Jonathan rose, walked over to the fireplace, and stood looking at his Sisley. That smug smile played around his mouth; he was not really seeing the painting, though, only Angharad Hughes. In his mind’s eye. So they didn’t like her, eh? None of them, or so it seemed. Perhaps she was the genuine thing after all. Just a hot little girl on the make, looking for a rich older man to be her sugar daddy. Well, why not? He wouldn’t object to that.
He experienced a little rush of excitement. He couldn’t wait for her to arrive now. He wanted to study her once again, question her, get her views of the Hughes family and the Hartes. It might be very telling, and certainly interesting. His best champagne would loosen her tongue no doubt. But then again, she sounded like a girl after his own heart; she might even be very useful to him, especially if he asked the right questions. That was always the key, wasn’t it? Asking the right questions. That way you usually got the right answers.
When, an hour later, Angharad Hughes walked into the library, Jonathan was pleasantly surprised. On the few occasions he had seen her, she had been badly dressed. But tonight she looked quite stylish in a black wool dress, very high-heeled black shoes worn with lacy black stockings. The stockings were all wrong, and the dress was cut far too low, but what an improvement. She had made an effort for him, or so it appeared.
He rose from the chair, moved across the floor to greet her as Gaston showed her in and then swiftly departed.
“Hi!” she said as they met in the middle of the room.
“It’s nice to see you again,” he replied in a neutral voice, stretching out his hand.
She took it in hers, shook it, and then moved closer, stood on tiptoe, and kissed him on the cheek. “That’s what I feel like doing!” she exclaimed, eyeing him flirtatiously. “I expect you think I’m forward, don’t you?”
“Not really,” he said, allowing a smile to surface. “A little bold perhaps, but certainly a girl who knows what she wants.” Drawing her toward the fireplace, he went on, “I hope you like champagne, or do you want something else?”
“I want a lot of things, but sure, the champagne is fine for now.” As she spoke, Angharad took a seat on the large, overstuffed sofa and patted the cushion next to her. “Why don’t you sit here?”
Preferring to keep his distance for the moment, Jonathan shook his head. “I’m going to sit opposite you … so I can look at you, my dear.”
“And do you like what you see, then?”
“I like the way you’re dressed this evening, Angharad. You look quite elegant.”
“I know that’s what you like, elegance, stylishness. I’m not too sure of myself with clothes. You’ll have to help me. You will, won’t you? Teach me, I mean?”
“About clothes?”
She gave him a long, appraising look, and said, “Yes, what did you think I meant?”
He was wondering how to reply, whether to lead her on or not, when the door opened to admit Gaston. The houseman placed the tray he was carrying on a table set up for that purpose, and, after popping the cork, he poured the Dom Pérignon into crystal champagne flutes, brought them over to the fireplace on a silver tray.
“Merci, Gaston,” Jonathan said. “I’ll ring when I need you.”
“Oui, monsieur.”
Once they were alone again, Jonathan stood up, went over to the sofa, and touched his glass to Angharad’s. “Happy days!” he said, immediately stepping back and sitting down in the chair again.
“And happy nights!” she said, winking at him.
It took all of his self-control to keep his face straight, and he remembered how he had thought her a little tease the day she had appeared unannounced at his house in Thirsk. She had displayed the same suggestive characteristics then, said similarly cheeky things. Well, she was only twenty-three. Was this the way the young behaved these days? He thought of Jasmine Wu-Jen and her superb elegance and sophistication, and shoved the thought to one side. He did not want to be burdened with those memories tonight.
Angharad said, “I told you in London, I was real disappointed you didn’t come to the wedding. I was looking all over for you. Why didn’t you come?”
“Unfortunately, I had an emergency in London.” He frowned. “I thought I told you that on Monday, when you came for drinks.”
“You didn’t say emergency, you said you had a pressing appointment. Was it with a woman?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I know. But was it?”
He shook his head, slightly annoyed, and then found himself saying, much to his surprise, “No, it wasn’t, it was business.”
