'But…' his aunt started to protest.
'Sorrel doesn't ride, Sybil,' said Moira swiftly, with a friendly smile at Sorrel. 'So naturally Rod…'
'Doesn't ride…?' echoed Sybil faintly, making Sorrel want to giggle when it appeared she had committed a cardinal sin. Though her feeling of wanting to giggle quickly departed when that good lady recovered, and promptly turned to her brother to state, 'Well surely, Neville, if you haven't got one, you can borrow some sort of a hack from somewhere which the young lady can sit on without coming to grief. We don't want to split the party up.'
'The party isn't going to be split up,' Sorrel got in quickly, the idea of bumping over field and meadow like a sack of potatoes, with her holding everyone up when they wanted to gallop off, having not the slightest appeal. 'Rod was only joking about not coming with you, weren't you, Rod?'
She hoped he read in her eyes what she was trying to convey without her actually having to say it—that the good pals they were supposed to be this weekend meant that he did not have to keep constantly by her side for the whole of that time.
For serious moments Rod looked back at her. Then, with a teasing look at his aunt, he remarked generally, 'Anything to get Aunt Sybil going.' But under cover of much laughter, he turned his attention to Sorrel, to say, 'We do have a sedate horse in the stables if you'd like…'
'Actually, I'd rather set my mind on taking myself off for a good long hike,' she invented quickly. Blisters on her heels, in her view, were far preferable to not being able to sit down for a week. Though in truth, she rather enjoyed walking.
Dinner that night was about the merriest dinner party Sorrel had ever attended. Neville Drury made a delightful little speech about the joy he had known thirty years ago when Moira had become his wife, and the joy that had been his ever since.
Touched by the way he had spoken, by the way he looked at Moira and Moira had looked back at him, as champagne corks popped, Sorrel was having an uphill battle to remember that sophisticated girls did not cry at sentimental moments.
Once dinner was over, everyone moved to the gaily decorated drawing room to await the arrival of other guests. The time Sorrel had not been looking forward to was there.
Though when the dancing had been under way for about an hour, and with no sign of Ellis putting in an appearance, she began to relax. That the evening had lost some of its sparkle because she was not going to have a glimpse of his dark good looks was preferable, she thought, to the ache she would have to hide had he been there and, as she knew would happen, he cut her dead.
Not lacking for partners, she was just about to refuse the invitation of one earnest young man to take the floor again, when, her eyes flicking to the door as they had done surreptitiously for most of the evening, her heart missed a beat, then hurried up with more speed than was necessary to catch up on that missed beat.
'I'd love to,' she replied to the young man waiting to take her in his arms.
She smiled up at him as they danced by the door, her eyes fixed on his face lest her inner self betrayed her and her eyes strayed.
Fortunately, when the dance came to an end and it looked as if she was going to have some difficulty in shaking off her ambitious partner, Rod was there to rescue her.
'Enjoying yourself?' he enquired, his hold on her nothing she could object to as, an excellent dancer, he whisked her round the floor.
Despite herself, her eyes went to the door. Ellis was not there. She turned her head, her eyes searching. A sick jealousy invaded her when she saw that the man her eyes were looking for had eyes for no one but the utterly ravishing blonde he had in his arms, as he too circuited the floor.
'Er—fantastic,' she replied, rather belatedly as, collecting herself, she realised that Rod was waiting for an answer to his question.
'You're not regretting that you came?'
Again she caught a glimpse of a dark head that to her mind was much too close to a blonde one. 'No,' she lied valiantly, never in her life having felt such an emotion as the one that had taken charge of her, and would have had her leaving Rod and going to pull that blonde away from Ellis's arms—had she been unable to control it.
'You're sure you don't mind about me going riding tomorrow?' asked Rod. while Sorrel was in the depths of remembering that not a week ago, those same arms that now encircled the blonde had been round her own naked body.
