by Craven, Sara
`Aren't you?' he said sardonically. He let the long tress of hair fall back on her shoulder, and his fingers followed it to touch the curve of her throat in a caress that, although fleeting, seemed to burn her flesh. A long tremulous quiver shook her body, and, dazed, she heard him laugh softly as if he was quite aware of her reaction. His hand moved almost inexorably along her shoulder to the wide, soft folds of the shoulder-strap which constituted half of her bodice, and she tensed unbelievingly, her eyes flying to his face in swift, outraged denial, as she felt him begin to slide the material aside.
'No!' she got out, pulling herself away almost wildly from the intimate exploration of his touch.
`Why not?' His voice was quiet but with an underlying sensuous warmth that disturbed her as much as the frank appraisal in his dark eyes. 'Your room is here, and I can guarantee no one would disturb us.'
`You're—insulting.' Her voice shook uncontrollably. 'How have you been insulted? I've merely credited your
intelligence by making my intentions clear, instead of merely seducing you as I might have done.'
`I think you must be mad!' Backed against the door, her shoulders pressed against its panels as if she would draw some reserve of strength from its solidarity, she looked incredibly young and defenceless. 'I think your previous—conquests must have gone to your head, Mr Andreakis.'
He laughed. 'How charmingly old-fashioned! I don't look for conquests, however. Submissiveness is the last quality I look for when I take a woman to my bed.'
`That is no concern of mine,' she said, lifting her chin with a kind of forlorn dignity. 'But I am afraid you will have to look elsewhere for your latest—seduction.'
`Andithetos, pethi mou,' he said, almost gently, then, as she tried to slip past him, to return to safety and sanity downstairs, his hands reached for her, bruising her bare arms and dragging her with merciless strength against the hardness of his body. For a long moment he held her, writhing impotently in his grip, while his eyes searched her face as if he was etching her features on some inner consciousness, then his mouth came down on hers, parting her lips with sensual ruthlessness and destroying for ever any innocent illusions she might have had about what a kiss would be.
When he let her go, Lacey stood motionless for a moment, her eyes enormous with shock in her pale face, then she pressed her hand almost convulsively over her swollen mouth and ran from him, only to collide with someone else standing at the head of the stairs.
`Lacey!' Michelle's voice was taut. 'Where have you been for this age?' Her eyes narrowed as they swept over her stepdaughter. 'Mon dieu, your hair! What have you done ...'
'It was my doing, Lady Vernon.' Troy Andreakis joined, them unhurriedly, his dark face cool and imperturbable, leaving Lacey wondering dazedly whether she had merely imagined the last few outrageous moments. 'A sovereign remedy for headaches—passed down in our family for generations.'
His eyes, faint amusement in their depths, seemed to
challenge Lacey, daring her to take exception to his behaviour. She turned impulsively to her stepmother and paused, whatever protest she had planned to make trembling unsaid upon her lips, hardly able to believe the unmistakable look of triumph she had surprised on Michelle's face. Lacey realised then what Troy Andreakis had meant when he had told her that they would not be disturbed. Michelle knew already all that there was to know, and condoned it, as if she had been an actual witness to that shattering kiss. Lacey felt cold and sick. And would Michelle also have condoned the lovemaking which would have been the most probable aftermath to the kiss, if she had not made her escape? It seemed only too likely.
Michelle gave a little smile. 'It seems to have been very successful,' she said smoothly. 'But perhaps you should tidy yourself a little, ma petite, before you join us downstairs. We are all waiting to hear you play.'
Lacey murmured something unintelligible and fled to her room. Some ten minutes later she stood back and looked at her reflection. It was as if the clock had been turned back and the girl who stood there slim and straight in her deep blue dress, with the long silver-blonde hair brushed straight and shining over her shoulders, was the only one who had existed that evening. As she turned away, her foot caught the crumpled folds of the discarded black dress lying on the floor. For a moment she hesitated, then, as anger and humiliation welled up inside her again, she bent and picked it up, wrenching at the delicate fabric until it tore irretrievably. With a grim smile, she let it drop back to the floor. She would never be forced into that particular charade again, she vowed.
