A Scandalous Innocent

by Penny Jordan

  That got her attention. She looked at him, her eyes rounding with the impact of his words, unable to conceal her shock.

  ‘So innocent,’ he said roughly, and suddenly it seemed to Lark that, although he hadn’t moved, there was far less space between them; and the room was too hot, despite the whirr of the air-conditioning. She wanted to step back, but pride wouldn’t let her.

  ‘Did you really think I didn’t know?’ He seemed unable to believe it. ‘Did you really think I wanted to forget what happened? Lark, why is it that you can’t trust me? You drive me mad with jealousy by flaunting Cabot in my face. Didn’t last night show you how I feel about you?’

  ‘You still want me?’

  She hadn’t realised he had actually taken hold of her until she felt his arms tighten at her words, making her voice sound breathless and husky.

  ‘Yes, I want you,’ he told her fiercely. ‘I want you, desire you, need you, ache for you…am almost obsessed by you to the point where all I want to do is to carry you off somewhere where I can be alone with you and make love with you.’

  His voice had gradually grown more slurred, more heavy with sensual promise, and now her own senses, dazed by what he was saying, made her flesh respond to his nearness. She trembled slightly, already feeling the warmth of his breath on her skin, knowing that he was going to kiss her and feeling her body surge with anticipation of it, meeting his need with matching ardour. She could feel the heavy thud of his heart and the unmistakable arousal of his body as he groaned against her mouth and moved restlessly against her, trying to ease the fierce pulsing of his flesh.

  His hands laced into her hair as he stilled her mouth beneath his own, kissing her with such savagery that she was forced to protest. He stopped immediately, cradling her head against his chest, frowning when he inspected the swollen fullness of her mouth.

  ‘What are we doing to each other?’ he groaned. ‘I swear to God I’ve never hurt a woman like that before. Just tell me one thing, Lark—are you or do you intend to become involved with Cabot?’

  Lark shook her head and told him honestly, ‘I like Hunter, but that’s all.’

  ‘Then why the hell did you let me think—’ James began impatiently, but Lark silenced him, placing her fingers against his lips.

  ‘I thought you didn’t want me. It was pride, James, although you were the one who suggested that Hunter and I were involved.’

  She watched as he ran his fingers inside his loosened shirt collar. He looked hot and slightly dishevelled—a human being, vulnerable to all the human emotions and fears.

  ‘You were going to leave,’ he said flatly. ‘If I hadn’t come back you’d have been gone…’

  ‘It seemed the only thing to do,’ Lark told him.

  There was a long pause, and then he looked at her and asked quietly, ‘Because you hate me so much for last night?’

  Lark shook her head, unable to look at him, her answer slow in coming, and very hesitant, as though she half regretted making the admission. ‘I…I wanted you to make love to me. I don’t regret that, I can’t… But it hurt to believe that you knew so little about me that you thought I could make love with you and at the same time be contemplating a relationship with someone else. I hated knowing that you had made love with me, without having any respect for my judgement, without there being any trust…’

  He was quiet for a long time, and then he took her hand and said wryly, ‘Trust is a mutual thing, Lark. I could accuse you of having as little faith in me as you believe I have in you. Logically, perhaps, I shouldn’t have been jealous of Cabot, but today I haven’t been feeling particularly logical.’

  It was an admission that startled her enough for her to tease, ‘And you a practising barrister!’

  She was stunned to see how angry he looked as he took hold of her and virtually shook her.

  ‘Is that how you still see me? As the barrister? It was the man who made love to you last night, Lark. The man who went insanely jealous at the thought of you with someone else. The man who wants to take hold of you right now and lay you on that bed and…’

  His voice had dropped, and its resonance sent a quiver right through her. She didn’t need to close her eyes to conjure up images of the two of them entwined on her bed; she felt her legs weak with longing, her body arching toward him.

