by Penny Jordan
Lindsay closed the book with a sharp snap replacing it in the bookcase. Strange how until now she had forgotten that small incident . . . had forgotten how ambivalent her feelings towards Lucas had been as she entered her teens. She had loved and adored him as her brother of course, but there had been other feelings inextricably entwined with those fraternal ones . .. budding sensations and emotions she had found it hard to cope with . . . sensations so alien to those she felt she ought to be feeling that she had buried them deep inside herself, refusing to admit to them. It seemed both ridiculous and childish now ... looking back from the security of twenty-four she could see nothing shameful in her budding emotional response to Lucas. He had always been and still was a very attractive member of the male species, and it was no wonder really that her newly emergent femininity had responded so overwhelmingly to his presence.
She had felt so guilty, she remembered now ... so mixed up about her feelings, but there had been no one she could turn to talk about them. Strange how she had all but forgotten how she had felt. She must have buried her reactions so deeply that it had taken this evening's highly charged emotional scene to bring them to mind again.
If Sheila had not been Lucas' mother, no doubt she could have talked to her, and Sheila, sensible and kind woman that she was would doubtless have explained and reassured her that what she was experiencing was a perfectly normal part of growing up, but she had been too shy and ashamed to confide in anyone. At thirteen she was well aware of her father's plans for her and knew quite well that those plans did not include Lucas. He of course at that time had a regular procession of girlfriends in and out of his life. She could vividly remember one of them ... a leggy, pretty redhead, whom she had discovered him kissing one evening when Shelia and her father were out. She had been upstairs in bed, but she hadn't been able to sleep. She had gone downstairs for a drink. The sitting room door had been open, the light from the hall shining directly on to the embracing couple on the settee. Lucas had seen her first, transfixed like a moth by the light as she stood in that beam of light unable to tear her fascinated, horrified gaze away.
She remembered now how much she had trembled as he came towards her, her senses relaying to her the male scent of his body .. . the knowledge outside her own experience and yet known to her through some deep rooted feminine awareness that he was sexually aroused. Shock and fascination both had been inextricably woven together. She had expected his anger, but he had been quietly gentle with her, calming her, she now realised as he might have done a nervous animal, asking what she was doing downstairs, whilst from the silting room his girlfriend's querulous voice demanded his return. She remembered her ignominious flight back to her room, and how the next day and for several days afterward she had studiedly ignored all Lucas' attempts to talk to her. A briefly reminiscent smile curved her mouth,
as she recalled her teenage air of affronted dignity and aloofness. All caused by jealousy of course. Jealous? Lindsay frowned over her adult analysis of her teenage emotions. Had she been jealous? Of course she had, her adult self told her, and quite naturally so . . . She had been jealous both as a sister and as a budding woman . . . Still frowning Lindsay leaned on her open window, deliberately forcing herself to go back through those teenage years and to study them now with the knowledge of experience. Of course it would have been inevitable that she should have had a mild crush on Lucas, deny it to Gwen though she might—but the older woman had been deliberately cruel in revealing her own weakness to her, Lindsay thought. A woman with more compassion would have seen the truth, but would not have used it as a weapon. Teenage emotions are so tender and vulnerable, teenagers so intensely open to pain . . . and she had been hurt . . . both by Gwen and then by Lucas, when he had tried to persuade her into marriage. Sighing faintly Lindsay decided she might as well go to bed. It was sad really when she thought of all that she and Lucas had lost. They had once been so close, and, she acknowledged now, it was the pain of losing that closeness had brought which had made her so wary of adult love. She had lost Lucas as a teenager and the memory of the pain that had caused her had made her withdraw into herself. Could it perhaps be the scorching jealousy and bitter shame she had felt when she saw Lucas with another woman in his arms that had helped to make her so cold sexually? It was a new and startling thought. It would be wrong to blame Lucas for all her own inadequacies
she told herself sternly, and yet there was no point in denying to herself that there had been a time when she had experienced all the fierce pangs of teenage desire, and Lucas had been the one she desired. If she concentrated hard enough she could even remember how she had felt. . . how much she had actually ached for him to kiss her as she had seen him kissing that red-headed girl—and how ashamed of herself she had been because she felt that way. All water under the bridge now of course. She could see her teenage crush for exactly what it had been. But why was she remembering all this tonight, when for so many years she had kept it so deeply buried that she had refused to admit even to herself that she had felt that way?
