Josh leaned on the wall, facing her, nursing his mug between both hands, his angry, dark eyes fixed on her.
'Is that why you came back?' he asked slowly. 'Not to see your father again—but to find out how much truth there was in your mother's stories?'
Prue shrugged. 'I came for lots of reasons! I wanted to see my father again, and I wanted to see Yorkshire and the farm and the village, and everything I remembered, but I wanted to find out the truth, too.'
'Sure you didn't want to cause the maximum amount of damage to everyone who'd hurt your mother?' Josh asked in a neutral voice, and she shook her head, her face resentful.
'I don't think like that! You may be cold-blooded enough to go looking for revenge, but I'm not.'
'Oh, I wouldn't dream of suggesting you're cold-blooded,' he said drily, and smiled in a way that made. Prue uneasy. She was afraid of saying the wrong thing, so she silently gave him a hostile stare. After waiting a moment, Josh added softly, 'Although after watching you with your fiancé today, I did wonder!'
That hit her where she was vulnerable! Ever since she left the hospital, she had been feeling quarrelling with David while he was ill.
She blazed up, glaring at Josh. 'What do you mean by that?'
'Do you sleep with him?' he enquired in an apparently casual voice, and she turned scarlet, because he had unerringly touched on another painful question. David had wanted to make love to her months ago, but, perhaps because of the disaster love had been to her parents, she hadn't felt she could yet give herself, she wasn't ready for that final commitment and, although he had sighed, David had said he understood.
Josh's eyes glittered with a disturbing triumph as he watched her betraying expression. 'So you don't! I suspected as much.'
'Mind your own business!' she snarled, hating him—how on earth had he guessed?
'Does he know?' Josh drawled, perplexing her.
'Know?' she stammered, bewildered by the question.
'That your mother locked you up in deep freeze years ago and you don't know the first thing about loving anyone?'
She threw the tea at him on impulse; she hadn't intended to do it, she just hurled the mug, and Josh Killane must have had good reflexes because he ducked before the scalding hot tea reached him. He didn't escape entirely, though; Prue's aim was better than she had ever suspected. Swearing furiously, Josh looked down at his shirt and jacket—both tea- stained.
Prue wasn't surprised by the language, she had heard worse. She was afraid of Josh in a temper, though. He was frightening when he looked like that, and she was alarmed enough to wish she hadn't done it.
'You crazy little bitch!' he called her, reaching for her with violent hands, and she fled, hearing him right behind her, and catching up fast. She slammed the kitchen door behind her and managed to get to the stairs before he got the door open again, which gave her a slight lead in their race, but he still caught up with her on the landing. By then, Prue was in a feverish state; half fear, half guilt.
She should have apologised, but as his powerful hands grabbed her she panicked and hit him, and this time she did connect with his face.
The dramatic sound of the slap was probably worse that the actual impact, but both of them were taken aback.
Josh swore some more, the livid mark of her fingers standing out on his darkly flushed skin. His hands fastened on her wrists, yanked her arms down by her sides, and slammed her up against the wall. He held her there with his body; she felt the lean weight, the muscles backing up his insistence. The breath was almost knocked out of her; she had to fight for breath before she could get a word out.
'Get your damned hands off me!' she raged, and Josh raged back.
'You don't chuck a mug of hot tea over me and get away scot-free, so don't think it!'
Prue swallowed, her head swimming and a sick tension cramping her stomach. She couldn't free herself and she couldn't stand the enforced contact; the last thing she wanted was a sensual awareness of him, but how could she be unaware of his body when it touched hers so intimately? She might ignore what he said; she could never ignore what he was doing. When he breathed she felt it; she almost heard the beating of his heart; his face was inches away, his thigh pushed against her own.
'All right,' she muttered, eyes restlessly evading the pressure of his angry stare, 'I'm sorry! There, will that do? Let me go!'
'Is that supposed to be an apology? Why the hell did you throw that tea over me, anyway?'
