'I was checking to see if you were still running a temperature,' she said furiously, hurriedly snatching her hand away.
'Mmm. That doesn't sound like a very plausible excuse to me.' Before she could say anything, his eyes finally opened and fixed on her, making her feel distinctly edgy. 'What on earth are you playing at?' he enquired, his voice sounding almost amused as his gaze finally switched to the candle she was holding. 'The lady of the lamp?'
She wished she could hold the candle perfectly still. Its wavering light was giving away the fact that she couldn't quite keep her fingers steady.
'It may have escaped your attention, but the generator isn't working,' she told him stiffly. 'Anyway, since you're obviously all right, I'm going to bed,' she added.
'Sure you don't want to climb in with me?' Jared teased gently. 'Isn't that the time-honoured way of keeping an invalid warm? And you do keep telling me how very cold it is in this house.'
'I think you must still be feverish,' Cassandra retorted sharply. 'Otherwise, you wouldn't be gabbling all this nonsense.'
'It's entirely possible,' he agreed, without rancour. 'Then how about another traditional remedy? The cool hand against the hot brow? I rather like the touch of your skin,' he mused, to her astonishment—and fast-growing sense of unease. 'Very smooth, very fine. One day, it's going to give some man a great deal of pleasure.'
'That is enough,' she got out in a strangled voice, 'Else you'll be getting the cold water treatment instead of a cool hand!'
'I don't think you should speak like that to an invalid,' Jared reminded her. 'We're meant to be pampered and cosseted. Given everything we need,' he went on meaningfully, with a brief but bright flicker of his eyes.
Cassandra stared apprehensively back into the silver gaze. Something burned hotly in the depths-something she had never seen before.
He had obviously started to run a temperature again, she told herself firmly. It often happened at night, the recurrence of a fever. Then she jumped violently. Jared's finger had lightly stroked the back of her wrist.
'Somehow, I don't think you're going to take up my offer to share my bed,' he said a little regretfully. 'Even on purely medicinal grounds,' he added, with a rather strange smile.
'You're right,' she snapped. 'I'm not.'
'Sure?'
'Absolutely certain!'
'Then I may as well go back to sleep.' And to her astonishment—and unexpected sense of pique—he did precisely that.
Cassandra backed away from the bed, but then paused in the doorway for a couple of minutes. For some odd reason, she seemed to be finding it very hard to leave the room. Finally, she turned away and walked slowly to her own room on legs that didn't feel very steady.
'You were tired, and he was half-delirious again,' she told herself over and over, as if trying very hard to convince herself that was the truth of it. 'That's the only reason you had that extraordinary conversation.'
And she was tired. Absolutely bone-weary. Yet, when she climbed into her own cold bed and pulled the thick quilt closer around her, trying to get warm, for the second night running she found it impossible to sleep. Worse than that, she couldn't seem to shut up a little voice inside her head, which kept telling her how much more snug and comfortable she would feel if she were sharing a bed with Jared Sinclair.
CHAPTER FIVE
In the morning, Cassandra found she didn't want to open Jared's bedroom door and have to face him again. She didn't even know what she was doing here. She kept telling herself that she must have been out of her mind to come back to Glenveil again. Either that, or she was turning into some kind of masochist!
Still arguing furiously with herself, trying to convince herself that, if she had a single ounce of sense, she would simply pack her things and head straight back to London, she reluctantly pushed open his door. Then she blinked hard. His bed was empty! Where was he? Her gaze skipped anxiously round the room. Then she let out a sigh of relief as she saw Jared was sitting in the chair by the window.
'You're out of bed,' she said, slightly unnecessarily.
'It rather looks like it,' Jared concurred.
'You're feeling better?'
'That depends on how you look at it. My head certainly feels a lot clearer this morning. On the other hand, if I move too quickly, the entire room does several somersaults. And if I try to stand up again, I've a nasty feeling I'll fall flat on my face.'
