As she gaped at him, he added, 'My understanding is that the master wishes you to remain at the Hall until his return.'
Fran bit her lip. Then, her voice even, said, 'I see. Thank you, Mortimer.'
Looking relieved that she had taken it in such a ladylike fashion, he reminded her, 'About lunch, miss...?'
"Thank you, but I won't be having lunch.'
She couldn't eat a bite; it would choke her... And if Blaze thought he could keep her here when she wanted to leave, he had another think coming!
If she couldn't take a taxi there was nothing to prevent her walking out.
Unwilling to involve the staff, however, .she said carefully, 'When the master gets back, perhaps you'll be good enough to tell him I'm in my room?'
'Certainly, miss.' Mortimer inclined his head.
Her back ramrod-straight, a flag of colour-flying in each cheek, Fran went up the stairs, her thoughts racing.
It couldn't be more than a mile or so to the main entrance, which was manned. And on her way here, just before the taxi had turned off by the stand of beeches, she remembered noticing a country hotel called The Mulberries. She would almost certainly be able to stay the night there.
As soon as the door of her room had closed behind her she gathered her belongings together, and, anger and the need for haste making her reckless, bundled them into her case anyhow and zipped up the lid.
She was about to hurry from the room when she recalled that Kirk's ring was still lying on the bedside table. Having nowhere to put it, she picked it up and thrust it back on to her finger.
Then, case in hand, she descended the stairs, praying she would meet no one. It was lunchtime, so with a bit of luck all the servants would either be eating or making preparations for the party.
Fate was on her side, and she was able to quietly open the heavy front door and let herself out without seeing a soul.
There wasn't a breath of air. Everything was so still that all of nature seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the gathering storm to finally break.
Hopefully it would hold off until she reached the hotel, but she would have to hurry. Already thunder was rumbling in the distance, and flashes of lightning lit the louring sky.
The heat was oppressive, and before she'd gone a quarter of a mile she was bathed in perspiration. Her case, which she had considered light, now seemed to weigh a ton, and her ankle, protesting at such cavalier treatment, had started to ache again.
Gritting her teeth, she kept going.
The gatehouse was in sight when the first heavy drops of rain began to plop on to the tarmac. She quickened her pace, while the air took on the familiar ozoney smell that rain settling on dust makes.
She was several hundred yards from the gates when there was a dazzling flash and a loud crack of thunder. Her ears were still ringing when the heavens opened and the rain poured down with such force that she reeled under the onslaught.
Instantly saturated, she put her head down and battled on while, almost overhead, it seemed, the lightning flashed and the thunder boomed like heavy gunfire.
Half blinded by the flashes and the deluge, and deafened by the noise of the thunder, she failed to either see or hear the car that was heading up the drive to the Hall, until it drew up alongside her.
Through the streaming windows she caught a glimpse of the driver, just as he leaned over and opened the passenger door. 'Get in," Blaze ordered curtly.
Like hell! she thought rebelliously, and kept walking.
The next instant he had backed up and leapt out.
Guessing his intention, she made an effort to hold on to her case, but he took it from her as easily as one might take candy from a baby and slung it on to the back seat. Then, throwing a muscular arm around her, he bundled her into the car without ceremony, and slammed the door.
'How dare you manhandle me?' she spluttered, as he jumped in beside her.
'Fasten your seat belt,' he instructed tersely.
When she didn't immediately obey, he leaned over and, his face set and angry, fastened it for her.
'I don't want to go back,' she spat at him. 'I want to leave.'
Taking not the slightest bit of notice, he put his foot on the accelerator and they started up the drive, the wipers, though working at full speed, failing to clear the water cascading down the windscreen.
Though Blaze had only left the car for a matter of seconds he was soaked to the skin, his hair plastered seal-like to his head.
He hadn't been wearing a jacket, and his fine cotton shirt clung wetly to him, showing his biceps and the sprinkle of dark hair on his chest.
She took a quick, furtive glance at his face. Moisture beaded his lashes and drops of water trickled down his lean cheek and dripped off his chin.
When they reached the house, he drove round the side, through an archway, and drew into the old stable-block which served as garages.
'We can't get any wetter,' he remarked grimly, 'so we may as well save Donaldson a job and put the car away.'
When the Mercedes was safely under cover, he collected Fran's case and held open her door.
In mutinous silence she climbed out.
Putting his jacket around her, he hurried her from beneath the shelter of the overhanging eaves and across the gleaming cobblestones.
Miraculously, the heat had all been washed away and the air was cool and fresh. Rain was still pelting down, pouring off the guttering, gurgling down the pipes, running in torrents along the drainage channels.
Opening an oak door on to a flagged passage, with a flight of stone steps at the end, he told her brusquely, 'It'll be quicker to go in this way and up the back stairs.'
Leaving a trail of wet footprints, and dripping copious amounts of water, they climbed the stairs to a landing with two archways. Blaze led her through the nearest, and they emerged into the gallery which ran the length of the house.
'Here we are.' He opened a door to the left and ushered her into a small, white-walled sitting room.
It was simply furnished with a polished bureau, several bookcases and a stereo unit. Two armchairs, a low settee and an oblong coffee table were grouped in front of a large stone fireplace.
