Rich as Sin

by Anne Mather

  Samantha blinked. ‘You mean—you’re drunk?’ She scrambled to her feet, contempt for herself, and resentment at his habitual indifference to anyone’s feelings but his own, contorting her face. The pathetic dreams she had had about him crumbled about her feet! She couldn’t imagine why he was here, but it wouldn’t do her any good.

  ‘No, I’m not drunk,’ Matthew muttered now, and, grabbing hold of the door frame, he hauled himself up. ‘I guess I should have eaten something before I left the office.’ He frowned, and pushed back his overlong hair with a weary hand. ‘I can’t remember when I last had any food.’

  Samantha didn’t know whether she believed him, but she took a step back and looked at him more thoroughly. He didn’t look drunk, she conceded, seeing no evidence of that state in his tired eyes. He looked pale, and exhausted, and he had definitely lost weight. But now that he was on his feet he looked more sinned against than sinning.

  It reminded her that she was hardly dressed for callers either. Her baggy dungarees, worn over an old sweater, and the woolly slippers on her feet, were hardly flattering. In addition to which, it was weeks since she had done anything but run a brush through her hair. In consequence, it now hung straight and unstyled, way past her shoulders.

  ‘How—how did you get here?’ she questioned, unable to bring herself to ask why he was here, and Matthew turned and gestured towards the road.

  ‘In that,’ he said, indicating an unremarkable black saloon parked at the kerb. ‘And before you ask, I didn’t take a drink until I passed your local. I guess I chose the wrong kind of Dutch courage.’

  Samantha clutched the door. ‘Dutch courage?’ she echoed disbelievingly. ‘Why would you need Dutch courage?’

  ‘Why do you think?’ retorted Matthew wearily, propping himself against the door. ‘Can I come in? I need to talk to you.’

  Samantha didn’t move. ‘How—how did you know where I lived?’

  Matthew sighed. ‘I looked you up in the phone book.’

  ‘Our number’s not in the phone book.’

  ‘Oh, for Pete’s sake!’ Matthew’s red-rimmed eyes bored into hers. ‘OK. I had someone find out, right? Now—can I come in? Or do I have to ask your father?’

  Samantha licked her lips. ‘My father’s not here.’

  Matthew’s eyes flickered. ‘But this is his house,’ he probed warily, and she nodded. ‘So,’ he seemed to breathe a little more easily after that, ‘let’s find somewhere less public to talk.’

  Samantha swallowed. ‘What about?’

  Matthew sighed again. ‘You and me.’

  ‘You and me?’ Samantha stepped back almost involuntarily, and he took advantage of her momentary lapse to step inside. Supporting himself, with his back against the coat-rack, he closed the door. Then, as if he couldn’t help himself, he closed his eyes, groping for a handhold to prevent another collapse.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he muttered, opening his eyes again, and in spite of her misgivings Samantha found herself offering him her shoulder to lean on. With some difficulty, she managed to get him along the hall and into the sitting-room, then watched with anxious eyes as he lowered himself on to the sofa.

  He looked much worse in the brighter light of the sitting-room. His eyes were haggard, and his face was drained of all colour. He lay back against the cushions as if it was days since he had had any rest. And, although she told herself it was nothing to do with her, she couldn’t prevent the wave of compassion that swept over her.

  ‘Are your parents out?’ he asked, making an evident effort to hide his weakness, and Samantha decided that there was no point in telling lies.

  ‘They’re not here,’ she said. ‘They’re on holiday in Tenerife. They only left this morning.’

  Matthew hauled himself upright. ‘For how long? I mean—how long have they gone for?’

  Samantha hesitated, and then mentally berated herself. What could he do? He was practically an invalid.

  ‘Two weeks,’ she answered now, hovering by the door. ‘Um—do you want a sandwich or something? If you haven’t eaten since lunchtime—–’

  ‘I haven’t eaten since God knows when,’ retorted Matthew harshly, pushing himself to the edge of the sofa, almost as if he intended getting up again. ‘Sam—–’ He paused. ‘Sam, are you still going to marry Webster? I have to know. I have to know where I stand. I don’t know how much more of this I can take.’

  Samantha quivered. ‘How—how much more of what?’

  ‘This!’ He looked up at her impatiently, and then forced himself into a standing position. ‘God, Sam, answer the question! Are you still engaged to Webster or not?’

  She came forward then, her concern for his welfare outweighing her doubts about him being there. ‘Sit down,’ she said, putting her hands on his forearms. ‘Sit down before you fall down! Look—I’ll get you a sandwich, then we can talk—–’

  ‘Like hell!’ he muttered savagely, and when she tried to urge him back on to the sofa he used her strength against her. He sank down but he took her with him, tumbling her on to his lap, and capturing her face in his hand. ‘Tell me,’ he demanded, and his eyes glittered with a sense of purpose she wouldn’t have believed he possessed. ‘You know that I’m in love with you. Can’t you at least put me out of my misery?’

