‘Just a few miles. It’s a plantation home that belongs to the National Trust. I’m sure it’s open today.’
‘I thought cold, calculating lawyers weren’t interested in the romantic South,’ she remarked smilingly, then could have bitten out her tongue for bringing a caustic note into the conversation.
But he was smiling. ‘We are very interested in architecture, and this happens to be a perfect example of Georgian Palladian.’
They turned off the highway, paid their fee at the entrance gate, then followed the road lined with centuries-old oak trees until they came to the house. It stood in lonely austerity, a reflecting pool at its back and the river in front.
They joined a group leaving with a guide. Thorne had already explained that Drayton Hall was empty, but it did not need antique furnishings—the guide’s account made its history come alive. Because it had remained in the hands of the same family until it was acquired by the National Trust, it had never fallen heir to the destruction of progress. It had never been wired for electricity, nor had indoor plumbing installed, and it had only been painted twice in its history—the last time in 1865. For students of architecture, it was a treasure trove of information.
Josey listened to the guide talk about its romantic past, which had come to an abrupt end with the Civil War. It had taken three days of systematic stripping to empty it of its beautiful contents when the enemy soldiers came. What the owners could save, they did by parcelling it out among the loyal slaves who remained. When the guide described the lavish, candlelit balls, Josey could almost see the rooms peopled with graceful, dipping couples.
Thorne leaned forward and murmured, ‘If you look closely, you may see Scarlett and Rhett.’
She flushed. ‘It’s silly, I know, but I’m fascinated by stories like that.’
Later, as they were leaving, he asked, ‘So you think you’d have liked to live in those days?’
‘Not at all,’ she said firmly.
‘You surprise me,’ he said sardonically. ‘Most women get nostalgic about the good old days,’
unless they’re fools, she said crisply. Life was too hard on women to ever want to return to the past.’
“Hard?5 he asked cynically. ‘You were put on a pedestal! Admired, petted, adored, protected ..
“For the women who lived there, perhaps,’ she gestured scornfully over her shoulder. ‘But the rsst of them lived lives of drudgery. A baby every year, her body and soul owned by her husband. If you ask me, it’s you men who miss the good old days. You were on top then, and you’ve been going steadily downhill ever since.’
“That’s the trouble with you feminists, you have no sense of humour,’
he drawled, as they reached the parking lot. He unlocked the car and field the door open as she got in. ‘You women want to be construction workers and policemen, but if you aren’t given preferential treatment, you can’t hack, it.’ He started the motor, his hard, handsome face wearing a sardonic smile. ‘As for jour equality claim, if you were to start off all the men and women in the world evenly, the men would still demonstrate their superiority.’
‘Are you talking about mental or physical superiority?’ she asked sweetly.
‘Oh, mental, of course. Our physical strength is obvious.’
She drew a sharp breath. ‘Too bad we can’t test your interesting hypothesis,’ she snapped.
‘Why can’t we?’ His eyes glinted mockingly. ‘Take this little skirmish of ours, for instance.’
She froze. Suddenly, their half-playful conversation had entered a new, dangerous plane.
‘Or would you rather call it a war?’ he asked smoothly. ‘That I shall win?’
She touched her tongue to dry lips and laughed nervously. ‘I’d rather call it fanciful nonsense.’
‘Do you really think I won’t have you before I return to Atlanta?’ he asked pleasantly, as though the topic was academic.
She flushed. ‘I know you won’t! All I have to do is whisper one word into the ear of the beautiful Mrs Sanders.’
‘Too late,’ he drawled appreciatively. ‘Eve and I are no longer close friends.’
‘Was that her idea—or yours?’
‘None of your business, Miss Pry,’ he replied amiably, then added, ‘I don’t like possessive women.’
‘In other words, you got tired of her, as you do all of your mistresses sooner or later?’ she snapped. ‘Maud told me the average duration was four to six months!’
‘Do I detect a note of sympathy?’ He sounded surprised. ‘After her treatment of you?’
‘She was jealous!’ Josey said sharply. ‘And insecure. Rightly so, as it turned out,’ she added nastily.
