Ruthless in All

by Jessica Steele

  'Maybe I don't have any power to disturb you—not that I want it. But I didn't notice you complaining when you woke up and found yourself with my arms around you!'

  'I wasn't in any condition to complain,' was the rapid retort, 'I was in shock.'

  Casting her mind back, Arden felt her anger dip as she saw that probably that was the case. From what she had seen, that nightmare that had brought him out in a cold sweat must not only have been shocking, but terrifying too.

  But the anger he had aroused was to come bolting to the surface again, when, cutting through any reaction in her that he had admitted to being in shock, he was then going on to give her a very different interpretation for his shock from the one she had latched on to.

  'It isn't every fee-charging residence I book into where the staff take it upon themselves to creep into my room gone midnight!' And while, rooted, she stood wide-eyed and staring, coolly he drawled, 'Tell me, Miss Kirkham, is it your usual custom to importune any male sleeping under this roof?' And taking no account that her jaw had dropped, and that she looked to be shaken rigid by what he had just said, a sneer coming to his voice, he said, 'You'll surely get this—establishment—a bad name if you continue to carry on in that way.'

  Shattered at the construction he was putting on her going in to do what she could to help him, Arden was near to exploding when, having delivered his speech, their guest just stood looking harshly down at her. She had not missed the derogatory way he had sneered the word 'establishment', and from being despicable, he was rapidly turning into the most hateful man she had ever met. Any sensitivity towards him as a human being who looked far from well was then as good as dead and buried.

  'For your information, Mr Stephens,' she snapped, 'the only reason I crept into your room last night was that you were shouting your head off when I passed!' This was no time to have a conscience over blatantly listening at his door before she had gone in. 'It was obvious to me that you were in deep distress,' she told him bitingly. 'It was common decency, no more, that had me…'

  His left eyebrow ascending, sarcastically, he cut her off, 'Decency!'

  'Yes, decency,' she tossed at him, refusing to be deterred. 'And, while we're on the subject,' she charged on, knowing that there had been nothing sexual in his asking her to stay, but not seeing why he should have it all his own way, 'it was you if you cast your mind back, who asked me to stay—I, if you care to remember, who refused.'

  Whether he was casting his mind back, she had no way of knowing, but if anything, the look he was surveying her with had hardened. But she wasn't giving him another chance to cut in, and it was her turn to be sneering as, up in arms, she raged on:

  'And as for my importuning guests here, let me tell you this, Mr Stephens: A man would have to have more charm than the likes of you before I would look twice at him!'

  'Does that include the Lothario who took you dancing last night?' he enquired, reminding her that she had been in her ball gown, as a new light suddenly entered his eyes. But it was a light she couldn't understand, and had no chance to try to understand, for it was soon hidden, and that cynical hard look was back there in his eyes.

  'That,' Arden answered, 'is none of your business. But I'll tell you this for nothing,' she went on tartly, not forgetting by any means the slighting way he had spoken of Hills View. 'It's no wonder at all to me that you've chosen to stay at this establishment. With you trying to make it with any of the female staff available, the best hotels wouldn't have you!'

  On that waspish note, her duster sticking out of her pocket—as far as she was concerned, his room could stay undusted—Arden picked up the carpet sweeper and was marching to the door.

  'Don't forget this,' was addressed to her back, causing her to turn.

  Flicking a glance to him, she saw he had caught up the stole she had been wearing last night. The stole which she had not seen nor thought of since she had parted company with it when he had pulled her on to his bed with him. A look of disdain about her, she went forward and snatched it from him.

  'And don't,' he threw after her as she opened the door, 'come creeping in here again in the early hours of tomorrow morning!'

  For the second time in under twelve hours, the sound of the door of the green room being crashed to reverberated through the whole house as, on departing, Arden gave vent to her feelings.

  CHAPTER THREE

  When Monday of the following week came around, Arden was feeling none the more friendly to the man who was now firmly fixed in her mind as 'that rattlesnake in the green room'.