  ‘Let’s start again, Lark. Last night I rushed you. I should have taken time to…’ He broke off and shook his head. ‘You and I shared something very special last night, and I don’t just mean the sex…’

  ‘We can’t be lovers, James,’ Lark told him quickly. Her insides were already tied in knots of tension and pain. What was happening to her? She wanted this man and wanted him desperately, but how could she when he was her enemy? She feared him, she acknowledged painfully. She feared the powerful hold he already had on her emotions, and she feared her vulnerability to him. But most of all she feared the anomalies in her own nature that allowed her to desire a man for whom she should really only feel contempt and dislike.

  It shocked her to hear him saying tersely, ‘We already are—remember? And I’m not talking about us simply being lovers, Lark. I’m talking about us having a relationship, about…’

  ‘No!’

  He stared at her, as the sharp, high sound of her denial fell away.

  ‘Why not?’ he asked, his quiet voice in direct contrast to her own panic. ‘Because you work for my mother? Because of the court case?’

  Lark looked at him, hoping he wouldn’t see the pain in her eyes.

  ‘Yes,’ she told him huskily. ‘There has to be trust between two people, James. You don’t trust me, and I don’t…I don’t trust you,’ she added, not seeing the anguish that flared briefly in his eyes as she looked away.

  The silence seemed to stretch for a long time, and then he said, ‘Trust isn’t something that grows overnight. It’s a slow plant and has to be nurtured. Granted, the circumstances in which we met weren’t exactly ideal…’

  There was no missing the irony in his voice, but Lark refused to respond to it.

  ‘Give me two months, Lark. If at the end of that time…’

  His plea startled her.

  ‘James, it’s no use,’ she protested thickly. ‘Why are you doing this?’

  ‘Because I’m in love with you, you little fool,’ he told her roughly. ‘And what’s more, I think you love me too, only you’re too stubborn to admit it.’

  She couldn’t say a word. She could only stare at him while his words sank slowly into her numb brain. He was in love with her… Impossible… Impossible… But what if it wasn’t? What if he was telling the truth? What if, like her, he was powerless to resist the magnetic lure she had experienced that first day in court? What if…

  ‘Two months, Lark,’ he persisted huskily. ‘Give me two months to prove to you that we can build something together…That you can trust me.’

  Somehow or other she was in his arms, her answer in the kiss they exchanged. She could feel the dampness on his skin and marvelled at her ability to create such an emotional trauma within him.

  Could it be true? Had he fallen in love with her? Some part of her mind still held on to its fears and doubts, reluctant to let them go, reluctant to believe, but Lark ignored it. She wanted to believe him, wanted to acknowledge that different, compassionate side of his nature and forget the way he had looked at her in court, the way he had refused to believe her. And yet…

  ‘James, if the case hadn’t been dismissed…if your mother hadn’t offered me this job…I’m so grateful to her, you know…’

  All her doubts showed in her voice. He looked at her, and she had the impression that he wanted to say something. He looked both tired and sad, and she wanted to reach out and stroke the lines of care from his face.

  ‘All right, we won’t talk about it,’ she said softly, and yet, even as they kissed, she was wondering how on earth they could build a relationship on such a flimsy foundation. The past wouldn’t go away simply because James d
idn’t want to discuss it. Perhaps she should make him talk to her about it, but before she could say anything they heard a car outside.

  ‘That will be Mother.’

  ‘The dinner party…’ Lark stared at him.

  ‘I’d better go to my room. She’ll be wanting to find out if my headache has gone. I had to come back and see you, and so I used the most basic excuse I could find.’

  Instead of simply telling his mother the truth, Lark brooded, but it was difficult to hold on to the thought when James was kissing her, his hands whispering silken promises against her skin of pleasure to come.

  They broke apart reluctantly.

  ‘Tomorrow we’ll have the whole day to ourselves…’

  ‘I’m here to work, James,’ Lark reminded him gently. ‘I can’t just desert your mother.’