He shrugged. ‘I assure you, she knew the score. I made no promises, and when a thing is over, it’s over.’
‘ “It” presumably meaning her bed-worthiness?’
He looked amused. ‘Her bed-worthiness, as you put it, was never in question. But she had a few bitchy personality traits that I found objectionable.’
‘You must tell me what they were,’ she cooed sweetly.
He grinned. ‘Ask Maud.’
She eyed him with sharp suspicion. ‘You know that’s why Maud set this thing up!’
His grin widened. ‘She was rather obvious.’
“And now that you’ve learned that I’m not trying to trap you into marriage, you’re prepared to have an affair with me? I’m surprised you’re filing to forego your fastidiousness and overlook die fact that I was John’s mistress!’ she added angrily, with a total disregard for the truth.
A slight tightening of his mouth was the only indication that her words had made an impression. ‘I make it a habit never to discuss my partner’s former lovers,’ he said coolly. ‘Naturally I expect the same consideration from her. That, plus her exclusive attention, is all I ask or expect so long as the affair lasts.’
She flinched. ‘And what do you expect from a wife?’ she demanded hotly.
His face hardened. ‘I’d be a fool to expect anything from a wife—which is precisely why I’ll never get married.’
‘I think you’re disgusting C-claiming you’re going to attempt to seduce me under your aunt’s roof…’
‘Attempt?’
‘How do you think Maud would feel if she knew about this?’
‘Maud is a romantic and as much an anachronism as that antebellum mansion back there. She believes in love, happy endings, all the modern fairy tales. She would fool herself that her particular dream was coming true—you and I were falling in love and were going to be married.
Whereas you and I, my beautiful little sensualist, are realists. We deal in truth; what we can see and hear and feel. The way I make you feel, for instance, when I kiss you or touch your breasts. The way I intend to make you shudder and moan beneath my lips. It will be that, not some Sentimental clap-trap called love, that will bring you to my bed.’
She wanted to put her hands over her ears and close out the sound of the harsh, cynical voice uttering words she did not want to hear. She wanted to deny the pulsing excitement in her veins, the erotic images his words brought to her mind. Desperately, she reminded herself who he was, and to never forget it. He had almost destroyed her once—was she going to let him do it all over again?
‘Don’t say that!’ she choked. ‘I hate it when you say that!’
He didn’t reply but abruptly drew into a lay-by along the highway. He turned off the motor, then leaned over her, splaying his hand across her breast. Her body reacted immediately by swelling beneath his palm.
He laughed harshly. ‘Do you think liking or hating has anything to do with this? Or this?’ His warm lips sought the thundering pulse at the base of her throat. Her desire flared, and she knew he had correctly read the signs in her quickened breathing., the way her hands curled limply in her lap. He slowly unbuttoned her blouse, watching her face closely, but she didn’t move. She stared at him blankly, her eyes wide and a molten gold in her white face. ‘You’re so lovel
y,’ he murmured.
He did not kiss her, but his hands were exquisitely tender on her soft skin, his touch warm and soft. A slight breeze drifted in through the open car window, reaching her heated cheeks, and she blinked, momentarily distracted. She tried to move but her limbs would not obey her. When one of his hands cupped her thigh and slid tormentingly down its slender curve, she reached out a trembling hand and touched the head at her breast. At the mercy of her own passions and that aching traitor that dwelled deep within her body, she knew she couldn’t have stopped him if he had chosen to take her at that moment in the front seat of the car.
Then, suddenly, she was free and he was snapping her bra with a humiliating expertise. ‘Let me go!’ she whimpered.
‘You’re quite free.’ There was a thread of soft laughter in his voice and she realised just how ridiculous she had sounded.
‘Face it, Josey. Whatever this—this hunger is between us, it’s not going away until we feed it.’
‘No.’
‘I want you—very badly. I admit it, and you’re a fool and deceiving yourself if you don’t admit it, too.’ His voice was indulgent, even amused, and she flushed angrily.
‘I am not going to make love with you,’ she said stubbornly.
