Stronger than Yearning

by Penny Jordan

  ‘Well, I’ll certainly keep my eyes open for a bookcase. Would you care to see the table?’

  Jenna followed him back inside and studied the table he showed her. It was a reasonable example of what she wanted, and quite reasonably priced as well. She paid him for it, and arranged that he would keep it for her until she was ready to have it delivered.

  By the time she was ready to leave she had the address of a man who he assured her would bring the dull linenfold panelling back to life and the names of several other local antique dealers of repute who might be able to help her in her quest for a bookcase.

  It was too late for her to visit them all now, but Jenna decided to give them a ring from London.

  She got back late, just in time to hear the dying rings of her telephone as she raced to pick up the receiver. Knowing that it had probably only been James who had said that he would ring her that evening she was surprised by her own feeling of disappointment. No doubt it was because she was buoyed up about her plans for the house, Jenna told herself as she prepared for bed. It was only natural that in her excitement she would want to share them with someone.

  By the end of the next day she had organised curtains for all the rooms: bedhangings for the four-poster in what would be James’s room and fabric to re-cover the window seats in hers and James’s bedroom and the downstairs sitting-room. She had also bought carpets for all the rooms—James had told her to spare no expense in preparing their temporary apartment but Jenna had been cautious about spending money, choosing carefully. The Persian rugs she had selected were soft and silky, brilliantly hued in rich reds and blues which would set off the heavy oak and the linenfold. Only on James’s four-poster had she been what she herself considered outrageously extravagant ordering a very traditional and very expensive heavy brocade in a fleur de lis pattern which had been very much in vogue in the Stuart period.

  The brocade was hand-embroidered in the traditional manner, gold thread gleaming against a soft cream background. She had brought all the measurements back with her, plus photographs, and the firm she was using was one entrusted with work by the National Trust on many of their historic properties. A small footstool and a comfortable winged chair were to be covered in the same fabric and Jenna had selected plain, cream silk curtains in exactly the same shade as the brocade.

  There was also a four-poster in her room although not as large as the one in James’s; for that she had selected a less expensive brocade, again in cream, but this time with a design worked on it in blues and greens. She had chosen a toning blue silk for the lining of the bedhangings and the trim of the bedcover—the ones in James’s room would be lined in a dull, rich gold and would have a truly masculine ambience, while hers was brighter, more feminine.

  Three new bathrooms would have to be installed, one for James, one downstairs for Sarah, and a further one upstairs connecting with Jenna’s room that Lucy could use as well when she was home from school.

  Jenna had selected plain, Victorian-styled traditional sanitaryware judging it the most acceptable choice to complement the décor.

  By the time Friday afternoon came round, Jenna was conscious of a satisfied tiredness. The week had been an exhausting one and she was very pleased with what she had accomplished. That keeping herself so busy had a secondary and almost more important purpose—in keeping her mind off her looming marriage—was something she preferred not to think about.

  James had already telephoned and arranged to pick her up at her apartment at six. They were taking Sarah down to his godmother’s with them, and would have dinner when they reached their destination.

  For the first time in as long as she could remember since she had had the money to spend on herself Jenna was perplexed about what to wear. Nearly all her clothes were geared towards her life as a businesswoman—neat, immaculate suits chosen for their conservatism; a good cashmere coat in dark navy, elegant silk shirts and fine cashmere sweaters in neutral colours.

  What did she have in her wardrobe that was suitable garb for a new fiancée meeting someone important in her husband-to-be’s life for the first time?

  The answer was she would have to wear one of her normal business outfits, but as she dressed in a tailored, beige, linen summer suit with a soft, coffee-brown toning shirt, for the first time Jenna did not feel comfortable in her clothes. Although she was unaware of it she wore her clothes well, her movements economic but coordinated in a way that drew attention to the slim length of her thigh beneath the fine fabric of her skirt.

  Because she had spent so much time dithering about what to wear and pack she was running late. In her suitcase were her jeans and a couple of casual tops, a plain black dinner dress and another tailored suit.

