The Threat of Love

by Charlotte Lamb

  They were in the leafy streets of Regents Park, just a few minutes away from her home. From the zoo in the park itself could be heard strange, distant, animal sounds which, at night, sounded oddly menacing and yet mournful. She shivered as she heard them; they seemed to echo her own feelings.

  Gil drove past his grandmother's house, then suddenly braked with a screech of tyres on the road, sending Caro tumbling forward. Her seatbelt saved her from injury, but she turned an angry face towards him.

  'What on earth are you doing?'

  He didn't answer; he was too busy staring at a car parked on the driveway—a red Porsche, noted Caro. She watched Gil curiously.

  'What's wrong?'

  His face had a dark, brooding impatience. 'It's Miranda's car,' he muttered. 'I told her to go to her mother's—why in the name of all that's holy didn't she do that? If Colin comes looking for her and finds her here, he'll kill both of us.'

  'Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad idea!' Caro said, feeling vicious all of a sudden, but he did not seem to be listening to her, he was much too intent on his own thoughts. If he hadn't been, he wouldn't be blurting all this out to her, of course. He wouldn't have breathed a syllable if he weren't so taken aback.

  'But why come to my grandmother?' he thought aloud. 'And what is Grandmother up to, letting her stay?'

  'She could just be having dinner here!' pointed out Caro in a flat, cool voice, and he looked sharply at her, this time as if he actually saw her.

  'Which means my grandmother invited her! But why should she do that? She can't stand Miranda.'

  'When you've dropped me off at my home you can come back here and find out!' she said, glancing at her watch in a meaningful way. 'As you say, it is dinnertime, and I am hungry.'

  His dark eyes narrowed on her, his mouth indented. 'Yes,' he said slowly, and Caro was not too happy about the way he said that, or the way he was watching her. There was distinct calculation in his deep voice, in those gleaming eyes. 'You're hungry,' he repeated, and she nodded.

  'Very, and my father likes his dinner promptly at eight, which was five minutes ago, and I'll be too late to eat with him if I don't get home soon, so could you

  please--- ' Her voice broke off as Gil started his engine again, but instead of driving on he swung the wheel and reversed over the pavement, into his grandmother's driveway, parking alongside the red Porsche.

  'What are you doing?' Caro bust out in alarm.

  'Taking you to dinner with my grandmother,' he blandly informed her, sliding out of the driver's seat and coming round to open the door for her.

  She shook her head in violent refusal. 'No, I can't... she didn't invite me... Don't be ridiculous...'

  Gil leaned over her and she shrank back from him, confused and flushed, but all he did was unbuckle her seatbelt.

  'Out you get!' he briskly ordered.

  'I'm not coming in, take me home! Go away!' Caro didn't know how to deal with the situation. Gil had an obstinate look to him. He tried to take her arm and pull her out but she pushed him back. 'Will you leave me alone?'

  His answer was to take hold of her waist in both hands; before Caro could do anything to stop him he had lifted her, in spite of her struggles, out of the car.

  'I am not going in there!' she shouted at him, glaring up into his face.

  'Yes, you are,' he said with every sign of assurance.

  'I won't, and you can't make me!'

  'Oh, yes, I can,' said Gil with a mocking little smile.

  Caro mutinously set her mouth and dug her heels in like a mule, backing towards the car. He still held on to her waist, and she couldn't help registering that his fingers almost touched in the middle because his hands were long and her waist small. She felt a strange flutter of pleasure, conscious of the warmth of his hands pressing in upon her body. It was a possessive hold, a dominating one, and she wanted to yield to it.

  'You are an infuriating woman,' Gil observed, eyeing her as if he disliked her intensely, at which she was fiercely pleased because at least he wasn't ignoring her now, or treating her with drawling amusement.

  'You're an infuriating man,' she retorted, and Gil laughed shortly.

  'And you've always got an answer, haven't you?'

  'If you mean I won't let you bully me and get away with it, then yes!' she said, very aware of the warm darkness around them, their isolation in the quiet street.

