by Penny Jordan
To prove it, she tested her reflexes gingerly as he put her down, and then protested as he kneeled to unfasten the waistband of her skirt. 'Drew, I can do that.'
'I know, but it will be much quicker if I do it. You're still in shock, Holly,' he told her gently, 'and I think getting you out of these things is rather more important than maidenly modesty, don't you?'
'Umm… They do smell rather strong, don't they?' Holly agreed, hastily stepping out of her skirt as it dropped to the floor, and adding banteringly to cover her sudden self-consciousness, 'I'm surprised you haven't put me under the sluice in the yard as you do the dogs.'
Drew laughed. 'Ah, but they do it deliberately, your mishap was an accident. At least…'
He paused in his deft removal of her sweater to laugh down at her, and as she smiled back into his eyes Holly had the oddest sensation—just as though her heart had physically turned over in her chest and stopped beating.
In fact, so sure was she that it had stopped beating that she almost stopped breathing, only realising what she was doing from the sudden tightness of her chest.
'Holly, are you sure you're all right?' His smile changed to a frown.
'I'm fine,' she assured him huskily, summoning a smile as she added, 'At least, I will be once I've had that bath.'
'Mmm. I think I'd better carry you upstairs. We don't want to take any risk of your fainting again.'
'Drew, no! I can manage,' she protested, but he was deaf to her objections, picking her up easily, and holding her in his arms as though he were completely oblivious to the slim length of her bare legs and the soft roundness of her body clothed only in the demureness of her white lace bra and matching briefs.
'How did you get on in Knutsford?' Drew asked her conversationally as they reached the top of the stairs. For all the world as though they were sitting having dinner, Holly thought crossly.
'Fine,' she told him curtly.
'Mmm. I believe Howard was there this afternoon. You didn't happen to run into him, did you?'
Holly tensed in his arms. 'Yes, as a matter of fact I did. How did you know he was there?'
'Oh, Rosamund told me,' he informed her carelessly, using his shoulder to push open the door not to the bathroom she used but to the one adjacent to his own room.
'Rosamund?'
'Yes. I saw her this afternoon when she dropped her father off. He's on the council, too.'
'You saw her, and talked to her?'
The most appalling jealousy burned through her like bush fire through overdry undergrowth. She had never experienced anything like it in her life. It seared and crackled, destroyed and wounded, and she shuddered under its bitter impact. She was jealous of Rosamund, but not because of Howard. Oh, no…not because of Howard. She was jealous of Rosamund because…
'Hey… are you all right?'
The concerned question roused her from the turmoil of her thoughts.
'Yes. Rosamund and Howard…'
'Oh, they're still engaged.'
She couldn't halt the fierce leap of relief inside her, and remorsefully she stretched out and curled her fingers round Drew's arm. For all that he strove to hide it behind his smile and careless words, he must be feeling dreadful. As dreadful as she was feeling herself, she acknowledged painfully.
And then she knew that she owed it to him to tell him the truth, and what was more to tell him what she was becoming more and more convinced was an impossible task. She herself no longer loved Howard, but she doubted that anything would make him give up Rosamund, nor her him. She owed it to Drew to tell him the truth.
'Drew,' she said hesitantly, 'I don't think our plan is going to work. I think we should accept that Howard and Rosamund are engaged and that they will get married. Anyway, I know now that I don't…'
'Give up?' Drew interrupted her. 'No way! No, we've got to keep on trying. You're just feeling down at the moment, Holly. You'll see things differently tomorrow,' he promised her. 'In fact, I'm sure you'll see things differently once you've had a bath and a hot meal. I'll run the water for you, and I'll give you half an hour to soak in it, then I'll come back for you. Scrambled eggs OK for supper?'
'Drew…'
'It will be all right, Holly. I promise you. Just have faith…'
And with that he put her down on a chair and dropped a light kiss on her hair as he released her and turned his attention to filling the old-fashioned bath with piping hot water.