  She was just about to loop her hair up into a chignon when she heard the bell. Impatience made her fingers clumsy, and in the end she had to leave her hair loose while she went to let James in.

  He surveyed her outfit thoughtfully, a tiny frown pleating his forehead.

  ‘Rather formal, isn’t it?’ he drawled finally, his scrutiny completed. ‘My godmother won’t know if it’s my fiancée she’s meeting or a new member of the board!’

  Despite, or perhaps because of, her own reservations Jenna instantly fired up, her skin tinting angry pink as she spun round and said fiercely, ‘I’m sorry if my taste in clothes doesn’t appeal to you, James, but it isn’t too late for you to change your mind and find someone else to marry you!’

  She knew she was goading him, but his comment, coming on top of her own doubts about the suitability of her clothes prickled her. Jenna could still remember the days after Lucy’s birth and later when money had been scarce and she had been desperately conscious of her shabby appearance and how detrimental it was to the image she had wanted to project. Clothes might not make the man or woman, but they certainly helped to create a visual impression and they were important.

  ‘It would be much easier simply to change your clothes,’ he retorted softly. ‘Why did you choose that outfit, Jenna? To remind me of my promise not to touch? I’ve never seen you wearing anything feminine yet.’

  ‘Not all women like frills and bows,’ Jenna snapped back, disliking him more with every second that passed.

  ‘No, but you are an extremely feminine woman, whether you’re prepared to admit it or not, and yet for some reason you deliberately try to deny that femininity. Why?’

  ‘I have to go and do my hair,’ Jenna hurried towards the door. ‘I won’t be long.’

  She had thought by refusing to acknowledge James’s question that she had outsmarted him, but he reached the door before her, leaning broad shoulders against it, effectively blocking her exit unless she physically pushed past him, and to do that would mean reaching out and touching that powerful masculine frame. Jenna shuddered in mute recognition of her own inability to do any such thing, barely listening as he said, ‘If doing your hair means scraping it back off your face, then don’t bother, I prefer it the way it is.’

  His arrogant assumption that his views held any sway with her made Jenna livid.

  ‘Well, I don’t,’ she told him grittily. ‘Now if you will let me pass…’

  ‘Jenna.’ There was a warning in the way he said her name that made her hesitate. ‘Tonight I am going to introduce you to my godmother as my wife-to-be. She’s an old lady who means a great deal to me, and if the only way I can convince her that there’s more to this marriage between us than a mere business arrangement is by physically making you leave your hair loose, then believe me I will.’

  Jenna did believe him, but even so her face remained stubbornly set. Deep down inside herself she knew she was being stubborn to no good cause. What did it matter which way she left her hair? But she was determined not to let James get the better of her, and tell her what to do.

  ‘Scrape it back if that’s what you wish,’ he told her coolly, ‘but I promise you when you walk into my godmother’s house it will be loose.’

  ‘That, of course, being the term
that best describes your normal choice of woman,’ Jenna said acidly, knowing that physically she could not best him, but determined not to be totally vanquished.

  To her amazement he laughed.

  ‘Now there’s an old-fashioned turn of phrase,’ he mocked when he had finally quelled his amusement. ‘My godmother knows I appreciate beauty, whether it be beauty in a woman or in an inanimate object,’ he told her. ‘As I said, she’s an old lady who’s been nagging me to get married for at least the past ten years. Don’t try to hurt me through her, Jenna,’ he warned, ‘or I promise you you’ll wish you’d never been born. Where’s your case?’ he asked, indicating that as far as he was concerned the subject was closed.

  ‘There.’ Jenna had placed it by the door, and James picked it up. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him that she was not going to go with him after all, but what would that achieve? All the pleasure she had felt earlier in the work she had accomplished during the week was gone. Now she felt drained and, worse, irritated with herself as well as with him.

  Some of her irritation vanished when she greeted Sarah. She was propped up in the back of the car and welcomed Jenna with obvious pleasure.

