Melting Ice (Roundwell Farm Trilogy)

by Rosalie Ash

  He knew.

  Yet, logically, she felt that she had absolutely no cause to feel guilt. This timely reminder fortified her failing nerves slightly. She sat up straighter, prepared for battle.

  Matt was gazing at her intently, the silver-grey of his eyes unnervingly penetrating, his anger evident in every line of his body.

  'I realise I was on the other side of the Atlantic,' he began, his voice harsher, 'But Jessica and Andrew had my telephone number. And my office here could have contacted me.'

  She kept her eyes fixed on the carpet in front of the fireplace, and Sansom suddenly padded into view, lying down at her feet like a dog waiting to be patted. She didn't move. She couldn't.

  'Why didn't you tell me about the baby, Victoria?'

  Chapter Eleven

  She closed her eyes, and her breath left her in a shuddering sigh.

  Matt said coldly, 'Have you any idea how I felt coming back to London and finding out I was the father of a seventeen-month-old baby? '

  She shivered suddenly, then couldn’t stop herself from shaking.

  'Are you all right?' Matt’s voice had an edge of concern.

  ‘I’m just… a bit cold. That’s all…’

  After staring at her for a few seconds Matt turned abruptly, lit the gas log fire so that cheerful flames leaped up in the hearth. He then went to a cabinet, came back to her with a small shot glass in his hand. He gave it to her without smiling.

  'Drink it. You've gone white.'

  Still trembling all over, she took the glass and sipped, then coughed. 'Brandy? In your house?' she managed to taunt faintly. 'For medicinal purposes, of course.'

  'Not necessarily,' he said, taking the glass as she handed it back and putting it on the mantelpiece. There was a loaded pause, then Matt said again,

  'Why didn't you tell me about the baby, Victoria?'

  'Because you didn't need to know.' She stood up to reduce the towering gap between them and found herself uncomfortably close to Matt's broad, hard chest.

  'Didn’t need to know? What kind of warped, twisted logic is that, Victoria? Forty-eight hours, two years ago, didn't provide a lot of scope for getting to know you very well, I'll admit,' Matt’s ice-grey eyes glittered coldly. 'But I must confess, from the brief insight you gave me, I'd at least have expected you to contact me when you found out you were pregnant.'

  Heat flooded her face.

  'Well, that just sums it up, doesn't it!' she snapped, finding words with great difficulty through her red haze of fury. 'That's just the sort of cynical arrogance I'd expect from a man like you! Don't even try to imagine you know anything about me, because you don't! You never will!'

  'I told you how you could get in touch with me,' His harsh face looked a shade paler under his dusky tan, the tightening of his mouth revealing his anger. 'And you knew quite well I'd want to be told. If this was all some adolescent revenge because I didn't declare undying love for you, then you're even more irresponsible than I originally thought.'

  Victoria felt her breath leave her in a gasp of shock. She would hardly believe she was hearing Matt speak to her like this. All these months, since that fateful weekend, waiting, hoping, aching for some word from him, then finally realising she had meant so little to him she wasn't even worth a short note of explanation about his disappearance. The man was a sadist, she decided. A sadist of consummate skill. And he now had the arrogance to accuse her of seeking irresponsible revenge. This was worse, far worse than she had imagined it could be.

  Conscious of a need to put more space between them, she moved away cautiously until the sofa formed a safety barrier. Then, with a monumental effort to calm herself, she forced a slightly mocking smile.

  'You know, Matt, you surprise me. You seem to assume because you took my virginity, gave me my first experience of 'having sex' as you so thoughtfully described it, that you must be the father of my baby! I don't know what Jessica's said, but it needn't necessarily follow, you know.'

  'Don't play games, Victoria,' Matt interrupted, looking unimpressed by her attempts at a smokescreen, 'A baby boy weighing seven pounds, six ounces was born to Miss Victoria Francis on June the eighteenth last year, at the Warneford Hospital, Leamington Spa. You don't need a degree in pure maths to reach the correct conclusion.'

  She shrugged, holding herself stiffly erect.

  'All right. So Archie is your child. But it makes no difference. You didn't want me when we went to bed together that weekend. You made that brutally clear. You made it clear at the time, and you've made it even clearer since by not bothering to find out if I was alive or dead for two years. I declined your generous invitation to let you know if something ‘went wrong’ as you put it! Nothing went wrong, I just found I was having a baby, my baby, and I decided that my pregnancy was my business.’

  ‘Is that why you lied to Jessica?’

  ‘What?’ Dry-throated, she stared at him. She sensed the cold fury he was suppressing, and shivered a little.

  ‘Jessica gave me a whole load of abuse about my failure to do my duty and face up to my responsibilities. She thought I knew. Apparently you told her that I knew you were pregnant and that I didn’t want anything to do with the baby.’

  Pushing a shaky hand through her hair, she swallowed hard.