'I lost my temper!'
'Oh, it's OK to throw things at someone when you've lost your temper, is it?' he sarcastically drawled, black-browed.
'You insulted me,' she said, feeling childish.
'I told you the truth; it was time you faced it.'
'It wasn't the truth!'
'Oh, yes, it was! Your mother was a neurotic and she screwed you up, too. You're more worked up over what happened years ago to someone else than you are over this guy you're supposed to love!'
'Don't be ridiculous, I . . .'
'You ignored your father after your mother took you to Australia!
You didn't answer his letters, although you must have known from them that he loved and missed you, and you didn't come here now because you wanted to tell him you were sorry, or to get to know him again. Why did you come? I wonder if you didn't have doubts about your mother, at last. Did you come to find out whether she was a much wronged woman—or a hysterical neurotic?'
'In some ways, maybe she was!' Prue muttered, hating him. 'But that doesn't mean she wasn't right about your mother and my father. I don't suppose you like admitting it, but they're lovers and have been for years. That's what pushed my mother over the edge. Something made her the way she was!'
'And in her turn, she made you the way you are!' Josh said, and she looked up at him angrily, then froze as she realised how close his face was, so close that she could read every fine line, every pore in his skin, the shadows along his jaw where he needed to shave, the firm moulding of his mouth, the veining on his lids, the black brows and eyelashes.
'I love David!' she said unsteadily, as though by mentioning David's name she could erect a wall between herself and Josh.
His mouth silenced the words; she saw it coming down towards her and she could have turned away, but a terrifyingly intense need consumed her. It wasn't desire or passion, it was an elemental drive like the force that feeds the wind or the tide. She met his mouth angrily, and they kissed like enemies; fighting, not making love, again and again, their bodies clamped together in mortal combat. He was no longer holding her wrists, and she could have got away if she had tried. She didn't try; she had hold of him, her hands attacking him, her nails sinking into his throat, clutching his hair, gripping his shoulders, her eyes shut and her body shaking, until the burning heat went out of her and she pulled her head back.
'No!' she said in a thick voice, feeling sick. 'Go away! Just go away, for God's sake!'
Josh let go of her without argument, and before he could say anything Prue dived past him and ran into her bedroom, slamming the door and locking it. She leaned there, trembling, hating herself. She loved David, she had loved him for years; she couldn't wait to marry him.
There had never been an instant's doubt about how she felt, and there wasn't now. What in heaven's name was wrong with her? She hated Josh Killane as much as she loved David—why, oh, why, had she let him make love to her?
It had happened too suddenly, and yet at the same time, if she was honest, she knew it hadn't been any surprise. She had felt it coming ever since they first met. She couldn't put a name to it, but it had been threatening her on the shadowy outskirts of her consciousness, like a coming hurricane you couldn't see or feel yet, but which all your instincts told you was coming. She shouldn't have let it take her over, though, she should have fought it; why hadn't she fought it?
Cold tears dripped through her closed lids; she tasted their salt on her lips and her whole body seemed cold, too. She felt she would never be wa
rm or happy again. Depression centred on her like a dark cloud.
She saw David's face inside her head; she had never had any other boyfriend. David was her first and only one; she Had always been totally faithful.. . until now!
What would David think if he ever found out? Hot waves of shame swept over her at the very idea of him knowing. He would be so hurt.
What could she ever say to him, how on earth could she explain something so tawdry and unforgivable?
Of course, there were excuses ... she came up with them grimly, knowing none of them excuse anything. She was lonely, she missed David, she was on edge because she was back home for the first time in years, she was still upset over her mother's death, she was disturbed because of the affair between her. father and Josh's mother.
Oh, yes, there were excuses—but she dismissed them all as feeble.
She was disgusted with herself for acting like some sex-starved adolescent, especially as she didn't even like the man!
