The Loving Slave

by Margaret Pargeter

  'I'm frightened there really is something and it only adds to his worries,' she faltered, trying to decide honestly if this was the real reason she wanted to keep her rela­tionship with Quentin secret.

  Quentin glanced at her thoughtfully. 'Stop worrying, Gina. Leave your grandfather to me. There won't be any problems.' He took hold of her arm as she bent her head evasively, 'Come on, cheer up. How about seeing if Mrs Worth can spare a cup of tea? You look as if you could do with one.'

  Mrs Worth not only made them a cup of tea, she pro­duced fresh scones, white and fluffy, fat with strawberry jam and cream. They sat down at the kitchen table and Gina was surprised to find how hungry she was.

  'Something's given you an appetite?' Quentin teased.

  She flushed, aware that Mrs Worth was trying to hide her curiosity. As Quentin laid his hand over hers and began playing idly with her fingers, Mrs Worth almost dropped the teapot and even Myra's eyes widened.

  'Do you think, Mrs Worth,' Quentin tightened his hold on Gina's suddenly tense fingers, 'you could manage a small dinner party for tomorrow night? Just Sir Charles and Mrs Cunningham and of course my—er—that is, Gina. It's going to be rather special.'

  Gina couldn't resist the small kick she aimed at his ankle under the table, but he didn't so much as flinch. The only change in him was the deepening satisfaction in his eyes as they rested on her rosy cheeks. If he had stood up and made an announcement, there and then, he couldn't have made it any clearer. Gina could see this from the smug understanding on Mrs Worth's face and the dawning excitement on Myra's.

  When Mrs Worth agreed, quite breathlessly for her, Quentin said he would speak to his mother. 'You can arrange the details with her later,' he smiled, leaving the kitchen with Gina.

  'What had you to do that for?' she asked angrily, as he put her into her car. 'I asked you to wait, but you may as well have put it in the evening press!'

  He grinned, with infuriating indifference. 'I can trust Mrs Worth's discretion. She probably has guessed, but I didn't actually say anything.'

  Gina's green eyes blazed. 'You haven't told your mother yet, nor my grandfather. How do you know they'll be free tomorrow night, even if they like what you have to tell them?'

  'I intend to arrange it,' he said smoothly. 'I have to return to London shortly, but I'll see my mother before I go, and your grandfather in the morning. You can take it there'll be no objections,' he added sardonically, gently closing her car door.

  The arrogance of the man! Gina clenched her teeth on a frustrated sigh as she drove away. Why did he insist he wanted to marry her when so often he didn't appear to even like her? If he hadn't been so well off she might have suspected him of marrying her for her grandfather's money, but it couldn't be that!

  She was back at Bourne Court before she realised there was nothing to stop her changing her mind about marry­ing him. He couldn't really force her to, no matter what he said, and she could always appeal to her grandfather, if Quentin tried to use pressure. Yet, facing a moment of truth, she became conscious that she wanted this mar­riage with Quentin. She wasn't sure why, and shrank from delving too deeply, but somehow the thought of be­longing to him didn't seem so shattering any more, al­though she suspected their actual marriage might be!

  Deliberately she kept out of sight next morning when Quentin called. From her bedroom window she watched him drive up to the front door and from the top of the stairs she had heard him being shown into her grand­father's study. Her heart thudding uneasily, she returned to her room, trying to imagine the conversation that must be taking place.

  Dismally she glanced at her tired face, the dark circles under her eyes, which would have betrayed to someone much less observant than Quentin that she had slept little during the night. The scene in the cottage bedroom had kept returning to mock her. Time and time again, she felt herself go hot with shame as she remembered the depth of her own response and Quentin's frank reference to it. It wasn't until dawn broke that she had managed to con­vince herself she wasn't really like that and it wouldn't happen again.

  Tautly she had decided she must take good care not to be alone with Quentin until they were married, and then she would think twice before granting him any marital rights. She wasn't so innocent that she didn't know he might expect them, but as they weren't in love it might not take much to keep him at arm's length. Sensing his pride, she didn't think for a moment he would be pre­pared to fight for his rights if she didn't give in to him willingly. If he did, she would tell him quite frankly he must look elsewhere.