  And then behind Caro the front door opened, a beam of yellow light cut the darkness on the driveway and no doubt illumined their figures by the Rolls. Caro stiffened, wondering if this was Lady Westbrook—or was it the Countess coming out to welcome Gil home, unaware that he was not alone? She had no time to turn her head to find out, because Gil bent suddenly and took her mouth in a hot, urgent kiss.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Caro was so startled and taken aback that she didn't even have the strength of mind to push him away or slap his face, although afterwards she wished she had—not that Gil gave her the opportunity of doing anything.

  He took her mouth ruthlessly; his hands manipulated her, as if she were a doll, pulled her towards him until their bodies touched, his fast-breathing chest rising and falling against her own, his thigh pushing intimately between hers. His mouth was torment and enchantment; she met the invasion helplessly, her eyes closing, plunging her into hot darkness where nothing mattered but the sweetness of that kiss, her lips parting weakly to kiss him back.

  When Gil at last lifted his head again she was so feverish she shivered, still clinging to his shoulders in case her legs gave way and she fell at his feet, the way she had that first time they had ever met. She was angry, too, wanted to shout at him, hit him, because he was using her, somehow, kissing her deliberately as part of some plan—but what, and why? That was what puzzled her.

  Then Gil turned towards the door, gave a rather overdone start of surprise and said blandly, 'Why, hello, Miranda! What are you doing here?'

  Then Caro knew, of course. He had kissed her to annoy the Countess; perhaps they had quarrelled? Or he liked to make Miranda jealous? Whatever the reason, it had all been a game, with Caro used as a pawn, and her throat went tight with pain and resentment.

  The slender blonde gave him an over-brilliant smile, as shiny as the diamonds she wore around her throat and on her ears. From her expression, Gil had achieved his aim: Miranda was furious. 'I've been trying to get you on the phone, Gil darling, but you weren't at your office, or your home, so I rang your grandmother's house and she very sweetly invited me to dinner. She said you were coming, and we've been waiting for you for ages. Your grandmother is quite cross with you for being so late.' She didn't seem to have noticed he was not alone; Caro could have been invisible for all the notice the Countess took of her.

  Caro wasn't hanging around to be humiliated or cold-shouldered; she turned blindly to start walking home; it was only a short distance round the corner, after all. She only took one step before Gil's arm caught her waist and drew her close again.

  'Miranda, I don't think you've met Caroline Ramsgate, have you?' he drawled. 'Caroline, this is the Countess of Jurby.'

  The two young women regarded each other as if from opposite ends of the earth. Neither smiled or moved.

  Gil Martell looked amused; Caro could have kicked him. Lightly, he said, 'I'm sure my grandmother has mentioned that Caroline's father may be taking over Westbrooks.'

  Miranda's perfectly pencilled brows arched. 'Oh, she's that man's daughter, is she? I see.' Her voice held oceans of meaning and Caro hated her smile. 'Well, we must be terribly nice to her, mustn't we?'

  'Caro is having dinner too,' Gil said and Miranda's smile hardened.

  'Your grandmother didn't mention that.'

  Caro opened her mouth to say she was not having dinner, she was going home, but Gil forestalled her, steering her firmly towards the open front door where they were met by the short, stout woman whom Caro had met on her first visit.

  'Oh, hello, Susan,' Gil said casually. 'You remembe
r Caro, don't you? She was here to dinner last week, with her father. I've invited her again—what have you got for us?'

  'Oh, dear,' Susan said, biting her lip and looking flustered. 'Nothing special, I'm afraid—just melon and Parma ham, followed by chicken casserole, and then coffee mousse... Really, Gil, I don't know if there will be enough...'

  'Sounds delicious,' he said in his ruthless way, throwing her a charming but insistent smile Caro recognised all too well. So he was like that with everyone, not just with her, was he? That ought to make her feel better, but it didn't. 'And I'm sure it will easily stretch to feed five, especially as I'm certain Caro is on a diet.' He gave the maddening smile to Caro. 'Aren't you, Caro? Women usually are. I've never known a woman yet who wasn't, at one time or another.'

  Miranda eyed Caro's figure, so much more rounded and richly curved than her own, with a smiling disdain meant for Caro to see, which, of course, she did, angrily flushing.

