Stronger than Yearning

by Penny Jordan

  He had not, as many people had suspected, been her lover, but his wife had been suspicious and jealous enough for him to tell Jenna after she had worked for him for two years that he felt it best that she looked for a job elsewhere. She had been stunned, shocked, gripped with a furious sense of disbelief. She had worked hard for him, and for herself, saving, scrimping, putting as much money on one side as she could so that she could move out of her hostel and find a small flat for herself and Lucy. She had it all planned out. Lucy could attend nursery school while she worked. She would find herself a neighbour with small children who would be glad to earn a few extra pounds a week taking Lucy to and from school, and now, all because of a spoilt woman’s wholly irrational jealousy, her plans would have to be changed.

  Sensing how distraught she was, but not knowing the reason why, it was then that John Howard had tentatively suggested that she go into business herself. He would help her financially in the early stages, he had offered awkwardly, and although pride had urged Jenna to refuse his guilt-induced offer—after all, she had done nothing to warrant being dismissed, nothing at all, no matter what his wife might think—caution had whispered to her to wait. How she had hated Marian Howard, she remembered grimly. Although they had never met, she had seen photographs of John’s spoilt, beautiful wife. They had no children, and from what John said Marian seemed to spend her life in a ceaseless round of shopping and socialising. Now, because she was jealous of Jenna, Marian was forcing John to dismiss her…and because of his wife’s insecurity she would lose her chance to have Lucy with her.

  ‘I could put quite a lot of business your way, Jenna,’ John had offered, warming to his idea, unaware of the battle going on inside her.

  Jenna thought rapidly. She knew quite well what business John meant. As an established, socially prominent interior designer, he was often approached by women who wanted to boast that their living-room or bedroom had been designed by John Howard, and yet these same women, when told how much it would cost them to drop his prestigious name into the envious ears of their friends, often had a change of heart; when they did go ahead and commission him they were always difficult to please. Jenna had had the unrewarding task of soothing more than one of them. But it would be a start, a chance to prove just what she could do, an opportunity to establish herself financially, to have Lucy living with her, and although her pride was outraged and demanded that she refuse to be bought off, she heard herself saying coolly that it sounded a good idea.

  Of course it had not been easy. There had been problems…snide remarks…whispered comments that John had backed her financially because she had been his mistress, but she had weathered it all and had long since paid back the small capital John had loaned her, with interest, and now…

  Now she was a successful, prominent interior designer herself, as courted and fěted as John had been. One of the reasons for her success had been her ability to keep ahead of the trends, and now she sensed a mood in people to return to the past—a desire for craftsmanship rather than gimmickry—so she had slowly set about building up a pool of craftsmen and women, each an expert in their own field.

  If she moved to Yorkshire she would have to start again, she told herself later that evening as she prepared for bed. Of course, she could retain many of her contacts but others…A tiny thrill of excitement curled upwards through her stomach. She wanted the challenge of a new venture, she admitted to herself, and more than that she ached to start work on the old Hall: to restore it, to cherish and love it. Half hysterically she reflected that while other women her age had love affairs with the opposite sex, she was embarking on a love affair with a house. But what about Lucy? Guilt and despair mingled inside her. Initially everything she had done had been for her sister’s child, for Lucy, so that she wouldn’t suffer as she and Rachel had done. She had wanted so much for her…had wanted her to have the security of love and money as she and Rachel had not. She had never quite lost the conviction that had Rachel come from a more moneyed background, from a family where there was someone to stand up for her and support her, that Alan Deveril would not have been able to browbeat her as he had, that Charles would not have got away with what had been a violently brutal rape. But instead of protecting Lucy all she seemed to have done was alienate her. How could Jenna explain now to Lucy how she had been conceived…who and what her father had been?

