by Miranda Lee
‘Uncle James says I’m strong.’
‘He also says you talk too much,’ James intervened. ‘Now say goodbye to Tiffany. She has to go now.’
‘Oh, does she have to?’ the child wailed, for once sounding like a seven-year-old. ‘She hasn’t finished reading me the story about the princess.’
‘I’ll finish reading your story,’ Marina offered. ‘I’m not going anywhere. I’m sleeping here tonight.’
‘Oh, goodie! You can go now, Tiffany.’
Lady Tiffany laughed good-naturedly. ‘Such is the loyalty of the Winterbornes. But I’ll bring you back a present from Italy anyway.’
‘And will this Winterborne get a present too, when you come back?’ James asked, giving his intended a darkly brooding look. Or so it seemed to Marina.
But the girl just laughed, seemingly unaware of the sudden sexual tension emanating from the man whose arm was around her.
‘What could I possibly buy you, James?’ she said. ‘You have everything you could possibly want in that apartment of yours.’
‘Not everything one wants can be bought, Tiffany,’ he said.
She gave him a totally blank look.
‘You’d better get going,’ James said, though it sounded as though the words came through gritted teeth.
‘Yes, I’d better. I’ll be back next Monday. The morning flight.’
‘I’ll be there,’ he said, with a hint of a sigh which perhaps only Marina heard.
Tiffany certainly seemed oblivious of her intended’s strained state.
‘You spoil me,’ she said, and pecked him on the cheek again before turning to Marina. ‘Goodbye,’ she said with sweet politeness. ‘I dare say I won’t be seeing you again, which is a shame. I would have loved to find out all about you, and life back in Australia. It seems such an exciting country, and so different from England. I’d love to go there one day.’
‘Then I’m sure you will,’ Marina said, wishing with all her heart that she didn’t like this girl so much. Then she wouldn’t have to feel so guilty about the dark desires which still lurked in that treacherous mind of hers, ready and waiting to find a chink in her own armour. It was particularly perturbing that she could not wait for Tiffany to leave and fly away.
‘Goodbye for now, poppet,’ Tiffany directed at Rebecca. ‘And good luck for tomorrow.’
‘Bye, Tiffany,’ Rebecca chirped back.
‘Goodbye,’ Marina said, guilt sending her forward to give the girl a kiss on the cheek. But when she glanced over her shoulder at James he stared at her, and his eyes carried a black frustration.
‘When are you going to finish reading my story, Marina?’ Rebecca asked as soon as Tiffany was gone.
‘Right now, if you like.’ And she picked up the book and sat down.
‘Don’t wear Marina out too much, sweetie,’ James warned. ‘Or yourself, for that matter. The doctors want you both bright-eyed and bushy-tailed tomorrow.’
Tomorrow, Marina thought with the beginnings of a nervous lump in her stomach. She wasn’t really worried about anything hurting. But she did hope it would all go well. The last thing she wanted was to go home with a broken heart and a failed mission.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THE bone marrow transplant went well. More than well. It went perfectly.
Marina was discharged the morning after the procedure, with the doctors glowing in their optimism for Rebecca.
Although it was too early for their little patient to show signs of rejection, the specialists were unanimous in their opinion that she had the very best chance of a complete remission, since Marina was the best donor match that could be found outside of a brother or a sister.
Marina had learned on the evening she’d been admitted to the hospital just how lucky they had been to find a match for Rebecca outside of a relative, since her blood type was not a common one.
Marina had been surprised to learn that even if Rebecca had had a brother or a sister their bone marrow would not necessarily have been compatible. There was only a one in four chance of a perfect match between siblings. Even a twin was no good, because a twin, in fact, was actually too perfect a match. Only by having a register with millions of names on it could it be hoped to find a match outside of the family circle.
Having had all this explained, Marina had been asked permission for the media to be brought in and a story told about their amazing match. That way, many thousands of others might be inspired to do what Marina had done.
