Stormy Rapture

by Margaret Pargeter

  There had been no time for other than the merest hint of protest, and now a sensation of sharpest excitement took hold of her, surging through her body, parting her own lips hungrily beneath his. A tumult flooded through her veins, the cause of which she was loath to put a name to, but it was a tide of elation which dissolved anger and resistance, and she clung to him, a willing prisoner beneath the insistent pressure of his mouth.

  When at last he lifted his head she barely moved. Only her arm slid up around his neck to feel the warm, hard skin, but she was scarcely conscious of what she was doing. The light from the one small lamp enfolded her, caressing her face, her hair which tumbled in long silken strands across her shoulders, and his hand went out, grasping a handful of it, his fingers still holding a trace of antagonism. "What do you think of yourself now, my little coward?" he probed tersely, his breath warm and his body heavy against her own slender one.

  She was unable to answer and he knew it. "Look at me," he commanded, his voice splintering, and for an instant as she raised her weighted lids his dark eyes flamed into sensual brilliance.

  Liza had encountered love in her life, even if she had never experienced it herself until she met Simon Redford. She had known that sometimes men found her desirable. But she had never known a man who could look at her with a mixture of dislike and desire at the same time. His face was a dark carving, and he wasn't bothering to hide the fact that his was the complete mastery. That he could do with her as he chose, aware as he was of the total disintegration of her long held defences.

  The hand which held her hair stretched, his fingers tightening under her chin, turning her quivering lips to his again. This time his mouth brought a passionate response, an aching rapture that ran through her pliant body, and her heart leapt like a wild thing as he crushed her to him.

  On those other occasions when he had held her, she had known that he was teasing her lightly, but now he was in deadly earnest. It was suddenly very different—almost as if, in spite of his superb control, something outside his experience had taken possession of him, and she was held in his arms so tightly that she could feel every muscle of his hard, utterly masculine body. His hands slid around her, holding her to him with an urgency almost frightening in its intensity. His mouth was ardent, his hands more so as he drew her closer, feeling the fierce satisfaction of her helpless reaction. A whirlpool of emotion was swirling her into a dizzying depth as his kisses lengthened, arousing her to a point where all her basic inhibitions were in danger of being destroyed.

  Might indeed have been destroyed, Liza realized painfully afterwards, if it hadn't been for the insistent ringing of the door-bell. The telephone and other sounds could have been ignored, but not a bell that went on and on, as if the person outside knew that someone was at home and was determined to get an answer.

  She felt Simon's deeply steadying breath as at last the sound penetrated, and for a moment as he hesitated grimly, Liza turned her burning mouth into his throat, feeling his heart through the thin silk of his shirt racing against hers madly. Then came an incredibly bereft moment when he was no longer beside her, as his arms fell away and there was no longer the ecstasy of his lips.

  "We appear to have visitors," he said.

  Later Liza supposed she ought to have been grateful. And she might have been if the visitor had been any other but Laura Tenson.

  "Hello, darling," Liza heard her greet Simon in the hall. "I felt sure you'd be back—that's why I kept on ringing."

  For Liza it seemed the final straw. She didn't appreciate that Simon kept the girl talking, giving her time to tidy her tumbled hair, to straighten her crumpled dress. There was the final humiliation, scarcely to be borne, when Laura, obviously familiar with the place, swept past him into the lounge, not even appearing to notice Liza's flushed cheeks, her slightly distracted expression, so wrapped up was she in her own affairs.

  "Business as usual, darling, I see." Not sparing Liza a second glance, she turned, full of commiseration, back to Simon. "Your poor secretary must be worn out. Do call it a day and send her home, my pet. Aren't I right, Miss Law-son?"

  "As usual, Miss Tenson." Without returning the charming smile which Laura threw back over her shoulder, or waiting for Simon to intervene, Liza swiftly picked up her bag and rushed past them out of the flat, this time determined to escape. That Laura might think the manner of her going somewhat precipitate could not be helped. Nor did Liza pause to speak one word of farewell to Simon Redford.

