Seductive Stranger

by Charlotte Lamb

  SEDUCTIVE STRANGER

  Charlotte Lamb

  Would she ever find out the truth?

  From the minute Prue met Josh Killane, she resented his manner - he acted just like a feudal overlord. Didn't he know what century this was?

  Prue was determined to avoid him. After all, his mother was responsible for her parent's divorce and her own painful estrangement from her father.

  She'd returned to England to discover for herself whether her mother's allegations about her father were right. But with Josh so attractive and so threatening, perhaps she shouldn't have come!

  CHAPTER ONE

  'YOU'RE quiet,' David said, but Prue was staring out at the stormy landscape, her green eyes bleak, and didn't hear him. They were almost there—and she was getting cold feet. Maybe she should have told David all about it, but that would have seemed disloyal while her mother was alive—and, oddly, more so since her mother's death six months ago.

  David waved a hand in front of her face. 'Hey, are you in there?'

  'Sorry! I was thinking,' she said, smiling an apology. When they were planning this trip to Europe, she had said that she would like to visit Yorkshire to see her father, and David had agreed without asking a string of questions. It was typical of him; he wasn't curious or interested in the past. The present was all that mattered, he said; and that was just one of the reasons why she loved him. He was easy-going and casual; he didn't brood or cling to grievances as her mother always had.

  'How much further?' he asked. '1 seem to have been driving for ever.'

  'Just a couple of miles away now.'

  'You're right—two miles to Hallows Cross!' said David, looking at a signpost they were passing. 'Weird name!'

  'It's a euphemism, actually!' Prue said with sudden amusement.

  'It's a what?'

  'The village was originally called Gallows Cross…'

  'Don't tell me! There used to be a gallows at the crossroads!'

  'Yes, but in Victorian times, people hated to be reminded about that, so they changed the name.'

  'Oh, it's that sort of place, is it?' David grimaced, and she laughed.

  They both spoke with an Australian lilt, although Prue had only lived in Australia for ten years, while David had been born there. His native sun had given him golden skin to match his golden hair; hours on the beach, surfing, swimming and sailing his sleek little yacht had given him a lithe, athletic body. Prue sighed; Australia seemed very far away. She had begun to miss it as soon as they left. It had been spring there; her favourite time of the year. They had arrived in England to find a wet and windy autumn; on the Yorkshire hills and moors the heather was purple, the gorse still yellow, although the bracken was already turning russet and bronze, a colour less vivid than the flame-red hair which 'blew around her face in the wind from the open car window.

  This was a landscape of contrasting colours: gentle, misty, blue and grey-green distances, mysterious wooded valleys and softly rounded hills on which grazed ambling sheep. Prue had not seen this countryside since she was thirteen years old, yet it was so familiar that it hurt, like a blow over the heart. She kept catching her breath; a sense of uneasiness was growing stronger the closer they came to her old home, although she couldn't pin down any sound reason for feeling anxious. It must be pure nerves. She had no idea what to expect when they did arrive.

  'Penny for your thoughts,' said David, and she started, eyes wide.

  'They're not worth it..'

  'I can read your face, you know!' he said softly, putting a hand on hers. 'Are you wishing you hadn't come, Prue?' His blue eyes stared down into her green ones, and she shrugged ruefully, unsurprised by his intuition. They had known each other a long time and David knew her very well. He leaned over to kiss her. 'Don't worry, it will be OK, just relax and take things as they come.' It was his motto for life, and she couldn't help laughing.

  He grinned back, and at that instant they came over the crest of the hill, and almost ran smack into another car coming from the opposite direction. It was all so sudden that Prue hardly knew what was happening. Dazedly, she saw a red car flash by, horn blaring, tyres screaming.

  Prue stared, open-mouth, at the startled face behind the steering wheel, a hard face from which wild, black hair blew back.

  David instinctively swerved sideways. The other man had already shot over to the right-hand side of the road, and they might have avoided an accident, but in his panic David lost control, or perhaps the brakes failed. Whatever the reason, still going much too fast, the car smashed into a stone wall with a noise of crumpling metal and splintering glass.