  'Well, of course, I'm sure your grandmother will be delighted to see Miss Ramsgate again, but.. .if you're sure you don't mind a small portion, Miss Ramsgate...but the mousse is very small,' Susan bleated unhappily, torn between courtesy and truth.

  Gil soon disposed of that argument. T shall have cheese, not the mousse, so you can give my share of that to Caro. Now, off you go, Susan, and set a place for her, will you?'

  Lady Westbrook's companion-housekeeper vanished to obey without another word, used, no doubt, to being given such arrogant commands, and Gil propelled Caro through the hall and into the drawing-room she remembered all too clearly, her eyes rapidly flickering round the high-ceilinged room with its tapestry-upholstered Victorian furniture and faded, richly coloured carpets. Lady Westbrook was seated beside a fire which had been lit, although spring had now begun. She stared across the room at Caro in startled surprise, and Caro gave her a shy, uncertain smile, lost for words.

  'Caro has been working in my office so hard all day,' Gil smoothly explained. 'She was looking tired, so I brought her home to dinner.'

  Lady Westbrook courteously extended a hand. 'Well, I'm so glad, how nice to see you again, Caroline. I hope Gilham has been giving you everything you need?'

  'I've tried my best,' purred Gil, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

  'Good,' said his grandmother, innocently unaware of the wicked double meaning of his tone or the teasing glint in the dark eyes. Fortunately, she seemed equally blind to Caro's flushed cheeks, and, pointing to a chair, said, 'Bring that over here, Gil, so that Caroline can come and sit by me, and tell me how her investigation is coming along. Or aren't I supposed to ask that?'

  'It's early days yet,' Caro said, furiously glaring at Oil as he carried the chair and put it down next to his grandmother. 'It takes quite a time to get out a full report on a company.'

  Miranda was staring, her face puzzled. 'A report on what?' she asked Caro, who did not answer, just looked in Gil's direction, leaving it to him to explain to Miranda.

  'Caro's an accountant,' Gil said.

  'An accountant?' repeated Miranda, looking down her long, aristocratic nose in disbelief and hauteur. 'A woman accountant?' She made it sound bizarre, incredible. Gil laughed; Caro did not.

  'Why not?' she coldly asked. 'Men no longer monopolise the professions, you know. Weren't you a model, years ago, before you got married?'

  Miranda did not like the way she had put that. Her eyes glittered. 'I only gave up work two years ago!' she snapped.

  Caro shrugged indifferently. 'Well, my point is that at one time women had very few choices of career. Teaching, nursing, acting, modelling, office work—that was about it for women, but these days things are very different. A woman can do any job; all that matters is her ability.'

  'Even so, I doubt if many women opt for accountancy, rather than being a model!' drawled Gil, and Miranda laughed softly.

  'I couldn't agree more, darling.'

  Lady Westbrook cut across this conversation to ask, 'How is your father, Caroline?'

  'He's always well,' Caro answered with a wry little smile. 'I can't remember him ever being ill. An occasional cold, perhaps, but nothing worse.'

  Susan hurried into the room, looking agitated. 'Dinner is ready now,' she breathlessly told them, and Gil came to help his grandmother to her feet, then took her arm to lead her off to dinner. Caro watched them thoughtfully. They might be at odds at the moment, Lady

  Westbrook might plan to sell the store over his head, but it was very clear that Gil was strongly attached to his grandmother, and that she, however angry with him she might be at the moment, loved him dearly.

  Caro frowned. In that case, how serious was this split between them? Would the old lady really go through with her sale of Westbrooks?

  Over dinner Miranda tried to monopolise Gil's attention, flirting with him, eyes huge and apparently magnetic, smile deliberately alluring, while she ignored Caro, who sat there in silence, eating very little and wishing she were somewhere else. Why had she let him talk her into staying for dinner? She must be out of her mind. Why had he wanted her there? And how serious was his relationship with the lovely Countess?