He still looked a very unhealthy colour, but his eyes were bright and clear. And right now they were regarding her rather thoughtfully.
Cassandra nervously cleared her throat. 'I suppose you don't—er—don't remember very much of the past couple of days. I mean, you were delirious a lot of the time,' she went on guardedly.
There do seem to be quite a few blank spots inside my head,' agreed Jared.
'Even last night, you really didn't seem to know what was going on.' She hadn't meant it to sound like a question, and was annoyed that she seemed to have so little control over her own voice when this man was around.
'Didn't I?' Her nerve-ends gently quivered as his tone turned suddenly and unexpectedly velvety. 'If you say so, then that's how it must have been,' he continued smoothly.
Cassandra wished she had the courage to come straight out and ask him if he had been raving with a fever last night, or if he had known perfectly well what he had been saying. Normally, she wasn't a coward. Only one other man had ever had the power to reduce her to this sort of ineffectual helplessness, and that was her father.
She lifted her head. She didn't want to think about him this morning. Instead, she took a firmer grip on herself and stepped further into the room.
'Since you're up, I may as well make the bed,' she said briskly. 'From the look of it, you had a rather restless night.'
Jared's silver eyes gleamed briefly. 'I believe that I did. Not that I remember much of it, of course,' he finished silkily.
Cassandra's own eyes suddenly blazed ominously. She had had enough of this. She was in no mood for any of his sly mockery this morning. She was tired, she felt edgy, and, worst of all, she knew she just didn't know how to cope with this man.
'That's it, I've had enough!' she flung at him irritably. 'You can make your own bed, get your own meals, clear out that grate and light that fire yourself! I've just gone off-duty.'
Jared didn't seem in the least perturbed. She had forgotten how impossible it was to rile this man.
'The question is,' he said, in an interested voice, 'whatever made you come back in the first place? If I'd been you, I'd have got the hell out of here and never come within a hundred miles of the place again.'
'You're right,' she retorted. 'That's exactly what I should have done.'
'So—why didn't you?'
Cassandra wasn't sure that she wanted to answer that question. And particularly not now, when her entire nervous system seemed to be teetering on the edge of a minor collapse.
'You were ill—and on your own,' she muttered at last. 'I didn't know if you had any friends or family you could contact, who'd come and look after you.' She raised her head and looked at him. 'Was there anyone?'
'Probably not. I've lost touch with most of my friends this last year. As for my family—my parents are both dead, and I don't have any brothers or sisters.'
'Then it's as well that I did come. In fact, you ought to be grateful that someone showed a bit of concern for you.'
Jared merely looked sceptical. 'I kept you here against your will, and didn't exactly treat you well,' he reminded her. 'Under those sort of circumstances, no one in their right mind would give a damn about my welfare. Yet you came back.'
'Anyone would have done the same. It's a simple question of—of humanity,' she finished rather weakly.
His gaze thoughtfully drifted over her. 'Oh, I don't think that there's anything simple about you, Cassandra,' he said softly. 'If you came back, then it was because you had your own very good reasons.'
She wished he would stop looking at he
r. She kept getting the impression that he could see right inside her head, and she resented that. She was here to get on with the practical tasks necessary to help him get over his illness, and that was all. Once he was on his feet again, she could leave with a clear conscience. And in the meantime, he had no right—no right at all!—to question her motives, or to pry into her private thoughts.
Forgetting that, just a few minutes earlier, she had threatened to walk out without lifting a single finger to help him, she hurried over to the bed and began to straighten the sheets. The best thing, she told herself, would be to ignore him completely. Get on with what she had to do, and then get out of here.
It was so much harder than she had thought, though. Even though she refused to look at him, she knew that silver gaze was resting on her as she moved about the room. Not that he was really interested in her, she silently assured herself. He was just watching her because there was nothing else to do. Invalids did that; it helped to break the boredom of their day.
