Ruthless in All

by Jessica Steele

  For there was no sign of the surly brute she had dubbed him. And her eyes widened when, as he turned from the stove, she was to see a line of perfect white teeth which stopped her dead. Blane Hunter was smiling! He was actually offering her the first smile she had seen since she had known him!

  'Breakfast won't be long,' he remarked easily, pulling out a much-needed chair by the table for her to sit on. 'Let me wait on you for a change,' he said, with such a wealth of charm that gladly Arden sank down on to the seat.

  Her aunt had mentioned his charm, she recalled, doing her best to come to terms with the unexpectedness of it.

  Though Louise had never mentioned the way one's heart started to play a game all of its own when receiving the full battery load of his smile. Probably because he had not smiled at her aunt, she thought, before she was on to realising that, staggered to find that he did have the charm Louise had remarked on, he had successfully had her forgetting about the civilised discussion she meant to have with him.

  'Mr Hunter,' she said, disturbed to find her voice a touch husky as she determined to get down to that discussion straight away.

  'Blane,' he invited. And, his mouth quirking pleasantly, 'Let me pour you some coffee, Arden, while you're waiting for your breakfast to arrive.'

  Stupefied, as, without more ado, he poured coffee into the cup to the right of her place setting, Arden stared, unable to get over this transformation from the man he had been. Hastily she lowered her eyes so he should not see how astounded she was.

  But fingering her coffee cup as he returned to his self-imposed task by the stove, she was then having to stir her brain cogs into action.

  Was this how he always was after a good night's sleep? she had to ask herself. Was the deep natural sleep she had sat and watched him drift into responsible for the amazing change in him? That he had been in severe shock and needed more than one good night's sleep was without question, but…

  Suddenly Arden was remembering how he had been when she had shaken him awake. There had been no charm about Blane Hunter then, she recalled without effort. He had been mocking, sarcastic and with a fine logical arrogance about him. So why, she was having to ask, the sudden charm?

  A plate of superbly cooked bacon and eggs was placed before her just as she was about to make her breakthrough. As he took the chair opposite her, Arden's breakthrough came just as he was offering her the cruet with what she had only just seen was phoney charm. And she had fallen for it! Or almost.

  Ignoring the cruet, Arden slipped her hand into the back pocket of her jeans. 'Yours,' she said, and left him to unfold it as he set the cruet down and took the cheque from her.

  'You're trying to tell me something, Arden,' he said evenly, still traces of a smile about him.

  Trying to pretend that her heart was not behaving in the most peculiar fashion, she favoured him with a long level look of her own.

  'You know what I'm telling you, Mr H…'

  'Blane,' he inserted, but only trying to put her off her stroke, she was sure.

  'You know quite well what I'm telling you—Blane,' she set off again. 'Just as you've known from the moment I left your room this morning.'

  That his expression had gone serious, though not stern and severe as it had been yesterday, had her going on when he did not open his mouth to acknowledge that he did know exactly what she was talking about.

  'You knew I'd made up my mind to leave—that's the reason for piling on the charm. The reason for this total change in you, isn't it?' she challenged.

  'Because you think I want you to go away with a good impression of me?' he asked, one eyebrow ascending in enquiry of why did she think he would, in any way, want her good opinion of him.

  'That's not what I meant at all,' she denied quickly, getting confused that he had turned her challenge up on to its head.

  'I'm sorry,' he apologised, the corners of his mouth going up ever so slightly causing her to notice that the scar on the side of his face was healing nicely, 'I'm not quite with you, Arden.'

  'You're saying that—all this—you making my breakfast, you acting for a change unlike your usual sick bull with a giant hangover, has nothing to do with your guessing that I intend to leave? You're saying that you didn't make up your mind to show me that the next month isn't going to be the hell on earth I expected it to be?'

  With charm such as she had never expected to witness, Blane Hunter sent her the most regretful smile as he gave in, and confessed.