‘Yes, you are,’ he said softly. ‘And very soon. But not under Maud’s roof, in spite of your claim. I want you where I can enjoy that lovely body at leisure, all night long.’ His hand touched her face lingeringly. ‘You’re mine, Josey, so don’t make any more dates with that nice boy, hmm? He’s already halfway in love with you and it would be a shame to disappoint him when you already belong to me.’
He started up the engine and drove out of the lay-by. She turned her head away, staring at the scenery, and after a while, surprisingly, she slept.
CHAPTER SEVEN
THORNE did not carry out his threat, although he remained at Maud’s house through that week. He was very busy with a case that was being heard in the Charleston courts, and he spent several nights and every day there, working with the firm of lawyers that had been retained by his firm.
When he was home, he worked in the library with Miss Pettigru. Josey only saw him occasionally, and then, at meal times.
She refused two dates with Brian that week on the grounds that she was busy. And she kept busy. If Maud had no work for her, she was outside with Theodore. Together, they moved bulbs and one day, she weeded the lawn and in the ground cover of creeping ajuga. As she viciously attacked the crabgrass, it was as though she was attacking those feelings she could not control.
She was not going to let Thorne Macallan seduce her, she declared violently. She wasn’t a mindless little fool or a robot he could control. She was a strong, independent woman who had made her own way for years, and she couldn’t be taken against her will. Admittedly, she was strongly attracted to him. She knew now it had been that strong attraction that had made her react so explosively in the courtroom. She had thought he was going to save her and instead, he betrayed her. She hadn’t the experience to recognise he had merely been doing his job.
She gave a sudden strangled yelp of denial. No! It was a betrayal. Maybe it was only a job, too. But what he had done once, he might do again. He had never made any bones about the impermanent quality of his feelings for her. She was merely a casual date, a one-night stand, a girl whom he could appease his hunger for after one night. He had approached her as a girl of experience, who had lived for years with another man. She had not received soft words, flowers, chocolates, nor even his respect, she reminded herself savagely.
She was right to refuse Brian’s request for a date tonight for she hadn’t wanted another confrontation, but that was the last concession she was going to make. She had said it once—she was saying it again. She was through running scared.
That afternoon, Thorne walked in while she and Maud were having pre-dinner cocktails in the sunroom. He dropped into a chair and smiled lazily at them.
‘I’ll be returning to-Atlanta tomorrow, Maud.’ When she made a sound of distress, he said gently, ‘Sorry, my dear. I can’t put it off. I do have other obligations, you know.’
She tried to smile. ‘Will you be back?’
‘Oh, yes.’ He turned a predatory smile on Josey. ‘I was going to ask Josey to go out with me tonight and celebrate the end of my case.’ ; ‘Oh, did you win?’ Maud asked eagerly.
‘Very satisfactorily.’
While they were talking, Josey’s mind was busy with sizzling thoughts. So this is when he had planned her seduction, midway between the end of his case and his return to his lady in Atlanta! She was to be sandwiched conveniently in the middle, like a quickie hamburger! She knew what to do, how to get in touch with Brian. And when Thorne looked at her enquiringly, she smiled fiercely into his eyes.
‘I’m so sorry,’ she said deliberately, ‘but I’ve made other plans. I already have a date—with Brian.’
‘Hmm, too bad. I wonder if I can find someone at the last minute—too?
Perhaps you and Brian will be my guests?’ He was smiling but there was a dark thread of anger running through his voice, and she was savagely glad.
‘We’d love to but we’d rather be alone. I’m sure you understand.’
‘Oh, I do.’ Oh, he was furious! The pale sea-grey of his eyes had darkened to a black rage, deadly, promising retribution.
As soon as she could, Josey went straight to her room and phoned Brian at his parents’ home. He was delighted to learn that she was able to make their date after all, and they decided on a movie.
It was pleasant being with blessedly uncomplicated Brian. Josey ended up enjoying the movie. They stopped off for a nightcap afterwards at a dark little bar and lingered for a while before he took her home. As they left the bar, she had an impulse to ask Brian to take her to a hotel where she could get a room for the night, but she knew he would wonder—Maud would wonder, and she wouldn’t hear the last of it. Besides, it was a cowardly cop-out.
