The Billionaire Affair

by Diana Hamilton

  ‘Because,’ she said more steadily, determined now to gather her defences against the man her treacherous body and stupid heart craved so desperately, ‘what you feel for me is simply lust—not to mention contempt. Marriage couldn’t possibly work out.’

  ‘Contempt; yes, there was that,’ he admitted softly after a pause no longer than a heartbeat. ‘For a long time now I’ve believed you were planning to marry the Curtis fortune while having a furtive affair with me. That sort of conviction is difficult to shake off. You see, way back then, I wanted to ask you if it was true, about Curtis, but when I got back I found that letter telling me it was all over between us, that you never wanted to set eyes on me again. As far as I was concerned it confirmed everything your father had told me.’

  He walked into her line of vision, his hands bunched into his trouser pockets, his dark eyes moody. ‘I had to go that day; there was no choice. With hindsight I know I should have told you of my plans, explained why I used to disappear for days, but I wasn’t sure things would work out.’ His mouth compressed wryly. ‘I guess I was misguided but I wanted to present you—everyone—with a tangible success, not a pipedream.

  ‘For over a year Jim Mays—an old friend from up north—and I had been trying to set up in the software business. We met up now and then to develop ideas. Then, that day, right after my disastrous meeting with your father, Jim phoned me, told me to drop everything and get down to London because he’d found a potential backer who would only be available for a few hours that day. But all the while we were pitching I was desperate to get back and get the truth from you.

  ‘But the moment I did get back Mother gave me your letter—giving me the brush-off in no uncertain terms, and from then on I thought you were every kind of bitch. Now I prefer to believe your version of events, that your father threw you out because you refused to marry Curtis. As for your Dear John, looking back I guess we can put that down to cold feet. You were very young at the time. So forget the contempt side of it, Caro, it no longer exists.’

  He shrugged slightly, his mouth indented. ‘And, as for lust, what’s wrong with that? It’s nature’s way of ensuring the survival of the species, so don’t knock it. OK, I admit to the crass sin of getting you here under false pretences. I wanted to prove to myself that you were nothing special and all I did was prove that you were very special indeed. We’re dynamite together; no other woman comes near you as far as I’m concerned. You’re a singing in my blood, a desperate hunger—this afternoon proved that much.’ His voice thickened. ‘And I think—no, I know, you felt it too. It’s not finished Caro; it’s lasted twelve long years; it’s an undying fever.’

  His words bewildered, delighted and terrified her. She could so easily ignore common sense and give in to the craving to marry the man she loved, to take what she could of him for the time it lasted.

  She put her fingers to her temples in the age-old gesture of despair. The time it lasted would be short. How could it be otherwise when he was motivated only by lust and long memory of an incomparable, magical summer, and she by a love that was tainted with mistrust?

  True, he had come back to find the truth from all that time ago. But that underlined his deceit. He had come back despite having taken a wad of her father’s cash in return for the promise to stay away.

  Unconsciously, she shook her head. ‘Sex isn’t everything, no matter how brilliant it is. So, OK—’ she gave him a tired smile ‘—I admit that what we once had made such an impression that, like you, apparently, it’s hard to find a partner that measures up. But the bottom line is, Ben, you deceived and cheated on us all—Father, Maggie Pope, me. People don’t change, not basically. I would always be waiting for it to happen again.’

  And when that happened she would be destroyed. Utterly, totally and completely.

  The hall clock struck the hour, nine sonorous beats, and Ben said darkly, ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Then he swore softly, almost inaudibly as the doorbell chimed. ‘Wait.’ He flung the word at her tersely. ‘I’ll get rid of whoever it is and then you can tell me what you meant.’

  She registered the irritated set of his wide shoulders, the impatience of his long-legged stride as he crossed the hall, and she shivered.

  He was everything she’d ever wanted and the white heat of their young passion had ruined her emotional life for years as, so it would seem, it had ruined his. That being the case, she could understand and even forgive his cold-blooded attempt to get her out of his system.