'Half an hour, remember,' he warned her once he had assured himself that she could come to no harm getting in and out of the bath. 'And, Holly—' he paused at the door '—any problems… any feeling of faintness or anything…no false modesty, please. Just call out. I'll leave the door open.'
It was comforting to be so cosseted; comforting and… And yet the sensations inside her when Drew held her had nothing to do with comfort. Excitement, apprehension, awareness, aching physical desire. She had experienced all those things, and a multitude more.
She loved Drew. She sat in the bath, staring into space while her mind and heart absorbed the truth of the words.
But only a short time ago she had been equally sure that she loved Howard.
Ah, but then she had had no idea what love really was. What she had mistaken for love had been nothing more than a despairing clinging to an old habit. A need to have someone in her life she could care for.
With Drew, it was different. With Drew, she felt… she felt all woman, she acknowledged tremulously. With Drew, she just had to look at his mouth and her body trembled. He just had to touch her and…
'Holly, time's almost up!'
Frantically she scrambled out of the bath, drying herself hurriedly on a thick, fleecy towel.
Drew hadn't brought her any fresh clothes, and so, securing the towel around her body like a sarong, she padded to the top of the stairs just as Drew himself reached them.
'You didn't bring me any clothes,' she told him huskily, blushing a little beneath the open inspection he gave her pink shoulders and arms.
'No, I didn't, did I?' he agreed.
She had pinned her hair up on top of her head, and he touched an escaping wisp of black silk thoughtfully.
'You look like a deliciously wanton cherub, all innocent eyes and flushed skin,' he told her softly.
'Drew,' she protested breathlessly.
He looked at her and then said huskily, 'What is it you're asking me for, Holly? This?'
She murmured a denial, but it was too late, his arms were already around her, his mouth caressing the soft contours of hers.
How could she have ever thought she wasn't capable of feeling intense desire? she wondered hazily, as Drew bit gently at her mouth and then less gently as he felt her body's instinctive arch against his own.
His hands dug painfully into the soft, warm flesh of her upper arms but Holly barely noticed it. The aches and pains of her fall were forgotten, replaced by a deeper, more urgent ache.
She felt the hot coil of anxious pleasure begin to possess her body, and she moved instinctively against Drew. His hands moved to her shoulders and shaped her body, and she burned to feel their touch against her skin instead of merely through the blunting texture of the towel.
What had happened to her hesitancy, her reticence, her belief that physical pleasure was a kind of fulfilment that just wasn't for her?
A reckless, frantic urgency took hold of her, and as though he sensed and shared it Drew dragged her against his body, holding her there while his tongue circled the moist softness of her lips, tormenting her, and then eased between them, softly at first and then far more erotically as he recognised her responsiveness.
'Holly, I can't make love to you here on the stairs. Let me take you to my room.'
Make love to her… Her whole body shuddered with insane delight at the thought. She actually started to melt compliantly against him, and then abruptly reality intruded. Drew didn't want her; she was just a substitute for Rosamund, and she, fool that she was, had been idiotic to fall in l
ove with him… That was the last complication either of them needed.
To her own consternation as much as Drew's, she burst into inexplicable tears, causing him to release her gently.
'I'm sorry,' she gulped. 'I think it's just the shock.'
'Of me having the temerity to want to make love to you?' Drew asked her drily.
Not daring to look up at him, and so missing the pain his light words concealed, Holly shook her head. 'No. Not that. It's the after-effect of being chased by your bull.'
And in fact she did feel decidedly shaky, her legs suddenly boneless and weak, and she would have subsided on to the floor where they stood, if Drew hadn't taken her in a steadying hold.
'Oh, Drew, I was so frightened,' she told him truthfully, not enlightening him that her fear sprang more from her discovery that she loved him than from her flight from the field. Now that she was once more in possession of her senses, she was desperately anxious to distract him from questioning her intensely passionate response to his kiss.