The porch light was on as they drove up, and Josey turned swiftly to Brian. ‘Don’t see me in, everyone’s asleep.’
She was fumbling with her key when the door opened: ‘Come on in, Miss Smith. You must have known I’d wait up for you,’
he drawled silkily. His face was in the shadows and all she could see was a tall, looming shape. ‘Come into the living room. I want to talk to you.’
She stopped at the stairs and said firmly, ‘But I don’t want to talk to you.
I’m tired and I want to go to bed.’
‘That suits me just fine. That’s where I intended the evening to end anyway.’
Something in the implacable voice told Josey that he meant it: it was either bed or the living room, so she followed him reluctantly into the big, dimly lit room.
‘I knew that’s what you intended,’ she said nonchalantly. ‘That’s why I went out with Brian tonight.’
For a moment, amusement gleamed in his eyes. ‘You are merely putting off the inevitable, you know. I thought I told you not to go out with that boy again.’
‘Since when do I have to do what you tell me to do?’
‘You know when, Josey.’ His voice was soft but conveyed a menacing note of warning. ‘Don’t do it again.’
She threw back her head. ‘I’ll go out with whoever I like!’
‘Not while you belong to me.’
‘I don’t belong to you!’ Desperation made her voice harsh and ugly.
Suddenly, inspiration came to her. ‘I belong to Brian, if anybody. As of tonight.’
He froze, staring at her, his pale eyes blazing.
His mouth twisted into a cold smile. ‘You bitch, you’re lying,’ he said thinly.
‘Why should I lie about a thing like that?’ she asked steadily. ‘Surely a lady is allowed the privilege of choosing her lover for the evening?’ The absurd words tripped off her tongue. ‘I didn’t want you—I wanted Brian. It was as simple as that.’
She shrank back from the ugly expression on his face a
s he dragged her into his arms and kissed her with deliberate brutality, forcing her mouth with a crude sensuality that was shocking. It was a contemptuous assault, made in an anger that gave him an excuse to use his male strength against her feminine weakness.
She tore herself away and a cold, fierce smile bared his teeth. With one swift movement, he lifted her and carried her over to the sofa, then yanked her zipper open. From beneath his lashes, his eyes gleamed with a predatory glint that warned her not to fight him, for to fight him would be to lose, and to lose would be to submit. Sliding his hands across her shoulders, he cupped her breasts, his thumbs stroking the nipples with slow, sensuous movements. She fought to prevent the treacherous signs of her arousal.
‘No, Thorne,’ she moaned.
‘Don’t you like what I’m doing to you?’ he asked idly.
He levered her backwards, his long, lean weight bearing her body down to the soft cushions. He kissed her deeply, druggingly, while all the while, his hands continued with their sensual, pleasurable stroking.
‘Don’t you like it?’ he repeated, breathing in her ear.
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me how much.’
Her long lashes swept down, covering her golden eyes, and she whispered shamedly, reluctantly, ‘I like it—very much.’
‘Want me to go on?’
‘Yes,’ she whimpered.
‘You’re beautiful, you know,’ he murmured softly. ‘Like fire and ice.
Your skin feels like silk, and your mouth tastes like honey. When you blush, your breasts bloom beneath my hand—like this. You’re driving me mad, my beauty.’ He raised himself and tangled his hand in her copper curls, tilting her face up to meet his. ‘Listen to me. I am Thorne and I am the man who you say you hate and despise. But I’m also the man who can make you ache with desire. Remember that next week, while I’m gone. No,’
he added drily, running his fingers lightly over her flushed cheeks. ‘I’m not going to take you now. I told you, the first time was going to be at our leisure, in bed, where we can enjoy it.’
His eyes were coldly intent on her face as she sat up and pulled her clothes together. She stood up unsteadily, and he helped her, one hand under her arm, then she had to endure the added humiliation of having him walk her to her bedroom door. The hallway was hushed and dark, wrapping them in an intimate silence. At the door to her room, he turned to her.
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