‘With your father?’ She groaned inwardly. Why had she put even the faintest emphasis on that word, as if she were issuing a disclaimer? But at least he appeared not to have noticed. She gave a shaky smile. ‘At least he didn’t seem to think I was behaving too foolishly. And he was glad of the few mementoes. Yes...’ Her smile grew a shade more determined. ‘I think I can say the trip has been a success.’
‘Then why not make it even more of a success? After the parents leave tomorrow I mean to ride some of the estate boundaries. Why don’t you come with me and enjoy one of the most beautiful parts of the United States?’
‘Oh...’
‘You do ride, I hope?’
‘Yes, but...’
‘Come on. You can’t fly thousands of miles for just a day or two.’
She felt like the drowning man clutching at straws. ‘Well, as I said, I have one or two other things to see to in New York—and as for flying thousands of miles for a brief stay, I’m sure you do that all the time.’
‘Yes.’ Did the knowing look in his eyes signal confidence that she was about to concede? ‘I have little choice. But you... All you have to do is pick up the telephone and call Mr. Brockway. I’m sure he’ll say whatever Miss Browne wants...’
‘In which case I shall be very much surprised.’
‘Yes?’
‘Very. Since Mr Brockway has been dead these forty years I should be surprised if he said anything much at all, let alone granted extended leave to a junior employee.’
He grinned, and shrugged indulgently. ‘Well, who-ever... Now, why don’t we sit here for an hour or two? Speaking for myself, I can imagine nothing better.’ His lips pursed in qualification. ‘At least, there’s almost nothing I would rather do than sit here with you drinking hot chocolate, toasting marshmallows while you tell me the story of your life. And then you can ring up your London office and suggest that a few extra days would not be unreasonable.’
‘Mmm.’ She recognised a warning when she met one, and that slight but deliberate implication as to how he would be even more inclined to spend his time was not lost on Ginny. She had met it before, but never in the past had she felt so threatened. And simply thinking about that was frightening—Because this was the first time she had had the inclination to respond.
Inclination! The word almost brought a wry smile—as if this burning, surging longing could be described by such a feeble word. It was necessary to put on an act. She rose, stretching lazily, smothering a tiny yawn. ‘Oh! Much as I would like to sit chatting, Jake, I must go to bed before I nod off in the chair.’
‘If you must.’ Rising, he walked with her to the door before pausing, one hand on the knob. She looked up at him, moist lips slightly parted, eyes luminous.
‘Goodnight, Jake.’ Her voice was soft, possibly more encouraging than she knew—soft and encouraging and tender. And maybe it was in reaction to it that his hand came out and lightly touched her hair before his fingers curved about the nape of her neck.
The sensation brought fear, stark and unmistakable, boiling up inside her. Wide-eyed she stared up, heart pounding, wild pulses beating in her throat.
‘Ginny...’ A man’s eyes had never been so mesmerising, so compelling. ‘You can’t imagine how glad I am that you came.’ A finger moved against sensitive skin, began to diminish her fear, to encourage the softer, more compliant emotions.
‘Can’t I?’ Meant to be cool, moody, the words were somehow translated into a coquettish query, suggesting that perhaps she could imagine...
‘Mmm.’ It was a long, sighing comment as his hand slipped lower, pulling her against him. ‘I doubt anyone can.’
If she had been sensible she would have stretched up to drop a casual, sisterly kiss on his cheek; she would have assured him that she, too, was glad—delighted, in fact—that chance had brought her here, that she could never have dreamed...et cetera...et cetera.
But at that moment common sense had been wiped from Ginny Browne’s agenda. All her moral determination had evaporated the moment he put a finger beneath her chin, raising her face to his. It was complete capitulation, with her lips parted in eager welcome.
Later, lying in the coolness of her wide bed, she found it difficult to forgive or even to understand her behaviour. She replayed the scene as it ought to have unfolded.
In her repertoire of courtroom approaches she had perfected the exact tone—agreeable, friendly, but subtly detached. ‘I value so much this opportunity to experience American life at close quarters,’ she should have said. ‘I shall always be grateful to your parents for making it possible.’