Everyone knew that men, those weak creatures, could be physically aroused by women they did not love, but women… well, they were different; and if she didn't occupy his thoughts with something else, Drew might well wonder why on earth she had responded to him so wantonly when she was supposed to be in love with Howard.
'I didn't realise your bull was in that field.'
'I've got a confession to make,' Drew told her. 'He wasn't.'
'He wasn't? But he chased me.'
Drew shook his head. 'No. Septimus chased you,' he corrected her. 'Come on, let's go downstairs and have our supper, and I'll explain.'
Bewilderedly, Holly let him guide her downstairs.
'I thought we'd eat cosily in the sitting-room tonight,' Drew announced. 'You go through—I'll bring it in. It's all ready.'
He had lit the fire in the small sitting-room off the kitchen, and the flames glowed warmly in the grate. Outside, the wind howled eerily, making the bare branches of the climbing roses tap and scratch at the windows.
Drew's scrambled eggs were delicious, but Holly had scant appetite for them. The day had brought too many shocks, and now she felt drained and tired.
'Tell me about Septimus,' she demanded, when she had eaten as much as she could.
Drew put down his knife and fork and gave her a wry look.
'Septimus is a bullock, not a bull…'
'Not a bull? But he must be! He had…' She broke off and flushed vividly, much to Drew's obvious amusement.
'Maybe, but he's still a bullock. He was hand-reared by Peter's wife after he lost his mother. The kids made quite a pet of him and he used to follow them around. He should have been sent off to market months ago, but somehow or other I hadn't the heart. He wasn't chasing you, Holly. He just thought you were a new playmate. He's lonely.'
'Oh!' Crimson with mortification, Holly stared miserably at him. 'You must think me an absolute fool,' she said quietly at last.
Instantly Drew reassured her, taking one of her hands in his and curling his fingers round her wrist. The sensation of his thumb against her pulse, absently stroking that vulnerable area, made it pound erratically.
'Not at all. I promise you I should have been equally terrified faced with crossing one of London's main roads without the benefit of traffic lights. There's nothing to be embarrassed about. I'm only sorry that you had such a bad fright. I should have warned you about Septimus's predilection for human companionship.'
'Oh, Drew, thank goodness no one else saw me! Your men…'
'They'd all gone…but they aren't insensitive, Holly. They would have understood.'
'Poor Septimus,' Holly said shakily with a light laugh. 'I suppose I gave him quite a shock, running away from him screeching like that.'
'Well, you can make amends some time if you feel up to it. I'll make a formal introduction.'
'Oh, Drew,' she said impulsively, reaching out with her free arm to touch his hand. 'You're so nice. Rosamund must be a complete fool.'
'For loving Howard?' Drew asked her, looking intently at her.
Immediately she crimsoned again, realising how idiotic her comment had been.
'Howard is Howard,' she said bravely. 'And you are you. You're two very different men. I—I… I might love Howard, but that doesn't mean that I can't see how…how…'
'How perfect I'd be for Rosamund,' Drew supplemented for her, his voice unusually harsh and bitter.
'I'm sorry,' she apologised. 'I shouldn't have said anything.'
'Why not? It's good to know the truth. Tell me something, Holly,' he said with sudden violence. 'If there was no Howard, then do you think I might be considered the perfect man instead of only second best?'
'Oh, Drew… you're not second best,' Holly protested, hating seeing him in such pain.
He gave her a long, brooding look, and then said harshly, 'I think I'd better go out and check on the stock… before I do something we'll both regret.'
Something like making love to her out of the frustration of his desire for Rosamund? Holly wondered hectically when he had gone.
Only she knew how shamingly tempted she had been to throw caution to the winds and offer herself to him, even knowing that the solace she could offer was purely temporary.
To have known his lovemaking only once…to have been close to him, part of him… But why torment herself? Wasn't it far wiser to keep Drew's friendship and her own self-respect, and to keep her love for him her own secret?
CHAPTER SEVEN
« ^ »
The rest of the week passed without incident. Holly prepared her stencil and started work on the kitchen units, mixing her paint carefully until she was sure she had got exactly the right shade of yellow.