  'You've rumbled me!' So it was all phoney, she thought, with a pang of unexpected disappointment, before he went on to tell her, 'It was while I was shaving that I realised that —' he paused to insert, 'had I felt stronger,' before going on, '— I should have made some attempt to carry you back to your own bed.'

  Her eyes fixed on his, Arden just stared, jolted by his confession that his strength had gone from him, memories rushing in and battling for precedence at that confession of how little he had eaten, of how little he had slept, of the mighty shock he had suffered..

  'But there was no need for you to carry me,' she said, no anger in her, 'I could have walked. All you had to do was wake me, and I…'

  'I think I must have been too exhausted to be thinking very clearly,' he told her, to further undermine her as her heart strings tugged. If he wasn't looking anywhere near as exhausted as he had been, the sort of nightmare he had been through would take the stuffing out of anyone, she saw.

  'I'm—sorry I blew up,' she found herself saying, while at the same time not being quite certain that she should be apologising for the way she had so rudely shattered his health-giving peaceful sleep. Nor quite sure why she should be going on to enquire, 'How are you feeling now?'

  'Fine, just fine,' he replied promptly.

  Too promptly, she thought, for that to be true. For surely just one night of decent sleep could not work such a miracle? But while she was still doubting his quick reply, suddenly he was on his feet and coming to stand close by, and was taking hold of her hand. The whole length of her arm tingling, Arden found she was just as suddenly being mesmerised by the charm of the man, as quietly he admitted:

  'I know I haven't been the best of companions,' and sincerely she thought, as for a moment his expression went bleak, 'and I still have to work a few things through,' that bleak look going as his charm came out again. 'But, if I promise to mend my ways,' he paused, and such was the hold he had on her at that moment that Arden wanted to smile too, 'will you stay?'

  'I…' she began chokily; never in her life had her senses been bombarded like this.

  'It's I who'll be lonely if you leave, Arden,' he further bombarded her, having her forgetting, from what she knew of him, that Blane Hunter was a loner if ever there was one. 'Apart from that,' he went on to scupper her as he handed her an excuse to stay if she needed one, 'in all this splendid isolation, how could I hope to continue on the path of haute cuisine you've set, on my own?'

  Haute cuisine was, she thought, doing it a bit brown! But she was to be sunk without trace, when, injecting a little humour into what he was saying, he let fall:

  'I've just cooked the last of the bacon.'

  'Well, that,' said Arden, struggling up from being dumbfounded at the startling change in him, 'will need attending to.' And finding herself bewitched, and not a little enchanted by his charm, she heard herself say, 'Would I leave a mere male to try to manage on his own?'

  Mesmerised was not the word for how she felt then, for having just heard her agree to stay, Blane Hunter did no more than look down to the face turned up to him, and gently then he bent further to touch his warm mouth to hers.

  'Thank you, Arden,' he said very quietly.

  If there was triumph in his eyes, then she did not see it. For his back was then to her as he went over to the small domestic range that heated the water, and lifting the top he dropped the cheque she had given him inside to let the flames consume it. He then returned to his place at the table.

  That once breakfast was out of
the way he would not let her wash up or give a hand with the drying was showing Arden that Blane Hunter really had meant it when he had declared that he was going to mend his ways. Still not quite able to grasp the tremendous transformation that had come over him, Arden, needing to be alone, made the excuse of wanting to tidy her room.

  Once in her room, she was to come some way out of the mesmeric state in which she had been. And it was then, her thinking equipment back in action, that she began to wonder again at the change in him. To wonder, too, at the difference it made. But to wonder also, for all he had promised to mend his ways—would it last?

  That reporter, she recalled, had been pretty definite about how ruthless Blane was in business. Though whether that stemmed from the reporter perhaps receiving the rough end of the industrialist's tongue had that not been the first time he had hounded him, she had no way of knowing. But she had to consider then— since away from Blane, away from his highly potent charm, she was having enormous difficulty in tying up how he had been in the kitchen with the Blane Hunter she thought she knew—was he ruthless in his personal relationships too when he wanted his own way?

