Beaumont Brides Collection (Wild Justice, Wild Lady, Wild Fire)

by Liz Fielding

  Brakes, brakes, brakes. Why couldn’t he forget about the brakes? It was a fault, nothing more sinister. It was just a coincidence.

  ‘You’re a chauvinist.’

  ‘I’m a realist.’

  Claudia, despite her reservations, conceded the point. ‘You’re probably right. I certainly wouldn’t know where to begin. But it doesn’t rule out the possibility of Adele recruiting a man to do her dirty work for her. She was the first person you thought of,’ she reminded him.

  ‘She might have done the parachute thing on the spur of the moment. But not the brakes. She was angry but I think with herself as much as Tony or you. She knows she’s been hell to live with for the past few weeks. And she was home watching us make fools of ourselves on television when your dress was slashed.’ He glanced across at her. ‘I checked with Tony.’ She arched a finely honed brow at him and he shrugged. ‘I had to know. If it had been Adele, she would need some professional help.’

  ‘Somebody needs professional help,’ she agreed, with feeling.

  ‘You really don’t have any idea who could be behind this, Claudia?’

  ‘You think I’d keep quiet about it?’

  ‘Maybe.’ He shrugged. ‘You didn’t seem to take the first letter very seriously. And you’ve been slow to put the matter in the hands of the police. Are you sure you can’t think of someone you’ve upset recently?’

  ‘Are you suggesting that this is the work of a disgruntled lover?’

  ‘Did I say that?’

  ‘No, but I believe you were implying it.’

  ‘Maybe I was,’ he conceded. ‘Or maybe you just have a good idea who’s behind it. You’re in a funny business. The people in it are ... volatile.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’

  ‘Don’t think you can handle this by yourself, Claudia.’

  ‘I can’t think of a single person I know who would do this to me. I don’t go out of my way to make enemies. And I’m a great deal choosier about lovers than the popular press would have you believe.’ She grinned humourlessly. ‘Read tomorrow’s tabloids and you’ll see what I mean.’ She looked around as he signalled and slowed to turn off the main road. ‘Where are we going? This isn’t the way to London.’

  He glanced in the rear view mirror. ‘I thought we’d take the scenic route.’ As Claudia stared at him the down rose goosey on her skin and she gave a little shiver of apprehension. ‘We can stop at a pub I know. For lunch,’ he added, quickly.

  ‘You’re checking to see if we’re being followed.’ He didn’t deny it and she looked back nervously but the road behind them was busy with holiday traffic. ‘How can you tell?’

  His mouth creased slightly in a suggestion of a smile. ‘I don’t think you have much to fear from harassed parents with roof racks full of luggage and cars filled with restless children.’

  ‘I don’t suppose I have anything to fear at all. Nothing real. Only fear itself. That’s what this is all about isn’t it?’ She glanced uncertainly at him. ‘Making my life miserable.’

  ‘Probably.’

  Not particularly reassuring. But she refused to be cowed. ‘Well I refuse to be miserable. And right now I’m at greater risk of dying from hunger than anything my nasty little friend can dream up,’ she declared. ‘Is this pub far?’

  ‘You should have got up for breakfast,’ he told her, with a distinct lack of sympathy.

  ‘You may have forgotten, but I was working until way past eleven o’clock last night.’

  He checked the mirror again. ‘So was I.’

  So he was. And he had been up long before her, too. Another minute and she’d be feeling guilty.

  ‘You didn’t have to. I didn’t ask you to don your breastplate and come galloping to my rescue like some latter day Galahad.’

  ‘Didn’t you, Claudia? I rather thought you did.’

  She felt her cheeks heating up beneath his gentle challenge. She may not have asked for him specifically, but her relief when he had turned up last night must have been plain enough.

  ‘I can assure you that any driver would have done,’ she declared, crisply. ‘And as you know Fizz would be startled to see me downstairs before lunchtime on Sunday.’

  ‘So she said.’ He signalled and slowed, turning off the main road to head across country. ‘You’re not a bit like her, are you?’