She’d asked James about it, and while he hadn’t been thrilled with the idea, and had vetoed any cameras being shoved in Rebecca’s face, Marina had been interviewed and a story run on the news the following day and evening.
But when several news crews were waiting outside James’s apartment when he brought Marina home from the hospital on the Wednesday morning, Marina saw the Earl of Winterborne in action, with all his arrogant, autocratic anger.
Henry would have blushed at his language, but Marina found herself on his side, totally. She had no time for the media when they started invading people’s privacy, when they crossed lines which had been clearly set out for them. Marina had given permission for one interview and one interview only. If they were going to start hounding her she would have to jump on an even earlier plane than Sunday’s.
Which was exactly what she told James after he’d routed the rabble and bundled her into the safety of his apartment.
‘You will do no such thing!’ he snapped.
Anger became him, she decided, looking at his flashing blue eyes and furiously stubborn jawline. The suit he was wearing became him too. It was pale grey and a silk blend, teamed with a crisp white business shirt and a blue-striped tie the same colours as his eyes, which were light blue in the centre rimmed by a darker navy.
Or so she’d found out after staring into them at length.
Every time they met anew now, they stared at each other, as though the time apart had been agony. Despite the distraction of her hospital stay and the media problem, Marina found her feelings for James were escalating rather than abating. And becoming intensely physical once more. Any admiration or respect for James as a person was being buried underneath an avalanche of desire for him as a man. She didn’t know how much she could stand before the compulsion to touch him would overwhelm her.
He seemed under similar stress. During his several visits to the hospital he’d made a point of not getting too close to her, especially when she’d been in her nightwear. There had been no touching of any kind, no goodbye pecks, just an unsettling series of smouldering stares. Unfortunately, during the incident with the media outside, he’d had to take hold of her waist to shepherd her through the small crowd of aggressive journalists and photographers. His arms around her had rattled both her composure and his.
‘You will stay the full week,’ he ordered angrily. ‘And you will let me take you to the theatre!’
‘I will not,’ she refused, sounding coolly firm even while her heart was racing.
They were standing in the foyer, facing each other at the base of the stairs.
‘If you do not let me take you to the theatre,’ he ground out, ‘I will kiss you here and now.’
She just stared at him, afraid that he might, terrified that he wouldn’t. For the threat, once voiced, conjured up the threatened kiss in her head. It would be hard and hungry. Not the sort of kiss she would normally like. But she would like such a kiss from him. She would like it much too much.
‘Did you hear me, Marina?’
She clenched her jaw hard and prayed for salvation. ‘I did, My Lord.’
He grabbed her shoulders and yanked her hard against him, scowling down into her instantly wide-eyed face.
‘James,’ he bit out. ‘You will call me James or, by God, I will do more than kiss you.’
‘James,’ she whispered in a raw, shaking voice.
His face twisted as he fought the urge to do it anyway, to ravage her mouth and her body.
She saw the
battle in his eyes and should have helped him out. But how could she when his body was pressed close to hers? When his mouth was a mere breath away from closing over hers and sending her to the hell she was beginning to ache for?
The sound of footsteps on the staircase sent them springing apart, James looking for all the world like a naughty schoolboy caught with his trousers down.
Which they might have been shortly, that ugly voice sneered.
Marina only just managed not to laugh hysterically. This was starting to feel like an Edwardian farce. But was she the heroine or the bitch? And was James the hero or the dastardly villain?
‘Disgraceful,’ Henry was muttering as he plodded down the last few stairs. ‘Simply disgraceful!’
For a moment Marina thought he was talking about them.
‘I tried to get rid of them earlier, My Lord,’ he said apologetically to James, ‘but they simply took no notice of me.’ He turned to give Marina a small smile of greeting. ‘And how are you feeling, Miss Marina? His Lordship told me everything went splendidly at the hospital.’
‘The doctors are very optimistic, Henry. And I feel quite well, except for a tiny throbbing in my right hip. Nothing that some aspirin and a cup of your lovely brewed tea won’t cure.’