  Determined to avoid him this morning, she slipped out and walked several miles over the downs, heedless that her feet were soon soaked in the dewy grass. Her thoughts were still muddled when she returned to the house, but Quentin had gone. Only Charles and Liza were there.

  Liza rose and hugged her, so did Charles.

  Liza said coyly, 'Quentin's been here, darling, asking for your hand. You knew he was coming?'

  Charles sighed. 'If only your dear mother had chosen so wisely!' He cleared his throat. 'I take it you're happy, child?'

  There seemed nothing else to do but nod and say yes and hug them both back.

  Liza beamed, 'Quentin's older than you, but he's very clever, you know. A lot of women are going to envy you.'

  Again Gina nodded, without much expression. She saw her grandfather didn't appear quite as jubilant as Liza, but decided this might be because he didn't want to lose her.

  That evening at Briarly, she tried to insist on three months before marriage, but Quentin ground it down to less than three weeks.

  'Will you live here or in London?' her grandfather asked him rather anxiously.

  'Here, most of the time,' Quentin replied, without con­sulting Gina.

  Mrs Hurst sighed. 'I shall have to think of looking for a small place of my own. Briarly is Quentin's now, of course.'

  A knot of indignation at the high-handed way Quentin was overruling everyone made Gina exclaim quickly, 'Please don't let me drive you away, Mrs Hurst. Briarly's surely big enough for three, and as Quentin will be in town most days we can keep each other company.'

  'Leave it to me, Gina,' Quentin's voice was suddenly cold. 'There'll be plenty of time to sort everything out, once we're back from our honeymoon.'

  Gina glanced at him quickly as her heart leaped. Need he look so far ahead? He was so tall, dark and elegant it was very easy to forget how ruthless he could be. 'Will you have time for a honeymoon?' she asked. 'You're always so busy.'

  'I intend having one,' he returned her flickering glance coolly. 'You might think it's going to be a bit of an anti­climax when you've just been for a trip around the world, but I assure you this will be quite different.'

  Charles coughed, while Mrs Hurst looked slightly em­barrassed and Liza pretended to. Gina, feeling her own cheeks go hot, kept her eyes on the table, refusing to admit another lurch in her stomach. She wondered how Quentin's mother really felt about their engagement. She hadn't said anything, but Gina had gained the impression that she was slightly stunned.

  Quentin had sent the announcement to the news­papers, so by the next morning everyone knew. He had asked her to accompany him to London, and Gina felt guilty about leaving Liza to cope with the telephone calls already coming in. Not that she felt able to speak to people herself. Looking back, it seemed she hadn't been allowed time to draw breath since that afternoon in the cottage. Quentin had taken over, arranging everything so quickly and irrevocably that she was only just beginning to realise how committed she was. As he drove her to London, she was so edgy about it all she couldn't relax. She felt nervous, disturbed by his nearness yet unwilling to admit it.

  They didn't talk much. She concluded there would be little he would want to actually discuss with her. He would have everything cut and dried. As always her opi­nion would count for little, and the habits of a lifetime weren't easy to dispose of.

  The city streets were as crowded as usual, which made conversation impossible. It
wasn't until they reached his place of business that Gina had an opportunity to ask what his plans were. She knew a ring was high up on his agenda, but this wouldn't take all day.

  Believing he would suggest she should keep herself amused until lunchtime, at least, he surprised her by saying, 'Come up with me, Gina. I shan't be long.'

  'I could meet you somewhere, later,' She held back.

  'Must you be awkward?' Glancing impatiently at his watch, Quentin took her arm, seeming to imply, by the tight set of his lips, that she always had been. 'I don't want you running around London on your own.'

  'I wouldn't get lost!'

  'Wouldn't you?' With withering emphasis he stared at her.

  As the lift whispered upwards, she decided it was use­less to protest any further, and, as she had never been here before, she could always satisfy her curiosity.