Some kindling, a box of matches and a basket of logs suggested that during the winter months the fireplace was put to good use.
It must be really cosy then, Fran thought longingly. At the moment the casement windows were open wide and rain was beating in, pooling on the stone sills and running on to the plum-coloured carpet.
The air felt damp and distinctly cool, and, chilled to the bone, she found herself shivering as she glanced around the sitting room. It seemed to be part of a self-contained suite, with a bedroom at either end. But why should Blaze need his own suite?
As though reading her thoughts, he set her case down and, taking his wet jacket from around her shoulders, said trenchantly, 'I like to have some privacy.'
'I would have thought it was impossible to have any real privacy with a houseful of servants,' she commented a shade tartly.
'The servants only venture up here on my express instructions. They don't even come up to clean unless I ask them to.'
While he spoke he studied her with a kind of insolent appraisal, his head tilted a little to one side.
Her hair hung in dripping rats' tails around her pale face, and her thin cotton dress, turned almost transparent by the wet, was plastered to her.
His eyes on her breasts, he remarked silkily, 'You seem to be cold,' and smiled when she flushed.
Recognising that his anger had by no means diminished, she felt a rush of alarm and apprehension. Her skin goose-fleshed and she began to shiver in earnest.
He reached to close the windows, then, turning back to her, advised curtly, 'There are two bathrooms, so I suggest you make use of Melinda's and jump into a hot bath before you catch a chill.'
Not liking the idea of intruding on to his fiancée's terrain, but wanting to escape his nerve-racking gaze, Fran hurried ove
r to the door he'd indicated.
She was halfway through it when he asked, 'By the way, have you had any lunch?'
'No.' She answered without turning round.
'Neither have I. I'll ask Hannah to bring up a pot of tea and some sandwiches for when you're through.'
Closing the door behind her, she found herself in a pleasant cream-carpeted bedroom. It could hardly have been called neat, however. Drawers had been pulled out and left, a lace negligee lay where it had fallen, and a discarded dress had been thrown carelessly over a chair.
A built-in wardrobe ran the length of one wall and its doors had been left open to display a range of clothes and accessories that, despite their disarray, would have been the envy of most females.
Feeling uncomfortable, and unwilling to linger in the other woman's bedroom, Fran went quickly into the well-appointed bathroom.
Her mother, had she been alive to see it, would unhesitatingly have called it a tip.
A monogrammed robe lay where it had been tossed. Caps and lids had been left off the toothpaste and various other creams and lotions. Used facial wipes and tissues and a half-empty bottle of moisturiser, graced the sink, and several towels littered the floor.
There was, however, a supply of fresh towels piled neatly on a shelf, along with a selection of unopened toiletries. Fran took a towel and hung it over the rail, before stooping to put the plug in the bath and turn on the water.
She had just peeled off her sodden dress and undies when the door opened and Blaze walked in, still fully clothed.
Taken by surprise, she was slow to snatch the towel and cover her nakedness.
Noting the expression on her face, he said sardonically, 'There's no need to look quite so outraged.'
'You could have knocked,' she protested indignantly, looking anywhere but at him.
'I did. You probably couldn't hear for the water running... Don't worry,' he went on with contemptuous unconcern, 'it's no big deal. After all, I have seen you in the altogether before. In fact, if you remember, we once shared a shower.'
Remembering only too well, she went scarlet.
Getting under her guard, hacking at her defences, he added mockingly, 'At the time you were quite enthusiastic...'
'What do you want?' she demanded in a half-stifled voice, both hands holding the towel in place.
'I thought you might need this.'
She realised for the first time that he was carrying her case.
'Oh... Thank you... If you would just put it down?'
'Certainly.' Glancing around him, he grimaced at the mess, then, sounding slightly more human, said, 'I'm afraid Melinda isn't the tidiest of women. It's one of the reasons I agreed to separate rooms. Less aggro... And to be honest this is partly my fault. I omitted to ask one of the maids to come up. If you would prefer to use my bathroom...?'
'No, no, I wouldn't.' The bath was getting over-full, and, clutching the towel to her, she stooped to turn off the taps, adding jerkily, 'This will do fine, thank you.'
He grinned wryly at her determined politeness. "Then I'll go and take a shower...' At the door he turned and cocked an eyebrow at her. 'Unless you want me to stay and wash your back?'
Losing her cool, she cried, 'No, I don't want you to stay and wash my back. I want you to get out of here and stay out.'
As he closed the door behind him and walked away she heard his soft, mocking laugh.
There had been anger rather than amusement beneath the mockery, and she was well aware that this attempt to harass and demean her had been quite intentional. He had wanted to pay her back.
Though for what? she wondered bleakly. For attempting to leave, when for some unknown reason he wanted her to stay?
Determined to take no more chances, she crossed to the door and turned the key in the lock before discarding the towel and stepping into the steaming tub.
Some twenty minutes later, dressed in a coffee-coloured two-piece—the least crumpled thing in her case—she made her way back to the sitting room.
Though outside the storm was still raging, inside it was comfortably warm and cosy.