She heard the sound of Josh's car driving away, and with a sigh of relief she walked rather unsteadily to the window to watch him vanish down the drive. At least he had gone, she could relax, try to make her way back to some pretence of normality before her father got home.
She went into the bathroom, stripped, showered in almost cold water, obsessively scrubbing her body from her hair down to her feet, and towelling herself angrily. She had needed to cleanse herself of the heat, the sweat, left after those moments in Josh's arms. She would never rid herself of the shame of feeling that way.
She put on clean clothes: an immaculate, tailored white shirt, a chunky black woollen cardigan, a pair of black denims belted tightly at the waist—an outfit which made her look capable rather than sexy and gave her a safer feeling. After she had blow-dried her hair, she gathered up all the clothes she had taken off and went downstairs to put them straight into the washing machine in the utility room leading off the kitchen. She didn't stop to ask herself why she felt she must wash them at once; she didn't ask herself why she had deliberately not put on any more makeup or why she was dressed with such neutral neatness. She just threw her clothes into the washing machine and started the process, then went into the kitchen and emptied the teapot, washed it up, washed up the cups, the spoons, the milk jug—everything Josh had touched or used. Her movements had an obsessive intensity; she was pale and her features were rigid.
She made herself a cup of instant coffee in a new cup, and then she sat down and listened to the silence all around her, feeling very alone, and wishing her father would come home.
Josh Killane shouldn't have said she didn't care about her father; it wasn't true, he didn't understand. How could she explain to anyone the complexities of betrayal and loyalty the split between her parents had set up in her mind? If she loved her father, she was disloyal to her mother—if she betrayed her mother, she hurt herself as well as him.
She had come back here to find out how she felt, to resolve a painful situation, uncover the reality of a nightmare she had lived with for years . . . but had she only made things worse by coming back?
Should she have stayed away for ever?
CHAPTER FIVE
HER father drove her to see David next day, and Prue was relieved to find him looking much better. He was looking more cheerful, too, and when she stammered out an apology for their quarrel the previous day, he shook his head at her, making a wry face.
'No! It was as much my fault as yours. I was feeling so rotten, it made me touchy. I think it's these damn pills they've got me on; you should see them, big as horse pills and twice as nasty, and you know how I hate taking any sort of medicine. I hate being ill, come to that! I feel damn stupid stuck in this bed when I should be having a great time with you, and most of all, I hate having to yell for a nurse every time I want to go to the toilet.'
'Oh, poor darling,' she said, chuckling. David was himself again and she felt a great wave of warmth towards him, a loving tenderness which was nothing like the terrifying intensity she had felt yesterday in Josh Killane's arms. That had left her appalled and sick. She couldn't even contemplate what it would be like to live with such emotions, but she knew one things for certain—she would always be contented living with David.
'You were right, anyway!' he said. 'That's partly why I was so mad!
You were only telling me what I was secretly thinking, myself. I knew Mum and Dad would kick up merry hell if I didn't let them know I'd been in an accident. I just couldn't face the thought of them rushing over here.'
'I'll ring diem right away, and do my best to reassure them!' Prue said, relieved, and David smiled at her.
'No need. I rang them myself an hour ago. Well, I rang Mum—Dad wasn't around.'
'What did she say?' Prue began to feel guilty again; she should have rung the Henleys, she owed it to them, and they would quite rightly blame her for not letting them know about the accident at once!
'I played it down a bit,' David said, grinning wickedly at her.
'What does that mean?' she asked, frowning with concern.
'Oh, I said I'd come off lightly—a couple of broken ribs and a bump on the head, that was all. I didn't tell them about the operation or that one of my ribs had pierced my left lung,'
'What?' Prue went white. 'A rib . . . pierced your lung?' She stared in stunned dismay. 'I had no idea your operation was that serious! They didn't tell me anything was wrong with your lung!'
'They didn't?' he said without surprise, making her wonder if he had asked the hospital authorities not to tell her. 'Sneaky lot, aren't they?'