'I'd mind if you didn't,' she said, and pulled herself firmly together. She was determined then not to care who Ellis danced with—though she could be sure that he wouldn't be coming over to ask her for a dance.
By the time Ellis had danced twice more with the blonde, once with another equally stunning-looking girl, and then once again with the blonde, Sorrel, ready to call it a night and go to her bed, was certain that she wouldn't dance with him even if he did ask her.
She too had rarely been off the dancing area, but determinedly, not looking for a snub, she had avoided any chance of eye contact with Ellis; not that he even knew she was there.
But it was when she had got to the point of wondering if she was expected to stay down until the last of the guests other than family had gone that she discovered that Ellis did know she was there. She was concentrating on not looking over to where she had last seen him, while waiting for someone who had introduced himself as Graeme to return with the thirst-quencher he had gone for, when she looked up, her heart starting to race even as she made every effort to appear cool, to find that Ellis had come to stand by her.
For ageless moments, as his eyes took in the controlled look of her in her flame-coloured dress with its delicate shoulder-straps, as she had expected, he did not have one word to say to her. Then, to her surprise, far from cutting her dead, 'Are you going to dance with me, Sorrel Maitland?' he asked, and there was a challenge there in his voice, just as though he suspected she was afraid to go into his arms.
Which had to be odd, she thought, since she had shown him most plainly how easily she could turn away from those arms. But, about to accept his invitation, to show him again how little having his arms about her could leave her affected, she felt jealousy choose that moment to take a swipe at her as the thought came that he was only asking her to dance with him because the blonde had gone to powder her nose.
'Some other time, perhaps,' she murmured coolly. 'Graeme will be here with my drink in a moment.'
The slight narrowing of his eyes told her that Ellis did not care very much for her cool arrogance. But her arrogance was left floundering when, to her sudden astonishment, Sorrel found that tonight Ellis Galbraith was not in a mind to take no for an answer.
'Let Graeme drink it,' he said, and smoothly, taking her off guard, he had reached for her, and had her feet moving in step with his, the choice of whether she wanted to dance with him or no taken from her.
A spurt of anger surfaced as she got over her astonishment. But she was mindful that any eyes interested enough to be watching her footwork might be surprised at the new sort of vicious step if she aimed the kick he warranted at his shin. Sorrel controlled her ire and managed to keep all expression from her face.
They had danced round the room a couple of times, when, his first comment since he had waltzed her on to the floor, Ellis said:
'I didn't expect to see you here tonight.'
Ignoring the fact that by now her heart was trying to escape through her ribs, she guessed he meant that in the circumstances of the way they had parted, he had thought she would prefer not to risk bumping into him again. Aware that he was waiting for her to answer something to his statement, almost she did not reply. But as far as he was to know, she had been as cool then, as she had shot from the bed, as she was trying to appear now.
'Oh,' she drawled, as if she had no memory of that occasion, 'why, I wonder?'
'Isn't it obvious?' he answered—but was successful in making her affected airy manner abruptly depart, when he revealed that his thoughts had been along totally different lines from her own, as he added, 'Since you'd t
urned Drury down, I would have thought it kinder not to have seen him again.'
'I'd accepted the invitation ages ago,' Sorrel said quickly in her defence. 'Rod wanted me…' she broke off, all too well aware that by attempting to defend herself she had lost some of her poise. The dance music ended, and she pulled out of his arms, once more in possession of herself now that Ellis was not touching her. 'Anyhow,' she resumed, lofty now, no intention in her then of explaining herself to him, 'who told you I was kind?'
She would have walked away from him without another word then. But before she could complete more than one step, her arm was taken in a firm grip, and she found she was facing the open French doors as she heard Ellis, a smile for anyone who was watching on his face, say pleasantly:
'It is warm in here, isn't it?' every bit as though she had just complained of feeling overheated. The next thing she knew, she was outside the house with him, his hand still firm on her arm, as he walked her across the lawn.
