The Threat of Love

by Charlotte Lamb

  'No, don't,' Miranda burst out, and Susan stopped in the doorway, looking back at her employer.

  'Do as I say!' snapped Lady Westbrook, and Susan hurried off.

  Miranda groaned. 'Oh, don't let him in, Lady Westbrook—you don't know how he can be in one of his jealous moods, especially if he's been drinking, and at this time of the evening he will have been drinking, he has probably spent hours at his club, in the bar.'

  From the hall came loud voices—a man's deep, angry tones and Susan's high, anxious ones. Gil strode towards the door, frowning, but before he got there it was flung open and another man appeared, throwing a surly look around the drawing-room.

  Caro vaguely remembered the face from that photograph which had appeared in the newspapers. The Earl of Jurby was a little older than Gil Martell, a man of around forty, with a long, rather plain face, darkly flushed at present and full of aggression, although his features were quite pleasant and in other moods he was possibly very likeable.

  His eye lighted on Gil, and he glared at him, baring his teeth. 'Oh, there you are! That silly woman who opened the door kept trying to tell me you weren't here. I knew she was lying. Where's my wife, you swine?'

  'Colin, you're drunk...' Gil began, but the other man caught sight of Miranda on the other side of the room and snarled triumphantly.

  'So she is here! I knew it, I knew I'd find her with you! That message she left about dining with your grandmother didn't fool me for a minute!' He lurched towards Gil, his hands screwed into fists, a strange, dishevelled sight in the elegant drawing-room, his reddish hair windblown, his tie undone and his shirt-collar open at the throat. 'I'm going to kill you, Martell.'

  Lady Westbrook's icy voice cracked like a whip. 'How dare you behave like this in my house? Where are your manners, sir? This is my drawing-room, not a bar-room!'

  The Earl halted, stiffened, turning scarlet, and peered across the room at her, swaying unsteadily from side to side. 'Good lord! Gil, your grandmother is here. Thought it was all a lie, made a mistake... apologise, Lady W...' He ran a hand over his brow, thinking. 'Lady Westbrook,' he triumphantly remembered. 'I beg your pardon. Terrible manners. Absolutely. No excuse. One drink too many.' He bowed, almost fell over, and Gil grabbed his arm and hauled him upright again.

  'Thanks, Gil,' he automatically said, beginning to make his slow, ponderous way to the door like a shortsighted elephant, then paused again, looked round helplessly. 'Wasn't my wife here? Oh, there she is...Miranda...you might give a fellow a helping hand,' he said pathetically.

  'Oh, go home, Colin!' she snapped, her face angrily flushed.

  'Well, I shall, but where's my car? Did I come here in my car?' He stopped to think, shook his head. 'No, took a taxi. Someone at the club said... no, policeman said... in no state to drive, took my keys away.'

  'That's true enough, heaven knows,' Gil said tersely. 'I'll drive him home, shall I, Miranda?'

  The Earl petulantly pushed him away. 'Don't want you to drive me, Gilham. My wife can drive.'

  'Why should I?' Miranda crossly asked him. 'Just look at you! You've been drinking again and I'm sick of living with someone who sees the world through the bottom of a glass. Take a taxi home, Colin. Walk. Sleep on a park bench! I don't care what you do, but I'm not going back home with you.'

  'Miranda, darling, don't be nasty to me!' he mumbled, trying to put an arm round her, and she pushed him away.

  'Leave me alone!'

  'I think you should have this discussion somewhere else,' Gil said, seeing the anger in his grandmother's face. 'Miranda, help me get Colin into the hall. Come on, Colin, don't be an idiot... you can't talk to Miranda in here.' He jerked his head towards his grandmother, and the Earl looked blankly at her, then gave a loud gasp.

  'Oh, quite... Sorry... leave immediately...'

  'This way,' Gil drily said, propelling him through the door. The Countess reluctantly followed; the door closed on all three, and Lady Westbrook let out a long, audible breath. Caro felt intense relief, too, and sighed, which brought the old lady's eyes round to her face. Lady Westbrook frowned then, as if only just remembering her presence.

  'I apologise, Caroline,' she said stiffly.

  'No, please... really... it doesn't matter,' stammered Caro, wishing she was somewhere else.