From now on, any contest would be played according to her rules, she told herself defiantly, then shivered as in spite of herself the dark relentless face of her adversary forced itself into her mind, and her fingers strayed almost wonderingly to the softness of her mouth which he had made so totally his own.
In her little talks on morals to the girls at the convent, Reverend Mother had always stressed that a girl's best protection was her own innocence, yet hers had proved at best
the shakiest of defences, Lacey thought bitterly. And even Reverend Mother had not visualised a situation where that innocence might be placed on sale to a man like Troy Andreakis.
She gave a little trembling sigh. All she could hope to do was keep out of his way as much as possible and see to it that she was never alone with him again. After all, he would not be staying at Kings Winston forever, and soon, very soon, she would never have to set eyes on him again.
CHAPTER THREE
LACEY awoke early the next morning, after a restless night. She washed and dressed in an old pair of denim pants, topped by an equally ancient thick sweater, then slipped downstairs and let herself quietly out by the side door, collecting her duffel coat on the way. She felt like a fugitive as she made her way down the drive, but her mind was made up. She intended to spend the day working at the stables with Fran Trevor.
It occurred to her that Troy Andreakis might well have mentioned to her stepmother that he had asked her to spend the day with him, and that her disappearance might well involve her in a major row later, but even that was preferable to being forced to spend hours in close proximity with a man whom she disliked and feared. Yes, she was prepared to admit to herself that Troy Andreakis scared her. She had been right when she had gauged that civilisation could just be a veneer with him. There was a latent savagery about him which disturbed her, and made her feel oddly threatened.
Last night while she had played the piano, she had felt his eyes upon her, brooding and enigmatic, and in some strange way this had drawn from her one of her best performances. Normally she hated being paraded at the piano after a dinner party like a child with a party piece, and barely tolerated the over-popular classics that she was expected to play. But last night she had acceded to her father's request and played his favourite Chopin nocturne, a difficult piece which called for all her technical skill and which she had managed to imbue with a fire and imagination she had not realised she possessed. She had not looked at Troy Andreakis to see if he had joined in the applause which greeted her performance, and not long afterwards people began to make their departures and she was able to go to her room, without exchanging another word with him
Michelle had given her change of dress a long, glittering look, but she had made no comment, to Lacey's relief, nor, as she had rather feared, had she come to Lacey's room to elicit a more complete account of what had passed between Troy Andreakis and herself. However Lacey might feel, Michelle obviously thought that the evening had gone well.
She wondered miserably how much her father had known about Michelle's plans, and whether he had sanctioned them. It was unbearably hurtful to think that he might have agreed to her becoming part of some sordid sexual bargain in order to save Vernon—Carey from collapse, and she was sure that only utter desperation would have made him contemplate such a course of action.
Her rather despondent thoughts occupied her during the brisk ten-minute walk along the lane to the stables on the edge of Kin
gs Winston village.
By the time a yawning and heavy-eyed Fran had put in an appearance, Lacey had already watered the five horses and three ponies that comprised the stables' complement, and had the coffee going in the small office next to the tack room. Fran's eyes widened in surprise and pleasure when she saw Lacey.
'You must be made of steel,' she commented. I thought you would be having breakfast in bed this morning to build up your strength for your day out with your millionaire.'
'He is not my millionaire.' Lacey stirred the brimming mugs of coffee with unnecessary vigour. 'And the day out is cancelled, as of now. I've seen quite enough of him already.'
'Ho-hum.' Fran gave her a wondering look. 'And does he feel the same about you?'
'I wouldn't know.' Lacey shrugged with a negligence she was far from feeling. 'But I'm afraid if he wants a guide, he'll simply have to apply to the British Tourist Board. I'm no longer available.'