  Not that she'd had anything more to do with him since New Year's Day when she had slammed from his room. Her aunt, with her customary smile, had agreed to attend to Mr Stephens' room when Arden had told her, she needed time to make pies and puddings to put in the deep-freeze.

  'Of course, dear,' Louise had answered her request, and thereafter she had reported daily how courteous she found Mr Stephens—making Arden at first wonder if they had two Mr Stephens in residence. But whatever else Louise Browning had to report, so far she had not said the words which Arden was longing to hear—that he was leaving.

  But leave he was going to, she thought, while her aunt was upstairs giving J. Stephens' room the once-over. For although Louise was making noises about delaying her departure for Matlock tomorrow, Arden was just not having that. Hills View was going to be closed down tomorrow and Mr J. Stephens, liking it or lumping it, was going, she was determined on that.

  Aware that she had spent more than enough time in thinking about him, which didn't surprise her, for never could she remember having anybody like him staying, Arden once again fell to wondering about that rattlesnake in the green room.

  Her fears that he was a criminal had subsided to some extent. Over the last few days she had been able to see that he never could have been that arsonist anyhow. For their Mr Stephens had arrived complete with a suitcase, and a man who had just broken out of police custody would not, she had realised, have had anything with him but the clothes he stood up in:

  Admitting that her imagination, once given its head, did sometimes put logic to one side, Arden was keeping the tightest rein on her imagination these days. She wouldn't forget in a hurry the way that lofty swine had let her know she had no power to disturb him sexually—not that she wanted that power—him with his 'Your imagination has a lot to answer for'!

  Though she was certain she was not imagining that she had seen him before somewhere. No amount of telling herself that he must be very like someone else she knew would convince her otherwise. Especially when the plain fact presented itself—there just couldn't be two like him!

  Louise Browning coming into the kitchen stopped Arden from wondering further about, in her view, their unwanted guest. But it did not stop her from putting the question she was voicing before her aunt had barely closed the door.

  'Did you ask him?'

  'The Col…' began Louise, looking faintly mystified.

  'Mr Stephens. Did you ask him when he was leaving?'

  'Oh—I forgot.' Her aunt smiled, and Arden's spirits sank. She wanted nothing more to do with that uncivil brute, but he had to be told, not asked—which was the politest way of putting it—that when they left tomorrow, it would be after him.

  'He'll have to know today,' she hinted, wanting nothing more than that Louise should go back upstairs. For apart from his early morning walks—before full light—J. Stephens Esquire never left his room.

  'Oh, I don't know, Arden,' Louise hedged. 'I don't mind putting off my visit to Matlock.' And, catching her niece's sharp look. 'You can go to Brynmoel, and I can go to Matlock when Mr Stephens has gone.'

  'No,' said Arden firmly, not having to think about it. it's an ideal opportunity for you to have a lift with Colonel Meredith. Besides which, you know the Brownings will never let you forget the trouble you've put them to if you contact them to say you won't be there tomorrow, but some time later.'

  'There is that,' murmured Louise, weakening rapid
ly.

  'And you know you'll feel much better when you've got your visit over with, rather than have it still hanging over your head like the sword of Damocles—as it has been since you agreed to their persuading,' Arden pressed.

  'There's that too,' said Louise, subsiding into the nearest chair with a sense of impending doom, but too caring for the memory of her late husband to want to give his family offence.

  'So Mr Stephens will have to be told today,' said Arden.

  'He—er—doesn't look as though he's spent a very good night'—Louise began to hedge again.

  'Was he rude to you?' Arden's hackles started to rise at the very idea, defeating a fleeting thought that he might have had another ghastly nightmare.

  'Oh no, he was as courteous as ever. But he's not very communicative, I've discovered, so I don't ask how he is, but just use my eyes.'

