by Penny Jordan
‘We need to talk,’ he told her curtly, cutting right across her husky plea.
Despite having told herself that the last thing she wanted to do was to spend time with James, desperately trying to avoid having to endure the humiliation of listening to him telling her that last night was something they should both forget, Lark still couldn’t resist the temptation to wear her new separates.
She told herself that it was because she didn’t want to let Mrs Mayers down, but her heart knew differently. If she was going to have to endure James’s rejection, then at least she would endure it with her head held high. What hurt most of all was that he actually thought he had to tell her that last night had been an aberration he never wanted to repeat. Did he honestly believe she was naïve enough to think that because he had made love to her it meant that he loved her? That she thought that a physical bond between two people was the equivalent of an emotional bond?
In the clear, bright sunlight of the New England morning, it was hard to believe that last night had ever taken place, and that it wasn’t merely a fantasy conjured up by her imagination.
It would have been kinder of James to have simply left her with that delusion, she reflected sadly as she went back downstairs in good time to rejoin her employer.
She had changed, too, and she beamed approvingly at Lark’s outfit. ‘There, I told you they’d come in useful.’
James walked into the hall just in time to catch his mother’s comment, his eyebrows lifting slightly. He looked paler than usual, Lark noticed, probably because he was suffering from jet lag.
And remorse?
Not remorse. More like resentment, she reflected, the cynicism of her thoughts reflected in her eyes. She avoided looking directly at him, even when he held open the door of the car for her.
There was plenty of room for all of them in the limousine, but still Lark was acutely conscious of him sitting beside her. She had elected to take the small seat behind the driver, thinking to leave a safe distance between them, but she had overlooked the length of James’s legs, not anticipating that he would choose to sit directly opposite her and stretch them out either side of her, so that every time the car went round a bend its size and weight meant that there was a tendency for them to roll, which brought her into immediate physical contact with James.
‘Lark, you look pale. Doesn’t she, James?’ Mrs Mayers said worriedly, breaking into her agonised thoughts. ‘Are you finding the heat too much? It does sometimes take a while to adjust, and you have such delicate skin.’
Lark couldn’t help it; a dark tide of colour washed right over her. Not just because of the way James was looking at her, but because she was remembering how this morning she had discovered small, dark bruises on her body; not uncomfortable in any way, but open reminders of the intensity with which she and James had made love.
Even now, with every logical reason there could be for her to regret what had happened, her body still thrilled to a quivering frisson of sensation at the memory.
‘While you two are having lunch, I want to go and visit Jack,’ Mrs Mayers commented, and Lark was grateful for the diversion her remark created, because she and James spent the next few minutes discussing her old friend and his health.
‘Which reminds me,’ she continued, ‘Charlotte said you were both going down to visit her father at the weekend. How was he, James? Charlotte’s father had a very bad fall some years ago, and is virtually housebound,’ she explained to Lark. ‘He refuses to use a wheelchair, and since he can only walk a very short distance…I don’t see as much of him as I should. He’s a charming man, Lark, an academic with a very dry sense of humour. You’d never guess to speak to him that he virtually ran off with Charlotte’s mother. It was quite a cause célèbre at the time. Her family were extremely wealthy, and David, although he comes from a good family, had nothing other than his salary. He was in the navy in those days, and since Charlotte’s mother was under age—in those days one could not marry under the age of twenty-one without one’s parents’ consent in England—and so they ran away together.’
‘To Gretna Green?’ Lark asked, interested despite the fact that it was Charlotte’s parents they were discussing; it was not their fault that she couldn’t like their daughter, she told herself reasonably.
‘Oh, no, nothing so obvious. David’s family owned property in the Channel Islands, and he took her there. By the time the families realised where they were, she was hopelessly compromised, and of course her parents had to give permission for them to marry. She told me once that she and David were never actually lovers before they married, but of course her parents didn’t know that.’ She gave a small laugh. ‘I suspect they expected Charlotte to arrive far sooner than she actually did. I’m very fond of David. How is he, James?’
‘Much as always. The wet weather causes him a great deal of discomfort; although of course he will never say so. He’s very concerned about the estate. He worries about it being broken up once he’s gone, but I assured him that he had no cause to fear.’
‘David inherited family property and land from a cousin who died unexpectedly, which made him an extremely wealthy man. The estate has been in the family since the time of Edward the Confessor. David would very much like to see Charlotte married and with a family.’
‘He will do one day,’ James assured his mother, and Lark, remembering the way Charlotte had clung to his arm and openly made it obvious how much she desired him, wondered if this was the reason he wanted to speak to her: to make it clear to her how very far apart their futures lay.
He had desired her, and in fulfilling that desire he had shown her great skill and tenderness, but when it came to commitment…to marriage… Her mouth went dry—the air-conditioning in the car, she told herself numbly.
* * *
In other circumstances, Lark would have found the committee meeting interesting. The subject under discussion was moral ethics involved in research on human embryos, and the standpoint the charity should take on such work.
By the time the meeting broke up they were no nearer a decision, committee members speaking with equal force and conviction on both sides.