That would have been a nice touch, though one which would have been lost on him for obvious reasons. Then she should have given a last, lingering glance round the kitchen, as if she were indeed a tourist taking a departing look at a stately house. ‘Good-night, Jake,’ she should have said. ‘And thank you. Thank you all.’
But of course she had said and done none of those things. Instead, she had behaved with a degree of irresponsibility which was little short of criminal: Falling into his arms, rejoicing in his power and then allowing herself to be pulled into the curve of his body—even reaching an arm about his neck, extending her fingers to lace through the dark hair, so incredibly soft and silky. Moving her body in a way that was deliberately provocative.
In those first delirious moments, when his lips—brushing, teasing, then at last dominating and possessing—had been dropping kisses through her hair, butterfly touches on eyelids and down her cheeks, when his hands had been moulding her body against his, she had felt herself drowning in pure sensual pleasure...
But memory had flooded back with brutal immediacy. The enormity of her behaviour had suddenly had her reeling with self-disgust. The hand which had been lying against his chest in a yielding, very nearly submissive way had suddenly been geared to rejection—except... how to explain such contradictory behaviour? One moment total indiscretion, the next an outraged Victorian Miss.
Her mind had raced with the effort of defusing a situation unlike any other she had encountered. Above all, she’d told herself, she must be firm, she must act as if this bewildering interlude had never happened.
Certainly it ought not to have done, if she’d had the wit to stick to her original intention of going to bed.
In the end she had given a heartfelt sigh tinged with a little regret and then backed away, contriving a faint smile, and shrugging. ‘As I said a long time ago, Jake. Bed, I think.’
He’d been lit by a flicker from the hearth, standing utterly still—certainly making no effort to detain her. But his attention had been so concentrated that it was as if he would deny her the right to her own decision. His chest had been rising and falling with the same haste with which she had been striving to control herself. An odd expression had been in his eyes—impenetrable but somehow chilling... frustration? If he was suffering that why should she be surprised? She, at last, had some idea of what that could mean. He had spoken, forcing her to recall exactly how ill-chosen her last words had been.
‘Is that...an invitation, Ginny?’
For a second her mind was blank, then was swamped by a wave of hideous embarrassment mixed with anger, both of which, she was certain would be noted. Her tiny laugh was sheer affectation, but it helped her through her real anguish, her longing to shout out, Yes, yes, it is an invitation if you want to accept it! And, of course, that would have been his cue for sweeping her off her feet and bounding up the staircase two steps at a time.
But she was carefully languid as she took a step towards the door. ‘I think we inhabit different worlds, Jake. A casual goodnight kiss is definitely not an automatic invitation to play bedroom games in my book.’ She marvelled that she could sound so experienced.
‘If that was a casual goodnight kiss then we do inhabit different worlds.’ His lazy half-smile did nothing to disguise his flashing anger. ‘And I suggest you choose your words with more care after this.’
‘Don’t
lecture me.’ Frustration made her adopt the tone of a sharp-tongued magistrate. ‘If you recall, I’ve been suggesting bed—my bed, for me alone—for hours. But you have kept...’ Her brain was searching for an elusive word but he was the one who produced it, in the light-hearted, teasing way she found particularly infuriating.
‘Propositioning you?’ In spite of the raised eyebrow and the wicked gleam he was trying to project an air of innocent detachment.
‘I was not going to say that.’ Halfway between tears and hysteria, dismayed by her urge to ridicule both of them for the farcical situation they had brought upon themselves, she pursed her lips. “‘Tempting” was the word I was looking for.’
‘Ah?’ A wealth of innuendo in that simple word. ‘And what about tomorrow and my prop—my suggestion, my tempting suggestion that you should stay on here for another day or two?’
‘Ah...’ she began, in mocking parody, and was foolishly pleased by his flicker of appreciation at her imitation. ‘I shall have to sleep on that one. Goodnight, Jake.’