  Yet when she arrived home, only one thought occupied her mind. He hadn't done anything to stop her! And all she could think of to say to her mother was that Simon had refused to discuss the matter, so they were no further forward.

  It was not until the next morning that she found the courage to confess that she didn't intend returning to the office. It was the decision of a sleepless night, but one which she wasn't prepared to change, not even when Monica hastened to tell her that her assistant was on the telephone.

  "My daughter isn't feeling well," Liza heard her telling the girl after Liza had emphatically shaken her head. "She'll probably be with you later in the day."

  "It will give you time to think things over," Monica said. "It doesn't always do to burn one's boats completely. You might feel differently in a few hours."

  "I don't think so." Liza spoke tonelessly, while conceding that her mother had every right to be feeling bewildered. She knew nothing of what had taken place in Simon's flat, or the restless hours which had followed Liza's headlong flight home. Small wonder that she failed to understand.

  About Simon she tried not to think. By this time he had probably put the whole incident behind him, and would most likely expect her to do the same. Coming down to basic facts, Liza supposed she really owed him an apology. It had been inexcusable to confront him as she had done, without waiting to hear his side of the story, to have let her tongue run away with her in a manner which would have done credit to a fifteenth-century shrew.

  Furthermore she refused to think for a moment of his reprisal, the way he had held her and kissed her. That it had been a clear indication of his contempt seemed painfully obvious, and she only wanted to forget. She doubted if she ever would, but with time, people said, all things were possible.

  "I've been thinking," she heard Monica saying tentatively, as she poured herself out a cup of coffee and carried it to where Liza was sitting brooding by the window. "I've been thinking, dear, that it might be a good idea to visit your aunt in Australia. Another letter came by the afternoon post yesterday, but with all the fiasco it completely slipped my mind. Your aunt even insists on paying my fare, yours too if you like. She seems to think that because of our internal crisis this country is about to collapse at any minute and that we'd be safer with her. But seriously, darling, you know that I've been hesitating for some time, only what with one thing and another it didn't seem possible. However, I've reached the conclusion that it might be the best thing to do."

  "Of course, Mums. Only count me out. I'll stay here." Try as she might Liza could conjure up no enthusiasm. There was only a faint thread of relief that she might be left to wallow undisturbed in her own misery.

  Monica frowned uncertainly, her eyes anxious on Liza's pale face. "You really shouldn't have gone to see Simon last night. I shouldn't have let you. It was my fault entirely for making such a fuss. I really am sorry, especially this morning when I seem to see everything so differently."

  "It doesn't really matter, Mums." Evasively Liza avoided her mother's searching glance. "We'd really be better in a small place, and this business about an estate might prove a blessing in disguise. But actually all our agitation could have been so much wasted emotion. Simon, you see, has found out that I'm not really his cousin."

  "How?" Monica looked startled, if slightly unbelieving.

  "I don't know…"

  "Was he annoyed?"

  "I'm not sure. I think so."

  "Then perhaps it might be better if I do go to see my sister-in-la
w." Monica's rueful shrug proclaimed louder than words that she was prepared to make the best of what there was left. That she might have no other option. "I won't go, though, darling, until I see you comfortably settled. Unless you change your mind and come with me. I don't see why not."

  Later in the morning Liza watched her mother depart to sort out the details of her passage to Australia with the largest travel agents in town. It was amazing how mercurial Monica could be. Yesterday she had been hysterically upset about Hollows End. Now she appeared to have got over this, and was full of enthusiasm regarding her new venture. Almost she had convinced Liza that she should go with her. To leave England. To make a clean break and start a new life.