“That’s great,” she answered, crossing her legs, smiling at him, then taking a sip of the champagne. She eyed him over the glass, slightly parting her lips as they lingered on the rim. “If you’d been at the wedding, I was going to get you into a quiet place, just so I could … you know, get close to you … maybe even smooched with you. Would you have … kissed me back?”
Startled by the question, he lifted his glass, took a sip from it, settled in the chair, regarding her thoughtfully. She had the most extraordinary legs, long and shapely, and the tight-fitting dress revealed voluptuous breasts and a beautiful figure. She moved suddenly, pushed herself deeper into the cushions on the sofa, and immediately her skirt rode up; he caught his breath as he realized she was not wearing underwear, at least not much.
Jonathan stood, walked over to the table and poured himself another glass of champagne, returned to his chair, asking as he did, “Was it a nice wedding? Did you enjoy it?”
“No, I didn’t!” She said this sharply, sat up a bit straighter, smoothed her skirt.
Her expression had instantly changed, he noticed. Her face was tight, tense, and there was an unexpected hardness in her dark brown eyes. “Because I wasn’t there, is that the reason?” he probed, wanting to lead her on, discover her true feelings.
“No, not really. I was disappointed you weren’t there, but I knew I’d see you in London. You said you’d have me over for drinks. I didn’t enjoy the wedding because … nobody cared about me. My parents were caught up in Evan. Elayne was being mean to me, and everyone else was cold and … uppity. Snobs, all of them.”
“So that’s what you think about my family, is it?” he asked, his eyes narrowing.
“You think it, too, don’t you?” she shot back swiftly.
He was silent, staring at her with growing interest.
She said, “I’ve heard whispers about you. I’ve heard that you’re the black sheep. Are you?”
A slow smile spread across his lean, handsome face, and his bluish gray eyes twinkled. “I’ve heard that rumor, too, Angharad, but it doesn’t do to listen to rumors, you know.”
She laughed, leaned back against the cushions once more, and he caught a glimpse of a red garter belt as her skirt rose; then he quickly glanced away.
“I hope you are the black sheep. I love black sheep,” she said.
“Do you now?” He put his glass down and leaned forward, his eyes riveted on hers. “And why is that?”
Laughing quietly, Angharad pushed herself up, stared back at him. Provocatively, her tongue came out, and she licked her lower lip, said very softly, “Because I’m the black sheep in my family. Well, they don’t call me that, but they’ve always said I’m … a bad girl.”
“And are you, my dear?”
“What do you think? Sure I am, and I love it, love being a bad girl up to her wicked games.”
“And what are those?” he demanded in a low, amused tone, a blondish brow lifting questioningly.
She patted the cushion. “Come on over, I’ll whisper in your ear. Better still, I’ll show you.”
Since he had decided to take her to bed tonight, Jonathan saw no reason why he shouldn’t start the proceedings a little earlier than planned, so he went to join her on the sofa.
Immediately, she took hold of his hand and brought his palm to her mouth, licking it, then letting it go. Gazing up at him, she lea
ned closer and whispered, “On Monday night you asked me what I want from you. I never said. Shall I tell you now?”
He nodded, intrigued. He also realized she had enormous sexuality; it seemed to him that sex emanated from her, and when she said nothing, he pressed, “So tell me, what do you want from me?”
There was a little silence; finally she said, “Everything. That’s what I want. You. All of you. And you can have all of me. I’ll even give up the other men for you.”
His bright, intelligent eyes, now brimming with shrewdness and calculation, roamed over her, and he said softly, “Would you give up everybody for me?”
She gaped at him, not understanding. “I have nobody else to give up, only my boyfriends. Who do you mean?” Unexpectedly, the answer came to her at once, and she cried, “Them. Do you mean them? My father and mother, my sisters?”
He nodded, his eyes not leaving her face.
She began to laugh before shaking her head and explaining, “They don’t mean anything to me. They gave me up a long time ago. Besides, they’ve only ever been interested in Evan. She’s the biological child. I’m the adoptee.”
“Adoptee. That’s a strange way to describe yourself, Angharad.”
“That’s Linnet’s name for me, for us. She calls me and Elayne the adoptees. I heard her say it.”