‘A complex issue,’ Mrs Mayers said tiredly as she and Lark left. ‘Of course, one wants to make progress, but ethically…’ She shook her head. ‘I really don’t know.’
Lark didn’t either, although she suspected that had she a child who desperately needed the knowledge such research could provide, she would be more than grateful for the results obtained by modern methods of research. It was a moral dilemma for which there was no easy answer.
James was waiting for them in the foyer of the building. He was glancing at his watch as they walked in, and frowning. No doubt wishing the interview with her over, Lark thought miserably.
What had happened to this morning’s determination to remain cool and proud? Now she felt bowed down by the weight of her unhappiness.
Last night she had shared with this man the most intimate experience there was, giving the very essence of herself freely and joyously, without thought of what was to follow. Although she could never regret their lovemaking, what she did regret was her vulnerability to a man who was not worthy of having her love, a man who, moreover, had no trust in her honesty, no faith or belief in her; a man who had simply and briefly desired her body.
Even so, she could not simply sit there and let him reject her. Far better if she was the one to reject him, to let him know she had no more desire to prolong their intimacy than he had himself.
With this in mind, Lark made no protest when Mrs Mayers left her with James.
At first, when she recognised where their taxi was heading, she thought he must be taking her to the Bostonian, but once they had got out and he had paid off the driver she realised her error.
He saw her glancing at the imposing building, and smiled without humour before saying tightly, ‘Given you a taste for the rich life, has he?’
When she refused to reply, he added savagely, ‘Dear God, do you kno
w what you’re doing? Is that really what you want? A rich marriage with a man you can’t desire?’
Lark’s heart leapt jerkily in shock and anger. Who was he to accuse her? And where on earth had he got the idea that she was even contemplating marriage to Hunter? Heavens, she had only been out with the man twice! But, before she could say so, James took hold of her wrist, wrenching her round to face him, and making her wince with pain at the roughness of his movements.
‘I can understand why he appeals to you, Lark, but if you were the least bit attracted to him, you would never have made love with me the way you did last night.’
She jerked away from him as though he had hurt her physically.
‘You don’t own me, James, just because we happened to make love last night.’ Her head lifted, her chin tilting defiantly as she refused to let the tears she could feel pressing against her eyes betray her. ‘In fact, as far as last night is concerned, it’s something I just want to forget.’
There was a moment’s tense silence, both of them oblivious to the curious and amused stares of passers-by who stopped to glance again at the handsome couple standing on the pavement, so involved in their own quarrel that they noticed no one else.
‘Oh yes, I’m sure you do,’ James snarled bitingly. ‘But you won’t. I’ll guarantee that.’
Lark couldn’t stand another moment of it. Not trusting herself to say another word without breaking down completely, she swung round on her heel and plunged into the mêlée of lunch-time strollers, desperate to escape.
She heard James call her name, but ignored him, hurrying desperately away from him, and not stopping until she realised that her side was aching with a stitch, and that she was in a completely unfamiliar area. In front of her was a huge, glassed-in building full of plants and flowers.
This was Fenueil Market, she realised, remembering what she had been told about the restored market area with its many boutiques and bars.
Dazed with shock and misery, she sank down on to a wooden bench, wondering that the sun should continue to shine and people continue to laugh when she was so desperately unhappy.
And what hurt most of all was that James should actually think that she was capable of encouraging Hunter for purely avaricious motives. That showed her more plainly than anything else the gulf between them. He was so blind to her real character, so bigoted and prejudiced, and yet despite that he had still made love to her.
How long she actually sat on the bench she didn’t know, but at last she became conscious of the fact that the crowds were thinning out, that she was hungry and the sun was hot, that she was very tired and very alone.
She stood up shakily and then flinched as a hand touched her arm, but it wasn’t James who stood watching her with concern, it was Hunter.
‘Lark, my dear, are you all right? I saw you from across the road. What are you doing here on your own?’
‘Oh, just passing the time exploring. I’m to rejoin Mrs Mayers at three,’ she said.
‘It’s almost that now,’ Hunter told her, glancing at his watch. ‘Where are you meeting her? I’ll drive you there. My car’s only parked across the way. I had a business meeting in town.’
Lark was too exhausted to refuse, but her heart sank when Hunter stopped the car and she saw that Mrs Mayers and James were already at their arranged meeting-place—the Ritz foyer.
To judge from the genuinely warm way in which Mrs Mayers greeted them both, she had no idea what had happened between herself and James, Lark recognised thankfully.
And yet, as her employer commented on what a very small city Boston actually was, Lark was conscious of James’s brooding, angry presence at her side. What right did he have to be angry? None! None at all. In fact, he should be feeling pleased and relieved, grateful that she was making it so easy for him to ignore last night.
They were all back in the limousine before he actually spoke to her, lifting her left hand as casually as though he had every right to do so, and studying her ring finger with grim intent before saying acidly, ‘Not got it yet, I see. You’ll have to try a little harder.’
‘James!’ Mrs Mayers exclaimed, frowning. ‘What a very ungentlemanly thing to say! Hordes of young women may pursue you,’ she added tartly, ‘but I assure you that Lark is not of that genre.’