  As he set the car in motion Jenna refused to look at James. She couldn’t bear to see the satisfaction in his eyes when he looked at her flowing hair.

  He was a good driver and the Beethoven tape playing through the car’s cassette speakers was pleasantly soothing. It was very tempting to lie back and close her eyes.

  ‘Go to sleep if you feel like it.’

  His ability to follow the direction of her thoughts was something that Jenna found distinctly disturbing. She wasn’t used to other people anticipating her wishes for her. In truth, she wasn’t used to the sort of intimacy her relationship with James was forcing upon her. Unlike her, he seemed to have adapted to the role of her fiancé with comparative ease, whereas she felt acutely uncomfortable in it. She jumped every time he came too close to her, and she knew he was aware of it. She was tense nearly all the time she was in his company, and yet there was no reason for her to be; he had given her his word that he would respect her wishes in regard to the physical side of their marriage, and anyway, it was hardly likely that he should have more than a passing interest in her. Not when there were so many other far more attractive and sensual women only too willing to share their beds with him. She shrugged the thought away, her face burning hotly as she had an unwanted mental image of James’s body entwined with that of another woman, his skin dark and virile against her paler slenderness.

  ‘Too hot?’ He bent to adjust the heater and Jenna turned away from him, thanking providence that he didn’t really possess the ability to read her thoughts.

  A second later she was wondering if she had misjudged him. ‘My godmother is old-fashioned,’ he told her calmly, ‘and there will be no question of her giving us a shared bedroom, or indeed considering us to be lovers, but in general, friends and acquaintances will find it extremely odd that you jump ten miles in the air and freeze every time I come near you.’

  ‘Sarah…’ Jenna began desperately, her face burning again.

  ‘She’s asleep,’ James told her. ‘Is this reaction reserved solely for me, Jenna, or for mankind in general?’

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he forestalled her by adding coolly, ‘I know you’re about to damn me to eternal hell for daring to ask, but if we’re going to establish any kind of working relationship there must be at least some degree of honesty between us—and trust.’ He glanced across at her, his eyes inimical as they held hers. ‘I have already given you my word that I’ll make no unwanted sexual advances to you, but if you’re going to continue flinching away from me as though I’m Bluebeard you’re going to make life unnecessarily difficult for both of us.’

  Jenna knew that he was right, and that it would be foolish to allow her dislike of his probing to lead to open warfare between them. That was not how she wanted to live, it would not be good for Lucy and Sarah, and ultimately she suspected that James would, in any case, weather it far better than she.

  ‘It isn’t just you,’ she managed to say with a creditable degree of openness. ‘I don’t like being pawed…touched…’ she amended quickly on seeing the look he gave her, ‘by any man.’

  ‘But you must have liked it, or at least acceded to it at least once,’ he pointed out.

  ‘Lucy…’ he added enlighteningly, his grim expression suddenly darkening, his mouth tightening even further as he said quietly, ‘unless of course she was the result of an act of violence, such as rape.’

  Jenna went white, jerking involuntarily against her seat-belt her eyes wide with terror.

  She heard James curse, the car slowed down and then stopped. He glanced in his driving mirror to check that Sarah was still asleep Jenna guessed, and then said slowly, ‘Is that it, Jenna? Were you raped?’

  She had never been more relieved to be able to say with all honesty, ‘No, no, I wasn’t.’ She knew her words held an unmistakable echo of truth, and although James’s grim look did not totally disappear he seemed to relax slightly.

  Jenna was just about to draw a shaky sigh of relief when he pressed, ‘Then why? Were your first sexual experiences bad ones? Have you had some sort of unpleasant sexual experience?’

  Once again she was able to say quite truthfully, ‘No.’

  ‘Then this abhorrence of the male sex springs from the fact that your lover deserted you and left you alone to carry Lucy, is that it?’