“That’s not nice, but rather typical of the Hartes, I must admit. And how do you feel, Angharad?”
“I couldn’t care less.”
“What I meant was, do you feel like an adoptee?”
“I’ve always felt like an adopted girl. It doesn’t matter, though. I’m my own woman, I have been for as long as I can remember. I said to hell with them a long time ago.”
“I understand …” His voice trailed off. She was gazing at him with such intensity, and there was such a look of yearning on her face, he was quite startled. For a moment she was utterly vulnerable.
Angharad said in a low voice, “In the village shop … I wanted to grab hold of you and kiss you. Did you feel like that?”
“I was certainly attracted to you. Didn’t you notice that I flirted with you a little?” He smiled faintly, remembering.
“I did.” Leaning against him, she kissed him on the mouth.
He was taken by surprise but found himself kissing her back, not resisting as her tongue slipped into his mouth and her hand slid onto his crotch. Although she was exciting him, he took hold of her hand, lifted it off, and then drew away from her. “Let’s not rush this,” he murmured.
Without saying a word, Angharad swung her legs across his lap, took hold of his hand, and lifted her skirt. “Feel how much I want you,” she whispered.
21
The child carried the small bouquet of flowers in one hand and held on to her father’s hand with the other. Together they walked down the corridor which led to Molly Caldwell’s room at Leeds Infirmary.
“Is Grandma going to come home with us, Daddy?” Atlanta asked anxiously, looking up at Dusty. “Is her leg better?”
“I think it is, yes,” he responded in a low voice, smiling, wanting to be reassuring. “Still, she might need a bit more rest, sweetheart.”
The little girl nodded her head, made no comment, and a moment later they were standing outside Molly’s room. Bending down, Dusty explained, “We can’t stay long, you know, we mustn’t tire Grandma. But guess what. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“A surprise? What is it?” she asked excitedly.
“If I tell you now, it won’t be a surprise,” he teased.
“Please, Daddy,” Atlanta beseeched, her blue eyes looking soulful in her heart-shaped face.
“I’ll tell you half of it now, okay?”
She smiled at him beguilingly and nodded.
“India’s coming to lunch with us after we’ve visited with Grandma.”
A huge smile illuminated her face, and she squeezed his hand. “I’m glad Indi’s coming with us! What’s the rest of the surprise?”
“Oh, no, Miss Nosey Parker, you’ll have to wait for that,” he declared and knocked on the door lightly, turned the knob, and walked in, saying quietly, “Here we are, Molly.”
Molly Caldwell lit up at the sight of Dusty and her granddaughter in the doorway. “Come in, come in,” she exclaimed, her weary face a picture of sudden happiness, her eyes shining.
Letting go of her father’s hand, Atlanta half ran, half skipped across the room, and when she got to the bed she thrust the flowers at Molly. “These are for you, Grandma.”
“Aren’t you a little love,” Molly said, her eyes settling on Atlanta’s face as she searched for signs of change. She found nothing untoward. Atlanta looked perfectly beautiful, her cheeks pink and healthy, her blue eyes as bright as bluebells, and her hair a shining mop of dark curls.
“You’re such a pretty girl, darling. My pretty girl.” Leaning forward, she kissed Atlanta’s cheek and brought the child closer so that she could embrace her, then said, “We’d best put the flowers in water, don’t you think?”
“Good idea,” Dusty agreed, closing the door and walking over to the bed. “Perhaps I should give them to one of the nurses?”
“Yes, you should.”
Dusty bent and kissed Molly on the cheek, his eyes quickly scanning her face as he tried to ascertain how she was. “How do you feel?” he asked.
“Much, much better indeed. They’ve been wonderful to me here, I’ll be on my feet in no time.” Leaning back against the pillows, she continued, “Would you take the flowers now, please, Dusty, so that they can be put in water? And thank you for bringing them, they’re beautiful.”
He simply smiled at her, saying nothing, took the flowers from her and went in search of a nurse and a vase.