‘I will leave you in Henry’s capable hands, then, Marina,’ James said abruptly. ‘William is waiting outside to take me on to the bank. I will get my secretary to make a booking for us on Friday evening for a show. Your hip should be better by then. Would you like to see a play or a musical?’
To argue at this point would be to tell Henry too much. ‘A play would be lovely,’ she said levelly.
He nodded and was gone in a flash, leaving Marina to stare longingly after him for a moment. She turned to find Henry watching her with those all-seeing grey eyes of his. Suddenly she saw red.
‘Don’t start, Henry,’ she said rather sharply. ‘And do stop worrying. I’ll be gone soon. Then Your precious Lordship will be out of danger.’
She went to brush past the valet, but he stayed her with a soft but firm hand on her shoulder. Her eyes blurred slightly as she looked up at him.
‘It’s not just His Lordship I worry about,’ he said gently. ‘I would hate to see a lady as fine and lovely as yourself hurt in any way. His Lordship is a good man, but, as he said himself the other day, he is only mortal. And any mortal man could not help but find you desirable, Miss Marina.’
Marina might have coped with Henry’s reproach. Or even some more of his dire warnings. But not his sympathy and kindness. ‘Oh,’ she cried softly, her hands fluttering up in a futile effort to stop the tears from flowing. ‘Oh, Henry!’ And she threw her weeping self against his broad but stiffly held chest.
For a second he froze, but then his arms went round her. Surprisingly strong yet gentle arms. ‘There, there, Miss Marina,’ he soothed. ‘It’s not as bad as that. Surely?’
‘Yes, it is,’ she sobbed. ‘I love him, Henry. I love him so much.’
He froze. ‘Don’t say that, Miss Marina. Don’t even think it.’
‘I can’t help thinking it. It’s all I think about.’
‘And you’re all he thinks about lately, I’ll warrant,’ Henry said drily. ‘But it’s not love which spurs his mind, child. It’s those blasted Winterborne hormones.’
‘But I have hormones too,’ Marina moaned.
‘Miss Marina!’
Henry immediately put her aside, as though he was in imminent danger of contamination after this appalling confession.
Marina blinked her astonishment—till she realised that men like Henry were not of the modern world. They were an anachronism. They actually believed sex was a male prerogative. A male flaw, perhaps, to be tolerated and hopefully controlled.
‘I’m sorry to shock you, Henry,’ Marina said, ‘but it’s not just James who thinks about sex. You might be surprised to learn that there are a lot of ladies these days who think about sex! So please, for pity’s sake, don’t worry so much about James taking me to the theatre. Or taking me anywhere in public. It’s infinitely safer than our being in this apartment together, even if we do sleep on different floors and have you here as watchdog.’
Henry’s spine straightened and his chest puffed up with indignation. ‘I am no spy!’ he protested.
‘No, not a spy. More of an interfering guardian angel. Don’t take offence, Henry. I do appreciate your good intentions. And I fully understand the predicament I find myself in.
‘If it helps to put your mind at rest, I met Lady Tiffany at the hospital on Monday and I think she is one of the loveliest and nicest girls I have ever met. I would never deliberately do anything to hurt her, even if I don’t think she’s the right girl for James. She is far too young, far too naive, and far too sweet. James will walk all over her, which means he’ll be bored to tears in no time flat.’
Henry was frowning, as though some of what she was saying made sense, even if such thoughts had never occurred to him before. ‘You don’t think they’ll be happy together?’ he asked worriedly.
‘No, I don’t. They seem the perfect romantic pair on the surface, and they do look good together. But will it work in the bedroom, Henry? I ask you that. A man like James will not be satisfied with any girl who might be daunted—or totally dominated—by his Winterborne hormones.
‘In the past, wives of this ilk might have tolerated their husbands dallying elsewhere, but not nowadays. Under the circumstances, I suggest you worry over the next woman to spark your esteemed boss’s carnal desires, and not me. I won’t be any danger to his marriage from Australia, will I? Even if I have decided not to go through with my own marriage, which would be a similar disaster!’