  Samantha gazed at him. His warm breath, only slightly flavoured with whisky, was fanning her temple, and he smelt of soap, and cigarette smoke, and the sharp autumn air. It was months since she’d seen him, yet she felt she knew every pore of his features, and her hands itched to smooth the long unruly hair back from his forehead.

  ‘No,’ she said at last, realising there was nowhere to run any more. ‘I—broke my engagement to Paul months ago. Right—right after that night I spent on the island.’

  ‘You didn’t!’ Matthew grasped her face between hands that even she could feel were trembling. ‘Sam, do you mean to tell me you weren’t engaged to Webster that day I came to the café?’

  She nodded.

  He shook his head. ‘But why? Did—–’ He broke off, and then continued doggedly, ‘Was I responsible? Oh, God, what I’m trying to say is, did I destroy your life?’

  Samantha clutched the lapels of his jacket, the need to get nearer to him overwhelming any lingering doubts. ‘Only—only when you went away,’ she got out huskily, gazing up at him with tear-wet eyes, and a dawning comprehension filled his gaze.

  ‘Why—why didn’t you tell me?’ he demanded, smoothing back her hair with agitated fingers. ‘Oh, God, Sam, I thought that was what you wanted.’

  ‘I—I was afraid,’ she admitted, putting up her hands now and cupping his face. ‘I loved you, and I was afraid.’ There was no point in denying it any longer. He could have his revenge, if he wanted. She wouldn’t stop him. So long as they were together, her life would have some meaning again.

  ‘Oh, Sam!’

  Matthew’s groan was uttered against her mouth, and his arms slid convulsively around her. With a tenderness he had never shown before, he wrapped her in his protection, cradling her against him as if he’d never let her go.

  It was some minutes before they spoke again, minutes of warmth, and passion, and heart-stopping sweetness. Matthew couldn’t seem to get enough of her, and kisses that had begun so gently soon became an urgent duel of tongues.

  But at last he dragged himself away, and rested his forehead against hers. ‘You’re not going to send me away again, are you?’ he demanded huskily. ‘I mean, I know I’ve made mistakes, but I think I’ve got a chance now to put things right.’

  Samantha was shaking, but she managed to move her head from side to side. She realised it wouldn’t be easy convincing her parents that what she was doing was right. But she had proved she couldn’t live without Matthew, so whatever happened she would have to live with him.

  ‘OK,’ he said, and she could tell he was near the end of his strength. ‘We’ll get married, as soon as I can get a licence.’

  ‘Married?’

  Th
e astonishment in her voice caused him to gaze at her a little anxiously, but then her weight, and his own weakness, caused him to slump sideways on to the sofa.

  ‘Yes, married,’ he said, his arms falling away from her. ‘Sam, don’t argue, please! Not till I’ve had some sleep.’

  It was the sound of the shower that alerted her to the fact that Matthew was awake. She hadn’t heard him come upstairs, but then the wind had been buffeting the house all night, and she had grown used to hearing unusual creaks and groans.

  She hadn’t slept much. Her mind had been too active. Besides, just the thought that Matthew was asleep on the sofa downstairs was enough to keep her adrenalin running. She kept having to pinch herself to make sure it wasn’t just a dream. But when she’d tiptoed downstairs in the early hours, and draped a blanket over him, his pale, well-loved features were incredibly real.

  She glanced at the clock. It was just after six, which was why it was still fairly dark outside. She wondered if Matthew had seen the sandwich and the flask of coffee she had left for him. Well, at least he had had the strength to climb the stairs, she thought. And there was something very reassuring in listening to him taking a shower.

  She had tried not to think about what he had said before exhaustion conquered him. He had asked her to marry him, and she should have been overjoyed. But his proposal reminded her of who he was, and what was expected of him. And even though she loved him she doubted it would be enough.

  The landing creaked outside her door, and for a moment she stopped breathing. But when the door remained unopened she slid out of bed, and went to see what he was doing.

  He was just coming out of her parents’ room. He was naked, except for the towel he had slung about his waist, and his wet hair clung damply to his neck. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked in an undertone, and then realised how unnecessary it was for her to whisper. But there was something delightfully wicked about their being here alone together, in her parents’ house, and when he turned to face her her knees felt distinctly weak.

  ‘I was looking for you,’ he said simply, and she could see in the light that streamed out of the bathroom how much less exhausted he looked. He crossed the landing, and gave her modest lawn nightdress an appraising look. ‘Let’s go to bed,’ he added thickly. ‘It’s still the middle of the night.’