  ‘She kept on at me to tell you. If I hadn’t lied to her, she would have contacted you herself, and I dreaded that. I didn’t want you to know! You weren’t interested in me, so why should you be interested in my baby! Archie and I are doing fine on our own, thank you very much. Just go back to New York, Matt.’

  'I've no desire to return to New York,' Matt said. There was a muscle working in his jaw. He raked his fingers through his hair again, pulled at the open collar of his polo shirt. 'I intend to stay in the UK for the foreseeable future, to make the acquaintance of my infant son.' The words were calm, but ominously determined.

  'No! If you think you can just turn up after all this time and interfere in my life, because you've discovered you've accidentally fathered a baby, forget it! You must think I've got no feelings at all!’

  'I could say the same about you,' he said, ‘How the hell could you imagine I wouldn’t want to know that I have a child? I wish to make my existence known to our son. I think in the circumstances we should put the child's feelings before our own, don't you? We both knew the possible outcome of what happened between us two years ago.'

  She was aware on some buried level that she was being irrational. That it was just as much her fault as Matt’s that they’d accidentally made a baby. That her anger and resentment and urge to lash out was all jumbled up with guilt that her baby son had no father in his life. But that knowledge didn’t translate itself into the words that tumbled out.

  'For your information, I am putting the child's feelings first! What happened between us was a brief, meaningless episode, just one night, Matt! And no child of mine is getting caught in the cross-fire between two people who never cared for each other, and who actually dislike each other!'

  'You’re talking nonsense,' Matt cut in softly, menacingly. 'And who says we never cared for each other? I seem to recall some quite passionate declarations of your feelings for me. Are you telling me that was all lies too?'

  She could feel the colour draining from her face. His cruelty was almost too much to take.

  'I was infatuated with you,' she whispered, 'That means 'temporarily deprived of common sense'—I looked it up in the dictionary. I was only eighteen. My common sense was restored a long time ago.’

  ‘Really? Because you’re now the very mature age of nearly twenty-one?’

  ‘I’ve had a crash course in reality over the last two years. I’ve come to see that romantic love doesn’t exist. I don’t even know what I was thinking, telling you I’d fallen in love with you! Because I can honestly say now that you leave me cold!'

  A cynical challenge seemed to flare in his eyes, and before she could react he had moved towards her without warning, with the familiar, cat-
like speed, catching hold of her upper arm and pulling her hard against him. The pent-up emotions in his fierce embrace made her catch her breath, and she had to exert all her self-control to wipe out the flood of heat through her body as his sliding fingers warmed her through the soft fabric of her jacket, moulding the outlines of the lacy underwear Jessica had cajoled her into buying and wearing. She froze, hardly breathing, furious with her own physical weakness. She hated him. How could she feel her senses begin to respond to his touch?

  With a rough jerk he brought her hips against his, moulding her to his body, sending stabs of pure panic shooting through her. She had to dredge up all her heartbreak, all the lonely anxiety of the last months, to contract her rising desire into a core of lifeless, bloodless numbness inside her.

  Matt's stroked the exposed nape of her neck, then tilted her chin up so that he could kiss her lips, his mouth light, restrained, even though she sensed his urgent need to crush her and force her lips apart. Still she didn't move. Could hardly breathe.

  He released her abruptly, his breathing not quite steady, his eyes narrowed.

  'Well, well,' he murmured. 'You certainly appear to have changed.'

  'Yes. I have.' To her fury her voice cracked, and she turned away to hide her face from his penetrating, all-seeing eyes. The pain of his rejection was still raw, as if it had been yesterday. 'That should meet with your approval, surely. I always had the feeling you disapproved of my adolescent eagerness for sex.' She laughed lightly, masking her turmoil as she turned back to face him. 'You'll be pleased to know that the novelty was extremely short-lived. I've absolutely no wish to repeat the process.'

  Matt was frowning at her as if he was trying to understand what she was telling him but couldn't.

  'Victoria, I know you’re still very young. But what are you trying to say?' he ground out incredulously. 'Are you seriously trying to tell me that at the grand old age of nearly twenty-one, I've put you off sex for life?' His cynical mockery was tinged with something else she didn't care to analyse.

  'Don't flatter yourself it was all down to you,' she countered lightly, already regretting the outburst. 'But just don't waste your time if you were hoping for a quick fuck for old time’s sake.'

  'Christ, I can’t believe you’re a mother, you still overreact like a child! Victoria…’ He broke off as the noisy rumble of a taxi's diesel engine shattered the peace of the square as it stopped outside.

  She took advantage of the diversion to retrieve her bag from the sofa, and marched into the hall. Jessica stood at the door, as she opened it. She stood wordlessly aside to let her sister in.

  Jessica struggled in with the shiny designer carriers, dropping them on the hall floor. She glanced from Victoria's tense face to Matt's beyond, and her expression was wary.

  'Have you talked things over?' she said.

  'We’ve talked. There’s nothing more to talk about,' said Victoria, her fury and indignation battling for supremacy. Tears were threatening. Horrified, she pushed past Jessica into the dazzling sunlight, and half ran towards the waiting taxi.