Then she made up a single door-panel from a spare piece of wood Drew had found her, so that she could show him what the finished effect would be.
His genuine and warmly given praise made her achingly conscious all over again of what a wonderful man he was. Warm, generous, compassionate, and yet at the same time very much a man. She shivered, remembering how she had felt when he kissed her, wondering how on earth she had managed to delude herself into believing she loved Howard for so long.
One morning he woke her early, just after six, and announced that they were going mushrooming. Holly complained bitterly as he flung back her duvet and opened the bedroom window so that the cold dawn breeze blew into the room, but Drew had also brought her a mug of fragrant coffee, and the thought of spending the mystical, special fresh morning hours with him was a far more tempting prospect than staying in bed.
He had warned her to dress warmly and wear Wellingtons, explaining when she joined him downstairs that there would be a heavy dew on the fields. There was more than that; there was also a thick, shimmering mist that added to the eeriness of the landscape. As though he shared her awareness of the mystic quality of the morning, Drew put his hands on her shoulders and turned her round so that she was looking not at the Welsh hills, but at the sharp escarpment of Alderley Edge.
'Watch,' he told her. 'Once the mist starts to disperse you'll be able to see it properly. Have you ever been there?'
'Once,' she told him, shivering at the memory. 'With my parents. It was eerie. All those trees, and yet you never heard a bird sing or saw an animal move.'
'There's a legend that Merlin lives in a cave beneath the rock and that he's just waiting for the right time to reappear.'
'And covens of witches dance there on Hallowe'en. I know,' Holly added.
Her eyes were huge and slightly shadowed, and Drew cupped her face lightly in his hands.
'You look scared to death,' he told her softly. 'I'm sorry, I didn't mean to frighten you.'
'You didn't,' Holly managed a small, husky laugh. 'It's just that when I think of how old this land is… how many people have been here before us…'
'Yes, it is an awesome thought,' Drew agreed, immediately picking up on her thoughts. 'It comes to me when I'm in church and I see the tombs of the
Norman knights who fought against the Welsh, and I remember that this land has seen much bloodshed and conflict. Sober thoughts for a fine autumn morning, and besides, we came out here to pick mushrooms, not to brood on the past.'
He looked down at her with a smile, and then his eyes darkened and Holly thought he was going to kiss her.
She wanted him to; she knew that. She wanted to be held in his arms, out here, wrapped in the mist that was dampening her hair as it rose. She wanted to be free to give in to her instincts and emotions, to show him with all the elemental awareness within her how passionately she loved him, but far away a dog barked sharply and Drew tensed and released her, lifting his head.
Holly could have cried out loud in vexation and disappointment, but instead she picked up the basket Drew had been carrying and said huskily, 'Right, then, where are these mushrooms?'
On the way back Drew introduced her to Septimus, who, despite his heavy, powerful frame, proved to be as docile and affectionate as Drew had said. Scratching his woolly forehead, Holly apologised to him for being afraid.
As they headed back to the farm, for no apparent reason at all Drew put his arm around her and hugged her tightly to his side. Taken off guard, Holly stared at him and wondered again how on earth Rosamund could prefer Howard. It didn't help knowing that until very recently she had almost been guilty of the same idiocy, but at least she had the excuse of not having known any better. Just this very short space of time with Drew had immediately revealed the truth to her.
Funny how, after all her emotional agonisings over her relationship with Howard, and her dogged determination to make the best of it with all its flaws, she had known the moment she realised she loved Drew how very different this love was from the feelings she had had for Howard. How she had known that her love for Drew would be a part of her life for ever, even though he himself might not be.
The wonder of it was that she had never realised the truth before, but then, as a teenager, she had seen him as Rosamund's boyfriend, and then later her visits home had not been for long enough for her to do more than catch up with her old schoolfriends. And although she had seen Drew and spoken to him, she had never spent much time alone with him.