  Lucy was so achingly vulnerable, and although she tried to hide it from her, Jenna was acutely aware of her vulnerability. Sometimes she ached inside for her niece, but it seemed nothing she did could make Lucy happy. She could of course always agree to stay in London. Should she? But London was too full of pitfalls for a young and rebellious teenager. If she gave in to Lucy on this issue, all too soon there would be others. Staying in London was not really the crux of the problem between them: it was Jenna’s refusal to discuss Lucy’s father with her, and at the moment she could see no way of solving that problem without causing her niece pain and possible emotional damage. She drifted off to sleep with a frown on her forehead, still worrying about Lucy.

  * * *

  When Jenna first opened her eyes, it took her several seconds to remember where she was. She shook her head, wonderingly, a bright skein of hair clouding her vision until she pushed it away. It had been years since she had slept so heavily or so well. Must be something to do with the cool, crisp, Yorkshire upland air coming in through the open bedroom window, she thought wryly.

  It had also been years since she had woken up in the morning possessed by the faintly breathless sense of excitement she was now experiencing. A sense of excitement she suspected most women would equate with the appearance in their lives of a new man. Her mouth curled derisively. Jenna was no fool. She knew that her attitude towards the male sex was an unusual one, just as she knew that in many ways it sprang from what had happened to her sister. She also knew that all members of the male sex were not like Alan or Charles Deveril, but knowing that had never stopped her from freezing off any attempts men made to make contact with her. It wasn’t that she hated the male sex; it was more that she felt nothing for it in terms of sexual responsiveness. Or had trained herself to feel nothing for it, she thought rather wryly.

  What had come over her? It wasn’t like her to be so deeply self-analytical…and that she should be now was faintly disturbing. Unbidden, an image flashed across her mind: a man, tall, with a dark shock of hair and amused blue eyes. The man in the portrait at the old Hall. Quickly she dismissed the image and its disturbing nuances. What was the matter with her? She was as nervous and on edge as a teenager facing her first date. Excitement, that was all, she told herself as she slid out of bed.

  A narrow beam of sunlight barred her body, penetrating the fine silk of her nightgown, making her glance briefly downwards to frown slightly over the slender gold of her body where it was revealed by her nightgown. Her own body was something she rarely gave much attention to. She was as slim and as supple as Lucy, and yet her body was quite unmistakably that of a woman and not a girl, her breasts full, her curves feminine. Another image slid into her mind and with a cold shock she realised she was visualising how yesterday’s dark-haired stranger had looked at her.

  Too intelligent to practise self-deception, Jenna acknowledged as she banished the image, she suspected that her contempt for the male sex sprang from a deep-seated need to protect herself from the same sort of agony her sister had known. Where sex itself was concerned, her feelings were even more confused. She had never met any man who aroused in her a sexual desire that was strong enough to overcome all her deeply buried fears. Perhaps because she equated sex with what had happened to Rachel. Whatever the case she had been scrupulous about not passing on her own feelings to Lucy. She desperately wanted Lucy to have everything she herself had never had. That was why it hurt so much when Lucy had flung her heedless adolescent accusations at her.

  As she dressed, an unusual surge of optimism swept through her, banishing all her doubts. Who could tell? Perhaps once L
ucy had accepted the fact that Jenna intended them to move to Yorkshire, she would grow to love the old Hall as much as Jenna herself did. Lucy was at a difficult age, Jenna reminded herself fairly, but in another few years she would be an adult. Perhaps then they would be able to talk about Rachel, Jenna thought contemplatively, acknowledging that she would like to talk about her sister with someone, to share her memories of her, and who better than Lucy? As it was, only Bill and Nancy had known Rachel, and could share her memories with her. Maybe that was why she was so afraid to let a man into her life, she reflected. Because if she did so, she would have to tell him about the past, about Rachel and Lucy…

  What was she really afraid of? she asked herself, as she tugged a brush through her hair and studied her reflection pensively in the mirror. That a man might reject her because he thought she had had an illegitimate child? Or that if she cared deeply enough about someone to tell them the truth they might not share her view of the enormity of the crime against her sister. It had been a long time since she had examined her own deep feelings so intensely, perhaps too long.

