To prove to Randal and to herself that she was not affected by those moments on the bed, she had compounded her betrayal by behaving as though it meant nothing to her.
But it meant a great deal. She was intolerably confused. How could she behave like that when she loved Edward? If Edward knew...but he must never know. He would be horrified by her wanton response to Randal. And it was clear to her now that she could not fight him. She went up in flames whenever he looked at her—let alone kissed or touched her. It was her body that was the betrayer of her love for Edward—not her heart.
That night, her father came home at midnight.
Lucy heard the taxi drop him, heard the front door close, and got out of bed. Going downstairs in her nightdress, she halted abruptly when she saw his face.
‘Daddy?’ She stared at him. He was as white as a ghost, with lines of strain at his mouth and eyes. She flew down the stairs towards him with concern. ‘Daddy—what on earth is wrong?’
He stared at her as though he had never seen her before. ‘Wrong...’
Fear made her dry-mouthed, but she kept her head. ‘Come and sit down. You look ill. Can I get you something?’
Gerald Winslow walked slowly, shell-shocked, his movements strangely calm. ‘No...nothing...’
The drawing-room was eerily silent as Lucy watched his white, drawn face. She had never seen him like this before. All the spirit had gone out of him. His skin looked cold and clammy. There was no false gaiety, no sophisticated self-mockery, no laughter at all in those pale, frightened blue eyes.
‘Something’s happened,’ she said in a low voice, ‘hasn’t it?’
Suddenly, Gerald Winslow crumbled. ‘I’ve done a terrible thing!’ he whispered, pushing both hands through his blond hair and sinking into an armchair. ‘A terrible, terrible thing...’
Her alarm increased. She knelt by him at once. ‘What? What have you done?’
His hands shook as he looked through his fingers at her. ‘I can’t tell you. I promised silence...secrecy.’
‘Who to?’ she asked, as a shiver of premonition ran down her back.
He looked at her, about to speak, then shook his head. ‘I mustn’t,’ he said thickly, and suddenly got to his feet, looking at her with that white, strained expression. ‘Go to bed, Lucy. You’ll find out soon enough. For now—you need to rest and sleep.’ He moved towards the drinks cabinet, adding roughly, ‘God knows, you’ll need it.’
Lucy stood up slowly, heart drumming with alarm. ‘If this concerns me I have every right to know.’
He clumsily unscrewed a bottle of whisky. ‘Darling, please just go to bed.’
‘But everything you just said makes it clear that this concerns me!’ She was appalled. ‘You can’t just—’
‘Go to bed,’ he said in a weary voice.
Anger suddenly shot through her. ‘I demand an answer!’ she said fiercely, and crossed the room to him, her green eyes blazing.
Gerald looked down at her, his eyes wide. ‘You demand an answer...’ he repeated slowly, then, ‘You remind me of my father. He used to say that all the time.’ He laughed, pouring a glass of whisky. ‘I demand an answer, Gerald!’ He raised the glass to his lips. ‘Immediately, Gerald!’
‘Don’t laugh at me!’ Lucy caught his arm angrily, and whisky spilled on his suit.
There was a brief, appalled silence while they looked at each other. Lucy was watching him, her green eyes shocked and angry, and he was watching her, white-faced.
‘I’m sorry,’ Lucy said abruptly. Reaching a hand to his face, she touched him gently and said, ‘How soon will I find out? When will I be told what’s happened?’
‘Tomorrow,’ he said thickly.
Lucy nodded, then stood on tiptoe and kissed him. ‘Goodnight, Father.’ She turned and left the room, a peculiar sense of calm coming over her as she went up to her bedroom.
Slings and arrows of outrageous fortune were obviously on their way to her. All she could do was sit back, let them do their worst, and see what she came out of it with.
Whatever was coming—she would cope with it.
Next day, she felt like someone living in the eye of a storm. Her work at the kindergarten was peculiarly calm. She was waiting for a nuclear explosion, accepting it would come, preparing herself to survive it.
When she got home, she saw Randal’s long white sports car outside her house, and her heart nose-dived with a strange mixture of fear and excitement.