  Prue had her seat-belt on; she was flung back and forth like a rag doll, hitting first the door and then the windscreen, her long, red hair thrown across her face, blinding her. She ended up sprawled forward in her seat in a state of shock, and for a moment was barely conscious, until she remembered David and sat up, white-faced. He lay very still over the wheel; broken glass glittering in his hair, blood crawling down the side of his face.

  'David!' she groaned, white-faced, unbuckling her seat-belt with hands that trembled, but, before she could scramble over to him, the door beside her was wrenched open, someone grabbed her by the waist and dragged her backwards out of the car.

  Startled, Prue struggled, looking round into the grim, dark face of the other driver. She had had the barest glimpse of him as they passed, but that face was burnt into her brain. She was sure she would never forget it,

  'Never mind me, I'm OK, get David out; I think he's badly hurt,' she gabbled, trying to push him away, quite uselessly since he took no notice, and was too strong for her, anyway. He lifted her out of the car and carried her, kicking and protesting, to a safe distance.

  'Put me down! I can walk; will you please get David out?' she yelled, and he deposited her abruptly on the rough, heathery bank which scratched her legs and hands. She gave a cry of pain which he ignored, striding back to the car. Prue watched fixedly as he lifted one of David's hands by the wrist. She knew he was looking for David's pulse, and her stomach clenched in sick anxiety. His face told her nothing, and after a moment he let go of the hand, but he didn't try to pull David to safety. Instead, he began prowling around the car, peering into the engine.

  'Never mind the car!' Prue burst out, and, still a little dizzy began trying to get to her feet. 'What the hell are you doing?' She was so angry that her voice wavered, and that got her a searching glance from dark, impassive eyes.

  'Sit down before you fall down!' he ordered, and she bristled.

  'Why don't you get David out of there?'

  'He's unconscious,' he coolly said. 'And it could be dangerous to move him until we know how badly he's injured.'

  'But it's dangerous to leave him in the car! What if it explodes?'

  'There's no smell of petrol. What do you think I was doing? I was checking on the petrol tank; it isn't damaged, although the bonnet has buckled. The engine seems OK. I can't see any leakage of fuel, and I don't think…'

  'Damn the car! What about David?' Her green eyes blazed in her strained white face and his eyes narrowed, observing her, but his voice was still very calm.

  'His pulse seemed regular.'

  'But he's unconscious! I'm no doctor, but I think we ought to get him to a hospital as soon as we can—we have to get to a phone! Will you stop wasting precious time, and drive to the nearest telephone box?'

  'I've already rung the local hospital. An ambulance should be here any minute.'

  She stared at him blankly. 'You've rung the hospital? But. . . but how?'

  'I have a phone in my car,' he said casually.

  That possibility hadn't occurred to her. 'Oh! Oh, yes, of course!' she said on a thick sigh of relief.

/>   'Now, will you please just sit and be quiet!' he commanded, turning around to check on David again.

  She was still feeling very shaky so she obeyed him, her whole body slack and icy with shock, but she stared at his back view with dislike.

  He had a very high-handed way of talking—giving orders as if he had a right to lay down the law to everyone! She disliked everything about him, yet she still couldn't help feeling she had seen him before somewhere, or maybe that she had heard that voice before! A distinct sense of deja vu kept recurring whenever she heard those clipped, insistent go-to-blazes English tones.

  Maybe he lived in the district? She could have met him at any time during her childhood, of course, but it couldn't have been very frequently or she would have a definite memory of him. She remembered quite a few of the local people. Or was she simply remembering voices like his? Was his face familiar? Her green eyes ran over him assessingly: tall, with long legs and slim hips, that black hair, a sharp- etched profile, nose long, mouth hard and controlled.

  He wasn't handsome, but he was physically compelling, He was tough, and much too sure of himself.

  That thought made her frown again. It had reminded her of something, but just as she had almost tracked the memory down she heard David stir. She looked quickly at him; his hand was moving.