Blaze, wearing casual trousers and an olive-green cotton-knit shirt, was lounging in one of the armchairs in front of a cheerful log fire.
His legs stretched out, his dark head resting against the back of the chair, he appeared to be half asleep, and she paused.
Noting her hesitation, he invited coolly, 'Do come and join me.'
Determined to appear calm and self-possessed, she sat down in the chair opposite while, lids drooping, he studied her through long, thick lashes.
Her newly washed ash-brown hair, still a little damp and curling slightly, was loose around her shoulders, and her nose was undeniably shiny.
She knew she must look a fright.
He thought she looked fresh and lovely and oddly vulnerable.
A tray with a selection of dainty sandwiches, home-made fruit cake and a pot of tea was waiting on the low table.
Drawing back his feet, he sat up and reached to pass her a napkin and a plate. 'Would you like—'
'I'd like to know why you insisted on me coming back to the Hall.'
His voice smooth and hard as polished granite, he said, 'Neither of us have had any lunch, and, according to Hannah, you didn't have any breakfast either, so I think we should eat first and talk later. Now, would you like to start with ham or cucumber?'
Realising it was useless to argue, Fran gave in with what grace she could muster. 'Cucumber, please.'
The sandwiches were delicious, and, all at once finding herself ravenous, she began to tuck in with a will.
They ate without speaking until the plates were empty and they had finished their second cups of tea. Then it was Blaze who broke the silence to ask, 'What made you decide to leave so suddenly?'
'I couldn't see any point in staying.'
The dark eyes pinned her. 'So you're not still expecting Varley to turn up?'
'No,' she admitted.
'Does that mean you've heard from him?'
She shook her head. 'I thought you might have done, until Mortimer told me you'd gone out.'
Blaze raised a dark brow.
A shade awkwardly, she explained, 'You knew how anxious I'd been; I didn't think you would have left without first putting my mind at rest...'
'I'm not noted for being kind to my adversaries.'
Startled, she asked, 'Is that how you regard me?'
'How else?'
'B-but I don't see why,' she stammered helplessly. 'I've tried to keep to the arrangements that were made.'
'I'm sure you have,' he said sardonically. 'I bet Varley's proud of you!'
When she just looked at him, Blaze said, ice in his voice, 'Don't tell me he didn't congratulate you on a job well done?'
'I told you, I haven't spoken to him... If you have—'
'I haven't,' Blaze denied shortly. 'Nor did I expect to. But when I found you were so anxious to get away I knew that he must have been in touch. So why not tell me the truth? Where were you planning to meet him?'
'You're quite wrong. He hasn't been in touch, and I wasn't planning to meet him.'
'You lie quite convincingly.'
'I'm not lying. Why should I lie?'
His voice like a whiplash, he asked, 'Then what made you decide to leave?'
'When Hannah told me Kirk still hadn't come and there were no messages, I tried ringing his apartment. All I got was the answer-machine...'
Seeing Blaze's lips twist, she shook her head. 'I hadn't expected him to be there; I just wanted to try every avenue possible.'
'Which did you try next?'
'I rang William Bailey on the off chance that he might have heard something. He lives over Varley's business premises, so I thought if there had been an accident of some kind...'
'What did Bailey have to say?'
"That he'd talked to Kirk first thing this morning, but he didn't know—'
His grey eyes narrowed on her face, Blaze broke
in tersely, 'Perhaps you can tell me verbatim?'
Taking a deep breath, she repeated the telephone conversation word for word, as far as she could remember, ending, 'From what William said, I knew that something totally unexpected must have cropped up. Something that had been important enough to divert Kirk and—'
'And make him keep the whole thing a secret—not only from his right hand man but from his own fiancée?'
"That's what I can't understand,' she admitted.
'You used the word divert...'
'Well, I—'
'Without knowing any more, what made you decide there and then that he wasn't going to turn up at all?'
'I just felt instinctively that he—'
'My dear Francesca, you'll have to do a great deal better than that.'
Sighing, she insisted, 'It happens to be the truth... In any case, I was sick of all the waiting, and I'd started to feel angry and resentful that he hadn't been in touch.'
There was a moment's silence, then Blaze pursued, 'So you made up your mind to go?'
'Yes.'
To run while my back was turned?'
Hearing the censure, she said defensively, 'Why not? I'd done my part.'
Just for an instant he looked so furious that she flinched. Then the anger was wiped away, and he asked evenly, 'Had you forgotten you'd been invited for the weekend?'
She licked her dry lips. 'As the whole thing had fallen through, I didn't want to stay on my own.'
'And I get the feeling that you hadn't wanted to come in the first place?'
'No, I hadn't.' She refused to lie.
'Why not? It couldn't have been because you knew / was Edward Balantyne.'
When she remained silent, he asked, 'Had Melinda said something to put you off?'
'No.' This time she was forced to lie, and judging by his expression he knew it.
Letting it go, however, he asked, 'When you did make up your mind to leave, what were your plans? If you weren't meeting Varley—'
'I've told you I wasn't.'
'Then what did you intend to do?'
'My first thought was to get to London and book into a hotel for the night, but—'
'You couldn't raise the taxi fare?'
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