  But that hadn’t happened, had it? Their love-making this afternoon had been better than ever, spiced with a deeper, sweeter poignancy. So, to use that hoary phrase ‘marry or burn’ he had decided to propose.

  And she was burning now, flames of forbidden excitement leaping inside her because despite knowing it would be emotional suicide she wanted to accept his proposal so badly it was like an invisible hoist, drawing her inexorably to him.

  Perhaps, after he’d sent the caller away, they could sort things out.

  If he should tell her he deeply regretted his behaviour towards Maggie and now gave her and the daughter he’d turned his back on all those years ago financial and moral support…

  If he told her he had had every intention of returning the money her father had given him, admitting that he wasn’t prepared, after all, to stay away…

  But he was holding the door wide, his inborn politeness to the fore as he said, ‘Of course you’re not being a nuisance. She’s right here. Please do come in.’

  Dorothy Skeet emerged slowly into the lighted hall. The years had solidified her plumpness into corpulence and her once blondish fluffy hair had turned to dull pepper and salt. She said uncertainly, ‘I heard you were here, Miss Caroline, but I didn’t know for how long. It’s a bit late, I know, but I didn’t want to miss you.’

  Caroline’s heart skipped a beat and, awkwardly at first and then more surely, she crossed the floor to hug the older woman. Her throat felt clogged with the tears that now seemed perilously and uncharacteristically near the surface. The only kindness—albeit casual—she’d known in this house had come from this lady.

  ‘Why don’t we all go through?’ Ben said into the ensuing, emotionally charged silence. ‘I was about to make supper, why don’t you join us, Dorothy?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t!—I mean, I’ve already had my tea,’ she said, flustered, her round face turning pink. ‘I didn’t want to intrude, I only came to hand over your dad’s things.’ She fumbled at the catch on her capacious handbag, suspiciously over-bright eyes now clinging to Caroline’s.

  The older woman was clearly ill at ease and Caroline didn’t know what to say to make her feel more comfortable. It was Ben who came to the rescue, his smile as irresistible as ever as he suggested, ‘Then, come and sit with us while we eat. Enjoy a glass of wine—or coffee if you prefer, and spill all the village gossip. I know Caro wants to catch up with everything that’s been going on these last few years.’

  That was news to her, but the fabrication was worth it, Caroline thought as Dorothy’s eyes lit up at the prospect and she became instantly more relaxed.

  Her father’s former housekeeper had an incorrigible and unrepentant appetite for gossip and she wondered if the older woman had somehow found out about her and Ben’s secret affair, or had heard gossip in the village and had passed it on to her father. If so it would explain why she’d initially appeared so uncomfortable when encountering the two of them together.

  Trailing behind Ben and Dorothy as they headed for the kitchen, Caroline dismissed the thought. It was no longer important. Let the past stay in the past.

  Even if her father had remained ignorant of what had been going on and she and Ben had married quietly as soon as she was eighteen, as she’d suggested on more than one occasion, the result would have been the same: their relationship would have broken up in pain and disillusionment when the inevitable happened and she learned of his abandoned little daughter.

  The sobering knowledge w
as something she was going to have to keep in the forefront of her mind. Something to stiffen her resolve to turn that astonishing proposal of marriage down flat and not give in to the weakness of her love for the deceiving monster that kept creeping up on her whenever she let her mental guard down.

  How could she, even in a weak moment, contemplate marriage with a man whose past record made her cringe, whose only real interest in her was the slaking of a lust that hadn’t died, despite all their years apart?

  But despite her angst-ridden thoughts it was hard to stay in a sombre mood whilst Dorothy Skeet, sipping at the mug of hot cocoa which was her preferred tipple at this time of night, regaled them with the latest village gossip, sometimes hilarious and often downright slanderous, while Caroline herself, finding an appetite that surprised her, tucked into the succulent grilled gammon and tomatoes Ben had rustled up.

  ‘Don’t believe half of it.’ Ben grinned as he refilled both their wine glasses and motioned Dorothy to stay where she was when she made to clear the table. ‘Every time a story’s told it gathers a whole new and highly coloured dimension!’