He was waiting for her in the drawing-room, standing by the mantelpiece, dark and powerful in a black suit, hands thrust in trouser pockets, a brooding expression on his hard, handsome face.
‘Close the door, Lucy,’ he drawled coolly when he saw her.
‘Where’s my father?’ she asked flatly.
‘He’s out. And we’re alone. Now close the door and come in. I have something to tell you.’
She closed it, lifted her head, waiting for the blow.
‘Your father is bankrupt,’ he said flatly, going straight for the jugular.
Lucy went white, her legs weak beneath her. ‘How do you know about it? You’re just—’
‘Because he banks with me.’ The blue eyes were penetrating.
‘Banks with you!’ Lucy gasped, appalled. ‘I don’t believe it! His bank is Chartered Mallory and—’ She broke off, only realising the connection as the words left her lips. Of course. Why had she never put the two together? Mallory...
‘Not only is he bankrupt,’ Randal said coolly, seeing the dawning of awareness in her eyes, ‘but he’s now in debt. He began signing markers at my casino a couple of days ago. My staff didn’t tell me until last night because they assumed he was a safe bet. But of course, I knew perfectly well he was on the edge of ruin. As soon as I found out, I stopped him, called him into my office, and let him know in no uncertain terms that the party was over.’
‘How much does he owe you?’ she asked carefully.
‘Twenty thousand pounds.’
The curt, blunt statement took her breath away, her face reflecting disbelief. ‘Twenty thousand...!’
‘It’s a great deal of money.’ Randal’s black brows arched. ‘And he must repay it.’
‘But he can’t,’ she said tautly. ‘You know perfectly well he can’t. He has no income, no—’
‘He has this house,’ Randal said bluntly.
She whitened further. ‘No! This house must never be sold. It was my grandfather’s. He left it to us; I grew up here, so did my father! It’s all we have left and—’
‘Sentiment,’ he said tersely. ‘I deal in cold hard cash. So does the rest of the world. If he doesn’t repay me, I’ll take him to bankruptcy court.’
Fury shot through her. ‘You would, too, wouldn’t you! You’d do that! Humiliate him, destroy what little self-respect he has left and—’
‘It’s his self-respect,’ he said cuttingly. ‘He’s responsible for its welfare.’
‘But you know very well that he couldn’t help himself! And now he can’t pay back that money because he hasn’t an income. He’s not qualified to do anything—he’s never had a job in his life!’
‘That’s not my problem,’ he drawled. ‘I just want my money back.’
Lucy struggled to retain self-control. Moistening her lips, she said thickly, ‘Isn’t there some other way? I realise it’s a great deal of money, but can’t it be repaid in instalments? I’d be willing to give you half my wages every week and—’
‘That’s hardly a feasible solution,’ he drawled sardonically. ‘The weekly wages of a nursery-maid wouldn’t keep me in shirt-buttons.’ His hard smile was cruelly mocking. ‘Although I appreciate the gesture.’
Hatred welled in her veins, but she struggled to control it, racking her brains for some other way out. She couldn’t just stand by and let her father be destroyed. Certainly not publicly. London society had long since learned to despise Gerald Winslow. All the friends they had counted on while her grandfather was alive had deserted them long ago.
The horror of bankruptcy court...he would never survive it.
‘There is, of course, another way,’ Randal drawled lazily. ‘Although I doubt very much that you’ll agree to it.’
She looked at him and a quiver of fear went through her. ‘Well?’
His face was suddenly expressionless. ‘You could marry me.’
For a second she thought she had misunderstood. She turned the words over and over in her mind, trying to put them together in a different way so they would mean something else.
‘As we’re neither of us in love with each other,’ he said sardonically, ‘I don’t intend to propose properly. I think we both know why I’d be marrying you.’
‘Sex?’ she choked out bitterly.
‘Of course,’ he drawled softly, eyes mocking.
Her mouth shook. ‘But why marriage! Why not just demand that I—that I—’ She couldn’t finish, her face colouring scarlet.
Randal laughed at her softly. ‘Because at first, I thought you were an exciting little conquest to amuse myself with. I expected the attraction to pall. But after your performance yesterday, I can see you’re exactly what I’ve been looking for in a wife.’