  Seeing that her aunt, a sucker for a sob story, even if the brute Stephens had not communicated one, was feeling an antipathy against telling their unwanted resident to go, Arden also saw that Louise had enough on her plate in having committed herself to spending a whole month in the company of her in-laws.

  'Come and have a cup of coffee,' she suggested, letting her think she had let the matter drop.

  But she had no intention of letting the matter drop. And if her aunt felt a reluctance to turn anyone out of her home, then Arden saw, loath though she was to face the man again, that that was exactly what she was going to have to do.

  Accordingly, after lunch, Aunt Louise having taken to carrying trays of food up to his room since he seemed disinclined to eat in the dining room, or eat at all unless his appetite was tempted, Arden told her that she would go and collect Mr Stephens' tray. 'It'll give you a little more time to do your packing,' she hinted.

  Determined then that whatever nasty remarks she had to put up with, she was going to give him his marching orders, she straightened her shoulders and went purposefully up to the next landing.

  He did not answer her knock. She had not expected him to. 'Ah, you're in, Mr Stephens,' she said pleasantly as she went in, her observant eyes catching confirmation of what a dreadful night he must have had—the grooves beneath his eyes were now deeply etched.

  She ignored the glowering expression he favoured her with, as with experienced fingers she piled the crockery neatly on the tray, noting that his appetite had not improved. Then, not picking up the tray, but just as if it was an afterthought, and of no more importance than the tray she had come to collect, she straightened up to face him.

  'You've been here almost a week now, Mr Stephens,' she said politely, not wondering why her insides were churning. From the look of it, all he wanted was peace and quiet; the sooner she left his room, the better he would like it. 'Might I ask you when you intend to leave?'

  Groaning inwardly that in her attempt to get her message across lightly, she had asked, not told him, Arden was left to suffer the scrutiny of his hard stare before, as if he considered her question an impertinence, he told her shortly, dismissively:

  'I haven't decided.'

  Her blood temperature rose a few degrees to have her face, her trim figure, coldly given the once-over; that lofty look of his said she was beneath his notice: Arden did her best not to get angry—though it was in a tight voice that she let him know that the decision was not his to make.

  'My aunt,' she said, 'Mrs Browning—is leaving tomorrow for a month's holiday.'

  'Then it will be just you, the Colonel, and me, won't it,' he replied, taking the wind from her at the speed with which he had cottoned on to the situation.

  'The Colonel is going away too,' she said, surfacing, and still determined to keep control of this situation.

  'Then it looks like being just you and me, doesn't it?' he came back. But at his easy acceptance of the situation, just as though he had forgotten he had ever spoken that insolent 'And don't come creeping in here…' Arden did not have a hope of keeping control.

  'No way,' she said snappily. Her memory was as good as ever it was, even if she still hadn't pegged where she had seen him before. She put it to him squarely. 'As a matter of fact, we're closing Hills View down for a month. Starting tomorrow,' she thought to add.

  'You're going away with your aunt?' he queried. Then, his look sharp, speculative, shortly he asked, 'Or is it the Colonel you're going away with?'

  Her mercury rose higher. 'The Colonel happens to be old enough to be my father!' rocketed from her before she could get control back.

  And she was made to suffer a sour look that told her, as clearly as if he had said it, that in his view, provided that the gent was loaded, age was no barrier where women were concerned.

  'Colonel Meredith,' her voice was like ice as, control won, she went on, 'is giving my aunt a lift up north.' Veritable sparks were flashing from her eyes to give the lie that she was anywhere near as cool as she was trying to be. 'I,' she added, 'am taking a holiday in Wales.'

  'Alone?' was the sardonic come-back.

  Arden did not quite know why she was bothering to argue with him, though she could not see why she shouldn't put him straight if she could get a dig in.

  'Quite alone,' she told him firmly. 'And so alone,' she added, her voice rising very slightly, 'that I can be sure that where I'm going, I shan't have the misfortune to come into contact with anyone as unbearable as I find you!'