  Not that he had any sexual interest in her, she mused, seeing the kiss he had bestowed on her as nothing more than an endorsement of his 'Thank you' that she had agreed to stay.

  Though on remembering that brief kiss, on remembering how her insides had acted up to feel his warm mouth on hers, Arden knew that upstairs in her room was not far enough away from him if she was to do any coherent thinking. Needing to be even more alone, she went hurriedly on her way down the stairs.

  But as she reached the kitchen, her hand already turning the door handle, suddenly it dawned on her that if she were to tell him she was 'just going out for a walk' then there was every likelihood that, as he had yesterday, he would tell her to 'Wait while I get a coat'. Yesterday, she had wanted to get him out on that walk with her. Today, admitting she had never felt so mixed up in her life, she needed to be alone.

  Too late now that she had the door open not to enter the kitchen, Arden went in, her mind searching feverishly for some excuse other than a walk to be away from the house, away from him.

  Looking completely different, his face lightened without that morose expression, Blane Hunter turned as she went in. But flicking a glance to his hands, Arden's eyes became fixed on the last of his clearing up operations in the shape of the bacon wrapper which he was just about to dispose of.

  'Provisions,' she said off the top of her head, grateful to remember he had used the last of the bacon. By the time the bacon wrapper had been deposited in the small range, her brain cogs were going at full speed, and she was following on, 'We're almost out of bread as well as the bacon. I'm sure I heard Colonel Meredith say there was a general store in a village not far from here.' If she'd got it right, he wouldn't want to run the risk of being recognised by anyone, of anyone finding him. A village meant gossip, gossip which was food and drink to any bloodhound of a reporter.

  'So?' he enquired, a look of suspicion coming to him.

  'So how about I go and get us stocked up,' she said brightly. Casually then she walked past him, opening cupboard doors as though taking an inventory, calling over her shoulder, 'Have you a pen I can borrow? I'd better write a list.'

  Silence was her answer, no pen forthcoming, so that regardless that he had a stated aversion to her prattle, Arden was forcing herself to go on:

  'Anything in the food line that particularly takes your fancy?'

  'We passed a village on the way here,' was the reply she received. But it was the hand that clamped down on her shoulder that had her jumping, his touch unexpected as he sent her cheerfulness away as he turned her to face him. 'It's about three miles away,' he said, his eyes narrowed, a frown appearing on his forehead as he looked into her eyes.

  Forcing herself to stand still under his distrusting scrutiny, Arden tried for a light note. 'I won't go talking to strange men,' she said. 'Nor,' she added, those dark eyes seeming to be taking her apart piece by piece, 'will I take sweets from strangers.'

  If what she said had amused him, it did not show, for that hard look he was giving her did not let up. Though she knew what that hard look was all about— Blane Hunter was not sure that he could trust her.

  'Why not give me the benefit of the doubt?' Suddenly she was as serious as he was.

  'You—intend—to come back?' he asked, a man who asked favours of no one, the words sounding as if they had been dragged from him like a stubborn tooth.

  Not to return had not been in her mind, and her surprise showed. She had that he had read her surprise and the reason for it, to thank she guessed that abruptly he let go his hold on her. His hand then indicated the pad and pencil on the Welsh dresser as, gruffly, he told her:

  'Make your list. I'll go and warm up the car.'

  Her list extensive with alternatives since she didn't think the village store would stock everything they would need, Arden tried to keep her mind on her shopping as, snatching up her jacket in passing, she went out to where Blane had just finished clearing winter frost from the windows of the car.

  'See you!' she called as she got in behind the wheel.

  There was a stern look about him as he pulled out his wallet. 'You'll need some money.'

  'I've got some,' she answered. But she was to find that argument was useless. Blane Hunter a man who insisted on getting his own way.