‘No, she certainly isn’t,’ James agreed grimly, and Lark wondered if his mother was as aware as she was herself that the words were no compliment.
All in all, she reflected when she stepped out of the limousine at the Marble Head house, it had been a most disastrous day. All she wanted now was the privacy of her room, so that she could give way to the tears which had been threatening all day. But it was a release that she wasn’t going to be granted.
Mrs Mayers wanted the notes of the meeting typed up, as she was having dinner with one of the doctors engaged on the research programme.
‘Perhaps you’d join us as well, James,’ she suggested to her son. ‘I think we’d appreciate the legal view.’
‘I’m no expert on medical ethics,’ her son told her drily.
Lark flushed as she felt his hard gaze on her after she had muttered childishly under breath, ‘Or any ethics at all.’
But it was only the truth, after all, she told herself rebelliously.
Mrs Mayers came into the study at six o’clock, just as Lark was finishing typing up the notes, to say that Hunter was on the phone.
‘He wants to take you out to dinner.’
Lark pulled a face.
‘I’m rather tired. I think I’ll give it a miss.’
Hunter accepted her refusal good-naturedly. He was such a very kind man, Lark acknowledged as she replaced the receiver; it shouldn’t be very difficult for a woman to fall in love with a man like him, especially a woman who needed tenderness and care in the way that she did. So why did she instead commit the ultimate folly of falling in love with James?
At least she was spared the ordeal of sitting opposite him at dinner. She ate with the Hennessys after James and his mother had left, and she suspected from the sympathetic glances Mary gave her from time to time that the other woman had guessed what was wrong, although she was far too tactful to say anything.
At nine o’clock, Lark went up to her room. There was only one course open to her now, dislike it though she did. She counted carefully through her money and then rang the airport. If she was prepared to fly stand-by, to arrive at the airport and wait for as long as it took to get a spare seat, she could just about manage the fare back across the Atlantic.
She knew that she ought to wait to speak personally with Mrs Mayers, but she also knew that if she delayed her resolve would weaken. The temptation to stay at least within contact of James was far too tempting, and that she should feel like that after all he had said showed her how very dangerous her position was. So she sat down to write a note to her employer, explaining as best she could why she was simply walking out and leaving her. And since this explanation could not be allowed in any way to refer to her feelings for Mrs Mayers’ son, it proved an impossible task.
She had just crumpled up a fifth attempt and brushed away the defeated tears that kept on relentlessly destroying her concentration when a car drew up outside.
It was still far too early for Mrs Mayers and James to return, so it was probably someone visiting the Hennessys.
She thought no more about it, until she heard a firm rap on her door. Before she could respond, the door opened and James strode in.
‘Lark, I…’ he began in a peremptory tone, only to stop as he took in her tear-stained face and the discarded sheets of notepaper.
‘What’s going on?’ he demanded frowningly, swooping on one of the crumpled sheets, before Lark could stop it.
She did try, though, reaching desperately for it, her voice husky and shocked as she begged, ‘Please go away. I don’t want to see you.’
‘So it would seem,’ James said slowly, having smoothed out and read her note. ‘But why this… What is it? Are
you frightened that I might tell Cabot that we’ve been lovers? Is that why you’re running away?’
Lark’s temper snapped. She stood up, her fingers clenching.
‘I don’t care what you tell Hunter. I don’t care what you tell anyone. Do you think if I honestly wanted to have a relationship with him, I would even think of allowing another man to make love to me?’
Her eyes were brilliant with a rage that carried her beyond caution.
‘You’re the one who wants to pretend that last night never happened, James—not me. Did you really think I wouldn’t realise that last night meant nothing to you, that it was just a momentary impulse? You don’t know me at all. You’ve never known me. To you, I’m still the guilty party, the woman responsible for a major crime. You wanted to have lunch with me today, so that…’
‘I wanted to have lunch with you today, so that I could tell you how wonderful you were last night,’ he interrupted her softly. ‘So that I could assure you that it wasn’t just a one-night stand. Last night was your first time and…’
‘And because you discovered that I was a virgin you want to behave like an old-fashioned hero and do the gentlemanly thing,’ Lark flung at him acidly, so thoroughly confused by his words, and thrown with this abrupt volte-face, that it was hard to avoid betraying it. ‘Well, there’s no need. I’m a woman, not a child, and I’m perfectly capable of taking full responsibility for my own actions.’
This was worse, so much worse than she had expected. Didn’t he realise that she loved him, and that to have him stand there in front of her and speak to her in the way he was was causing her the most unbearable pain?
She turned her head away from him, and then drew in her breath in a taut gasp as his fingers touched her skin, tracing the path of her recent tears, sending tiny pulses of sensation racing under her skin.
‘And these?’ he asked softly. When she refused to reply, he added more forcefully, ‘And to set the record straight, I did not discover that you were a virgin,’ he mimicked her words, making her skin burn. ‘I was well aware of that fact before I touched you. For God’s sake, Lark,’ he exclaimed wryly, ‘why the hell do you think I was so careful with you?’