But then he went on, 'They didn't even tell me until this morning.'
Prue studied him anxiously. The injury sounded horrific, but David seemed to be breathing OK and he had quite a good colour now, compared with the way he had looked yesterday.
She determined to seize the first opportunity which came her way to talk to the surgeon who had performed the operation. Why hadn't they told her about this? Why keep it a secret? But then, she hadn't asked them exactly what sort of operation they had performed—she had been in a state of shock herself, of course.
'But how on earth did it happen?' she asked.
'They said I'd got typical steering-wheel injuries,' David said cheerfully. 'When we crashed, I was sort of impacted into the wheel.'
She winced. 'Don't!'
David wasn't listening; he was too fascinated by the details of his accident, in fact, I was lucky we didn't hit the wall harder, or I might have crushed my ribcage altogether. As it was, I came off lightly.'
'Lightly?' she grimaced, her eyes ruefully admiring. It was typical of David to shrug off his accident. He wouldn't even take that seriously.
She smiled at him, then asked with anxiety, "What did your mother say? Didn't she ask why I hadn't rung?'
'She asked if you were badly hurt, were you in hospital . . .' David grinned. 'You know my Ma. I told her you'd been in hospital too, but they'd just discharged you. I said you'd be calling her later, but I'd wanted to talk to her myself first.'
She smiled at him. 'You're so tactful!' He had pleased his mother by saying that, and made sure that Mrs Henley wouldn't be angry with Prue for not ringing earlier.
'I know, I'm a marvel,' he said modestly, winking.
'She did start of by saying they ought to come over, but I said I'd be out of here any day and we'd be on our way to Paris.'
'And she didn't argue?' She was amazed, knowing his mother.
'She tried to,' David admitted, eyes amused. 'But I told her she was a silly old chuck and I was fine. So when you talk to her, don't tell it any other way, OK?'
'OK,' she said, because he did look miles better than he had the day before, and she was feeling guilty about David, she wanted to please him. 'Anything I can get you, darling?' she asked, looking at the flowers on his bedside locker. Those must be the ones Lynsey Killane had brought him; they were hothouse carnations, pink and cream and white. At this time of year, no doubt very expensive.
David saw her looking at them and grinned. 'Hey, some gorgeous-looking bird brought those in! She said she knew you, your father's a neighbour, or something? Is that right?'
Prue nodded. Lynsey Killane.'
'That's her!'
Her family owns my father's farm,' she said, and David stared blankly.
'Owns it? I thought he…'
'No, he isn't the owner, he's the tenant. The Killanes have several farms; they run the biggest, and have tenants on the others. My family have been their tenants for several generations.'
So your father can't leave the farm to you?' David asked, looking at her with sympathy.
'No, the farm will go back to the Killane estate! Maybe if I had been a son, they might have let me take over from my father, but as it is . . .'
She shrugged.
'Pretty feudal stuff, isn't it?' David said and she nodded wryly.
'I couldn't put it better myself! Feudal is the word.' It fitted more than the situation, come to that—it described Josh Killane perfectly! From the minute she'd met him, Prue had resented his manner; he was overbearing and dictatorial—and loved to act the part of a feudal overlord. Nobody seemed to have told him what century this was!
it must bug you,' said David, and she started.
'What must?'
'Knowing that your father can't leave you the farm!' he said, surprised by her bewilderment.
'I wouldn't want it, anyway,' Prue said. 'I'm no farmer—but I suppose it isn't very fair after all the years Dad has spent farming the land.' She wasn't too agitated about the injustice, however, because she had never wanted the farm or thought at all about what her father might or might not leave her in his will.
'I've often thought I'd like to have a shot at farming!' David said casually, and she gave him a surprised look.
'Really? You never said so before.'
'Haven't I?' He grinned, eyes teasing. 'Well, it is just one of my many ambitions, of course! I'd like to be an astronaut, too! Do you think it's too late to start the training?'
Seductive Stranger Page 7