  'You've been spoiled rotten!' she flung at him when he concluded all argument by taking hold of her bag and pushing some notes inside.

  'So spoil me some more,' he said.

  Keeping her mind free of Blane Hunter was helped only by the fact the road she travelled on was not good, occasional patches of ice necessitating a fair degree of concentration.

  But once the village store was reached, she concentrated on her list, a whisper of memory from her childhood touching her when, since the store sold everything from tin buckets to tinned peas, she saw the kind of magic painting book that sprang to colourful life when nothing more than a water-wet paintbrush was applied.

  'I always wanted one of those when I was a child,' she told the shopkeeper.

  'They're only ninety-nine pence,' replied the shopkeeper with an eye to business.

  'Another time perhaps,' smiled Arden. 'Have you got any…'

  A couple of full coardboard cartons stowed in the back of her vehicle, some fifteen or so minutes later, Arden drove away from the village, the time she had wanted to be by herself upon her.

  She drove on for about half a mile, and it was there at the side of the road, not so much as one solitary sheep wandering across the road to disturb her, that she stopped the car.

  For an age then she went over and over everything she knew about Blane Hunter. Her thinking much clearer than it had been, she was consumed with doubts about the transformation she had seen in him. Was it genuine? Or was it as she had started to think up in her room that, ruthless when he wanted his own way, there was not a trick in the book he wasn't up to in order to achieve that end?

  Though did that figure? she puzzled. Without question he had had doubts that he could trust her to come back. He had said as much. 'You intend to come back?' he had asked. Would a ruthless, dominant man have given her the benefit of that doubt she had asked for?

  I'm getting mixed up again, she thought, wondering if she shouldn't do exactly what he had suspected she might once let off the leash—cut and run.

  She could easily find his Company address and post him another cheque for that thousand, she deliberated— and had to own that she was sorely tempted. Somehow she had a dreadful feeling that she would be doing herself something of a disservice by going back—yet she had no clear idea of why she should suddenly feel apprehensive about going back to Brynmoel, back to him. He had promised to change his ways, and if she believed that she had to believe that there was nothing to feel apprehensive about, surely?

  For another half an hour Arden argued with herself— should she go, s
hould she stay, and why did she feel apprehensive anyway? There was no reason at all why she should have this—this uneasy feeling inside.

  He was not a murderer. That he might be was ridiculous, she thought with conviction, as she tried to analyse her reluctance to return. And he wasn't interested in her sexually; any thought that he might be was equally ridiculous. Evidence of that was indisputable in the fact that although he had confessed to feeling too weak to carry her back to her own bed when he had woken to find her in his—even if to her mind he did look as strong as an ox—he had let her remain in his bed with him and had not so much as laid a finger on her! What more proof than that could she want that he just wasn't interested in her?

  Why pride should rear its head to have her certain that she wasn't interested in him either was a mystery to her. He had kissed her, she recalled, soothing that smidgen of feminine affronted pride. And if she was to be honest, fleeting though that kiss had been, she had not objected to it.

  Oh, bother him, she thought on a sudden burst of temper, I'm going back to Chalmers Hollow. She turned the key in the ignition, put the car into gear and took off the handbrake. Then her flare of temper went, Blane's remembered, 'It's I who'll be lonely if you leave' stopping her from putting the Morris into motion.

  'Let him be lonely,' said her head, and she started the car. She was still in first gear when, 'But he's been ill,' warned her soft heart. 'He's been in dreadful shock.'

  Oh, bother the man! she fumed, her temper briefly back. But then to decide the matter, a picture came to her of his face when he was trying to decide if he could trust her. 'You—intend—to come back?' he had asked.

  'Damn him. Damn him!' Arden swore angrily, and out loud, as she rammed second gear home.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The sun had come out, and had been out a long time during her absence from Brynmoel, making the roads on her return journey slightly less hazardous since some of the ice had melted.