, you wouldn’t.’ There was another pause, and then she said reluctantly, ‘Well, you know how much Sophie likes Liam Jameson’s books?’
‘Yes.’
‘And how she’d said how great it would be to star in one of his films?’
‘You’re kidding!’
‘No. No, I’m not.’ Mrs Chantry spoke indignantly. ‘She has said that. Heaps of times. And—and when Mark rang and said she’d run off to Scotland with some man she’d met at the pop festival—’
Rosa groaned. ‘I don’t believe this!’
‘It—it’s true.’ Her mother sniffed pathetically. ‘Mark did say that she’d told him that this man was going to introduce her to all the right people, and—’
‘And you put two and two together and made fifteen,’ said Rosa shortly. ‘Mum, why didn’t you tell me this before I left?’
‘Would you have gone if I had?’
No!
Rosa blew out a breath. ‘Possibly not.’
‘Probably not,’ declared her mother tersely. ‘I know you, Rosa. If you’d thought I was just clutching at straws, you’d never have approached Liam Jameson.’
And wasn’t that the truth? thought Rosa, an unpleasant little pain making itself felt in her temple. ‘Oh, Mum,’ she said wearily, ‘I wish you’d told me just the same.’
‘And have you tell me what a stupid woman I am?’ demanded Mrs Chantry. ‘I thought you’d be glad to hear your sister was home, safe and sound. Instead all you can do is grumble about both of us!’
Rosa knew it was ridiculous. She was thirty-two, for goodness’ sake. But her eyes filled with tears at her mother’s harsh words. They were so unjustified, so unfair. She hadn’t complained, not really. But Sophie was totally selfish and her mother refused to see it.
‘I’d better go,’ she said, hoping the catch in her voice wasn’t audible to anyone else. ‘Mrs Ferguson’s probably waiting to use the phone.’
Which was unlikely, she conceded. Apart from this call, the phone hadn’t rung at all while she’d been in the guesthouse. Evidently people in Kilfoil tended to do their gossiping face to face.
‘All right.’ If Mrs Chantry suspected that the reason Rosa was ending the call was because she’d been a little unkind, she wasn’t prepared to admit it. ‘I’ll expect you when I see you, then. Take care.’
‘Bye.’
Rosa replaced the handset and scrubbed an impatient hand across her eyes. She was not going to cry, she told herself, even if the day had just gone from bad to worse. She had to focus on the future, on getting home to her little flat in Ripon, which suddenly seemed very far away. School would be starting again in a couple of weeks, and she had lessons to prepare before then.
Liam always stay
ed at the Moriarty Hotel when he was in London. It was a small, select establishment, known to only a few people, and they, like himself, reserved a suite of rooms year round, so that it was always available whenever it was needed.
It was one of the perks of being successful, he thought, as he drove south on the motorway. He could stay there completely anonymously, which suited him very well.
Not that he intended staying more than a couple of nights there on this visit. He was due to spend a few days at the Erskine Clinic in Knightsbridge, undergoing some further therapy on his leg.
Ever since August, when he’d been caught out in the storm because of the dogs, he’d been having an increasing amount of discomfort in his thigh. The local doctor thought he might have torn a ligament, and rather than wait for it to get better, which might not happen, Liam had been forced to seek relief.
Of course Sam thought he was crazy, driving to London. His opinion was that Liam should have used the helicopter. But helicopters tended to advertise one’s arrival, and that was the last thing Liam wanted to do.
He’d left Scotland behind a little while ago, and now he was some miles beyond Penrith, heading towards the service area at Tebay. He might stop there, he reflected. He could do with a cup of coffee and the opportunity to stretch his legs. And to look at the map, he conceded, not prepared to consider why he should need to do so. His route was familiar enough, goodness knew. South on the M6 as far as the M5. then east on the M40 until he reached the outskirts of London. What could be simpler?
He parked near the service buildings at Tebay and went inside to use the facilities and buy a coffee. Then he carried it back to the car and pulled his map out of the glove locker.
Less than a mile farther on there was a turn-off for Scotch Corner. Well, for Kirby Stephen initially, but it eventually intersected with the A66 east, which in turn intersected with the A1 at Scotch Corner. And about twenty miles south of Scotch Corner was the small Yorkshire market town of Ripon.