  ‘Too true!’ Caroline smiled right back at him over the rim of her glass. The relaxed atmosphere, the simple food and superb wine, the laughter, Ben’s comical mock-horror as he threw up his hands and rolled his eyes at some of Dorothy’s more wicked comments, had taken the stress out of the situation.

  So when the older woman took a tissue-wrapped bundle from her handbag and handed it to her Caroline was able to view her father’s few personal effects without the familiar clutch of misery in the region of her heart.

  The silver fob-watch he had always worn tucked into his waistcoat pocket complete with chain and onyx seal, the gold signet ring that had come down from his father and was now thin with age, two fountain pens—not much to show for sixty-odd years of living.

  But her sense of loss was deep as she folded the tissue over the pathetic mementos. However she did her best not to let it show as she placed the package back into Dorothy’s hands.

  ‘I know my father would have liked you to keep these,’ she said gently.

  Dorothy had been Reginald Harvey’s bed companion for many years. On her part it had been love, on his a blunt and probably infrequently expressed affection. Seeing the doubt in the other woman’s eyes, Caroline insisted. ‘He was fond of you, he was closer to you than anyone. He—’ her voice faltered, thickened, but she forced the words out ‘—he actively disliked me. I know he would rather you had these keepsakes.’

  She heard the intake of Ben’s breath followed by a beat of a silence so thick she could almost taste it. Strangely, although she knew it should be otherwise, his presence gave her the strength to add, ‘In return, you could tell me why—why he never seemed able to stand the sight of me. You must have gathered some clues over the years. And maybe—’ she tugged in a deep breath, feeling Ben’s dark eyes on her, feeling his unspoken compassion ‘—maybe if I knew why, I could forgive him.’

  ‘Yes,’ the older woman concurred, her eyes darkening with sympathy even as her fingers tightened around the keepsakes. ‘He was close-lipped where his feelings were concerned but he adored your mother—anyone who saw them together knew that—he worshipped the ground she walked on. Jane Bayliss—you’ll remember her, she married old Hume the butcher—worked here at the time, cleaning and such; she said she was sure he had mixed feelings when your mum got pregnant with you. He didn’t want anyone, even his own child, to have any of her attention. He wanted it all for himself.’

  Caroline’s brow furrowed. Had her father really loved that obsessively? Then she remembered the letters she’d found in the attic and knew that he had. He’d loved her mother as single-mindedly and deeply as he’d disliked his only child.

  Her eyes misting, she said quietly, her voice barely audible, ‘And she died when I was very small.’ That much she did know. Her father had never talked to her about her mother, apart from angrily stating that bald fact when she’d pressed him for details. Truth to tell, he’d rarely spoken to her at all, except to issue curt instructions and even curter reprimands.

  ‘She died an hour after you were born,’ Dorothy supplied, shaking her head. ‘It was the talk of the area at the time, a terrible tragedy. You came three weeks early, at the beginning of November.

  ‘There’d been a surprise heavy snowstorm overnight. Appalling drifts—your dad couldn’t get your mum out and no one could get through. You came quickly and your mum haemorrhaged badly, and by the time the emergency helicopter and paramedics arrived it was already too late—all this came out at the inquest.

  ‘When I got the job as housekeeper I saw how your dad treated you and it’s my guess he bitterly resented the fact that you had lived and his wife had died.’ She gave a heavy sigh. ‘You grew up to be the living image of her, but you weren’t her.’

  ‘So he couldn’t bear to have me around,’ Caroline said huskily. ‘He blamed me.’

  ‘I thought the world of him. Well, you know that, but I wasn’t afraid to let him know he was treating you wrong—even if he did tell me to mind my own damn business,’ Dorothy conceded. ‘It wasn’t your fault, you didn’t ask to be born. I did tell him that, more than once. And later, he started to soften up a bit. But by then it was too late. You’d grown prickly and defiant. A terrible shame, really.’ She got slowly to her feet. ‘I really should go now, but I’m glad we talked.’