As Sorrel saw it then, she had two choices. Either she gave him the sharp edge of her tongue and, since he didn't look to be ready to let go his hold on her arm, have an undignified struggle to be free of him. Or she could play it cool.
'It's a lovely night, isn't it?' she remarked—coolness had been her ally before.
His hold on her arm relaxed. But he still was not playing the game according to the rules. For he was not letting go of the subject that had begun at the end of the dance, she heard as, ignoring her pleasantry, he picked up the conversation where she had left it with her question of who had told him she was kind.
'You always were kind, Sorrel,' he resumed. 'There wasn't a stray cat that came into the workshop that didn't get fed.'
'So I like animals,' she shrugged.
'Cats, dogs, children, old ladies,' he went on, 'you were kind to everyone.'
As she thought she was glad he had not mentioned her kindness to old men, a shiver went through her. Her shiver must have communicated itself to him, though not the cause—her fear of his killing contempt if he ever found out about her kindness, and its reward certainly most definitely unlooked for, a reward nevertheless for her affection and kindness to one old gentleman.
'You're cold,' said Ellis. But instead of turning her about and taking her indoors as she had thought the most likely solution, he continued to stroll with her, his hand leaving her arm to come about her shoulders in what she supposed was his way of keeping her warm.
'It's—remarkable how people change, isn't it?' she remarked, her insides not belonging to her, to the trite person she was trying to be as she realised that she did not want to go indoors; but that she must. Already they were some way from the house—not that Ellis was likely to try anything after that last episode, the way he had his arm around her was completely unsexual, she thought.
'I'll agree we all move on,' he replied, his voice even, unhurried. 'But we all keep those same intrinsic qualities that shaped us. Basically,' he went on conversationally, 'I believe we all stay the same.'
Whether he knew it or not, his voice was starting to seduce her, and Sorrel wasn't having that. 'Study philosophy, did you?' she asked smartly. But she could have saved her breath. For she hadn't rattled him, she saw, and his tone still had that seductive power to it, as he continued.
'In fact, I thought you had stayed the girl who was always kind to children, when I had reason to return to the Kinglingham area some years ago.'
'You returned to Kinglingham?' she exclaimed, without realising it coming to a halt, not moving as she thought that 'some years ago' she had still been in the area, that they might have been walking along adjacent streets, and she had never known it.
Ellis had come to a halt too, his arm falling from her shoulders. 'As a matter of fact, I thought I spotted you with a couple of children,' he said quietly, his expression hidden in the darkness. 'I almost came over and said "Hello",' he went on when Sorrel was starting to wonder, had it been her he had seen? It could have been. Cynthia Armitage's unmotherly attitude of wanting 'those squalling brats' where she couldn't see or hear them had meant that they had spent a lot of time out of the house.
'But it wasn't me?' she asked, wondering now, that hard shell she had grown not so hard about her then, what she would have done if Ellis had come up to her in the street and said a casual 'Hello'.
Ellis, she thought, was a long time answering her question. But, 'How could it have been?' he replied at last. 'You've never been married, have you?'
That didn't stop her being fully capable of looking after other people's children, she thought. Though she knew that it hadn't been her he had seen but someone who must look like her. For there was nothing wrong with his eyesight or his memory, and he had seen her almost every day when she had worked for him—he had recognised her eight years on without difficulty.
'No,' she replied, 'I've never married.'
'And,' he went on, pausing to ask lightly, 'excuse the question, nor have you ever had children, have you, Sorrel?'
'Question excused,' she replied equally lightly. 'No, I've never had any children.' Suddenly she was feeling most irrationally disappointed that she had missed seeing him when he had been in the Kinglingham area, for she would probably have flushed scarlet and stammered all over the place had she been taken out of her stride in those days, by meeting him unexpectedly. It was about time, she then thought, that they returned to the house.
