Badly shaken, he tried to tell himself that she wouldn’t attempt to walk across the causeway. In her semi-crippled state, and with the tide on the turn, it would be utter madness.
But coming from the opposite direction, he’d seen no sign of her.
Hurrying out to the car, he wondered frantically just how long she’d been gone.
He didn’t need to ask himself why.
His fingers fumbled when he tried to switch on the ignition, and, as though to underline his state of mind, he clashed the gears as he turned the car.
When he reached the road he put his foot down hard. With a bit of luck she wouldn’t have reached the causeway yet.
As he flashed past the stand of pines, recalling that morning’s conversation, he wondered if she had taken the cross-country route.
If she had, though the ground was uneven and the terrain rough in places, it was very much quicker than going by road.
He groaned.
Please God, let him be in time to stop her setting foot on that damned causeway.
During the brief time the castle had been open to the public, one couple had lingered too long and then attempted to drive through the rising water.
They had had to be rescued by boat—it had been summer and there had been plenty about—and their car retrieved at low tide the following day.
Then a walker trying to make a last-minute crossing had been swept away. Fortunately a strong swimmer, he had just managed to reach the shore.
The memory of those near tragedies pounding in his brain, Michael rounded the bluff and took the serpentine road down the hill and past the castle at top speed.
Though the bends masked a great deal, there appeared to be no one on the road ahead.
Catching brief glimpses of the causeway, he could see that grey water was already swirling over it. He tried to tell himself that, surely, with an injured ankle, she wouldn’t have attempted to cross.
Perhaps she was sitting down in the wood somewhere in too much pain to go on?
Well, if she was, at the very least she was safe, and if she hadn’t strayed from the path he could find her quite quickly.
As he approached the start of the causeway, another possibility struck him: Claire might have picked her up. He would call Claire—hopefully she would stop long enough to answer it—and put his mind at rest.
Rounding the final bend, he brought the car to a skidding halt. He was pulling his mobile from his pocket when the sight of a figure some halfway across the causeway stopped his heart.
‘Oh, dear God,’ he breathed. Once the water was this deep, it came in with terrifying speed. If he took the car, even though it was a four-wheel drive and fairly high, it was doubtful whether he’d be able to get it back.
But even as the thought went through his head he knew he had no choice. He’d never be able to reach her in time on foot.
It might not even be possible by car.
Every nerve in his body tense, he drove down the incline and onto the causeway, his speed causing a wake of water on either side, and headed for that distant figure.
Her darkened gaze fixed on the far shore, which appeared, if anything, to be getting further away, Jenny battled on. But she knew herself to be going slower and slower.
The water was now almost calf-deep, and it was like trying to wade through treacle. Her feet and legs were numb with cold, but even through the numbness each step was a small agony.
Though she felt dazed, incapable of coherent thought, a small part of her mind knew with dreadful clarity that she wasn’t going to make it.
Then, through the blood pounding in her ears, she heard what sounded like a car engine and someone shouting, calling her name.
Knowing she must be hallucinating, she ignored it and kept on as best she could.
There was a splashing noise, as though someone was running, a hand seized her arm and swung her round and strong arms swept her up.
A moment later she was bundled unceremoniously into the front seat of Michael’s four-wheel drive, water that had washed in over the sill when he’d opened the car door slopping round her feet.
His face pale and set, he slid behind the wheel, and without a word carefully and deftly turned the big car, and started back to the island, steering between the marker poles.
All his instincts screamed at him to hurry, but, knowing that if water got into the engine they would be finished, he engaged a low gear, and, keeping up the revs, crept forward through the rapidly rising water both as fast and as slowly as he dared.
It was touch and go, and when they reached the shore, hardly able to believe they’d made it to safety, he drove up the incline before stopping to fasten their seat belts.
Clenching her teeth to stop them chattering, Jenny managed hoarsely, ‘Thank you…I wouldn’t have made it if you hadn’t—’
Turning on her, he demanded with a kind of raging calm, ‘Have you no sense at all? What in heaven’s name made you do such an idiotic thing?’
Though he didn’t raise his voice, his white face and the grimness of his mouth told her that he was absolutely furious. ‘I—I’m sorry,’ she stammered.
‘And so you should be! Another minute or so and it would have been too late.’
Shrinking away, she bit her lip to hold back the weak tears that threatened. So she’d been stupid. But she was damned if she’d let him see her cry.
Without another word, he started the car, and they drove on in silence.
Shock had set in, adding to the cold and fatigue, and he could feel her shaking uncontrollably. A quick sideways glance showed him her eyes were closed and her face was ashen.
Seeing the unmistakable traces of tears on her cheeks, he berated himself for being such a brute to her. But he’d been so terribly afraid that he was going to lose her after all, and when he’d known for certain that she was safe all his previous fear had metamorphosed into anger.