  Almost, but not quite. Without completely realizing what she was doing, after Monica left, Liza turned and ran upstairs, her flying feet taking her straight to the attics. It was irrational, and she would have to stop such ridiculous behaviour, but she knew an irresistible urge to be somewhere where Simon had been, to walk where he had walked, even if it had to be an attic. Maybe here where he had been only yesterday, she might find some small trace of him, some small betraying piece of evidence she might keep.

  The smallest of the attics had only one tiny window high up in the roof and there was no sign that anything had been disturbed. Quickly closing the door again, she went to the other, and on the threshold of this room she stopped, her face paling, her breath catching painfully in her throat. She didn't need to switch on the light or to look a second time to see that this was where Simon had discovered that she wasn't John Lawson's daughter.

  How long Liza stood and stared she had no idea. Nor how long she leant helplessly against the doorpost, a taut feeling welling up inside her until her slight body was shaken by silent sobs. Her eyelids stung with tears and she closed her eyes, letting them slide weakly down her cheeks while she groped for the handkerchief which was usually in her pocket. Failing to find it, she scrubbed at her face with a small clenched fist and looked again at the numerous pictures lined up by the far wall.

  So he had found them, each painting amateurish but telling its own story. A clear history of Liza's life from the very beginning. Her real father in Australia, holding her as a baby, playing with her as a growing infant. Then one last portrait of her gazing disconsolately, almost as if she had known of the death which had touched her even as a child. After that there were two in London, then another, marked clearly—"the day we met John". After that there were several at the vicarage, all much in the same style, all showing a completely happy family with Liza growing smiling and pretty. Up till then, in the actual painting, there had been no great improvement. It was almost as if Monica had found sufficient satisfaction in projecting her happiness on to canvas, without bothering to improve her art.

  It wasn't until they had come to Birmingham that she had moved into the professional class, but staring now at the array in the attic, Liza knew which she liked best.

  So absorbed was she in her own unhappy thoughts that she heard nothing. No hint of an approaching footstep, or warning creak from the old wooden stairs. He had walked up very quietly and the sound of his voice startled, spinning her around as fright licked like wildfire through her veins. Simon!

  "There's no comparison, is there?" he drawled, looking straight past her into the room.

  Carefully, very carefully after that first apprehensive glance, Liza inched back into the open door. There was another way down—if she was quick enough. Somehow she must elude him. She could find no words to add to what he said.

  But he was too much for her. In two strides he was at her side and the hard curve of his arm was about her waist and she was a prisoner. Just like the evening before, she thought bitterly, and distraught with humiliation she lifted her hand and began hitting out wildly.

  "Liza., Liza, just what do you think you're doing?" Easily, too easily, he pinned her arms down, holding her close to him. "I've been trying to get here ever since I discovered you hadn't turned up at the office. This is a fine welcome for any man!"

  "Oh, Simon!" Desperately she tried to stop the tears springing to her eyes again, but a tiny salty trickle ran by her mouth, and to her utter dismay he bent his head and kissed it away.

  "Don't cry, Liza," he said in a low voice, then he lifted her, walking with her towards the window so that he might better see her tremulous face. "I came to tell you that I love you. You may laugh if you must, but please don't cry."

  Her mind was stunned, unable to take in what was happening, or to really believe what he whispered in her ear. Every grain of common sense, every last fraction of resistance was gone beyond recall. No longer could she fight him. Nor did she want to, with such a tidal wave of joy flooding her body. There was no room for prevarication, and in a trance she lifted her slender white arms, locking them about his neck, speaking in a dazed, fervent little whisper. "Simon —I thought my heart was going to break!"

  "No," he laughed gently in his throat, his voice, as of old, darkly sardonic. "It was my heart that was breaking, and a lot you cared!"

  "I'm sorry about last night." Warm, silken hair caught the neck of his shirt as she lifted her head to meet his glinting eyes, forcing the words through her quivering lips. "I was so mad about your new housing estate, I didn't stop to think."

  His eyes held hers, still softly mocking. "I'm glad you didn't. Sometimes a moment's madness can be a wonderful experience."