  ‘You mean she’s kind and gentle and charming, while I have a tongue like a band saw as well as being as flighty a piece of work as you’re likely to meet this side of Christmas?’ Claudia’s response was as light and as brittle as spun toffee.

  ‘You said it.’ Mac continually checked the mirror as they drove between high hedges then, as a gap approached, he pulled off the road, turned to face the road and drew up under the shelter of a thick canopy of trees.

  He turned off the engine and for a while the only sound was the ticking of the engine as it cooled and the gradual return of birdsong as the inhabitants of the copse became used to their presence.

  ‘Well?’ Claudia whispered, after long tense moments when she held her breath half expecting to see some vehicle come speeding by in search of them. ‘Are we being followed?’ He didn’t immediately answer her and she glanced across at him. In direct contrast to her own tense and expectant state, Gabriel MacIntyre was utterly relaxed, leaning back in his seat, eyes closed. Clearly not. ‘Why have we stopped?’ she demanded, suspiciously.

  ‘I wanted to think.’

  ‘Think? You can’t think and drive at the same time?’

  ‘That depends on the thought.’ He opened his eyes and turned his head towards her. ‘I had an idea that required my undivided attention. And it seemed a good idea to be stationary when I put it to you.’

  ‘That suggests I’m not going to like it.’

  ‘I very much doubt it,’ he agreed.

  ‘Then I advise you to trust your judgement and keep it to yourself. Forget lunch, just get me home without delay.’

  ‘That’s what I’ve been thinking about. Taking you home.’

  ‘Don’t waste time thinking about it,’ she encouraged him. ‘Do it.’

  ‘All in good time. Once we’ve settled the question of protection.’

  ‘I don’t want protection.’

  ‘You don’t have any choice in the matter. I have a personal score to settle with your “cockroach”. And I gave Luke my word that I’d take care of you,’ he added, as if that settled it once and for all.

  ‘Luke had no right-’

  ‘But it occurred to me that if a stranger suddenly appeared at your side, it would alert the enemy.’ He finally opened his eyes and turned their blue depths upon her. ‘And then it occurred to me that your performance on the television last night was very convincing.’

  ‘My performance? Don’t underrate yourself, Mac. You gave as good as you got.’

  ‘Thank you. I’m glad you appreciated the effort.’ She glared at him. ‘You said it would make the tabloids. Did you mean it?’

  ‘I shouldn’t think there’s any doubt about it. Barty probably had someone lined up to run the story even before the show went on air. He’ll want a return on his investment, especially since it was a great deal heavier than he had anticipated.’ That thought, at least, gave her immense satisfaction.

  ‘So it shouldn’t be too difficult to start a few rumours of lust at first sight?’

  She waved a hand in weary resignation. ‘Stopping them will be the problem.’

  ‘I don’t think we should even try.’ He took her hand, held it for a moment. ‘You see, don’t you, what I’m getting at?’

  ‘I’m having a slow brain day. Enlighten me.’

  ‘As your latest and most ardent lover I don’t suppose anyone would be surprised to see me at your heels twenty-four hours a day. Would they?’ And with that he lifted her hand to his lips in a courtly gesture. But his eyes when he lifted them to meet hers were anything but. ‘What do you say, sweetheart?’

  Claudia didn’t say any thing for the simple reaso
n that she was speechless. The thought that anyone who knew her would be convinced that he was her lover was laughable. He just wasn’t her type. No way.

  He was still looking at her in that intense, self mocking way that gave her goose bumps. He was waiting for her to answer, waiting for her to leap into his arms in gratitude. Well he could wait.

  ‘Actually, Mac, I’d say you were quite mad, but since I don’t think very well on an empty stomach I’m prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt,’ she said, with exquisite politeness. ‘For now.’ And since she was a talented actress she had no trouble at all in finding a smile with which to humour him. Then she realised that he was still holding her hand and she snatched it back, rather spoiling the effect.

  ‘Were you serious about lunch, or simply tormenting me with the promise of food?’ she snapped. ‘It’s a long time since the sandwich after yesterday’s matinee.’

  ‘You haven’t eaten since yesterday afternoon? And you think I’m crazy?’ He leaned forward to start the engine. ‘It sounds to me as if you need a nanny as well as a bodyguard.’