By the time they reached Slinterwood, Jenny was barely conscious and only vaguely aware of being helped from the car and carried into the house and up the stairs.
He brought her night things from her room, and as gently as he could, stripped off her clothes, dried her wet feet and legs, helped her into her nightdress, and tucked her up in his bed.
Almost before her head touched the pillow, she was fast asleep.
As he stood looking down at her small face, with its black fans of lashes and pale lips, he thanked God that she was safe.
Now he’d found her again, it would have finished him to lose her.
Jenny awoke with a start and sat bolt upright with a little cry, her heart throwing itself against her ribcage like a crazy thing.
It took a second or two to realize she was safe in bed. Then, her panic subsiding, and reassured by the sight of the familiar room, with its shaded lamps and blazing log fire, she leaned weakly back against the pillows while her heartbeat returned to normal.
Though her ankle throbbed dully, physically she felt almost as good as new, whereas mentally, recalling how Michael had lied to her to get what he wanted, she felt churned up and desolate.
But, having been brushed by the wings of death, she knew she owed him a big debt of gratitude, even if the future did look bleak and empty.
Recalling how quietly furious he’d been, she wondered if he was still mad with her.
Anticipating some degree of relief that she was safe, she had been totally floored by his unexpected anger.
Now, thinking about it, she suddenly recalled an incident she had witnessed some years ago, but that had stuck in her mind.
A mother, holding a little boy by the hand, had been waiting at a busy crossing when a fellow pedestrian had spoken to her. Temporarily distracted, she had relaxed her hold, and the boy, seeing a friend on the opposite pavement, had pulled free and run into the road. Brakes squealing, the car had managed to stop with just inches to spare.
As the boy had begun to howl with fright, the mother had dragged him to safety. But instead of hu
gging and kissing him, as Jenny had expected, she had shouted at him and shaken him angrily, before bursting into tears of relief.
But surely that reaction would only happen if you loved the person involved, and Michael didn’t love her, she thought bleakly. He loved Claire.
At that instant the door opened and Michael himself came in, carrying a large tray.
He was dressed in stone-coloured trousers and a fine polo-necked sweater in a dark green that picked up the colour of his eyes.
Her heart turned over at the sight of him, and she caught her underlip in her teeth and bit hard to hide the surge of emotion.
‘So you’re awake—that’s good. I thought you should have some food inside you before settling down for the night.’
He both looked, and sounded, himself again.
Putting the tray on the table by the fire, he came over to the bed and, studying her closely, asked, ‘How are you feeling now?’
‘Fine, thank you,’ she answered.
‘Would you like to eat in bed or by the fire?’
Though she wasn’t hungry, she answered without hesitation, ‘By the fire.’
Then, deciding to take the bull by the horns, she added jerkily, ‘And then I’d like to sleep in my own room, in my own bed. Alone.’
‘Very well, if that’s what you still want to do once we’ve had a chance to talk.’
What could he possibly say? she wondered dully. After Claire’s visit, he couldn’t very well deny he had lied about taking her back.
Turning down the bedclothes, he helped her out of bed and into her gown. Then, having carried her over to the fire, he settled her in one of the comfortable armchairs, and queried, ‘Warm enough?’
‘Oh, yes, thank you.’
Putting a napkin over her knee, he filled a plate with lamb casserole and handed it to her, before taking a seat opposite and serving himself.
The casserole, which proved to be good and tasty, was followed by fresh fruit and cheese.
In spite of her inward misery, once she had forced down the first mouthful she managed to eat a reasonable meal.
Though the air was thick with unspoken questions and recriminations, they finished eating without a word being spoken.
Only when they reached the coffee stage did Michael break the silence to ask a question he was sure he already knew the answer to. ‘So why did you run away?’
‘You know perfectly well!’ she cried. ‘You deceived me, told me a pack of lies, just to get me into bed again!’
‘I did no such thing,’ he said flatly. ‘When I told you that Claire and I were finished—’
‘You were lying!’ she choked.
‘I was not lying,’ he denied quietly.
‘But she told me that you and she were getting married again.’
‘That was what she was hoping, but it was far from the truth.’
‘Oh,’ Jenny said in a small voice.
‘When I told you the relationship was over, I meant every word. I had absolutely no intention of taking her back. As a matter of fact until I saw you again at Jenkins’s retirement party I had no intention of ever remarrying.’
Jenny caught her breath, wondering if he could possibly mean what she thought he meant.
But, his voice level, he was going on, ‘And Claire didn’t really want me back. All she wanted was a secure meal ticket, and she saw me as a slightly better bet than the next candidate she has lined up.’
‘The next candidate?’
‘An old roué with five failed marriages behind him, a penchant for young, beautiful women, and unlimited millions to buy himself what he wants.’
‘And you’re not upset about it?’
‘I might be if Claire was some innocent ingénue. But she isn’t. Claire knows quite well what she’s doing, and presumably she thinks it’ll be worth it.’