  'Desert island?' he mocked, surprising her that in his mockery his expression should lighten and make him look less haggard.

  'Not quite,' she replied. 'But as good as, so I'm reliably informed.' And while he was chewing on that, in her very sweetest voice, ready to purr, Arden let fall, 'So you see, Mr Stephens, this room will have to be vacated.' And—a nice touch, she thought—quietly she added, 'I'll have your account made up and ready for when you leave in the morning.'

  It was most civilised, she mused as she made her way down to the kitchen where her aunt still hadn't gone to do her packing, to close the door of the green room in the refined way. in which she had quietly closed it behind her.

  'I thought you were going to pack,' she said to Louise.

  'And I thought you'd gone up for Mr Stephens' tray.'

  It was good to giggle again with her aunt, for all Louise would never know of the airy way she had sailed out of the green room without so much as a thought in her head about the tray she had gone to collect.

  But Arden was feeling very far from giggling two hours later, when as she was clearing leaves from the drains the thought came that she couldn't possibly leave that tray upstairs any longer.

  With the hope in her that perhaps their guest couldn't stand the sight of cold food congealing on its plates either, and that he had placed the tray on the floor outside his door, she went in through the outer door and into the kitchen, meaning only to wash her hands, then force her reluctant feet upstairs. But the sight of the tray she had neatly stacked reposing on the kitchen table brought a smile to her face, and told her that her lovely aunt had already been up for it.

  'You shouldn't have gone up for that, I could have done it,' she nevertheless felt obliged to protest as Louise made way for her at the kitchen sink.

  Louise, having followed her eyes, made a small coughing sound and to Arden's mind was looking decidedly guilty about something, as she confessed:

  'I—er—didn't go up for it, actually. That nice Mr Stephens brought it down.'

  Arden's nasal senses picked up the distinct aroma of a rodent. Apart from that bear in the green room suddenly becoming 'that nice Mr Stephens', a label she would never have appended to him; when her aunt had only ever been open with her, it seemed to her then that she was having difficulty in meeting her eyes.

  'Nice Mr Stephens?' she queried, meaning to get to the bottom of why her aunt had suddenly taken to straightening all the tea towels, when it had never bothered her if they hung at odd angles at any other time.

  'I never realised it before,' said Louise, 'but our Mr Stephens has a great deal of charm.'


  That word 'charm' something else she would never have associated with him. The fact that he was all at once 'our' Mr Stephens, had Arden's intelligence working overtime.

  'You didn't!' she exclaimed, fearing the worst. And as Louise grasshopped easily on to her wavelength, having known all along that she was going to have to confess, she nodded, as she said:

  'I'm afraid I did.' And, getting in quickly since her niece didn't look to be very pleased, 'But I told him he could only stay another week.'

  'Oh, Auntie!' cried Arden, though she couldn't really be cross with her. They didn't come any softer than Louise, and that was all part of the reason why she loved her. 'Never mind,' she said, seeing that Louise was looking brighter to have her confession out of the way. 'I can just as easily tell him he'll have to go.' She would too, she thought, angry with the swine that he had gone over her head and had sweet-talked her gullible aunt into telling him he could stay.

  'But you can't do that, dear!' protested Louise. Couldn't she? Arden felt ready for him. But she was then shaken again to hear her aunt add, 'Mr Stephens has paid cash in advance—I've given him a receipt for his money.'

  'Well, he can just jolly well have his money back,' said Arden, not beaten yet.

  'Oh, we can't do that!' Slightly startled, she looked at her aunt to see that, for this rare occasion, she looked to be digging in her heels. 'I promised him,' she added firmly.

  'He made you promise!' cried Arden, appalled.

  For herself she would have no compunction about breaking a promise extracted by use of a welter of charm, though he hadn't wasted any of his well hidden charm on her, had he! But knowing her aunt, well knowing that she would never break any promise given, all she had left was the very weak argument: