‘I’m in no hurry where you’re concerned,’ he drawled, his eyes sardonically on her face which her smile transformed into something memorable. ‘It appears I have two uninvited guests, one still in and the other barely out of the schoolroom. Can you wonder if I’ve decided to take my time?’
Two guests! So he wasn’t yet ready to concede any relationship? Silently she accompanied him into a small, clinically spotless room which contained, along with other things, what seemed to be a large medicine cupboard.
‘Sit down at the table while I find a suitable bandage,’ he ordered.
Firmly he examined her wrist again before applying it. ‘I could guess you’ve wrenched it rather badly, but this should give you some relief. If nothing else it will relieve the pain.’ In spite of his astringent tones his hands were infinitely gentle as he wound the soft crepe firmly and, as he had assured her, she immediately felt better. ‘Move it as little as possible for a day or two,’ he advised. ‘It could mean you’ll have to postpone moving on, but a couple of days won’t hurt me.’
‘Thank you,’ she breathed, a current of resentment bringing faint colour to her pale cheeks as she tried to ignore his derisive last word. He didn’t believe in pulling his punches! He was a man who had no hesitation when it came to speaking his mind, no compunction about sparing a girl’s feelings!
He didn’t talk much during dinner, and Petra, once the ache in her wrist and temper subsided, found herself almost unashamedly revelling in the nearly forgotten pleasures of gleaming silver and crystal. The table was long, with oval ends, giving the impression that Neil Cameron might use it often for entertaining. Everything was exactly as it should be, she couldn’t fault any of it. The porcelain was of the best quality, the dining-room beautifully appointed, even the wine was at the correct temperature, clear and sparkling. It all reminded her too poignantly of Redwell before the crash, but her experience there enabled her to conduct herself unselfconsciously tonight, very much like the chatelaine of a large house, a role she had often taken, at her father’s request, in place of her mother. Petra had expected to eat well. According to the information she had Neil Cameron was not a poor man, but she hadn’t visualised anything like this! A scrubbed kitchen table, perhaps, or a comfortable, shabby front parlour, like something out of an old-fashioned Western film, but nothing like the degree of luxury she found here. She lapped it up greedily, her enjoyment of it, for all her cool little front, so pathetically obvious that the eyes of the man sitting opposite narrowed increasingly.
Unaware that she aroused some suspicion, Petra carried on dreamily. The bandage and tablets Neil Cameron had given her had taken almost all the pain from her injured wrist and she managed her meal wonderfully well with one hand. Softly, as her immediate worries retreated slightly beneath so much affluence, she smiled at him. After all, he was only a man, and she had learnt, if painfully, during the last year that men were strangely susceptible to her smiles.
He poured her more wine, marvellously accurate, seeing how he scarcely took his eyes from her face. ‘You feel better now?’
If she had been lost in an impracticably rosy glow, his dry query cruelly dispelled it. Her eyes fastened on his as she flushed guiltily, but she could read nothing in the studied blank depth she encountered. ‘Yes, thank you,’ she murmured, as if she suddenly found the sight of him in his casual but well-cut clothes rather overwhelming. She opened her mouth to attempt something more original, but he forestalled her.
‘Finish your wine, Petronella,’ he said relentlessly, his hard voice gently mocking. ‘We’ll have coffee in the lounge. You’ve had a long day and may have to face an even longer few minutes. It all depends what you have on your mind.’
What was on his, more likely! Defensively Petra lowered her too expressive eyes as she controlled, with difficulty, a sharp retort. How humiliating it was to remember she wasn’t really in a position to do anything else but crawl! One wrong word on her part and all her plans could come to nought. Not for her the wonderful release of being able to speak her mind. Convincing Neil Cameron of her exact identity might be comparatively easy, it was the next step which would take every scrap of her ingenuity. By that time she must have him almost begging her to stay. And because she had, as yet, no positive idea as to how she would go about it she decided she would concentrate, this evening, on the first stage of his submission.
The lounge, to her delight, was even nicer than the dining-room. It was a large room, closely fitted with deep carpeting and there were low, comfortable chairs. A light breeze, still warm, slid in through the open windows, bringing with it a faint aroma of something she could put no name to. Whatever it was, it was sweet and had an odd effect on the senses, but then she had always been susceptible to sensuous scents, borne on the wind.
Quickly she turned away from the enticing windows and sat down, unknowingly bracing her slender shoulders as if preparing to face an inquisition. Mrs. Allen brought in their coffee, but Neil Cameron asked Petra to pour it, neatly, she realised, seconds later, giving himself the initiative.
‘You say you have proof you’re my cousin? I find this intriguing, if hard to believe.’
His deep voice, so suddenly sharpening, induced fright. The coffee pot wobbled as she almost spilt the hot liquid over her hand.
‘Careful!’ his cool warning stung. ‘One might almost imagine you’re in no way convinced yourself?’
‘Oh, but I am!’ Hastily she checked, for fear she sounded too eager. ‘I told you before I have all the proof anyone could ask for. I also have a portrait.’
‘Portrait?’ Carefully controlled interest was allowed to enter his dark eyes, as they surveyed her glowing cheeks. ‘An exact replica of the one that hangs in your hall!’
He paused a brief second, letting her enjoy a momentary triumph. ‘Where do you have yours? I presume you conveniently forgot to bring it along with you. You left it at home?’
This time colour really flooded her face. That last sentence seemed to betray that he thought her a scheming hussy. ‘You’re—’ Dismayed, Petra paused. She’d been about to say, despicable!
‘Why don’t you—say it?’ he taunted softly, the degree of intimacy something she found difficult to adjust to. ‘It really gets me, Petronella, the way you continually hold back. I wouldn’t be half as suspicious if you really let go.’ How could she? How she wished she dared, but she could not! Because wasn’t she just as contriving as he thought? ‘I do have a portrait,’ she cried, jumping to her feet, ignoring her conscience. ‘It’s upstairs, I’ll go and get it if you’ll wait!’
‘Oh, I’ll do that,’ he drawled, lowering his tall, lithe body down into a chair where he stretched pantherishly. ‘This gets more engrossing by the minute. Maybe my jaded senses are in need of such stimulation.’
Whatever he meant by this, Petra didn’t stop to ask. Swiftly she left him, her feet barely touching the carpet as she ran upstairs, returning breathlessly with what she considered to be the indisputable proof of her own identity. The painting she clasped to her breast, almost as if afraid he was about to snatch it from her.
‘Let me have it.’ Now his drawl was quite pleasant as he came to his feet again and took it from her reluctant fingers, turning it slowly around.
‘Be careful, won’t you!’ It was like parting with something infinitely precious and she didn’t care for his abrupt handling of it.
For once he didn’t appear to hear her. His thick, dark brows were meeting over considering eyes in a frown of surprised concentration, and Petra, staring at him, felt a sudden agony that had nothing to do with her immediate circumstances. Yet why should she feel so antagonistic when he was merely looking at it? ‘Please,’ she gasped, unable to help herself, as if he was desecrating something wholly dear to her, ‘please give it back.’
He took no immediate notice, except that his glance flicked curiously to her anxious young face. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said calmly, ‘I’m not about to destroy your undoubted proof, if that’s
what you’re afraid of. It’s really quite remarkable.’ His finger lightly touched the faint scrawl in the bottom right-hand corner. ‘The same artist, even. He must have done two. Needless to say, I’m impressed.’
Uncertainly Petra stared up into his face. ‘My records quote two—one for our ancestor to bring over here. He must have looked after it well.’
‘Yes,’ Neil Cameron’s mouth smiled, ‘he must have been a man of some vanity. I believe I resemble him. Was it somewhat disconcerting to meet him in the flesh and find you disliked him, especially when you have obviously such a high regard for the man in the painting?’