Her voice shook. ‘You’re saying you want to marry me because—’
‘You’re a lady in public,’ he said softly, ‘but a whore in the bedroom.’
She sucked in her breath. Suddenly, she was walking across to him, eyes blazing, her hand slapping him across the face stingingly, and as his head jerked back her heart was crashing with turbulent emotion.
He caught her wrists, blue eyes mocking as he drawled, ‘What a little spitfire you are! Don’t you like hearing the truth?’ He laughed, his black hair falling over his hard forehead as he fought with her. ‘That’s what you are, Lucy. You proved that yesterday. I could have had you, couldn’t I? You wouldn’t have put up much of a struggle.’
‘Liar!’ she choked out bitterly, fighting. ‘I won’t listen—’
‘You practically tore my clothes off!’ he taunted.
‘You made me do it!’ she blustered, face burning with rage and humiliation. ‘You made me do it!’
‘You can take a horse to water,’ he drawled softly, ‘Or should I say—a whore.’
Somehow she got her wrist free and slapped him again, harder.
His teeth met and he jerked her hard against him. ‘Don’t you hit me again, you little bitch, or I’ll prove what I’m saying by taking you up to bed immediately and giving you what you so obviously, desperately want!’
Lucy was almost blind with hatred. But his words terrified her, and she controlled herself, not hitting him again though she longed to. For a long moment they stood in hectic silence. Lucy was breathing hard, her heart hammering violently, her hands shaking on his broad shoulders.
He looked down at her, a hard smile on his ruthless mouth. ‘Good girl! Now what’s your answer? Will you marry me and be my whore, or shall I let your father go down the drain?’
Shaking, she asked bitterly, ‘Don’t I even get time to think about it?’
‘No,’ he said implacably. ‘You answer now and stick with whatever you decide. If you refuse me—I’ll drop you, your father and the whole Winslow family straight down the plughole.’
‘I’m in love with Edward, you ruthless swine!’ she said in thickly choked despair. ‘Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’
‘You were in love with him yesterday, and it didn’t stop you rolling around on the bed with me,’ he drawled jeeringly.
Her eyes closed in abject self-hatred and fury. Bending her head, she breathed hard, weighing up her options. There were none, though. Even she could see that. If she didn’t marry Randal, her father would be ruined, and might even die of humiliation. He wouldn’t find employment. He’d just sit in this house getting more and more depressed, poverty closing in on him, selling off furniture bit by bit until in the end he’d have to sell the house. His life would wind down like a clockwork toy until, in the end, there would be nothing left. No money, no self-respect, no dignity...nothing.
‘Well?’ Randal was watching her. ‘What’s your answer? Yes or no?’
Bitterly, she looked at him. ‘Yes, damn you! You know I have no choice. Of course I’ll marry you! What else can I do?’
Slowly, his hard, cynical mouth moved in a smile of mocking self-satisfaction.
‘What will you tell Edward?’ he drawled, laughing softly.
Hurt shot through her. ‘Don’t laugh at me, you swine! Isn’t it enough that I’ve agreed to marry you?’
‘No,’ he said, eyes gleaming with mockery. ‘I told you I would relish my victory when it came.’
She shuddered, staring at him hotly through her lashes as that betraying pulse began to beat at her throat and wrists. How could a man so cruel excite her like this?
‘And now it’s time to put my brand on you,’ Randal drawled. ‘I’ve arranged an appointment to choose your ring. Shall we go?’
She was shocked. ‘You were very sure I’d say yes!’
‘Oh, very sure,’ he laughed. ‘I’m saving your family from ruin, after all!’
‘Only temporarily,’ she said, eyes bitter. ‘My father still has no money and has to live. Even though I’m agreeing to marry you—what will he do? He’s never worked, he can’t get a job, and—’
‘You just leave that to me,’ Randal drawled sardonically. ‘I have a little plan in mind for your father.’
Lucy studied him warily. ‘You have?’
His brows arched. ‘I want that money back. Twenty thousand isn’t chicken-feed. Besides—it’s time your father learnt money doesn’t grow on trees. I’ll get him a job and make him pay back every penny.’