She was on the eve of marriage, she reminded herself, about to take one of the most serious steps to commitment a human being could take and it was only natural that the emotional disturbance should activate old memories. Perhaps it was time they were resurrected anyway . . . time she gave the past a thorough spring-cleaning and discarded what was no longer needed. Had Lucas known how she felt? Maybe, maybe not—certainly the old Lucas would never have wanted to hurt her. Unlike Gwen, she thought frowning again. Why had Gwen hated her so much? Not because she had viewed her in the light of a rival. Lucas had never seen her as anything more than a sister, Lindsay was ready to swear to that. Perhaps it had simply been that Gwen had not been able to bear sharing him with anyone.
If that had been the case, where had it gone, all thai fierce emotion and possessiveness? Poor Lucas ... it was no wonder really that he had been
so savage with her. Regret and compassion softened her earlier anger towards him. Their quarrel seemed so silly and pointless now. Impulsively Lindsay got up and pulled her robe on over her thin silk nightdress. She would go downstairs and talk to Lucas again . . . calmly this time . . . She would make him see how right this marriage was for her . . . and this time she would not antagonise him . . . She could not simply leave in the morning with the knowledge that they had quarrelled and parted on bad terms still behind her. It was still quite early. Only eleven o'clock and Lucas, she knew kept late hours.
The landing light was off, but Lindsay knew her way so well that she did not need it. Besides a bold hunter's moon threw ghostly patches of light in through the tall windows. Pausing at the head of the stairs, Lindsay glanced automatically in the direction of Lucas' room. Light shone under his bedroom door. She frowned slightly, checking . . . perhaps he had come to bed after all. She hesitated for a moment, chewing on her bottom lip, and then knowing that sleep would be impossible if she did not speak to him she walked determinedly towards his door, and knocked briefly on it before entering.
At one time his bedroom had been as familiar to her as her own, but of course, Gwen had changed the decor completely. It came as quite a shock therefore to see in the illumination of the bedside lamp that the vivid red and black colour scheme she had favoured had vanished to be replaced with a much more masculine navy and white decor. Her heart ached for Lucas when she realised that after Gwen had left him, unable to
bear the memories he must have have the entire room changed.
'Lindsay?'
The curtness in his voice reminded her of the way they had parted. He was standing by the door to his bathroom, wearing a towelling robe.
'I had to talk to you Lucas.' Heavens how tremulous and soft her voice sounded, almost unfamiliarly so. She could sense Lucas' restrained impatience and heard the sigh in his voice as he asked, 'Why now , Lindsay? Why couldn't it wait until morning?'
She shrugged slightly, feeling a little uncomfortable. What could she say, that wouldn't sound silly? She could
hardly tell him that their quarrel had made it impossible for her to sleep . . . that the old memories she herself had stirred up had made her ache for the closeness they had once shared . . . for his affection and approval. If she did he would probably only laugh at her.
'Poor little Lindsay,' he suddenly mocked her, breaking into her train of thought. 'Daren't you go back and tell him I haven't agreed? Are you frightened he won't marry you without my approval Lindsay? Why does that worry you? Is he such a good lover that you can't bear to lose him?'
Subduing an impulse to tell him that she and Jeremy had never been lovers, Lindsay asked instead, 'Why is it you're so against my engagement Lucas? Why?'
lie took his time in answering her, walking I o wards her and stopping when he was only feet away. 'Perhaps because it seems so inhuman and calculated.' His mouth twisted in what was fast Incoming familiar bitterness. 'Have you never wondered what it would be like to feel real emotion Lindsay to want a man with your heart and soul as well as with your body?'