  There appeared to be enough floors, and enough staff to run the QEII. Quentin's own office seemed the height of luxury. His secretary was there, and her unflattering astonishment was unconcealed for a fleeting moment when Quentin introduced Gina as his fiancée. Obviously she considered Gina too young, or too unsuitable. Gina occupied herself, while waiting for Quentin, trying to decide which it was.

  An hour later he appeared and asked Miss Bell, who was still shooting Gina acid-sweet glances, to bring coffee. Gina felt in need of it, but while she drank two cups Quentin scarcely touched his. Sensing a certain tension in him, she suggested he have something stronger, but he replied cynically that he usually managed to do without until later in the day.

  He took her to a jewellers with such superb decor she scarcely dared breathe, and the ring he eventually slipped on her finger almost stopped her breath altogether. She didn't see the price, but she was sure it was so costly she would be terrified of losing it.

  He kissed her, while the obliging assistant looked the other way, and she managed to keep her lips cool and steady. But in the taxi that bore them towards the hotel he had chosen for lunch, he pulled her to him savagely. This time he didn't stop until she slumped against him, her lips soft with the warmth of surrender, her heart racing under his hand.

  'That's better,' he said, as if she were a backward child. 'When I kiss you in future I don't want to be reminded of an iceberg.'

  The fiery sensation of his kiss did nothing to calm her taut nerves. If anything it made her aware that she was taking on more than she could manage.

  'What sort of women have you been used to?' she blazed at him softly, and was pleased to note that her shaft had gone home. His face went grim and he didn't look at her with pleasure any more.

  Nevertheless, over lunch he was charming, making Gina wonder cynically if he had decided an openly anta­gonistic bride wouldn't do his public image much good. After lunch he took her to see his London home.

  'It might be the last chance before the wedding,' he said, as he showed her over the superb flat near Regent's Park.

  He employed a man who did the cooking and cleaning, but he wasn't there. 'He takes a day off occasionally when I don't need him,' Quentin explained. 'But when I do he's quite willing to work a seven-day week.'

  Gina liked the flat, but she liked Briarly better. Sec­retly she hoped Quentin wouldn't expect her to stay in London very much. She rather wished his man had been here as being alone with him was making her uneasy. She was reminded of how he had been at the cottage, and of her own reactions.

  'This will be our bedroom when we stay in Town,' Quentin opened the door of a room of generous propor­tions containing a huge double bed. The glitter in his grey eyes mocked her as he saw her startled surprise. 'I think it's an improvement on the one at the cottage, don't you, but if you don't like the decor you can always change it.'

  'It looks very nice,' she mumbled hastily, retreating from the bed with a strange sense of irrational excite­ment. She couldn't see herself spending the night in that, entwined in Quentin's arms. He could be too demanding a lover, forcing her to give in to him, and a bed like that could only aid him in achieving his desires. 'Twin beds would be nicer,' she said faintly, 'and more in fashion.'

  'That's one thing I won't have,' he replied so ada­mantly that fire streaked along her veins. 'You sleep with me, and to hell with fashion!'

  'I—I didn't ask for separate rooms!' she hedged.

  'Well, separate beds are out,' he assured her. 'I don't believe in them either.'

  'You have to consider me.'

  'I'm quite aware of that.' His voice was taunting, twist­ing his words. 'It might be a good idea if you began taking a look at yourself. You might discover you want me almost as much as I want you.'

  'Don't be so silly,' she retorted hastily, her face burn­ing. 'Of course I don't!'

  With a grim smile he came closer, pulling her to him as he had done in the taxi, only this time he wasn't so cruel. One eyebrow lifted with mock humour. 'You need con­vincing?'

  'No, I do not.' Wriggling in his embrace, she entreated pleadingly when he didn't let her go. 'Please, Quentin— we can decide about the bed later. It isn't important.'

  'Some things are.'

  'Such as getting your own way?'

  'Apart from the bed—over what?'

  Feeling oddly short of breath, she gulped some more down, wishing his hard body wasn't so near her own. 'Over getting married so soon.'

  'Three weeks is my limit.' His eyes flicking com­prehensively over her left her in no doubt about his meaning. 'You can please yourself.'