  Hours later, Samantha awakened to find Matthew was already awake, watching her. In spite of all the intimacies they had shared she was still incapable of meeting his lazy gaze without blushing, and he deliberately turned the covers back so that he could kiss one creamy breast.

  ‘I love you,’ he breathed, his tongue dampening the taut nipple. ‘Did I tell you that already?’

  ‘Sev-several times,’ she said unsteadily, her hand closing round his nape and holding him against her. ‘Oh, Matt—I’m glad you came last night.’

  ‘Hmm, so am I,’ he agreed, moving so that she could feel his arousal against her. ‘So—when are you going to make an honest man of me?’

  ‘Oh, Matt!’ She shifted then, not turning away from him exactly, but putting an inch of the narrow mattress between them. ‘You—you don’t have to marry me. I’m not making any conditions. Not this time.’

  ‘I am.’ Matthew followed her, only this time he imprisoned her beneath the muscled strength of his body. ‘Do you think I’m going to take a chance on you walking out on me again? Oh, no. You’re going to be Mrs Matthew Putnam. I want everyone to know exactly who you are.’

  Samantha caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Including your family.’

  ‘Especially my family,’ agreed Matthew forcefully. He bent to bestow a lingering kiss at the corner of her mouth.

  ‘So your children know who their father is?’ suggested Samantha softly, and Matthew groaned.

  ‘You know,’ he said, ‘it did cross my mind that I might have made you pregnant.’ His thumb brushed over her lips. ‘You weren’t on the Pill, were you?’ And at her denial, ‘Believe it or not, I actually hoped I had. I’d have done anything to get you back.’

  Samantha frowned. ‘But you didn’t come back.’

  ‘No.’ Matthew stroked her shoulder. ‘Not after I’d made sure you were still seeing Webster. The only thing I didn’t know was that you hadn’t married him. But—thanks to my grandfather—I eventually got up the courage to find out.’

  ‘What do you mean? How did you know I was still seeing Paul?’

  Matthew’s cheeks gained a little colour. ‘How do you think?’

  ‘You had me followed?’ Samantha gasped.

  ‘Well—–’ He was unrepentant. ‘At first I couldn’t believe you’d go through with your engagement. But—when the reports came in—–’

  ‘Paul wouldn’t take no for an answer. I—I told him about you—–’

  ‘Did you?’ Matthew’s mouth quirked.

  ‘—but he still kept coming to the house.’ She paused. ‘Not any longer, though. He’s got another girlfriend now.’

  ‘Has he?’ Matthew hesitated. ‘And how do you feel about that?’

  ‘Pleased. Relieved.’ Samantha shifted a little restlessly beneath him. ‘Matt, I can’t breathe.’

  ‘Good,’ he said, somewhat smugly, but he moved so that his thigh was resting between hers. ‘Ah, God! Is that the time? I have an appointment for lunch at half-past twelve.’

  Samantha looked up at him. ‘Are you going?’ she asked, a little anxiously, and his smile gave his gaunt features a disturbing attraction.

  ‘Not without you,’ he told her gently. ‘It’s very convenient, actually. I’m having lunch with my mother at the Savoy.’

  ‘Oh!’

  Samantha’s mouth drew in, and Matthew laughed softly at her obvious dismay. ‘It’s time she met the future Mrs Putnam,’ he said firmly. ‘Don’t worry. She knows when she’s beaten.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean my grandfather told her yesterday, in no uncertain terms, that she had ruined my life. He said if she hadn’t interfered, and sent you back to England, we would probably have been married by now.’

  Samantha gasped. ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘It’s true.’ Matthew grinned. ‘Would I lie?’

  ‘You have done, on occasion,’ she told him severely, and he shrugged.

  ‘Only to get what I wanted,’ he replied irrepressibly. ‘And I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you.’

  ‘But—–’ Samantha made one last attempt to be serious. ‘I don’t know whether I want to be like your mother. Being—being rich doesn’t seem to have made her happy, does it?’

  ‘I don’t want you to be like my mother either,’ retorted Matthew fervently. ‘Which is why I’ve persuaded my grandfather to make her the nominal head of the Apollonius Corporation when he retires. You and I are going to live in London, and I’m going to go on running J.P. Software. By the time Caroline gets tired of giving orders, you and I will be putting our grandchildren to bed.’ He smiled. ‘Now—will you marry me?’

  And as Samantha agreed she knew that heaven was within her grasp …

  ISBN: 978-1-472-09938-9

  RICH AS SIN

  © 1992 Anne Mather

  Published in Great Britain 2014

  by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited

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