'Lucas. ...' She took an involuntary step toward him, touching the bare, hair darkened flesh of his arm with nervous fingertips, and wishing she hadn't when he instantly recoiled from her.
'Go back to your own room, Lindsay.' His voice was harsh with anger, the force of it shocking her.
'Why .. . what. . .'
'Look I can't talk to you whilst you're dressed, or rather undressed like that.' He looked grimly at her, making her acutely conscious of the fiimsiness of her silk nightdress and its matching robe. Her whole body had started to tremble in open reaction to his words and to protect herself from them she said huskily, 'Lucas you're my brother I. . .'
'Your stepbrother,' he grated correcting her. 'Your stepbrother Lindsay that's all . . . there's no blood tie between us; no law either temporal or ecclesiastical which prevents me from responding to the provocation you're offering.'
Provocation? Lindsay stared at him, but he seemed to be lost in his own emotions and bitterness, his eyes, she was sure, not seeing her, but dark with pain caused no doubt by the loss of his wife. 'Is that why you came in here Lindsay?' he demanded harshly. 'Because you hoped to persuade me by other means than words to agree to your engagement.. .'
'No, no. Lucas . . . how could you think that?' Shock made her voice shake nervously. 'Lucas, I know you must be missing Gwen, but. . .'
'But I mustn't misinterpret the reasons for your being in my room ... I mustn't give rein to the feelings the sight of you wearing next to nothing arouses in my frustrated body ... is that it Lindsay? Well why the hell not,' he added in a thick mutter. 'Just why the hell not.'
His arms, binding her against his body felt so familiar that she could not believe he had not held her like this a thousand times before. The touch of his hands as they slid beneath the silk of her robe to stroke and caress the bare skin of her shoulders so pleasurable that she couldn't even think of restraining him. Instead she let herself melt into him, raising her face instinctively for his kiss, her mouth parting wantonly beneath the insistent pressure of his, everything else forgotten as he shaped her body to his, kissing her with a deep famished hunger that fired her senses, unleashing all the emotions she had thought herself incapable of feeling, making her body ache deliriously. His hand touched her breast a nd she shuddered deeply aware of her own instant response, aware that Lucas was muttering her name with raw urgency that did nothing to damp down her rioting senses, his mouth hot, burning into her skin as it caressed the silky flesh of her throat. Somehow her own hands had found their way inside his robe and were shaping the hard muscles of his chest, glorying in their freedom to do so. It was all so instinctively right . . . pleasure exploded inside her shaking her with its force, happiness so intense that it was almost unbearable, and then suddenly Lucas was pushing her away and reality came thundering in. This time when she shuddered it was with shame and ag ony instead of pleasure. Unable to even look at him she fled from the room.
Alone in her own bed she forced herself to relive the incident. Why had it happened now of all times? Lucas' behaviour was easy to explain. He had told her quite openly that he was suffering from sexual frustration and in his anger he had been able to deceive himself that she had deliberately set out to arouse him, but her own response to him . . . her own emotions . . . these were far harder to explain. All she could think was that somehow the past had, for a few mad seconds become woven with the present and that she had kissed and wanted him not as the woman she now was, but as the girl she had once been. That could be the only explanation ... it had to be the only explanation. Feeling a little calmer she composed herself for sleep. Tomorrow morning she would leave, she decided firmly. She would go back to London, and if Lucas continued to oppose her engagement then she would just, as she had already threatened, have to appeal to the family solicitor. She closed her eyes, refusing to allow herself to remember the touch of Lucas' mouth against her own ... his hands on her body . . . and willed herself instead to think of Jeremy, but somehow the thought of him touching and caressing her as Lucas had just done aroused no emotion inside her other than a mild sense of revulsion. Reaction, she reassured herself tiredly . .. reaction that's all it was, nothing more .. . Just delayed adolescent reaction.