  'It does indeed!' Lady Westbrook said sternly. 'My grandson is behaving disgracefully, and I'm sorry you had to be a witness to that unpleasant little scene. He had no business allowing it to take place in front of you.'

  Caro suddenly saw that the old lady's hands were shaking violently, and felt a pang of sympathy. She got up and went over to Lady Westbrook, knelt down beside her chair and took hold of her trembling hands. Their skin was dry and papery, very cold. Caro massaged them gently, smiling into the pale old face.

  'Don't upset yourself, it isn't worth it.'

  There was the gleam of tears in Lady Westbrook's eyes. Her mouth quivered. 'He's such a fool!'

  'Gil?' guessed Caro. She wouldn't argue with that; he was undoubtedly a fool, getting involved with a woman like Miranda.

  'I warned him Miranda meant trouble,' Lady Westbrook muttered, as if reading Caro's thoughts. 'I know the type. Easily bored, always looking for new sensations, extravagant... if Colin divorces her Gil will have to marry her, and she'll ruin his life. My family worked very hard to build up our business, and I'd rather leave the money to charity than let it fall into Miranda's hands and have her spend it all on herself.'

  'Is that why you're selling Westbrooks?' asked Caro gently and Lady Westbrook gave her a strange look, half angry, half miserable.

  She nodded, then bit her lip before bursting out, 'I gave him an ultimatum. He either swore never to see Miranda again there and then—or I would offer the store to your father!'

  Caro whistled softly, imagining the scene. She knew Gil Martell by now; she knew how he would react to that piece of blackmail. His grandmother should have known, too. Her grey eyes gazed at Lady Westbrook, who stared down into them defiantly.

  'Oh, I know what you're thinking! It was a mistake, 1 knew it the minute I'd said it, but I was so angry, and Gil wouldn't talk about it, he just told me to mind my own business! I lost my temper, and I'd said it before I could stop myself, and... and...'

  'And he told you to do as you liked, he didn't give a damn?' Caro could almost hear him saying it. She began to laugh and Lady Westbrook stared at her in utter amazement for a minute, and then suddenly she began to laugh, too, the tears still in her eyes.

  When their laughter died away the old lady produced a handkerchief and dried her eyes, and gave Caro a shaky smile. 'Thank you for listening, my dear, you're very kind.'

  'Not at all.' Caro was shy now; she didn't know what to say or do.

  A French clock on the mantelshelf chimed musically, and she started, looking at her own watch in surprise and relief. It was a way out.

  'Gracious, look at the time! It is nearly ten o'clock. I'd no idea it was so late. I must be going. Thank you so much for the delicious meal, I enjoyed seeing you again, getting to know you better.'

  She was gabbling, she thought; gabbling, no other word for it. Tonight had been quite an ordeal; she had never in her life had to face anything like it. She had been flung from one emotional situation to another all evening, and she was mentally drained. It wasn't over yet, either. To leave, she had to make her way across that hall, where no doubt there was still a nasty triangular scene going on. She wished there was some other way out, but she couldn't stay here a second longer, she had to get away.

  'But you must wait for Gil to come back!' Lady Westbrook protested.

  Not on your life! thought Caro, but could not say that, so instead she muttered, 'Oh, I'll see him on my way out, I expect.'

  'But how will you get home?'

  'Our house is just five minutes away, I'll walk.'

  'In the dark? I don't think you should, my dear,' Lady Westbrook argued unhappily, but Caro shook hands and bolted out of the room.

/>   For a second she thought the hall was empty, and then she heard the slam of the great oak front door and Gil moved towards her from the shadows around it. He halted as he saw her, lifting his dark brows.

  'Where are you going?'

  'Home,' she said tersely.

  He didn't argue. 'I'll drive you,' he said, turning to walk beside her as she purposefully made for the front door.

  'No, thanks. I prefer to walk,' she said, coolly. 'Good for the digestion.'

  'Then I'll walk you home,' he said at once.

  'There's no need...' she protested.

  'I can't let you leave here alone at this hour. If anything happened to you, your father would want my blood.' Gil waved her through the open door into the cloudless, spring night. It was so clear that you could almost count the stars, and a bright silvery moon hung low over London's crowded streets. 'A lovely night,' Gil murmured, closing the door behind them both.