  He lifted it to his head, as if in pain, then gave a faint groan.

  'How do you feel?' the other man asked him, bending down, and Prue forced herself to get up. She must go to David, reassure him. It would be worrying for him to open his eyes after being unconscious, and see a total stranger looking down at him.' He would wonder what on earth was going on!

  'What happened?' he was whispering, his voice so low she only just heard it.

  'You were in an accident, but don't worry, you aren't badly hurt.'

  'Oh . . .' David's voice faded, then he said hoarsely, 'I remember now

  ... Prue . . . where's Prue?'

  'I'm here,' she said, shakily covering the short distance to the car, but David had closed his eyes again by the time she got there. While she was looking down at him she heard the ambulance racing towards them. She swayed on her feet, deathly cold suddenly, and the dark man put an arm around her, holding her up.

  'I told you not to move!' he said, and she eyed him with disfavour.

  'It must be nice to know you're always right!'

  He smiled faintly. 'Are you always this aggressive? Or is this just the way you cope with shock?'

  The ambulance pulled up nearby and men raced towards them. One of them went immediately to David; the other came over to Prue and the other man.

  'Hello, Phil,' he calmly said, and the ambulanceman gave him an unsurprised nod, smiling in a friendly way.

  'They told us it was you who rang in, Josh! We passed your car back there; it looked as if it was OK. What happened?'

  'That guy came over the hill half-way over my side of the road. We both swerved, and I pulled out of it easily enough, not a scratch on either me or my car, but as I was driving on I heard him crash, I reversed until I could see what had happened, rang the emergency services, parked and ran for help.'

  'Superman!' Prue said bitterly, and they both looked at her.

  The ambulance driver laughed. The other man didn't.

  'She was in the car with him,' he said coolly. 'Better take a look at her, Phil. She seems pretty shocked.'

  The ambulance driver became very professional; a moment later Prue was in the ambulance, on a stretcher, covered with a blanket, and it was only as the warmth of it got through to her that she realised how cold she was, how her body was shaking. They carried David into the ambulance, and she sat up on her elbow to watch, but he had his eyes shut and they were quickly setting up a blood transfusion. Prue bit her lip anxiously—how badly was he hurt? They wouldn't be giving him blood if he hadn't lost a lot. The only injury she had noticed until then had been the one to his head, but now she saw blood on his shirt and her heart skipped a beat.

  'Is he badly hurt?' she asked one of men, and they soothingly said no, he wasn't, but she didn't believe them, the door shut, one of the men stayed beside David, doing something to him. She couldn't see—his back hid David from her—but she was afraid and tears began to run silently down her face.

  What if he died? What on earth could she say to his mother and father, who had always been so kind to her, especially since her own mother died? She had brought David over here to Europe! She had talked him into coming up to Yorkshire when he would probably have been much happier staying in London or going over to Paris, as they had planned to do next week. David wouldn't be here if it weren't for her—and she would understand if his family blamed her for this accident! She blamed herself.

  When they reached the hospital they were taken to the Casualty department for a while. Prue was seen briefly by a doctor, who seemed satisfied with a quick examination but would not answer her questions about David. After about half an hour she was wheeled away to a female ward, and put to bed.

  'Listen,' she said to the nurse looking after her, 'where have they taken David, my friend ... the man brought in with me . . .? I want to know what's wrong with him, I want to see him.'

  'He's gone straight to theatre,' the nurse said, and Prue drew a sharp breath, her eyes frightened.

  The girl noticed her expression and smiled comfortingly. 'But don't worry, he's in good hands, and I don't think he's badly injured at all.

  He's only having a pretty straightforward op. In a couple of hours he'll be tucked up in the ward next door—male surgical—and when you're up on your feet you'll be able to see how he is for yourself!'

  'How long will that be?'

  The girl looked confused. 'Sorry?'

  'Before I'm back on my feet.'

  Hesitantly, the nurse said, 'Well, that's not for me to say, it's up to Dr Wilson, but not too long, I imagine.'