Wrenching off her engagement ring and clenching it in a tight fist, Marina marched off up the stairs, leaving a frowning Henry behind. She kept her chin up, but her heart had sunk to an all-time low. For, despite her bold and impassioned speech, she knew Henry was right about the most important factor. James didn’t love her. He just wanted her.
Come next week, he probably wouldn’t give her another thought ever again. He would go on to marry Lady Tiffany, and if they weren’t happy then it would have nothing to do with a certain spinsterish teacher living out her days in Sydney.
CHAPTER NINE
JAMES finally settled in the roomy back seat of the white stretch limousine. William and the Bentley had been given the night off, it seemed, to be replaced by this huge luxury vehicle with its plush red upholstery, black windows and equally opaque privacy screen, which was at that moment sliding into place.
When they were completely alone—unable to be heard or seen by the driver—James turned to look at her across the seductively lit cabin.
‘You look…stunning,’ he said.
Marina’s hair was up and she was wearing black again, the only outrageously expensive little black dress in her wardrobe, which had been a must to bring. Mostly because it did not crush. When she’d packed it, never in her wildest dreams had Marina thought she would wear it for a man.
But she was very definitely wearing it for James. It was cruel of her, she knew. For it could be a very provocative dress when worn with the minimum of underwear. And she was wearing it with no underwear other than a pair of sheer black Lycra pantyhose which had built-in panties.
The material was a silk crêpe and the style very simple. A basic sheath, it was severely cut in at the shoulder, with the front of the bodice gathered onto a round collar which was covered with black jet beads. The collar did up at the back of her neck with a hook and eye. There was no zipper, just a slit down the middle of the back from neck to waist. Mostly this slit stayed demurely shut, but just occasionally it gaped apart as she walked—or climbed into cars—with the expanse of bare back displayed shouting the absence of any bra or other undergarment.
Not that any man with twenty-twenty vision needed to look at her back to know she was braless. Marina was by no means a busty girl, but she had nice B-cup breasts, which were high and f
irm, with perky nipples which announced their naked state under the thin black material with all the subtlety of Henry’s dire warnings.
‘Thank you,’ Marina said coolly. She leant back in the relative safety of her distant corner to survey James at her leisure. He was wearing a superb black dinner suit with a white dress shirt and a black bow tie. He looked magnificent. Dignified and handsome. A true lord in every way.
But, lord or no lord, he could not take his eyes off her. And Marina revelled in that fact.
I’m punishing him, she realised. For not loving me but for still wanting to take me to bed. I’m trying to make him suffer.
And he is suffering. I only have to look into his eyes to see it, to watch the way his fingers curl into tight balls when he’s with me. And to see the dark rings under his eyes at breakfast every morning.
‘Henry tells me you rang home today,’ he began, after the limousine had moved off.
‘Yes, that’s right.’
She declined to say any more.
Shane had not even asked her how the transplant had gone, or how Rebecca was. All he’d wanted to know was when she’d be home and was she sure none of this was costing them any money. He’d never sounded more selfish or less loving. She’d also heard a girl laughing in the background who sounded awfully like Heather, the twenty-year-old who helped with the horses every weekend.
What had Heather been doing in the house, and on a weekday? she’d wondered for some minutes after hanging up.
The answers were not nice ones.
‘Did you tell him you weren’t going to marry him?’ James asked curtly.
‘No.’
‘Why not? I notice you’ve taken off his ring.’
‘I might change my mind back again,’ she lied, and he shot her a look which made her want to laugh. He didn’t want to marry her, but he didn’t want her to marry anyone else. It would almost be funny if it wasn’t so infuriating. ‘My views on love and marriage have changed somewhat since being over here,’ she continued icily, giving in to the compulsion to punish him further. ‘I see no reason why us commoners can’t operate on the same level as the upper classes. Marry with our heads and not our hearts. Shane will do very well by the horse business I inherited from my mother. And there is the added bonus of his being a more than adequate lover. You have no idea how talented a rider he is, in every way.’