‘No!’ Confusion swam as Neil Cameron deviously pounced on what bewildered her. Hastily she restrained her twitching fingers which seemed to be groping blindly towards it. ‘I mean, I like the portrait and—and I have no reason to dislike you.’
‘I hope not.’ Perplexingly his voice contained an unwelcome threat. ‘A few careless strokes can devastate a picture, Petronella, but not me!’
Meeting his darkly enigmatical gaze, Petra shivered, feeling the ground, in some peculiar fashion, giving way under her feet. For the first time since entering this house she felt something like real apprehension moving inside her and, because the Cameron in the portrait didn’t watch her so unkindly, her eyes went back to him as words eluded her.
Her eyes riveted on it so eloquently that Neil Cameron grinned maliciously, ‘So much wasted emotion! Why not transfer some of it to where it might be better appreciated? My grandfather used to say I resembled the first emigrating Cameron more than I realised.’
She flushed, glancing at his broad-shouldered, strongly muscled frame. ‘I can see you look rather like him,’ she allowed cautiously.
He stared again at the portrait and nodded his tall head. ‘I have been said to share some of his ruthless characteristics, but that you must judge for yourself.’ He laid the picture carefully then on a side table. ‘Leave it,’ he admonished, when she would have picked it up. ‘Tomorrow is soon enough to decide what’s to be done with it.’
And with you! His smooth voice seemed full of words left unsaid, explicit warnings, making Petra again reluctantly aware that she had a certain role to play, one which certainly couldn’t include fighting him.
‘Of course,’ she murmured, deceptively submissive.
‘The cousin angle,’ he mused, ‘can scarcely come into it after all this time. I guess it would be almost impossible to define, but if it pleases you, we can leave it.’
‘Does this mean we can stay a—a little while?’
‘If you like.’
Not much encouragement there. He appeared amused by her shortage of breath. ‘I would be very grateful,’ she confessed over-elaborately.
‘Would you?’ His eyes lingered on her more hopeful face in which relief was more clearly displayed than she knew. ‘You’re a very attractive girl, Petronella. I might be perfectly willing to go along with any relationship you care to name.’
On the face of it that sounded extremely congenial, too congenial, maybe, but could she afford to examine too closely every suave inflection in his mocking voice? His cooperation might be short-lived, she suspected, should she try to make their stay here permanent. It was only when she thought of David that her resolve strengthened instead of weakening.
‘You came over by plane?’ He sat down facing her again and his light query interrupted her pensive thoughts.
‘Yes.’ Her reply was brief, necessarily guarded. She didn’t want him asking all sorts of questions about that, and, with his astute mind, reading all she left unsaid between the lines.
‘When did you arrive in this country?’
‘Some time ago.’ It had been merely two days, but she needn’t elaborate. The last two days had seemed more like that number of years!
‘Where else have you been?’ Neil Cameron stretched back lazily, as if just getting into his stride, his whole demeanour expressing a slightly satirical interest.
Her full, pink mouth compressed. ‘Oh, around. Calgary.’
His eyes crinkled, although with suspicion or amusement she couldn’t be sure. ‘You aren’t particularly forthcoming.’
She forced a charming rueful smile. ‘I’m sorry if I’m not being very entertaining, but I am feeling rather tired. I must confess it’s all been a bit more than I’d expected.’ Which happened to be nothing less than the truth!
‘It’s not always easy to find your way around by car,’ he agreed. ‘You could have done better to have travelled by rail. Canada has an extremely impressive network of railways.’
‘That car!’ He had made her think of it again. ‘Will it be awfully expensive to hang on to?’
‘Didn’t you enquire, Petronella?’
Petra flushed, wishing she hadn’t mentioned it. She hadn’t meant to! ‘I didn’t anticipate damaging it,’ she hedged.
‘I’ll have a mechanic look over it tomorrow,’ he promised, readily enough. ‘If he can fix it, it could be wiser to return it to the firm you hired it from. They usually have branches all over.’