'Well, if you're sure,' Fran said. 'Actually I wouldn't mind your help today. I'm going to be busy. Those people from the Bull are coming back at ten, and I have pupils this afternoon as well. Alan was going to try and get down, but it looks as if Domino is going to produce her foal today, so he may be tied up. If you'd like to come out with us this
morning I'd be grateful. None of them are beginners, but I'd like to be able to give the children some individual attention, if you'd keep an eye on the adults.'
Lacey acquiesced willingly. When inquiries were made for her, as she had no doubt they would be, she wanted to be as far away as possible, and a morning spent hacking around the fields and lanes seemed an ideal refuge.
The next two hours passed swiftly, as the two girls worked together to prepare the animals for the day ahead of them, grooming the horses, attending to their hooves and feeding them. On top of this, each stall had to be scrupulously cleaned out, and the tack that would be used that day looked over and cleaned and polished.
`It's no good, I'm going to have to look for full time help,' Fran grumbled cheerfully, as they saddled up the horses ready for the first ride of the day. 'I can't rely on my friends and relatives forever.'
`Have you anyone in mind?' Lacey slipped a bit into Fern's mouth, murmuring encouragingly to the mare as she did so.
`Well, I was talking to John Palmer last week and he was saying that his youngest girl Marian is as miserable as sin on this secretarial course she insisted on doing. He seemed to think she'd be only too glad to come home if there was a job of some kind waiting for her. She's a nice kid, Marian, and a good patient rider.'
`You could certainly do far worse,' Lacey agreed. 'I only wish I could help more ...' Her voice tailed away a little forlornly.
'Oh, love! You already do more than I have any right to expect. And even if Marian does come here, you'll be more than welcome to pop down for a couple of hours whenever you feel like it. But you have a life of your own to live, and I can't expect to have first call on you all the time.'
`Hm.' Lacey gave minute attention to the buckle she was fastening. 'The life of my own you mention doesn't have any great attraction for me at the moment.'
`My dear girl!' Fran's eyes were warm with amusement. `What an admission for someone who hasn't had her eighteenth birthday yet!'
Lacey sighed. 'I suppose it does sound rather ridiculous. But I seen to be the only person I know who hasn't any definite purpose in mind. I have no idea what sort of a career I want—or even if I'll be allowed to do it when I do decide,' she finished in a despondent little rush.
'Well, I wouldn't worry too much, if I were you,' Fran said bracingly, after a pause. 'Why not enjoy yourself while you can? You've got plenty of time to find a sense of purpose. I don't believe for a moment that you're just going to spend the rest of your life mouldering away in Kings Winston, if that's what you're afraid of.'
Lacey allowed herself a brief unhappy smile. 'I suppose there could be worse fates,' she said with an attempt at lightness.
`Well, I think so, obviously.' Fran gave an affectionately proprietorial glance around the whitewashed stable block. `But I don't think it's the life for you, somehow.' She gave a hurried glance at her watch. 'Heavens, we must get on. We've only got about fifteen minutes.'
Lacey was in the office taking a telephone booking for a lesson the following week when she heard Fran call to her. Assuming the party from the Bull had arrived, she made a quick entry in the diary and grabbed a hard hat from one of the pegs before going out into the yard. A car was parked near the archway that led to the road, a low-slung foreign sports model which looked as if it concealed power as well as opulence under its sleek exterior. It looked hardly the sort of conveyance that a family with children staying at the Bull would choose, Lacey thought with faint surprise turning to outright dismay as the driver's door swung noiselessly open and Troy Andreakis climbed out.
Bareheaded, a black leather driving coat slung casually over close-fitting dark pants and a polo-necked sweater, he looked tall and formidable in the pale morning sunlight. The deliberately casual attire accentuated his masculinity and brought Lacey an unwelcome picture of their first, unexpected meeting in his room.
'I think the guided tour is on again,' Fran muttered, ruefully turning down the corners of her mouth as Lacey stood
motionless and completely lost for words at her side.