‘But he’s not qualified for anything! He’s—’
‘Capable of working,’ he cut in flatly. ‘It’s just a question of putting your father in the right job and letting him get on with it.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘But right now it’s time we bought you an engagement ring. Come on.’
They drove to a famous French jeweller’s in Bond Street. Lucy was still awash with dark emotion: hating Randal, fearing him, loathing him, excited beyond endurance by him...
Randal selected an oval-shaped emerald and slid it on her finger.
‘It matches the flash and fire of your eyes,’ he observed coolly.
‘Surely an opal would be more suitable?’ she said in a low whisper, hating him and hating his ring, cold and heavy on her finger. ‘Don’t they signify bad luck and unhappiness?’
‘Possibly,’ he drawled. ‘But that’s not our future, is it? We started fighting passionately—I intend to make sure we go on doing just that.’
‘Good,’ she said tightly. ‘I’ll enjoy scratching you as often as possible!’
‘So long as your scratches are left on my back,’ he mocked, ‘I’ll be happy to receive them.’
Hot colour flooded her face. She wrenched the ring from her finger. ‘Choose the ring yourself, then,’ she said under her breath. ‘I don’t care what it is.’
Angrily, she stamped out to the car and got in, sitting in bitter silence contemplating her future. She would be his wife, share his bed—maybe even give him children.
A lady in public and a whore in the bedroom...her cheeks stung with self-hatred. How could she live with herself? If she had been icy with him yesterday, if she had fought him off—would he still have insisted on this marriage?
And what was she going to tell Edward...?
CHAPTER SIX
HER father was waiting anxiously in the kitchen when Lucy got home. Randal had dropped her at the door, saying he had work to do at the casino and would be in touch. The house felt strangely empty, and she went into the kitchen believing herself to be alone.
She jumped when she saw her father. ‘Oh...!’
Their eyes met and held for a long moment. It seemed that illusions were falling from her eyes at an hourly rate. For the first time, she truly felt she was confronting her father as an adult, not a child.
>
‘Is—’ her father was nervous, edgy ‘—is everything all right?’
Lucy studied him for a moment, then held up her left hand. The oval emerald flashed in the early evening sunlight. Her father stared at the ring fixedly, and she saw relief in his face as he looked back at her.
‘Are congratulations in order?’ he asked with a nervous smile.
Lucy let her hand drop. ‘You knew, didn’t you? You knew last night.’
He flushed. ‘I couldn’t tell you.’ He raked a hand through his blond hair. ‘I gave Marlborough my word.’
Lucy studied him for a moment, then said, ‘Would you mind telling me exactly what happened?’
He drew an unsteady breath, turning, walking to the window to look out. ‘How much do you already know?’
‘Everything where the money is concerned. I know about the twenty thousand pounds you owe Randal. I know you’re finally brankrupt—’
‘I see.’ He smiled, nodding. ‘Well—there’s not much to tell. Certainly nothing to hide.’ He turned, sighing. ‘Marlborough summoned me to an interview at his bank yesterday at two. He had a set of print-outs detailing my account and various cheques I shouldn’t have issued.’
‘You’ve been bouncing cheques?’ She winced.
‘I had no idea the money had run out,’ he said thickly. ‘I knew it was on the cards, but I just shut my eyes and hoped it wouldn’t happen. I kept writing cheques, gambling, living the way I’ve always lived—’
‘But you had so many warnings,’ Lucy said in quiet despair.
‘I didn’t want to hear them,’ he replied helplessly. ‘That’s why I signed those markers. I really didn’t know the money was gone.’
Lucy gave a deep sigh. Sinking on to a pine chair, she said, ‘Go on.’
‘Marlborough was icy with me at the bank,’ he said, paling at the memory. ‘I’d expected it to be a friendly interview after that weekend at Mallory, but of course it wasn’t. It was horrifying. He cut me to ribbons, talked about bankruptcy court, made me write down all my assets and added up the total in his head in a split-second.’ He gave a weak smile. ‘He’s frighteningly good at maths.’
‘Then what did he say?’
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