  He was persistent, Jenna had to give him that. She moved restlessly in her seat and forced herself to face him. Now that the immediate danger was over, now that she was safely past that hated word ‘rape,’ she could do so with at least some degree of equanimity. ‘I don’t want to discuss what happened in the past with you, James. It has no bearing on our relationship today.’

  ‘No.’ His eyes were bleak and cold. ‘How can you say that to me, Jenna, when you flinch every time I come within touching distance of you? I should say completely the opposite, that the past has every bearing on the present, but since I can’t force you to confide in me we’ll let it lie, but I promise you one thing. I have no intention of becoming the object of speculation and curiosity among my friends and acquaintances because of your obvious abhorrence of me. We’re engaged, Jenna, and that in today’s terms means we’re lovers. If you can’t find a way to accept my touch in public with at least indifference, then I’ll have to find a way to teach you, and believe me I will.’

  She did believe him, and even while she hated him for what he was saying, one part of her brain acknowledged that he had some grounds for his comments. Even so something goaded her to say childishly, ‘What’s the matter—are you afraid that if I don’t cling adoringly to your arm you’ll lose your macho image?’

  His mouth tightened as he restarted the car.

  ‘Let’s just cut out the childish comments, shall we, Jenna? And while we’re on the subject—’ his glance swept her suited figure with derogatory thoroughness, ‘if your wardrobe is full of look-alikes of that, you’re going to need some new clothes.’ He saw the angry rejection trembling on her lips and continued smoothly, ‘As my wife there will be certain functions you’ll be expected to attend with me, certain duties you’ll be expected to perform.’ Something glinted momentarily in his eyes as he finished with silky menace. ‘If you won’t help me in this respect, Jenna, I’m perfectly capable of choosing you a new wardrobe without that help.’

  For once rage overcame caution, and she spat at him bitterly, ‘Go ahead then, because I’m perfectly happy with the clothes I already own.’

  It was a lie as she had already proved to herself once tonight, but she was not going to have him reordering her life to his requirements.

  ‘If you don’t like it, you know what you can do,’ she added tauntingly. ‘We aren’t married yet.’

  ‘But we will be.’ There was a certain savage satisfaction in the way he said it, but she was too furious to register
it properly.

  ‘Yes, because you can’t bear to lose the Hall,’ Jenna agreed bitingly.

  ‘That’s one consideration. Lucy is another, or have you forgotten her?’

  Jenna was silent, hating herself for allowing her own fears and insecurities to take precedence over Lucy’s happiness. She had forgotten Lucy, if only momentarily, and it galled her to be reminded of her niece’s claims on her by James.

  ‘Sarah’s waking up,’ James warned her quietly. Jenna turned round and saw that Sarah was rubbing her eyes as she opened them.

  ‘How much longer?’ she asked James tiredly.

  ‘Only another half an hour or so.’

  * * *

  His estimate proved to be accurate; within forty minutes they were turning down a country lane, the dying sun disappearing beyond the rise of the hills and bathing everything in rich gold. Gloucestershire was a lovely county, Jenna reflected, trying to imbue something into herself of the peace of the surrounding countryside.

  Up ahead of them a signpost indicated an hotel. ‘My godmother sold the family home when she was widowed and it’s now an hotel,’ James enlightened her. ‘She retained the lodge for her own use and is far more comfortable there. She has a live-in housekeeper-cum-companion who has been with her for the past twenty years. You can see the lodge now, if you look to the right.’

  Jenna peered in the direction he indicated but all she could see was a moss-green roof, and then, as they turned a bend in the road, the lodge was there. Long and low, hugging the ground, the weathered stone lichened in places and dripping with the pink blossoms of a rambling rose.

  Tiny mullioned windows painted white and framed with stone peered out from behind the trellis of rose and clematis. Too large to be described as a mere cottage, and yet not stately enough to merit the term house, the lodge looked as though it had been specifically designed for a calendar rather than as genuine habitation.

  There was even a true cottage garden in front of it, complete with grassy path and a white picket fence.