  ‘I’ll fix it. I’ll tell her that I need to talk to you about the ball at my place,’ he teased her, but after he had gone Lark hoped that he wouldn’t persuade Mrs Mayers to give her extra time off by deceiving her. She didn’t like lying, but until the trial period they’d agreed on was up, she didn’t want to involve anyone else. It was just one more thing that made the whole relationship difficult…

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  THEY had almost a week together and, far from having to ask Mrs Mayers for time off, that lady announced that since this was Lark’s first visit to New England, and since she herself had more invitations than she could possibly fulfil from old friends, none of whom would be of the slightest interest to her son or her assistant, James should show Lark something of New England.

  ‘Of course, it is at its most beautiful in the fall, and Cape Cod has become terribly touristy now, but there are still some lovely spots. I remember when I was a girl…the whole family would move out to the Cape for the summer.’ She gave a reminiscent smile. ‘Only my father stayed in the city.’

  Lark tried to protest that she was in New England to work, but Mrs Mayers overruled her.

  ‘Lark, if you are to work, then so must I. We’ve achieved so much already that I feel I owe it to myself to take some time off. If you refuse, you’ll make me feel guilty. After all, you haven’t had a full day off since you came to work for me.’

  It was true, although Lark could have protested that her day’s work was hardly as arduous as working a normal office routine would have been.

  Later, looking back, the short space of time they had together seemed iridescent, like a soap bubble. And, like a soap bubble, fragile too.

  They laughed, they talked, but never about the court case or events leading up to it. Was that because both of them were wary of treading on ground which they knew to be unsafe? Lark put the thought behind her. It was pointless to destroy the present because of the past, but the past was what shaped the present and the future, she reflected uneasily.

  James had driven them out to a remote part of the coast on their last day. There was no beach here, no sand, just huge slabs of rock carved by the tide. Around the corner of the headland was a small fishing village. Once, its deep-water harbour had been home for a small whaling fleet, and they had visited the local museum with its artefacts from those times. James had bought her a small piece of scrimshaw carved by a long-ago sailor. Slightly yellow with age, it had obviously been a love token from his sweetheart, the letter ‘L’ carved with small flowers and leaves. What had her name been? Louise? Lucy? Laura? She would never know, Lark reflected as she touched it. She was wearing it on a fine gold chain that James had also bought for her.

  ‘Tonight I’m going to take you for a clam chowder supper,’ James told her lazily, raising his prone body slightly so that he could look at her. ‘You can’t visit New England without trying Boston’s speciality.’

  Lark had already heard about the famous dish from Mrs Mayers, but she teased James by announcing that she never ate fish.

  They had been sunbathing, taking advantage of the afternoon heat. James was already well tanned; her skin, paler and more delicate, needed protecting, and she had moved out of the sun into the shade several minutes before, to sit crouched on a boulder, with her arms round her knees. James was lying a couple of yards in front of her, the frayed denim shorts he had worn for swimming clinging damply to his skin. She wondered if he was wearing them for her benefit, or simply because the beach was not private enough for him to risk taking them off. Remembering the all-over golden hue of his body, she knew that he must have sunbathed in the nude before.

  They hadn’t made love a second time—at least, not properly; and there were times when she almost wished that James would not kiss or touch her when to do so meant that he left her raw and aching inside. She wished she had both the experience and the self-confidence to ask him to fulfil her, and wondered at the same time how it was that he somehow or other managed to control his own desire. Surely it was the male of the species who went out of control with physical desire, not the female?

  ‘I have to leave in the morning,’ James told her abruptly.

  She had known it must happen; he had said all along that he could not stay more than a few days. He had even discussed with her the case he would shortly be taking to court. His very obvious involvement with his work, the depth of attention and concentration he gave it, had left her feeling a little shut out at times, and she also found it hard to equate the very obviously caring and concerned attitude he took to his clients with the callous way he had treated her, but it was a subject she preferred not to discuss. What would be the point? Besides, to do so raised other spectres. She hadn’t spoken to him about it, but surely the mere fact that he never mentioned the case proved that he still did not believe she had been innocent?