CHAPTER FOUR
The moment she opened her eyes Lindsay knew that she had overslept; the position of the sun shining through her window at an unfamiliar level told her that much and a brief glance at her watch confirmed it. Groaning slightly she got up and hurried into her bathroom. She had wanted to be up and away early—so early that if possible she could avoid seeing Lucas.
Lucas . . . her face and body flamed with hot colour as she remembered the previous evening. Had he known how eagerly and shamelessly she had gone into his arms? Very probably . . . after all he was hardly inexperienced.
Dressing with feverish haste Lindsay flung her clothes into her suitcase, pausing to reflect on how much had happened in the short space of time since she had unpacked it.
Her stomach churning far too violently to permit her to even think of eating any breakfast, Lindsay nevertheless decided that she would be wise to at. least make herself a drink.
The kitchen was empty, the whole house almost uncannily silent. She made herself a cup of coffee, forcing herself to sip it slowly instead of gulping it down, every muscle in her body tensed in dread of Lucas' arrival, and yet conversely some part of her was disappointed when he did not materialise. Her coffee drunk and her cup washed there was nothing to prevent her departure and yet, for some reason she felt unwilling to go. Sighing in faint exasperation at her own unfamiliar indecision, Lindsay went back upstairs to get her case. As she walked past Lucas' room she noticed that the door was slightly open, but resolutely she refused to look. She was past the door when she heard the noise, faint and indistinct, but chilling nonetheless as she took in its implications. Lucas was still in his room and moreover he was talking to someone!
Against all the urgings of her mind, Lindsay stopped. Had Gwendolin perhaps come back? Why should she? She and Lucas were divorced, not separated, Lindsay reminded herself, and yet who else could Lucas be talking to in that low voiced intimate mutter, in the privacy of his bedroom at this time of the morning?
Suddenly, shockingly, as she stood there, Lindsay heard her own name, muttered with compellingly sharp clarity, and like someone in a dream she moved toward the open door.
The closed curtains gave the room a sombre dimness and it took several seconds for Lindsay's eyes to adjust to the lack of daylight. Lucas was still in bed. She could see the naked, golden curve of his back, and her stomach muscles knotted agonisingly as he suddenly turned over, rumpling the already disordered bed. Almost choked by the ferocity of her heartbeats Lindsay waited for him to make some scathing comment, and then realised that his eyes were still closed and that he was apparently still asleep. He muttered something unintelligible, pushing away the bedclothes, and icy fingers of fear danced along her spine as Lindsay saw the dark, hectic fever flush colouri
ng his skin. Without allowing herself time to think she went over to the bed, and reached out a tentative hand to touch his skin. It burned against her own, fever-hot and again Lindsay felt a surge of fear. Lucas was ill . . . and the conversation she had thought she had heard had been the ramblings of a sick man.
Beneath her hand his forehead burned, a thick lock of dark hair brushing silkily against her fingers as he moved feverishly beneath her touch. She would have to ring the doctor . . . Lindsay had seen Lucas like this twice before and knew that he was suffering from a recurrence of a tropical fever he had picked up as a small child. His father had worked out in Africa for several years, and Lucas and his mother had lived there with him until Lucas had contracted this fever and their doctor had advised that he return home. Lindsay knew all this from Sheila, just as she knew that when Lucas was subject to one of his fortunately rare, recurrent bouts of illness, the only cure was time and rest, plus a course of antibiotics. The previous two attacks which she had witnessed had occurred at times when Lucas had been under considerable stress, and she wondered if this present one perhaps had its roots in his divorce.
Anxious to have medical confirmation that she was right in her diagnosis, Lindsay ran downstairs to the study, quickly finding and dialling the doctor's number. She was lucky enough to catch him in just before he set out on his rounds, and v hen she described Lucas' condition, he promised that he would be round as soon as he could.