Atlanta moved nearer to her grandmother and took hold of her hand, which rested on top of the sheet. “I’m glad your leg’s better. Did it hurt, Grandma?” she asked, her head to one side, a questioning look on her face.
Molly shook her head. “Not really, darling, just a little bit.”
Atlanta continued to gaze at Molly, her eyes solemn, her voice serious when she said, “You didn’t cry when you fell down … you were brave.”
“Mmmm” was all Molly could say. She was suddenly choked up with emotion. She loved her granddaughter more than anything in this world, wished she could live to see her grow to womanhood. But she knew that was not to be. Swallowing and blinking back the incipient tears, Molly said, “And have you enjoyed staying at Willows Hall with Daddy?”
“Oh, yes, Valetta’s nice, and so is Paddy, and Angelina. But I miss you, Grandma. Come home.” As she spoke, her voice quavered slightly and her eyes grew large in her delicate face.
“I will, as soon as I can, but in the meantime I think it’s nice for you to visit with your father.” Molly tightened her grip on the child’s hand and gently pulled her forward so that their faces were almost cheek to cheek.
Against Atlanta’s hair, she said softly, “I want to tell you something about your father, Atlanta. He’s such a good man, kind and gentle, but also very strong and dependable and trustworthy.” Molly paused, leaned away, and studied her granddaughter. “Oh, I do hope you understand what I’m saying, lovey,” she murmured. “But you’re so young.” Bringing a smile to her face, Molly added in a stronger voice, “Your father loves you very much, wants only the best for you. Remember that. Always listen to him and do what he says.”
Atlanta blinked, drew even closer to her grandmother, kissed her cheek. Her voice was a whisper when she said, “I love my daddy.” Looking suddenly sad, the child touched Molly’s cheek. Molly caught her hand, kissed it, wondering what would happen when she was gone. But Dusty wouldn’t let her down; she had confidence in him. He would withstand all pressure from Melinda, she was certain of that.
Atlanta asked, “Can you come and live at Willows Hall, Grandma? And Gladys? Can she come, too?”
“Perhaps. It would be lovely, all of us together, wouldn’t it?”
At
lanta nodded, her face lighting up. “And Indi, too. She’s nice, Grandma! We’re having lunch, do you want to come?”
“I’d love to, but I just told you, I have to stay in hospital for a while. When I come home, we’ll have that lunch, a special lunch, just the three of us. You and India and me.”
“I wish you could come home now,” Atlanta persisted, her face as solemn as her voice was plaintive.
The door suddenly opened, interrupting them. Dusty was standing there, a big smile on his face. “I found the other half of your surprise, Bean Shoot,” he exclaimed, and he stepped aside to reveal Gladys, who was hovering immediately behind him. “Look who’s here!”
“Gladys!” Atlanta cried and ran to hug her friend. Gladys hugged her back. Then, releasing Atlanta after planting a big kiss on her cheek, she went over to Molly.
“Hello, Gladys dear, thanks for coming.”
“It’s good to see you looking so much better,” Gladys answered, meaning every word. Molly had improved in the last few days. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t come yesterday, but I was seeing Gertrude off. To Canada.”
“Oh, she’s gone, has she?”
“Yes. She’s fully recovered, and we’ve mended all of our fences.”
Molly murmured, “Doesn’t do for sisters to quarrel. I’m glad all is right again.”
“Right as rain.”
“It was India’s idea actually,” Dusty said, pulling a chair up to the bed and sitting down in it. “She thought that you and I would have a few minutes alone to chat if I sent Gladys with Atlanta to pick her up at the store.”
“That was clever, and I am glad to have you to myself for a few minutes,” Molly replied, leaning back against the pillows. “I’m so happy you brought Atlanta, Dusty. I’ve been longing to see her.” She gave him the benefit of a warm smile and added, “And she’s doing so well with you, but then she always has. She’s happy to be with you, and she loves India, from what she says.”
“You haven’t said if you’re coming to the wedding, Molly. It would please us both so much if you would. I’ll arrange everything for you, make it as easy as possible … the travel, all that.”
Just Rewards (Harte Family Saga) Page 23