  Claudia recalled the competent way he had moved around her kitchen and it occurred to her that being looking after by Mac might have it advantages.

  ‘It’s a long time since I had a nanny. Can you cook?’ she asked.

  ‘I wasn’t volunteering to double up.’

  ‘Weren’t you?’ She shrugged. ‘That’s a shame. But I suppose living on takeaways goes with your line of work. I’m afraid I’ve never quite managed to get the hang of domesticity.’

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s much cause for you to develop your domestic talents. Not when you have so much else to offer.’

  It was truly incredible the way Mac managed to invest even the most innocent of statements with insult, Claudia decided and she hit right back.

  ‘No doubt your wife was a wonderful cook. In fact I imagine she was perfection personified.’

  ‘You know nothing about her.’

  There was a satisfactory tightness in his voice. Well, it would do the man good to realise that verbal fencing was a two-way sport.

  ‘Maybe not. But I know about you. And it’s clear that nothing short of perfection would ever have satisfied you.’

  ‘Your mouth will get you into serious trouble one day. If it hasn’t already.’

  ‘Personally I distrust perfection. My mother was renowned for it. Perfect wife, perfect mother, perfect actress.’

  ‘You don’t take after her.’

  ‘No, thank God.’ She suddenly lost interest in baiting him. ‘Will you stop the car here please. I’d be happier in a taxi with a driver who wouldn’t feel he had a right to continually criticise me.’

  ‘I’ll do you a favour and pretend I didn’t hear that.’ He tossed her a warning glance. ‘It’s a couple of miles to the pub and there’s not much in between. You’ll never make it those sandals.’

  She opened her mouth to tell him what he could do with his two miles, his pub, his protection, but he lifted his left hand from the steering wheel and laid his fingers lightly on her lips. His touch went through her like a lightning bolt, fizzing, explosive, dangerous.

  ‘Enough, Claudia.’ She jerked her head away from him and his hand dropped back to the steering wheel. But the point of contact just went on burning.

  They drove on in silence, but Mac’s mind was seething. Why wouldn’t she accept the reality of what was happening to her? Last night she had been terrified and he had thought it would be the simplest matter to persuade her to take all the necessary precautions for her safety. This morning she had anticipated the danger to her sister without him having to spell it out.

  If he was prepared to reorganise his life to make sure she was safe, why wouldn’t she just accept his offer gracefully?

  He wanted to stop the car, but not to let her out. He wanted to take hold of her by the shoulders and physically shake her.

  Worse, he wanted to kiss her, to touch her, to carry her deep into the woods and make love to her, anything that would put a stop to the infuriating, reckless way she let her mouth run away with her. He wanted her soft and warm in his arms, her voice silky with longing. He gave a little gasp from somewhere deep in his throat.

  She turned to him. ‘Did you say something?’

  ‘No.’ Then, ‘But I’m sorry.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’ She touched her fingers to her ear and leaned towards him. ‘I don’t believe I quite caught that.’ Her voice was rich with sarcasm. Well, she had a voice that had been developed to show any emotion, any feeling she chose. ‘Was that an apology, Mr MacIntyre?’

  Of course it was an apology. She knew that. Did she have to make a meal of it? Gloat? Why couldn’t she just accept it? But it was too late to retract.

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ve no right to make comments about you or how you live.’

  ‘Too damn right you haven’t. You know nothing about me.’

  Her sharpness sparked an instant echo in him.

  ‘On the contrary, I know too much about you and I don’t much like it. But you know nothing whatever about me. Or my wife. And that’s the way I’d like to keep it. As far as I’m concerned this is purely business,’ he said, responding in kind.

  Another minute and they’d be shouting at one another.

  He gave a little exclamation of disgust. Whatever had happened to his self-control? He glanced at Claudia. She’d happened to it.

  He’d been on a knife edge since she crossed his path, crashing her way into his life. He loathed everything she was even while he burned with an insane desire to hold her, to protect her, to feel the heat of those long legs wrapped about him. For a moment it hung in the balance. He could see the battle raging within her.