  "But the things I said!" Ashamed to remember, she drooped against him despairingly.

  There was a smile in his voice as he drew her back against his shoulder. "Relax, there's a good child. So far as the housing estate goes, Silas applied for planning permission before he died. Initially it had nothing to do with me."

  "Silas…?"

  "There are lots of things, Liza, that you might find puzzling. Things which I'd hoped you'd never need to know. Miss Brown must have known a great deal. Not that she was in any way responsible, but from the way she scurried off on holiday when I first came, it was obvious that she suspected I might be asking one or two embarrassing questions. Silas, you see, was up to his eyes in debt. For the last few years he appeared to have managed his business badly. Hollows End was mortgaged up to the hilt. This building speculation was apparently his last hope."

  Liza's breath caught as surprise laced with shock eddied through her. "You said everything was in order?"

  "So far as it went. It was all down on the books. I think his health must have been worse than he would admit."

  "He used to sit by his desk staring into space," she mused.

  "There you probably have it."

  She stirred unhappily, her mind going back. "He wasn't always approachable. I wanted to be a ballet dancer, but he refused to help."

  "So that was the reason for the faint antagonism." His finger tilted her chin, assessing her bewilderment correctly.

  "If his health was failing he might have wanted his family around him. Dancing, for you, would have meant London."

  "But I wasn't family, as you found out. How did you find out?" Her voice rose distractedly.

  "Laura told me. She had it from some relatives who knew your father. It seems they also knew all about your adoption."

  "Then you came here?" Liza twisted her head to look sideways at the paintings against the wall.

  "Yes." He followed the direction of her frowning glance. "I remembered that you'd mentioned them and thought they might tell a story, but if I was curious it was only because I loved you. It had nothing to do with Laura."

  "Oh, Simon!" Her heart was beating too quickly against her ribs. It was the second time he had said he loved her. She was almost beginning to believe it.

  "Is that all you have to say?" His arms tightened threateningly. "After all these weeks when I've been unable to concentrate owing to the distraction of loving you."

  "Simon," her voice was utterly breathless, "you must have guessed how much I cared. How much I loved you."

  "More than Bill Bright?"

>   "Never Bill Bright, or anyone else. I never pretended to." Unhappily she turned her face into his shoulder. "But I doubted you so much. I thought you'd deliberately applied for permission to build on the land in order to get rid of my mother and me. And when Laura told me, I saw red!"

  He laughed gently. "You were certainly a little tornado, but if I'd wanted to be rid of you I wouldn't have gone about it in this way. I had intended to tell you about the housing estate myself. Laura had it from her father, who was discussing the matter with me, and actually it was no secret. Time was the factor. There was this board meeting in London and it was imperative I should be there. It was important to have someone living here at Hollows End until I decided what to do. It wasn't charity, as you were so ready to think. I believe I will eventually go back to London. I have more than enough to keep me busy there."

  "About Mums…"

  "You don't need to worry any more about Monica, darling. I almost ran her down on the drive this morning in my hurry to get here, and we had a long talk."

  "She told you about Australia?"

  "Everything… and everything concerning you. How she almost blackmailed you into acting as you did when I first came. All of which I'd long ago suspected, and a lot more besides, but nothing that can't be put firmly behind us."

  "But, Simon…" She got no further, for he was kissing her soft young mouth, drawing a deep response, not stopping until her head was whirling in an intoxicating dream. There was no one else in the world for her. Nothing else was important. Within his arms was everything she wanted, would ever need. There might be more explanations, but nothing could be more explicit than the increasing pressure of his arms and lips. She was scarcely aware when he drew her gently down on to the wide old bench at the dark end of the room.

  A long time later he said, "We'll be married, darling, soon. Before your mother goes away. Then, with a clearer head, I'll be able to make a few decisions, such as where we will live. You won't mind if you have to leave Hollows End?"