  That he was prepared to overlook her guilt surely must say something about the depths of his feelings for her. So why was she haunted by doubts about their relationship?

  ‘At least we shan’t be apart for too long. Mother intends to fly home in a couple of weeks, and I’ve persuaded her that both of you must come down to Abbotsfield. I want you to see it.’

  Her heart soared. He wanted her to see his home.

  ‘You love it, don’t you?’ she guessed, reading behind the almost curt words.

  ‘Yes… Heredity is a very strange thing. I never gave the place a thought while I was growing up. But now I look at it and see, not just the bricks and mortar, but all those people who have gone before me…who’ve cherished and protected it…’ He broke off with a grimace. ‘Now you’re letting me get maudlin. How many tickets is Mother expecting to sell? I’m hoping we can keep people out of the house itself.

  ‘I’m going to miss you,’ he added softly, watching the shadows play across her face. There was still so much of herself she kept hidden from him, still so much reserve she wouldn’t allow him to penetrate. And he dared not rush her.

  ‘I’ll probably be too busy to notice you’ve gone,’ Lark lied.

  Just looking at him made her body ache, and she knew that her skin was flushed. She could feel her nipples harden and felt a wave of shame scorch her. Once… He had made love to her just once, and ever since then she had ached for him to do it again. But he hadn’t… Why?

  ‘Time we were going, I think. I’d like us to have dinner with Mother tonight, as it’s my last evening. Do you mind? We can go out later on for that clam chowder.’

  Of course she didn’t mind; she already felt guilty at the amount of time they had spent together, but Mrs Mayers had refused to allow her to work. It was true that she had a very wide circle of friends, all of whom wanted to spend time with her.

  Hunter had rung on several occasions to ask her out, and Lark had felt guilty about refusing him. She found it hard to believe that James had been jealous of him. There was just no comparison between them, or the way she felt about them.

  * * *

  Although Mary had outdone herself to provide them with an excellent meal, Lark felt that the occasion was over-shadowed with an almost tangible aura of melancholy. Or was it just because she was already dre
ading parting from James?

  Instead of bringing her self-confidence and security, their relationship had only heightened her awareness of how emotionally dependent she had become. She still felt as though their relationship was a very unequal one.

  She had been quiet all through dinner, and now, on the way into Boston, she was conscious of James watching her, whenever his concentration on his driving allowed.

  ‘You’re very quiet,’ he commented. ‘Is something wrong?’

  She knew that her smile was stiff, but it was the best she could do.

  ‘Not really. I think these last few days have made me lazy. Holidays are like that, aren’t they?’

  She had deliberately avoided saying anything more personal. He must know how much she was going to miss him, how much she was dreading tomorrow.

  He didn’t say anything for a while, and she thought he was not going to bother to make any comment, until he suddenly swung the car into a parking spot and switched off the engine.

  ‘Is that how you see our relationship, Lark? A holiday from reality…something that isn’t really part of the fabric of your life?’

  He was questioning her much as he had done in court, throwing the words at her in a hard, unfamiliar voice.

  She wetted her lips with her tongue, her throat dry and taut. ‘James, I… We’ve known each other for such a short space of time…’

  ‘Long enough for us to become lovers.’

  Yes, and that was part of the problem. Whenever she had visualised having a relationship with a man, she had expected that they would grow gradually towards sexual intimacy, never dreaming she would experience its explosive demanding force so intensely or so quickly.

  ‘Are you trying to tell me that you’re having second thoughts?’

  Lark couldn’t say anything, frightened by what her insecurities had led her to. Was this James’s subtle way of breaking off from her? If so, it was a game she couldn’t play.

  ‘Are you?’ she countered huskily, and heard him make an explosive sound in his throat.