He strolled forward until he was only a few feet from the girls, then he made Fran a slight bow. 'Kalimera, thespoinis. I regret I have to deprive you of your—er—stable girl's services, but she is already promised to me.'
Lacey gasped at his effrontery. Surely he could not believe she was willing to simply go off with him—like a lamb to the slaughter, after what had passed between them the previous night.
`Oh, it's quite all right,' said Fran, a little uncomfortably, avoiding Lacey's horrified gaze. 'I expect she forgot. She's got a terrible memory, haven't you, love?'
Lacey groaned inwardly. 'What about the party from the Bull?' she began almost frantically, but Fran quickly cut in.
`Oh, I can easily manage alone. They're none of them complete beginners, and as I said earlier, you've got your own life to lead. Run along and enjoy yourself.'
Lacey could have screamed with frustration. How could she get it over to Fran that this was not at all what she had in mind when they had talked earlier on? But any hopes she had of telling Troy Andreakis that she had no intention of going anywhere with him were doomed to disappointment. Just at that moment a large estate car pulled into the yard and drew up. It could only be the family from the Bull, on time for their' ride, and Lacey intercepted an openly appealing look from Fran, begging her not to make any kind of scene in front of the new arrivals.
With as much dignity as she could muster, she quietly fetched her coat from the office and walked towards the sports car where Troy Andreakis stood waiting by the open passenger door: She had to overcome an impulse to shake off his hand as he helped her in and shut the door for her, and she sat in mute resentment as he swung himself lithely into the driving seat and turned the key in the ignition. The engine broke into a low throbbing rumble of life and in spite of herself, Lacey could not resist a stir of excitement deep down. Her father had never gone in for
sports cars and this was the first time she had ridden in a car as powerful as this.
She was forced to admire his expert handling of the car as they turned smoothly out through the narrow archway into the lane and left towards Kings Winston village, but her resolution to maintain an aloof silence while she was forced to remain in his company died a speedy death.
`Where are we going?'
`I thought we would take a trip to the coast. It's a pity to waste such a fine day,' he returned casually.
`But aren't we going home first—back to the house?' `No.' He drew in neatly to the side of the lane to allow a large van to pass. 'Why should we?'
Lacey stared at him frustratedly. 'But I want to change,' she protested. 'These are my oldest clothes, for one thing, and I mu
st smell of horses.'
He gave a slight smile as he glanced into his mirror. 'Perhaps so, pethi mou, but the choice was yours. If you had wished to smell of—roses, for example, you could have spent your morning in a different way. You had promised me your company, and if your appearance is not to your liking, then you have only yourself to blame.'
She could joyfully have bitten him. Her abortive bid for freedom had done her no good whatsoever, she thought bitterly. All she had achieved was the doubtful privilege of spending the day looking like a scruffy schoolgirl. If he had deliberately schemed to place her at a disadvantage, he could not have been more successful, she thought angrily.
She sat staring rigidly in front of her, as they left the village behind and motored into the open countryside that would take them eventually to the sea. Troy Andreakis made no attempt, to push his car along the narrow lanes, but seemed content to drive at a steady pace, commenting on the scenery and various landmarks that took his eye. With another companion, Lacey thought furiously, it could have been such fun. She would have suggested stopping the car and looking round the old Saxon church at Cranham, or exploring the ruined house set back off the road which had been abandoned years ago because people claimed it was haunted and would not live there. As it was, she re-
plied to his remarks in chilly monosyllables, or not at all, and eventually he too relapsed into silence.
They had been driving for over an hour when he slowed down, signalling his intention of pulling off the road into the forecourt of a small country hotel, charmingly gabled in the black and white timbers of the Tudor period.
'I think some coffee would be pleasant,' he said, as he switched off the ignition.
Lacey shrank within herself. She knew the hotel well. She had lunched there with her father often in past years, as a holiday treat, and the proprietor and his wife were like old friends. They would be bound to recognise her, she thought, looking down at her stained and creased jeans and the hairs on her sweater with a sinking heart.