  Caro began to walk, uneasily aware of him walking at her side. Their footsteps rang crisply on the pavements, and above that noise she heard the rustling of the wind in the trees in the darkened park.

  Even the traffic was hushed at this hour; few cars came through these very exclusive streets at night. There were lighted windows in some houses, but few sounds. They might have been alone on a desert island and she walked faster, wanting to get home, to get away from his disturbing presence.

  Gil looked sideways at her profile as they walked under a street lamp and were illumined to each other by the hazy circle of yellowish light. She was aware of his scrutiny, but didn't show as much, her lashes down against her cheeks and her mouth obstinate.

  'OK, say it,' he suddenly said and the sharp note in his voice made her jump.

  'Say what?'

  They had walked on into the shadows again, and they had almost reached her home—she could see the garden trees, the chalice-like, ivory tipped with pink buds of the magnolia, ghostly and enchanting in moonlight.

  'Do you think I wasn't aware what you were thinking?' Gil ground out, halting in his tracks and seizing her arm to swing her round to face him. 'You've been giving off waves of disapproval all evening. I'm beginning to recognise that look, you little prude! You can stop it right now! Miranda has gone back to her husband—I hope that's OK with you?'

  'She's gone back home?' Caro said huskily, her eyes clearing, and Gil glared at her, his fingers biting into her arm.

  'That's right. Happy now?'

  'Obviously you're not,' she muttered. 'And you're hurting my arm! Will you let go of me?'

  He released her arm, but, when she tried to walk on, stepped into her path, blocking her way and radiating threat.

  'How I feel about Miranda and Colin is my business, not yours. You don't know anything about me, or them and—' He broke off, breathing fiercely, staring down at her. 'You have a maddening way of staring at people and looking superior, do you know that? Stop it! What do you think gives you the right to sit in judgement on me?'

  'You're a mind-reader, are you?' Caro muttered, eyeing him with dislike. 'Well, I hope you're reading my mind now. It will save me the trouble of telling you what I think of you!'

  She pushed him away, using all her strength, and took him so much by surprise that he lost his balance and floundered back into a hedge. Caro didn't wait to see if he was hurt; she started to run, and reached the driveway of her home before Gil caught up with her. He launched himself at her in a rugby tackle, grabbing her shoulders with both hands and knocking her sideways.

  She reeled backwards until she hit a tree trunk and could go no further.

  'Get your hands off me!' she whispered, her breathing

  rapid after running so hard. 'Are you crazy? Chasing

  me along the street—'

  'That was what I was meant to do, wasn't it?' he said, his mouth a cynical curve. 'You ran, expecting me to run after you.'

  'No!' she denied, but felt a strange confusion—that wasn't what she had wanted, was it? For him to follow, catch her?

  Gil smiled crookedly. 'Sure about that? People talk about men being primitive—but it's women who have the primitive instincts; they love to run away and have men chasing after them.'

  'If that's your excuse, you can forget it!' Caro hated the way he was smiling. 'I certainly don't want you chasing me. Your lady-friend may enjoy being chased, she may like to play primitive games, but I don't!'

  She shouldn't have brought Miranda into it again; it made him angrier. His face tightened, his skin dark.

  'That's enough!' he snapped, holding her against the tree, his grip unbreakable. 'Why are you so obsessed with Miranda, anyway? You get in digs about her whenever you get the chance. I'd almost think you were jealous of her!'

  Caro went scarlet, her whole body reacting in shock. She was appalled, yet she couldn't get out a single word to deny it.

  Gil's eyes had narrowed and he was watching her intently now, trying to read her expression. 'You can't be jealous over me, we've only just met,' he said slowly. 'Why should you dislike Miranda so much? Because she's a famous beauty? Because men flock around her?' His mouth twisted in distaste. 'Women are the most extraordinary creatures. You envy Miranda, yet you give off that puritanical air, as if you've never been to bed with a man in your life.'

  Caro's face was burning, and his dark eyes glittered. 'Did I hit a nail on the head?'

  Caro was so angry her voice sounded high and shaky. 'No, you didn't!'