  ‘I’ll drive you.’

  Even as Ben made the offer Caroline was conscious of his smouldering gaze; it burned her where it touched. When they’d been together all those years ago he had known she and her father didn’t get along but had been unaware of how deep the rift was. She hadn’t wanted to talk about her unhappy home life, only about the future they’d planned together.

  ‘No need,’ Dorothy stated. ‘I came in my old rattle-trap.’

  ‘Then, I’ll see you out.’

  Caroline smothered a groan. Right now she didn’t want Ben’s sympathy or his company. She needed time to herself to come to terms with the mess she and her father had made of their relationship, to mourn that final interview when she had screamed at him, vowing she’d rather die than do what he wanted and marry Jeremy, telling him she didn’t care if he carried out his threat to throw her out because she never wanted anything more to do with him.

  Seventeen going on eighteen, her heart broken and bleeding because of her lover’s betrayal, she’d been in no mood for conciliatory words, to soberly tell him that she could never marry the Curtis wealth because she didn’t, and never would, love Jeremy Curtis. In too much pain herself to consider her father’s possible hurt when she’d declared that she hated him and always had.

  It was too late now to retract the bitter words, to tell him she forgave him for not having been able to love her as a father should have because, at last, she understood the reason for his resentment of her.

  Her shoulders shook as she buried her head in her hands, her sobs overwhelming her. Only when she felt the light touch of Ben’s hand on the top of her head did she make a determined but not too successful effort to pull herself together.

  ‘Don’t,’ he said softly as he cupped her elbows and pulled her to her feet, his arms holding her close. ‘Tonight you learned something you hadn’t known before and naturally enough it’s upset you. But your father treated you abominably, Caro. His memory doesn’t deserve this amount of grief.’

  He framed her tear-stained face with long-fingered hands, his thumbs stroking back tendrils of raven-dark hair. ‘He was a man obsessed by the memory of his one great love and I can understand that, but not his treatment of an innocent child. If the two of you were estranged for the last years of his life it wasn’t your fault.’

  Caroline shook her head mutely, her breath shaking in her lungs, her fingers clutching his shoulders convulsively, as if she could take strength from the warm solidity of muscle and bone. The compassion and caring in his beautiful eyes, in the tender set of that sensual mouth, made
her tremble, taking her back through the years to the place she had been when he’d not only been her first and devastatingly exciting lover but her very best friend, a rock she could have clung to in any storm.

  Her soft lips parting, she managed a shaky, ‘No.’ Then, more steadily, she confessed sadly, ‘When I was little I wanted him to love me more than anything in the world. But I knew he didn’t. Sometimes I saw him looking at me as if he hated me. I thought it was my fault, that there was something horrible about me.’

  She shook her head, silencing him when he gave a growl of repudiation deep in his throat. ‘Dorothy was right on two counts. At one time he did try to build bridges, to take an interest when I was home for school holidays, asking about the friends I’d made, what books I was reading.’

  She scooped in a shaky breath. ‘But it was too late. I was a defiant fifteen by then, used to being pushed away, ignored. I shrugged away any overture he tried to make, stuck my nose in the air and walked away, letting him know I didn’t need him, didn’t need anyone.’ She gave a shaky sigh. ‘That was the end of any hope of any harmony in our spiky relationship. I bitterly regret it now.’

  His body tensed against hers and there was the shadow of a catch in his voice as he told her, ‘That reaction would have been entirely natural, given the circumstances. You truly don’t have to regret it. The only thing you should regret is the fact that his treatment of you made you wary of—or incapable of—committing to a permanent relationship. I understand that.’

  He didn’t understand at all, she thought wearily. She would have committed the rest of her life to Ben if things hadn’t gone so badly wrong, if he hadn’t deceived her. But right now she was too drained to put him straight on that score, and her head fell forward, resting against the solid expanse of his chest.

  All she wanted was the oblivion of sleep, to rid her tired brain of aching regrets, of the confusion of her heart and body wanting and needing this one man with something approaching ferocity and her brain telling her in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t to be trusted.