  'I'm not hurt,' protested Prue. 'A few bruises and cuts, that's all.'

  'I wouldn't know, I just work here,' the girl grinned. 'Look, you've got a visitor—can he come in now?'

  'A visitor?' Prue was suddenly flushed, and angry with herself for this instant reaction. It had to be that man, of course! In all the flurry of being admitted to hospital she had forgotten about him, and she wished she could go on forgetting. Why had he come? He had been efficient and cool-headed, and she knew she ought to be grateful to him, but something about the man had put her back up.

  'Well? Shall I let him in?' the nurse demanded, looking at her with a curious smile, and Prue pulled herself together.

  'OK,' she said reluctantly, and the nurse left her. Prue leaned back on the pillows, watching the swing doors of the ward. Why should he come? He had known she wasn't badly hurt, and he couldn't have felt responsible for the accident; his blistering comments on David's driving had made that clear. He surely couldn't have thought she would want him to visit her! He must have realised she was in love with David, even if he hadn't noticed her engagement ring.

  Of course, he might have come out of courtesy, or kindness! Prue made a face. She was being very ungrateful, wasn't she? She ought to thank him, not resent him. She owed him that much—and that reminded her! She must make a phone call as soon as possible. She would ask her visitor to help arrange it. It had slipped her mind until now, but she and David were expected, and if they didn't arrive . . .

  Her nerves jumped as the ward door swung open, but it wasn't the dark-eyed man who walked towards her, it was a much older man, of a very different type. His thick, reddish hair had turned silvery, his weather-browned skin was lined, he had a faint stoop to shoulders that she remembered as broad and strong—but she knew him at once, in spite of the ten years since they had met.

  'Prunella,' he said huskily, standing beside the bed and looking awkward and unsure of himself, and his voice sent a shiver down her spine because that, at least, hadn't altered. She would know that voice anywhere.

  'Hello, Dad,' she whispered, stupidly holding out h
er hand as if expecting him to shake it.

  He laughed gruffly and took her hand between both of his, sat down suddenly on the bed and leaned forward to kiss her cheek. True, Prue,'

  he said, his cheek against hers, and she had an uneasy suspicion he was almost crying. 'You look so grown-up.'

  'I am grown-up,' she said, trying to laugh, but just as much on edge.

  She hadn't known how she would feel when they met again. Her emotions towards her father were so complex: a cat's cradle of anger and pain, love and guilt, too inextricably entwined to be unwound.

  She hadn't even been sure if it was wise to come, or whether she should leave him in the past along with all those sad childhood memories. She had been sure only that she wanted to return to Europe for a visit; a holiday would help her to get over the grief of her mother's death, and she felt a yearning for the landscape of her childhood, for those happy far-off years when everything had seemed so safe and unchanging.

  She had had to put the trip off for a while, because there was so much to do first. She had sold the furniture, along with the house, and she had worked out a month's notice at the office in Sydney where she'd worked. She had good friends there; she would probably go back on her return to Australia, unless David chose to live elsewhere after their marriage.

  'I was sorry to hear about your mother. It's hard to believe she's dead,'

  Jim Allardyce said.

  'It's hard for me to believe it, too!' she admitted, trying to merge this tired, sad man with the father she remembered.

  'It must have been a shock for you, and you had to cope all on your own! You should have cabled me—I'd have come right away.'

  'I had lots of good friends to help me, and Mother . ..' Her voice cut out as she realised that she couldn't end that sentence; nor did she need to, surely? He must know that her mother wouldn't have wanted him, of all people, at her funeral?

  He flinched, as if she had struck him, and she felt guilty again. She knew nothing about his life today, except that he hadn't married that woman who had wrecked his marriage. Her mother had sneered over that. 'Well, she wouldn't want that, would she? They would both have been ruined,' she had said tartly. She, herself, had remarried; Harry Grant had been a good man, Prue had liked him, and her mother should have been happy, but she had nursed her bitterness and resentment to the end.