Yet it was hard—if not downright impossible!—to think of Jared as an invalid. He might be as weak as a kitten right now—he might even fall over if he tried to get up and walk around—but he still didn't give the impression of being in the least helpless. Even just sitting there, not moving a muscle, he seemed to radiate an odd sort of danger signal which her raw nerves only too easily picked up. What kind of danger? she wondered warily. She didn't know—and she didn't intend to find out!
With the bed finally remade and the fire beginning to blaze brightly again, Cassandra reluctantly turned to face Jared.
'Do you want some breakfast?'
'Just something to drink. And I think I'd like to go back to bed.'
She shrugged. 'There's nothing to stop you.'
'I'm afraid that there is. I don't think I can make it unless you lend me a shoulder to lean on.'
Instantly, she stiffened. 'You made it from the bed to that chair without any help,' she pointed out.
'Yes, I did. But not for the first time, I overestimated what I was capable of. It was definitely a one-way trip. I got this far—but I can't get back again.'
Cassandra gave an exaggerated sigh. 'Then I suppose I'll have to give you a hand.'
All the same, her legs felt oddly stiff as she walked over to him. For some reason, she didn't want to touch him again just yet, not after last night. Not that anything had happened, she reminded herself a little irritably. And Jared didn't even remember it at all! At least, she didn't think he did. It was so hard to be sure of anything with this man.
He got to his feet, and then rested one arm firmly against her shoulder. She was surprised at how much of his weight he allowed her to take. He really must be feeling rough, she told herself rather guiltily. Then there wasn't much chance to think of anything else. Despite his leanness, he was no lightweight, and by the time he was safely back in bed again she was breathing heavily and her shoulder felt half-crushed.
'From now on, you'd better stay in that bed until you feel strong enough to get around under your own steam,' she said acidly. 'I'm not a weight-lifter!'
'No, you're much too pretty,' he murmured sleepily, to her astonishment. He gave a huge yawn. 'Excuse my bad manners, but I'm afraid I'm going straight back to sleep again.'
'What about that drink you wanted?'
But there wasn't any reply; he was already dead to the world. Cassandra looked down at him rather worriedly. Was it natural for him to sleep so much, and so very soundly? She didn't know. She supposed a doctor would be able to tell her—in fact, Jared should probably have had some kind of medical help—but she had no idea where to get hold of one. In the end, she gave a small shrug. She supposed she would just have to let nature take its course. At least he didn't seem to be getting any worse. He might still be physically weak, but his mind was definitely clear—perhaps even clearer than he was letting on. Sometimes, his voice sounded a little slurred, but his eyes rarely lost their lucid brightness.
Much to her surprise, the next couple of days passed without too much hassle. Jared still slept a great deal, and even when he was awake he didn't seem to have enough energy to indulge in his favourite game of deliberately provoking her. Then, at the end of the week, she came shuffling downstairs late in the morning, yawning because she had overslept, and found Jared standing by the window in the drawing-room. He was fully dressed, looked alarmingly alert, and gave the impression that he had already been up for a couple of hours.
'Yesterday you couldn't even get out of bed,' she said rather accusingly. 'And now you look as if you could run the four-minute mile. Have you been putting it on the last couple of days? Did you enjoy having me running around after you? Perhaps you decided that you'd make it last a bit longer!'
'What a very suspicious mind you have,' Jared remarked. 'Do you really think I'd try and take advantage of you, Miss Cassandra Gregory?'
She decided to ignore the gentle taunt behind his words. This morning, she didn't feel up to a battle of words.
'I just didn't expect to see you standing there,' she said, rather crossly. 'You gave me quite a fright!'
His eyebrows lifted a fraction. 'Do you find me so very alarming?'
'Considering everything that's happened, I'd have thought that was one question that didn't need answering,' she retorted.
Jared seated himself comfortably in the nearest chair. 'If I have that sort of effect on you, then why are you here?'