  In London, with a growing, demanding business to take up all her time and Lucy to worry about, there never seemed to be an opportunity to sit down and think about herself. Or was it that she didn’t want to dwell too deeply on her own emotions or lack of them? Harley had accused her on more than one occasion of being a-human. Who knew? Perhaps he was right. A self-mocking smile curved her generous mouth. What would they say, all those men who had striven so hard to get her into their beds, if they knew the truth? That far from being a cool, composed, experienced woman, she was in reality no more than a frightened, inexperienced virgin. The thought was ludicrous enough to make her laugh. What did it matter? No one was ever likely to know the truth, apart from herself.

  Once again, irritatingly, a mental image of the man who had admired her car with words and her body with his eyes flashed across her mind, the blue eyes taunting, the curl of his mouth suggesting with arrogant maleness that he knew everything there was to know about her sex. Why had she allowed him to antagonise her so intensely? The man was a stranger, someone she had never met before, nor was ever likely to meet again. Shrugging aside the memory of how he had looked at her, Jenna went downstairs.

  ‘Sorry I’m so late,’ she apologised to Nancy as she walked into the kitchen. ‘I can’t think what happened.’ She wrinkled her nose ruefully. ‘I haven’t slept so deeply for years. Where’s Lucy?’

  ‘Gone out,’ Nancy informed her drily, adding bluntly, ‘I know you won’t like my saying this, Jenna, but it’s high time you told her the truth. If you don’t——’ She broke off as they heard a car outside.

  ‘Funny!’ she exclaimed, her forehead puckering in a frown. ‘I wasn’t expecting Bill back so soon. He’s driven down to the village to get some more bread. There’s nothing wrong with young Lucy’s appetite, whatever else might be ailing her.’

  But it wasn’t Bill who came to the kitchen door. It was Lucy, her eyes shining, her cheeks flushed, and with her, to Jenna’s complete consternation and shock, was the man whose features had so annoyingly impressed themselves upon her mind, to the extent that twice during the last half an hour she had recalled them in vivid detail. As she looked at him, she realised that her memory had not played her false. His eyes were as intensely blue as she remembered, his skin as healthily tanned.

  ‘Lucy, where on earth have you been?’ she asked her niece frostily, dragging her attention away from the male figure lounging in the open doorway and forcing herself to concentrate instead on the teenager’s flushed and rebellious features. What was Lucy doing with this stranger, a stranger whose overt sexuality made her mouth compress in bitter contempt? He flaunted his sexuality like a banner and it disgusted her, riveting her attention until Lucy spoke.

  ‘Out!’ The pert toss of the dark hair which accompanied the defiant challenge only increased Jenna’s perturbation, but she managed to mask her fear with a coolness she was far from feeling.

  How many times had she warned Lucy against the folly of talking to strangers; any strangers. It made no difference that every instinct she possessed told her that this man was definitely not the type who needed to waylay young girls in order to obtain sexual satisfaction.

  ‘I’m afraid the fault lies with me.’ His words fell into the thick pool of silence, stagnant with antagonism, that had fallen on the kitchen after Lucy’s defiant remark, and it goaded Jenna unbearably to know that beneath the conventional apology he was probably laughing at her.

  ‘I met your daughter down at the Hall and offered to give her a lift back here. It seems that you and I are going to be in competition at the auction this morning.’

  Jenna’s eyes left his face and darted to Lucy’s. What had Lucy been doing down at the old Hall? For now her concentration on her niece was something she could use as a defence mechanism to block out the shock of what she had just been told. He wanted to buy the Hall. Her mouth curled unwittingly into a bitter smile. So much for her initial assumptions about him.

  ‘And what exactly were you doing down there, Lucy?’ she questioned curtly, trying to blank out the feeling of tension invading her veins. What had happened to the excited euphoria with which she had woken up? It was gone, banished by the presence of this dark, mocking man.

  ‘I just wanted to see what it looked like.’ Lucy’s reply was sulky.