  'I'm staying at the Savoy,' Miranda murmured, her hand lightly brushing Gil's as he refilled her wine glass with some of the light, delicious white wine being served with the chicken. He gave her a frowning look and she fluttered her lashes. 'Well, you told me to choose neutral ground, darling, so I have—a hotel is as neutral as anywhere, wouldn't you say? I left a message at the Hall telling Colin where I was, so he can't say he doesn't know. I've taken a suite—well, why not? I might as well be comfortable, and the windows look out over the Thames through all those lovely new leaves on the trees. London is simply magical in spring, isn't it? I always think it such a green city. The bed in my suite is a four-poster, with the most gorgeous brocade curtains I've seen in ages. You'll love them.'

  Lady Westbrook sat up stiffly in her chair, her eyes round with shocked consternation. 'What do you mean, Miranda? Have you left your husband?'

  'Yes, I'm afraid I have. Well, what else could I do? After he made that terrible scene in public!' Miranda turned wide-open, innocent eyes on her, but Lady Westbrook was not to be softened.

  'You don't have to make matters worse by leaving him!' she snapped.

  'You don't know what you're talking about! Gil knows what I've had to put up with from Colin! Ask him! This isn't the first time my husband has embarrassed me in front of all my friends, but it's going to be the last!' Miranda's surface sweetness cracked a little and revealed a hardness underneath; no surprise to Caro, or to Lady Westbrook, from her expression.

  'I don't think we should talk about this over dinner,' Gil said impatiently, and Miranda let her blonde head droop close to his shoulder, a fragile femininity in the movement.

  'Whatever you say, darling.'

  Lady Westbrook eyed Miranda with the look of one who was longing to give somebody a smack; in this case, thought Caro, richly deserved. She wouldn't mind giving Miranda a smack herself. Instead, she ate her small portion of coffee mousse, her eyes riveted on her plate.

  The food was good, what there was of it; meant obviously for three, it barely ran to five, and everyone had cheese after the sweet. There was an excellent and very large cheeseboard, and after that they retired to the drawing-room to have their coffee, carried there by Susan on a silver tray which seemed much too heavy for her.

  Gil leapt to take it from her as she staggered in with it. 'Sit down, Susan,' he ordered in his peremptory way. 'I'll pour it out. You must be exhausted, after cooking that wonderful meal for us—you're a marvellous cook, were you trained at college? Or did you just pick it up?'

  'Oh...thank you... I...I did a cookery course, years ago, yes, but I've learnt far more by just practising, Finding out what works and what doesn't.' Susan sat down, bright pink with pleasure, while Gil lifted the massive silver coffee-pot and began to pour fragrant dark coffee into the small bone china cups, so fragile they were actually transparent; Caro could see the whorl
ed pads of his fingers through them.

  She watched him intently, absorbing his kindness to his grandmother's companion, his awareness of the work she had done, and the way he took care to thank Susan for it. Like his tenderness and affection for his grandmother, this was another aspect of his character that she was discovering. She was surprised by it—although why should she be? she asked herself. No man was one-dimensional, they were all layered, and Gil Martell was particularly complex, she was realising.

  They were drinking their coffee when the doorbell rang violently. Susan shot to her feet, almost dropping her coffee-cup. Miranda stiffened in her chair, her blue eyes

  wide. 'Colin!'

  'What on earth makes you think it's your husband?' asked Lady Westbrook impatiently, and Gil slowly stood up, staring at Miranda.

  'If you left word that you were at the Savoy, why would he come here?' he asked in sharp suspicion.

  'I don't know.. .don't you start bullying me!' wailed Miranda, and Caro might have been sympathetic if she hadn't been convinced that that look of terror was too theatrical to be true. Miranda was enjoying herself too much to be genuinely afraid.

  Gil did not seem impressed, either. 'What have you been up to, Miranda?' he asked. 'You told him you were coming here tonight, didn't you?'

  She pushed out her lower lip in what she no doubt hoped would be a childishly appealing pout, and looked reproachfully at Gil. 'I didn't tell Colin anything. But if he rang the Savoy...' Her voice trailed off and Gil grimaced.

  'You left a message with them that you would be here. I see.'

  'My mother might have rung! She said she was going to!' Miranda defended herself.

  The ringing came again, louder and more peremptory.

  'Susan, answer the door,' Lady Westbrook ordered, and her companion with obvious reluctance crept away to obey.