'I've already told you that,' she muttered, suddenly feeling unexpectedly flustered. 'You were too ill to be left on your own.'
'But you didn't have any qualms about walking out on me that first night I was taken ill,' he reminded her. 'So—what happened in London to make you change your mind, and come back?'
Oh, this man was just too damned sharp! she thought to herself irritably. He always seemed to know everything.
She walked further into the room and flung herself down in the chair opposite him. She felt tired and edgy—not that there was anything new in that! She seemed to have felt that way ever since she had first set eyes on Jared Sinclair.
Because she didn't want to look at him, she stared out of the window instead. The view didn't cheer her any, though. It was a dark, gloomy morning, with mist swirling down from the mountains and a grey haze draining every trace of colour from the ground and the sky. The house itself felt even colder and bleaker than usual, and she was sure that the gloomy atmosphere wasn't doing much for her sudden mood of black depression.
'You want to know what happened in London?' she said at last, surprising even herself that she was willing to talk to him about it. 'I spoke to my father. That's what happened.'
'I thought that might have been it.' Jared's own voice was as cool as ever.
'Of course you did!' she snapped back, with another swift flare of pure irritation. 'You know everything, don't you?'
'It might seem like that at times,' he replied, with an unexpected glint of humour. 'But I'm no more clairvoyant than anyone else. It's just that I'm beginning to understand quite a lot about you, Cassandra.'
She didn't like it when he used her name in that familiar way. It was too—personal. It somehow gave the impression that they had been friends for years. Close friends.
'Are you going to tell me what you and your father talked about?' he prompted, as the long silence between them stretched on.
'I doubt if I have to do that,' she replied stiffly. 'I'm sure you can work it out.'
'I'd still like you to tell me yourself.'
'Glenveil Toys, of course,' she got out after another lengthy pause. 'What else?'
Jared studied her thoughtfully. 'I see,' was all he eventually said, though.
'Do you?' she demanded. 'Do you really see?'
'Yes, I think that I do,' he answered, in a much quieter voice. It was a tone Cassandra had never heard him use before, and she glanced at him warily. What was coming next?
'You discovered that what I had told you was basically the truth,' Jared guessed. 'Yo
u realised that your father wasn't quite the man you'd thought him to be, and that came as quite a shock. Disillusionment like that always hits you hard. On top of that, you felt guilty about walking out on me when I was ill. In the end, it all got so confused inside your head that you weren't sure what you were doing—or why. All you knew was that you were a Gregory, and that put you under an obligation to try and put everything right. And the only way you could think of to try and make amends was to rush back up here and save my life—even though it didn't actually need saving,' he added, rather drily.
Her head shot up. 'You're making it sound as if I came back here for purely selfish reasons, to salve my own conscience. That the fact that I was worried about you didn't have anything to do with it!'
'I don't suppose it did,' replied Jared calmly. 'Anyway, I would have recovered, whether you were here or not. Having you around to mop my brow and run in and out with hot drinks just made life a little more comfortable, that was all. I didn't actually need you.'
Cassandra stared at him with a kind of appalled fascination. 'You are such an unfeeling man,' she said at last, almost in a whisper.
'I know that.' For an instant, his voice was unexpectedly bleak. 'I've warned you about it several times. Don't expect me to change. I happen to like the way I am right now.'
'You mean it's easier when you don't feel anything?' she challenged.
'Exactly.' As always, there was no anger in his voice. 'But since I don't intend to spend the morning discussing my personal feelings—or lack of them—let's get back to the original subject. Now we've established why you came here, perhaps it's time we moved on to the next question. How long do you intend to stay?'
Since it was something she had avoided thinking about for the last couple of days, she couldn't give him an immediate answer.
'Are you telling me that you want me to leave?' she said finally, in a rather small voice.
'It makes very little difference to me whether you leave or stay here indefinitely,' came Jared's unemotional reply.
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