And she had swept from the kitchen with the comfortable feeling of having had the last word. But still without the slightest idea of how she meant to answer his question.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE following day was one Ginny knew she would remember till the end of her life—so golden and sun-drenched, as relaxed and happy as a day remembered from childhood, without the tiniest flaw. It was sheer perfection.
She was downstairs in time to see Marion and Hugo depart in a mass of luggage, was enveloped by the woman and kissed warmly, as if she were an old and valued family friend. Hugo’s embrace, when his wife had got into the car, was more restrained, but he took the opportunity for a few private words.
‘When we return from the cruise I shall be in touch with you, Ginny. And...and thank you for having the courage to come. It can’t have been easy for you.’
Conscious of Jake arranging cases nearby, she determined to be casual. ‘Thank you for taking it as you did. It must have been a devastating shock for you.’
‘That, certainly.’ His smile was a little taut. ‘But, once I absorb the facts, I’m sure it will bring nothing but pleasure.’
That was something she doubted, but nevertheless the sentiment was touching. Now it was time to divert the conversation. ‘It must be wonderful for you both to have the chance to get away...’
‘Mmm. Should be interesting.’ He threw a quick glance over his shoulder towards Jake, who was having a final word with Marion. Hugo’s voice was lowered, his manner almost furtive. ‘Ginny, there’s something I must explain to you. I’m not sure how much you and Jake feel...’
‘Don’t give me away, Dad.’ His son came up behind him, draped an arm about his father’s shoulder.
‘Jake.’ The older man smiled, albeit with a touch of reluctance. ‘I didn’t hear you come up.’
‘Obviously.’ Jake grinned mischievously. ‘But I won’t have you spilling the beans about me; you ought to be on my side.’
‘Well, now Ginny will never hear what a truly wonderful person you are.’ He reached down for the document case at his feet, searched in a pocket and produced a bunch of keys. ‘No, what I was about to say was that Marion and I hoped Ginny would stay on with you for a few days. You’ve been working nonstop for months, and I dare say Ginny is under similar pressure. Now—’ he handed his case to his son ‘—put that in the car, will you? Then we must be off.’
A moment later he had turned to his daughter, speaking softly but with some urgency. ‘Ginny, there’s still so much we have to say to each other. We need an hour or two of peace and quiet, and for that I shall come to London as soon as I can and... Thanks, Jake, now we really must go. Marion’s looking impatient.’
And, moments later, Jake and Ginny saw the vehicle disappear round a bend in the drive en route for the private runway. Then they walked inside the kitchen, where they sat at the table and he began to pour coffee.
It was a moment or two before he spoke. ‘Well, you have decided to stay.’ It was more a statement than a question and one she had an urge to contradict. She wasn’t a child, to have her decisions made for her, her plans changed. When she had got out of bed this morning she had known what she had to do, and simply because Hugo had suggested...
‘Jake.’ Trying to convey conviction, she rose and indicated the short navy skirt, the white blouse tied at the neck by a pink scarf. ‘Do I look as if I’m dressed for the country? This is my New York outfit; I did tell you I meant to go back today.’
‘It’ll take you only minutes to change into jeans and a T-shirt. I’m sure I can find something to fit if you haven’t brought any.’
‘Jake.’ In her irritation she spoke through her teeth. ‘Why do you have to be so...so...?’ Unable to find the appropriate word she ended weakly, ‘So masculine?’ Immediately she undermined her protest with a little giggle while he appeared to consider.
‘It’s a good question. But I’m not sure I’m the best person to answer.’
‘I didn’t mean that. In fact, I can’t think what I meant.’
‘Your apology is accepted.’
Her sigh of irritation was ignored and he rose, came round the table and placed his hands on her shoulders, giving her a tiny shake. ‘And I promise you, I shall never complain that I find you too...’ he frowned in comical parody ‘...too...what’s the word? Ah, yes, too feminine. And now go and get ready—I’ll take you on a grand tour of the Vanbrugh estate.’