She did in fact attempt to turn around and start walking back the way they had come. But, as before, suddenly Ellis's firm hold was on her arm, and he was staying her from going anywhere. And she was having to wrestle with not only what just the feel of his touch could do to her, but the panicky thudding of her heart that resulted from his saying softly all at once:
'Why have you never married, Sorrel?'
She tried one of her airy shrugs. But she was suddenly tense, and it didn't come off. The sharp acid words she wanted just would not come—and were still in hiding when Ellis, not waiting for her to reply, went on to positively stun her that he must have been asking her to marry him when he had asked her to go and live with him, for he said:
'You left me in no doubt the other night that you didn't fancy marriage with me as your husband, but…'
'You were serious?' shot from her, not an atom of sham about her then. 'You were asking me to marry you when…' She broke off. She was still trying to get herself together when, mockingly she thought, he drawled:
'I did get a little—hot under the collar, didn't I?' And again not waiting for her reply as, with the recollection as vivid as ever in her mind, Sorrel was recalling that he had been not only collarless at the time, but shirtless too, he said, 'But then you're a heady woman, Sorrel— you were at seventeen.' And while she was thinking that this was the first she'd heard that she had been heady to him at seventeen, he was saying, 'Though since you're not going to hold me to anything I said in a—rash— moment, let's say that we both had a lucky escape.'
'I'll second that,' said Sorrel, with as much sophistication as she could muster, which in truth, she had to own, was not much.
'Good,' he said. 'Now answer my question.'
'I've forgotten what it was,' she lied, and made another attempt to go back the way they had come. But his hold on her arm was as firm as ever, with no objection in him whatsoever to refreshing her memory.
'I asked you why it was you had never married,' he repeated his question.
She attempted another shrug of her shoulders— wasted, she thought in the darkness, since Ellis could not see much more than her outline. Though for all he might have felt her uncaring movement, he was still determined not to let go of her until she had answered.
'I suppose I—just never fancied anyone enough,' she said, the best she could do in the way of an answer, since he appeared to know that it was not from lack of chances that she had remained single.
'Never fancied anyone enough,' he murmured. But his voice was serious, all mockery departed, when quietly he dropped out, 'Or
never trusted anyone enough, Sorrel?'
The jerk of her muscle as he hit on the rest of it was something she could do nothing about. But her voice had gone hard, when she told him shortly:
'Trust is for kids.'
Regardless of the indignity of it then, she pulled her arm from his hold. But she didn't get to walk more than two paces from him, before he was after her. Both his arms came around her then, and he was pulling her head against his chest, his voice gentle, regretful even, as softly he asked:
'Did I do this to you?' And, his voice thickening, 'Was it me, Sorrel, who made you so that you won't let anyone get close to you?'
Having to accept that he wasn't going to let her free was one thing. But she was not going to let him make her suffer ever again, not if she could help it.
'My God!' she raised her head to scorn. She would have trotted out her well-worn phrase about his conceit then—had he given her the chance.
But he did not give her the chance. For as though he would salve all the hurt in her he had ever inflicted, tenderly Ellis held her to him. Gently his mouth came over hers, and his kiss was all giving. And Sorrel wanted to cry at the beauty of his kiss that might have been healing, if she could only let it be.
But Ellis had hurt her once most traumatically. She had not wanted to fall in love with him—and he could hurt her again. His arms around her were now a caress, no more. Sorrel found she did not need all her strength to push him away. And push him away she did, his tender kiss having to be broken before he broke her.
'You're mistaken, Ellis, if you think that no man has ever got close to me,' she said, her tones like ice because they had to be.
She heard his sharp intake of breath, and knew she was reaching him when, his voice as cold as hers, he asked, 'You're saying that some man since me…'
Her tinkling laugh cut him off. 'That's what I'm saying.' Mockery was hers now.
'Who?' to her astonishment he was demanding to know.
But she was ready with an answer, her astonishment stemming from nothing more than that he should have the nerve to demand who, besides himself, she had been close to.
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