Cynically, he added, ‘So long as he keeps the cash supply flowing, and gives her plenty of freedom, it will probably work quite well until she becomes a rich widow.’
Still hardly able to believe it, Jenny persisted, ‘You’re not sorry it’s finally over?’
He shook his head. ‘Anything but. I’ve always believed that marriage vows should be meant and kept, and that children should be born into a home that was loving and stable. It would never have been that way with Claire.’
Jenny sighed. ‘It’s just that the ending of a relationship can be sad.’
‘Personally I regard this as a happy ending.’ He took her hand. ‘Or, rather, the beginning of a new relationship. One that I hope and believe is destined to go on and last a lifetime and beyond.’
‘You don’t mean…’ She stopped, afraid to put it into words.
‘That’s exactly what I mean!’
He lifted her hand to his lips and dropped a kiss in the palm, before going on, ‘How could you think for one instant that after all we’ve shared I would take Claire back? It must have been obvious that I wanted you, needed you, so much that I couldn’t think straight.
‘It’s been like that since the first moment I set eyes on you. All those years ago, when I saw you standing in the castle courtyard, you seemed achingly familiar, as if I’d always known you, as if I’d been waiting all my life for you.
‘Then as I watched your car drive away that first time I felt empty, desolate, as though I was losing something that was infinitely precious. For months you haunted me. I saw your face in my dreams, and wakened with it still in my mind’s eye. I found myself looking for you everywhere I went, in London’s bustling shops and stores, on the busy pavements, in passing cars, the reflections in shop windows, and in the quiet park.
‘For perhaps the first time I fully understood the meaning of the word desideratum—something desired as necessary. When I failed to find you, I felt an emptiness, a need, that took a long time to lessen. Seeing you again and getting to know you brought all those emotions back in force, and I feel more strongly than ever that we belong together.
‘How do you feel?’
As those forest-green eyes looked into hers she said softly, ‘The same.’
‘That’s good, because there’s nothing we can do about it. It’s destiny. You do believe in destiny?’
‘Yes. I felt as if I was destined to come to the island, to the castle, and Slinterwood, as if I belonged here.’
‘I’m quite certain you do. And I’m equally certain that it’s our destiny to complete the love story our great-grandparents began. Though they weren’t fated to be happy together, we’ll make up for it.’
Lifting her, he settled her on his lap, and for a long time, his cheek against her hair, they sat in contented silence.
Eventually, when the fire began to die low, he said, ‘Time for bed, don’t you think?’
At her nod, he asked wickedly, ‘Do you still want to sleep in your own bed, in your own room? Alone?’
‘That depends.’
‘On what?’
‘On what inducements you can offer.’
‘Well, let me see…I could…’ Putting his lips close to her ear, he whispered erotic suggestions that made her toes curl and heat run through her.
Feigning indifference, she said, ‘I suppose that could be worth staying for.’
‘I’ll make sure it is,’ he promised.
Having set her carefully on her feet, and stripped off her night things and his own clothes, he carried her back to bed and got in beside her.
While his lips traced the pure line of her jaw and his hands started to caress her, she asked, ‘Is your middle name really James?’
Stopped in his tracks by the unexpected question, he promised, ‘You’ll find out when we get married.’
‘Are we getting married?’
‘We’re not only getting married, but in our very own chapel.’
‘How wonderful…’ Then dreamily, ‘How many children would you like?’
Against her throat, he said, ‘To begin with, I want you all to myself for a while, then perhaps we could start
with a little girl just like you.’
‘I was thinking of a couple of boys first…But perhaps it wouldn’t be a bad idea for them to have an older sister. Then—’
A finger to her lips, he said, ‘Whoa there!’
‘You don’t want a big family?’
‘I’d love a big family.’
‘That’s good, because I—’
Stopping her lips once more, he said severely, ‘But it may never happen if you don’t stop talking and let me get some practice in.’
As she started to laugh, his heart swelling with love, he kissed her.
For a time the only sounds in the room were the rustle of logs settling in the grate and her little gasps and moans as, with hands and lips and tongue, he followed through with his whispered suggestions.
Both were conducive to practice.
ISBN: 978-1-4268-4182-8
Copyright © 2009 Harlequin Books S.A.
The publisher acknowledges the copyright holders of the individual works as follows:
The Venetian’s Midnight Mistress
Copyright © 2009 by Carole Mortimer
Kept for Her Baby
Copyright © 2009 by Kate Walker
Proud Revenge, Passionate Wedlock
Copyright © 2009 by Janette Kenny
Captive in the Millionaire’s Castle
Copyright © 2009 by Lee Wilkinson
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher, Harlequin Enterprises Limited, 225 Duncan Mill Road, Don Mills, Ontario, Canada M3B 3K9.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
This edition published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
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