‘Yes,’ she murmured, somewhat bleakly, wondering why she had ever hired it in the first place, where she would find the money to settle up. It would take her last penny—dollar, she corrected herself silently, with a mirthless smile. ‘There’s such a lot I hadn’t thought of,’ she shrugged unhappily. ‘I think the strain of finding my way around and having David to look after ...’
‘He’s not your responsibility, surely?’
‘We’re orphans.’ She hadn’t intended he should know so soon, nor that she should sound so bereft when she did tell him but it could be better this way.
Although Neil Cameron voiced no immediate regret he took it exactly as she had hoped he would. ‘So this trip was really to help your brother over such a loss?’
‘In a way.’
She thought his expression a little kinder. ‘It’s a bit rough on you, isn’t it? A boy like David needs a man’s hand.’
‘Oh, no!’ Her protective instincts rebelled before his harder tones. ‘That is,’ she agreed nervously, ‘I suppose you’re partly right, but he isn’t too strong. He needs a lot of sympathetic understanding.’
‘Merely a woman’s point of view,’ he said curtly. ‘Too much of that could retard his growth.’
‘You wouldn’t understand because you wouldn’t need it,’ Petra flared, quite unable to see Neil Cameron as delicate at any stage of his life. He was too much of a man, too immensely arrogant, with all the assurance which went with it.
‘I was never coddled, Petronella, if that’s what you’re getting at. Nor am I now. Unless,’ he added wickedly, ‘you intend looking after me as well?’
Suddenly apprehensive, Petra stared at him, remembering something which had bothered her all evening. ‘I’m sorry, I should have asked if you’re married. Or do you live alone?’ The information she had stated that he had no wife, but she could scarcely confess how closely she had looked into his affairs. And, of course, her information could be wrong?
‘I thought I heard you mention this before?’ he drawled.
‘No—I don’t think so.’
‘I have a stepmother and half-sister,’ his deep blue eyes held Petra’s sardonically, ‘both of whom are away at present, being altogether more addicted to city life than to that of the wild, open prairie. Occasionally they do honour me with a visit. But no, I don’t have a wife. Which isn’t to say I couldn’t do with one, Petronella. When a man has a ranch this size to run she could be a help.’
A help? Would he really only regard his wife in this light? A kind of business proposition? ‘You sound very cool about it,’ she retorted, startled.
‘Better be that way and choose wisely than to allow my emotions to tempt me beyond my better judgment,’ he smiled. ‘I also have my sons to think of.’
‘Your sons?’
‘Oh, I haven’t any yet,’ he said softly, ‘but I intend to.’
Really, he had a nerve! He might just
as well consult a computer. Or could it be his way of letting her know he would never consider a silly little English girl fit for such a star-spangled job? Well, she certainly wouldn’t be applying for it! All she wanted was to assure David’s future, that he at least had a start in life. A few more years wouldn’t hurt Neil Cameron. If he had waited this long he couldn’t be in any hurry to find this paragon he required as a wife! ‘I see,’ she shrugged, non-committally.
‘Thank you, Petronella,’ he returned, equally polite.
Because his cynicism didn’t match up to her Cameron of the portrait she jumped to her feet. Frightened he could guess what she was thinking, she said quickly, ‘I’m sorry I won’t be able to meet your stepmother and sister. Perhaps another time.’
He nodded affably as he came up beside her. ‘I should like them to see all this fair hair.’ His hand went out, outrageously, to touch the silky flow of it. ‘You obviously don’t take after the dark Camerons.’
‘My mother,’ she gasped, as the lingering pressure of his fingers caused a strange quiver, ‘was Italian and very fair.’
‘Which accounts for a lot,’ he rejoined coolly, if his exact meaning was far from clear. ‘I imagine you must have been an entrancing bambino.’
‘Perhaps.’ She tried desperately to hang on to her equilibrium, to affect his cool sophistication. Surely he wasn’t going to start pawing her, like all those other men?
‘Something wrong, Petronella? You have the appearance of a young girl about to be ravished. Shouldn’t you worry about this before you step into the dens of big bad men?’
A Man Called Cameron Page 5