  'Wait!' Matt's voice was peremptory, and he moved with lightning speed to block her way. When she veered to pass him he grasped her arms, holding her still with a casual, effortless strength.

  'I’ve still got plenty of talking to do,' he said flatly, the silver eyes enigmatic as he stared at her, 'And you’re not going anywhere until I’ve finished, Victoria.'

  Chapter Twelve

  Trapped in Matt's iron grip, Victoria gave a brief, furious struggle, then gave up. She was very conscious of the humiliating position she was in, with Jessica watching from the doorway, and the taxi driver observing the scene with undisguised enjoyment. She found the strength to tear her arm out of Matt's hand, and she glared at him mutinously, her chest heaving as her breathing gradually slowed.

  She considered her options. Either she made an undignified dash for the taxi, and risked further manhandling from Matt, or she strove for the composure to stay and talk and do all the sophisticated, civilised things people were supposed to do in situations like these. Already she was regretting her earlier emotional outbursts. She looked around her with a slight shrug, fighting down her temper. She had to see the funny side. It was hard to believe Matt Larson was actually trying to prevent her from leaving his house. That wasn't very sophisticated, was it? That thought comforted her. If she was wildly over-reacting, so was he.

  She made a decision, and delving in her bag she coolly paid off the taxi driver.

  She heard Jessica murmuring, 'Matt, about tonight. Do you think some other time would be…'

  'What about tonight?’ Victoria cut in, turning back to face them as the taxi drove off, ‘Is this another surprise for me? I'm rather tired of being treated like a half-witted child.'

  'Then stop behaving like one.’ Jessica said, unexpectedly sharply.

  Victoria felt heat rush to her face at the rebuke.

  'Come back inside,' said Matt quietly.

  'I'll go and make some tea,' Jessica announced determinedly, flinching only slightly at the steely hostility she met in her younger sister's fixed brown gaze.

  The silence hung heavily in the drawing-room. Matt sat opposite her, watching her speculatively as if he was trying to weigh her up, fingering his chin ruefully as if she had just delivered a hefty punch. Victoria eyed him warily.

  'Well? What about tonight? As far as I'm concerned I'm catching the next train back to Warwickshire. I've got work that needs doing and a baby to look after.'

  She was secretly relieved at her composure. The priority in her mind seemed to be to preserve her dignity. With Jessica clearly siding with Matt, and Matt in this relentless, determined mood, there didn't seem much point in throwing an hysterical scene.

  Besides, she might still be prone to rash impulses and hot temper, but she had come a long way since their first meeting. She was no longer that naive, vulnerable adolescent who had flung herself at him.

  She had grown up. Hadn’t she? Her sister’s blunt words just now had stung like a physical slap.

  'You have a reliable nanny, Jessica tells me.'

  'True. But I also have a lot of urgent work to catch up with.'

  'I'm sure you have.' Matt sounded unaccountably gentle, taking her by surprise. 'But I'm hoping you'll be my guest for dinner tonight. Afterwards I'll drive you back to Warwickshire.'

  She steadied her breathing. Every instinct was to say no. But she was beginning to see that the more she protested, the more emotion she showed, the more she would let Matt see her vulnerability. He would see just how deeply he had hurt her by his rejection of her feelings, and his lack of communication all these long months.

  Drawing a deep breath, she asked coolly,

  'Where are you proposing to have dinner?'

  He relaxed slightly. 'The chairman and directors of De Lember and Greysteils are holding a reception followed by dinner at the showrooms. You and Jessica are invited as my personal guests.'

  'Why?'

  'It's a preview of a sale starting tomorrow,' he went on, apparently deliberately misunderstanding her. 'The theme is mainly grand bourgeois—eighteenth-century French furniture and sculpture. But there's also something which might be of particular interest to you.'

  'To me?’

  'Well, possibly. Will you come, Victoria?' For a second, she was looking at a Matt she had never seen before, sincere, verging on eager. She blinked. Imagination played odd tricks.

  She shrugged, and nodded.

  'All right. It appears to be all arranged. I should hate to spoil Jessica's evening, in any case.' She spoke coolly, without smiling, and as if on cue Jessica entered with a tray of tea, and they sat and drank and chatted with forced politeness until it was time to get ready to go out for dinner.

  The reception at De Lembers was impressive. One of the rooms had been transformed into a replica of an eighteenth-century French drawing-room, providing a superb setting for a sumptuous array of mantel clocks, marquetry tab
les, bureaux and other selected exhibits. There were so many people there, it was difficult to inspect all the pieces. Everyone who came to speak to Matt appeared to be either an earl, a Vicomtesse or an ambassador. Victoria's head began to reel with names and introductions.

  Dinner was laid in another room, leading off the main sale-rooms. The decorations were lavish. A deep red and green tented ceiling had been designed, and there were red candles, red flowers on all the tables, even red glazed fruits arranged around the flowers.