And it was rather dismaying to find how obediently she did that. In moments she had thrown off her city clothes, pulled on some jeans and a checked shirt and had run down as if that had been her plan all along. Still, she thought, subduing her doubts, it was what Hugo had advised. And she had the feeling that if she were to protest any more Jake might become suspicious, start putting two and two together. Something which, in view of her promises to her father, she dare not risk.
They were soon in the pick-up truck, driving round to the stables, ‘Now I can tell you how pleased I am that you decided to stay on.’ The note of blatant satisfaction caused fresh waves of exasperation in Ginny.
‘I think the decision was made for me. If I had done as I preferred I would be on my way to New York by now.’ Then, having made her point, she felt a stab of guilt. ‘But, on the other hand, most people would say that all the advantages are on my side.’
All her irritation was forgotten when they were mounted, riding across the parkland on that glorious sunny morning. It was impossible to hide her pleasure. Rising in the stirrups, she patted her filly’s neck. ‘She’s a lovely girl.’
‘She’s one of Randy’s offspring.’
Recalling the dark chestnut stallion left back at the stables, Ginny frowned. ‘It’s hard to believe there’s any connection.’
‘An accidental covering.’ He held back an overhanging branch. ‘A coquettish mare broke into his compound. Lucy is the result.’
‘Oh?’ Best not to dwell on certain similarities with her own situation. ‘Miguel is concerned? About Randy, I mean?’
‘Yes, the old fellow’s losing ground. At one time he would have snatched at that apple you offered, but today...’ He gave a despondent shrug. ‘He’s frustrated, used to being ridden hard, and he can’t accept that he’s no longer fit enough. But who knows? He might improve. He’s a fighter and never gives up easily.’
‘You’ve had him since you were a boy, your mother said.’
‘Yes, we’ve had some great times together. But look—’ the change of subject was probably deliberate ‘—when we climb just about to the top of this rise you’ll be able to see the ocean.’ He trotted ahead of her along the narrow path.
Riding the glossy black stallion, dressed in casual ranch-hand clothes, Jake seemed to her even more impressive than when she had first seen him. Following him, totally disregarding the bone-dry, slippery grass beneath them, she momentarily gave up the struggle to remain indifferent. How could she, when each time she raised her eyes
there he was—in total control of the horse, powerful thighs in dark jeans, black boots with the slightly stacked heels she had seen in a dozen cowboy movies, red-and-blue-checked shirt, kerchief knotted about the dark throat?
But it was easy to make excuses for herself. She swallowed, tried to be unmoved, to view their situation as a piece of fiction. In fact, they both might have come straight out of a Western film. His role as hero was clearly cast, but she couldn’t quite see where she fitted in. Saloon hostess, perhaps? Trying to adapt to life as a rancher’s wife? It wouldn’t be much of a return for all the hours poring over dull legal books! Fact and fiction threatened to mingle. She couldn’t remember any female attorneys in Westerns...
‘What’s the joke, Ginny? Anything you can share?’ She hadn’t noticed him swing round to wait. He seemed to be sharing her amusement already, for his lips were curving in sympathy, though when she began to explain it didn’t seem so funny.
‘The Wild West?’ There was reproach in both manner and tone. ‘Most Virginians would be deeply hurt at such a suggestion.’
‘Yes. And rightly so, considering we’ve just seen the Atlantic. But, on the other hand, you must make allowances for a Londoner.’
‘Mmm.’ He obviously wasn’t convinced, but continued in the spirit of things. ‘Anyway, a position in the Wild West for a highly qualified lawyer...?’ He pondered as they ambled along. ‘I’m not sure if it was possible for women to qualify in those days, but I do know it was on the frontier that American women were first emancipated.’
‘Really? Isn’t that surprising?’
‘Surprises most people—but, when you consider, it is logical. The further you went west, the fewer women there were, and so they were more valued. My great-grandmother was one of the first women to be given the vote and her mother had been the only woman practising medicine in the whole of Kansas... But back to your problem. What would you say to a position on a newspaper? That would, I think, have been quite acceptable for a well brought up young woman. A lady reporter?’
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