  ‘Without telling anyone where you were going?’ Jenna knew she was overdoing her chastisement, and that it would be wiser to keep her criticisms until they were alone, but something about the enigmatic scrutiny of the man watching them was driving her on. It was as though somehow they were locked in some sort of secret battle…If that was the case, establishing her parental authority over Lucy was hardly likely to win it, Jenna reflected, slightly ashamed of the way she had spoken so sharply to the younger girl. She wasn’t so far removed from her teenage years herself that she could not remember how touchy and vulnerable a teenager’s pride was. Her voice softened slightly. ‘I’m sorry, Lucy,’ she apologised, curling her fingers into her palms and refusing to look in the direction of the sardonic stranger. She didn’t want to see him gloating over her apology. ‘I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that but…’

  ‘She shouldn’t have accepted a lift with me.’

  Once again the cool drawl raised tiny goosebumps of prickly resentment on Jenna’s sensitive skin. ‘My fault again, I insisted. It seemed foolish to let her walk when I was coming this way…’ He shrugged powerfully broad shoulders, this morning encased in a thick navy jumper that added to his ruggedly masculine appearance.

  ‘Really?’

  The moment she spoke the coolly dismissive word, Jenna knew that she had fallen into a carefully baited trap.

  ‘Yes.’ He ignored her cool withdrawal and smiled instead at Nancy. ‘If I might come in for a second?’

  He was still standing just by the door, and Jenna watched with narrowed eyes and a prickling sense of foreboding as Nancy coloured slightly and said quickly, ‘Oh, my goodness, of course! Please do.’

  He was a charmer all right, Jenna thought critically, but even if Nancy was not immune she was. She was looking at him, studying him as he walked into the room, watching the lean, long-legged way he moved, his movements as fluid as those of a great jungle cat—and just as dangerous—when suddenly she was conscious that she was staring and that, worse, he was aware of it. The look he gave her as their eyes clashed made her feel as though he could see right into her mind and read every thought in it. He knew how antagonistic she was to him. A fine shudder of apprehension rippled through her body. An outright reaction to her antipathy she could deal with, but somehow his deliberate refusal to show any response at all was unnerving.

  ‘Well, thank you for bringing Lucy back for us, Mr ..?’ Jenna paused and he obligingly filled the space for her. ‘Allingham,’ he told her laconically, ‘James Allingham.’

  His name meant nothing to her, but the smile that curled his mou
th without reaching his eyes chilled her.

  ‘Lucy tells me you’re hoping to buy the Hall and use it as a headquarters for your business interests,’ he commented, observing her, Jenna noticed, with eyes that were suddenly almost frighteningly watchful.

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, not knowing what else to do. Who was this man? Obviously not the farm labourer she had originally supposed. He might be wearing casual clothes—a checked shirt, a thick sweater and a pair of cords—but they were expensive casuals. It irritated her now that she had allowed his blatant sexuality to blind her to the fact that he was a potential rival for possession of the Hall. ‘And you, Mr Allingham,’ she challenged, lifting her head and looking directly into his eyes, letting him know that she wouldn’t be easily intimidated, ‘what is your purpose in wishing to acquire the property?’ It crossed her mind that he could quite possibly refuse to tell her, but he didn’t.

  His smile widened, but still did not reach his eyes. ‘Well, as to that,’ he drawled, making her remember that she had previously thought that his heritage wasn’t entirely British, ‘my ancestors originally came from here and I kinda thought it would be rather nice to keep the property in family hands.’

  Jenna went white, a small gasp escaping her lips before she could stop herself from betraying her shock. James Allingham was a Deveril! No wonder she had felt so antagonistic towards him, she reflected bitterly. Her senses must have known what her mind had not. Don’t be ridiculous, she chided herself mentally, her antagonism had initially sprung from the fact that he was so overpoweringly and blatantly male, and nothing else. Even so, it was a shock to discover that he was related to the Deverils.