  'You've more than enough will power when you choose to exercise it,' she said fiercely.

  'Not where you're concerned,' his voice went husky as his eyes reached her mouth. 'With you I can't.'

  'Can't or won't?'

  'Either way it's getting impossible.' His arms tightened as he bent his head. 'Must you go on talking?'

  The day was hot. Gina wore only a light suit and had discarded the top. It hung downstairs with Quentin's jacket. Now, as he caught her to him, she could feel the hardness of his muscles crushing her breasts through the thinness of silky material.

  'Kiss me,' he muttered thickly.

  'Quentin!' she protested, her heart pounding against his chest. 'Aren't you forgetting we're going to be married? We'll have plenty of time for this sort of thing then.'

  'Damn it all, Gina,' he groaned, 'will you stop making stupid remarks!'

  She was only trying to protect herself! With Quentin her emotions so easily got out of hand. While certain she disliked him, she was finding it ever more difficult to resist him. Now, as he held her, her heart raced and her limbs felt weak. She was ready to admit that most of her remarks over the last five minutes had been stupid, but this had only been to hide what lay underneath. Could she pray that if she obliged with a brief kiss he would leave it at that? Obediently she lifted her taut face, making no further effort to avoid his impatient mouth.

  As his mouth met hers he closed the door, isolating them in the warm silence of the room. She could feel her heart racing out of control as the pressure of his mouth deepened and his hands began touching her intimately. He pushed up her thin vest top, then her bra, his hands finding her shapely breasts, stroking them gently.

  Gina felt herself responding to his caresses with a help­less moan, whereas she had been so determined to resist him. Passion flared between them, making Quentin's mouth suddenly urgent on her parted lips. With a groan almost as helpless as her own, he ran his hands down her spine to the very end of it, moving deliberately against her with the thrust of his hard male body. When she gasped and cried out it did nothing to cool his obvious desire.

  His hands came back to her face, shaping it as he covered it with deep, drugging kisses. He kissed her until she began returning his kisses wildly and ecstasy flooded through them both. Then he was lifting her, holding her tightly to him, kissing her deeply, sensually, as he walked with her towards the bed.

  Passion moved so overwhelmingly in Gina that she didn't protest any more. She was potently aware they couldn't get ne
ar enough each other and everything else faded. Pushing trembling arms around his neck, she murmured his name breathlessly, her voice shaking.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  IT was as if the sound of his name, gasped out in such a fashion, made Quentin realise what was happening. Before they reached the bed he dropped her to her feet, and she heard breath being dragged into his empty lungs as he steadied her.

  'No, Gina!' His face was pale, his hands unsteady. She could never recall seeing him like this before.

  She was trembling so much herself, she protested, with­out realising fully what she was saying. 'You said you wanted me?'

  'And I believe you want me, which makes it mutual,' his voice was harshly derisive, 'but I don't really want you this way.'

  'At the cottage—' she began tearfully.

  Curtly, he cut in, his eyes dark, 'Yes—at the cottage— where you went of your own accord, and I sought you because I was concerned for your welfare, things almost got out of hand. But that was something that just hap­pened. It wasn't planned. If I made love to you now, you could say I'd brought you here deliberately, which I did, but not with seduction in mind.'

  'Didn't you suspect it might happen?' She knew it must seem as if she were goading him, but somehow she couldn't stop herself.

  'No!' he exclaimed. Then his face hardened with an imperceptible irritation. 'Damn it, Gina, I thought I was capable of handling anything like that. I admit the pos­sibility did cross my mind, but I've been in tricky situa­tions before and never lost control. With you it seems to be different. I don't seem sure any more.'

  'I can't remember you being unsure about anything,' she retorted unevenly, having been subject to his cool authority all her life. 'Your father would have called it common sense.'

  He ignored her dryness. 'Common sense wouldn't have influenced either of us if we'd got as far as that bed—and you know it! You're not that innocent. In fact I'm be­ginning to wonder what innocence is.' His eyes smoul­dered over her, lingering cynically on her hot cheeks. 'You respond so wholeheartedly you would put many an experienced woman to shame.'