  'You mean you have been to bed with a man?' he mockingly enquired, and she was too humiliated to care what she said any more.

  'I'm not as promiscuous as you and your women, anyway! You may think nothing of leaping in and out of bed with anyone you happen to meet, whether they're married to someone else, or not—but I prefer to keep a little self-respect!'

  Gil's crooked smile vanished; he looked at her with a

  fury that made her nerves jump. 'You little—' he began thickly, then broke off, breathing roughly. There was a long, tense silence; Caro was dry-mouthed and dumb, her ears beating with the sound of her own blood. She wasn't quite sure what was going to happen next, only that they were locked in what felt like mortal combat. When he moved her whole body jerked in apprehension, as if expecting a blow, but he didn't strike her. He kissed her—if you could call it a kiss.

  His mouth hit hers like a weapon, forcing her head back against the tree so that her throat was stretched tight, her lips burnt and aching, her eyes wide and hot with unshed tears. It seemed a long, long time before he stopped and then he straightened up and stood there, breathing as if it hurt him, his eyes shut, his lids like the carved eye-sockets of a stone figure.

  Caro didn't move, either; she was crying silently, tears trickling down her white cheeks.

  Gil opened his eyes at last and looked at her, his brows jerking together as he saw her face. He swore under his breath. 'I'm sorry. God knows what came over me. I lost my temper. It all got out of hand.'

  She couldn't stop crying, partly because she was in shock, and partly because her mouth was swollen and hot, as if she had been stung by a bee.

  He groaned. 'Caro, please! Don't!' he said, raking his hands through his thick black hair. 'What on earth can I say to you? I didn't mean that to happen.'

  That made it worse; that was terrible. Gil hadn't wanted to kiss her at all, he had done it out of sheer temper, and now he wished he hadn't. She hated him and, at the same time, she cried helplessly.

  Gil suddenly bent his head; his mouth brushed her lids, and that was comforting; she sighed shudderingly. It sent a shock of disbelief through her a second later, though, when she felt the tip of his tongue run along her wet lashes. Her sobs stopped, she stood very still, quivering at the strange sensation, her tears over.

  'That's better,' he whispered, dropping brief, light kisses on her brow, her eyes, cheeks, nose. He put both arms around her and began to rock her on his body, murmuring soothingly to her as if she were a child, stroking her long brown hair, holding her close.


  Now that they had both calmed down, she could have escaped, pushed him away, run up the drive into her house, but she didn't; she leaned on him, letting the warmth of his body seep into her, and after a while he put a finger under her chin to lift her head and kissed her again, very differently, his lips gentle, sensual, their caress making a languorous sweetness grow inside her body. Her arms went round his neck; she kissed him back, her hands in his thick dark hair, becoming aware of a tension in the muscles at the back of his neck and gently massaging it away.

  He groaned, lifting his mouth. 'Mmm.. .that's nice. Don't stop. I've had the most appalling day, just one damn thing after another—that's just what I need.' He buried his face in her throat, and one hand strokingly explored her body in the tight-fitting jersey wool dress.

  Alarm bells began to ring inside her head a second later as she felt the long zip unpeel down the back of her dress and Gil's hand slide inside.

  'I must go in,' she stammered, hearing the thud of his heart close to her, the rough sound of his breathing.

  'Not yet,' he said, and she watched his mouth and ached with desire, but she had herself under control now; she was able to think clearly again. What was in Gil's mind? No prizes for guessing that. He was making it pretty obvious. His hand had moved silkily round to her breasts; she tightened in panic as his fingers intimately caressed her bare, warm skin. She had to stop him before it was too late.

  She didn't kid herself that it was really her Gil wanted. He would have made a pass at any woman who happened to come along tonight. Gil had just had to watch his lover go back to her husband, and he was angry, jealous, unhappy.

  He needed some comfort, he needed to feel somebody wanted him, he needed a woman; but Caro wasn't prepared to accept the role. Briefly, she had felt such a wild pull of attraction that she might have been fool enough to let him go on making love to her, but she had waited too long to fall in love to be ready to play stand-in to some other woman.

  When a man made love to her, it was going to be because he loved and wanted her, herself, and not for any other reason.