  She wanted to tell him to go to hell. But he couldn’t let that happen. Someone wanted to hurt her and she didn’t know where to turn for safety. He couldn’t allow her push him away.

  ‘Why don’t we discuss terms over lunch?’

  ‘That suits me just fine,’ she declared. Then suddenly, ‘And I’m sorry too. About your wife.’ She made a tiny, rather helpless little gesture that might have meant anything but told him more than any number of words that her edginess had far more to do with being scared than being angry.

  She hadn’t mentioned the second letter, but it had shaken her far more than she would ever admit. Claudia Beaumont, he realised with something of a shock, was a great deal tougher than she looked. But she was still one very frightened lady.

  Tempting as it was to offer bland reassurance, he was glad she didn’t underestimate the danger; something about the whole series of incidents worried him more than he had admitted, even to Luke. The lack of pattern was puzzling.

  The only links so far were the letters and maybe the photograph in the parachute. Unpleasant in themselves, but not life threatening.

  The incident with the dress seemed much more personal, so much closer and that made it especially frightening, but all of those things had the same feel to them.

  The car was something else entirely.

  That had been potentially lethal. He had played it down, but in a car built for speed, driven by a woman with an inclination to show off, sudden brake-failure could have been catastrophic. And without that first letter or the photograph, who would have looked for evidence of foul play?

  ‘What’s the matter?’

  He kept his eyes on the road. ‘Matter?’

  ‘You frowned. I hope you’re not lost.’

  He had the distinct feeling that he was being teased. Claudia Beaumont was a creature whose moods changed as quickly as the weather and he discovered that it was very easy to respond to them.

  ‘No, ma’am. In fact you can tell your frantic stomach that we’ve arrived.’ And, as he took a long right-handed bend, a small village opened up before them.

  It had everything. A cluster of cottages, an ancient church, a green complete with a pond and a family of ducks. And the perfect picture postcard thatched village inn. Ma
c pulled into the small, but packed car park, squeezing the Landcruiser into the last space.

  ‘What do you think?’

  ‘I think it’s lovely. I just hope we can get a table.’

  ‘Leave me to worry about that. I’m a particular friend of the landlady.’

  He opened the door and swung her down onto the tarmac, but although her scented hair brushed his cheek he stepped back quickly, turning away to usher her through the door into a low, oak-beamed bar. There was an instant shout of joyous recognition.

  ‘Mac! You should have let me know you were coming.’

  Claudia watched him lean across the bar to take the hand of an elegant silver-blonde who had to be in her forties, but whose perfect bone structure and flawless skin gave her the kind of ageless good looks that would never fade. He kissed the woman’s cheek and seeing the very real warmth in Mac’s eyes, Claudia felt a stir of something possessive grip her.

  When they were with her, men weren’t supposed to notice other women.

  But he hadn’t lied when he said he was a particular friend of the landlady.

  ‘Diana, it’s good to see you,’ he said, still holding her hand. ‘How’re you both keeping?’ Both? Claudia looked around for the woman’s husband. There was no sign of him.

  ‘We’re fine, Mac,’ Diana replied. ‘But run off our feet as you can see. Heather, look who’s here.’

  ‘Hello, Mac.’ The girl was longing to fling her arms about him, Claudia could see. Instead she stood awkwardly, waiting for him to notice her. It was impossible to miss her in Doc Marten’s and a pair of thick black tights she was wearing in defiance of the August sunshine, topped by a miniscule tartan skirt and a baggy black t-shirt. Her hair had been savagely cropped and henna’d.

  Mac managed not to flinch. But he wasn’t tactful either.

  ‘Hello, carrots,’ he said, flicking her cropped hairdo. ‘What happened to the pigtails?’ The deep flush of red that coloured the girl’s cheeks, clashing horribly with her hair, must have alerted him to his mistake because he quickly turned to introduce Claudia. ‘Claudia, Diana Archer and her daughter Heather.’ No husband, then. ‘Diana, this is-’

  ‘Introductions aren’t necessary.’ Diana smiled warmly and detached herself from Mac’s hand to offer her own. ‘Miss Beaumont you’re very welcome.’