by Penny Jordan
‘Annette is sharp. She’s also well on the way to becoming a nymphomaniac,’ he added brutally, ‘and I don’t want her on my back. She’s trouble, and I’ve had enough of that to last me a lifetime.’
‘Well, don’t expect me to keep her at bay for you,’ Autumn told him coldly. ‘I’m going to bed. I’m tired.’
He let her go without a word. When she reached her room her anger had evaporated leaving her with the beginnings of a headache. She had held her emotions in check for so long that she had forgotten how powerful they could be. Panic rose up inside her as she remembered how easily Yorke had reached her, brushing aside all her barriers, forcing her slowly backwards in retreat. Panic flared and she fought it down. She undressed and showered, sitting in front of her mirror to brush her hair, the long thorough strokes soothing.
Her panic subsided and she tried to analyse her reactions logically. She was not indifferent to Yorke, no matter what she might have claimed. Whenever he came near her she was seized with tension, experiencing all the signs of fear. Her heart pounded and her mouth went dry, adrenalin flooding through her veins—a legacy of their marriage and something she must learn to conquer.
The faint rap on the door startled her. It opened and Yorke walked in. Her brush clattered to the floor, and he bent to pick it up, his eyes sweeping assessingly over the silky curves of her body beneath the thin covering of her nightgown.
Her throat felt thick and dry, and she stiffened like a trapped animal. Yorke’s mouth folded in a stiff, angry line.
‘I brought you this. You left it downstairs,’ he said curtly, throwing her handbag on to the bed.
Autumn felt if she moved that she would fracture into a thousand tiny pieces, her control was so brittle. The sight of Yorke in her bedroom had swept away logic and reason and substituted in its place a flood of memories so intense that she had to grit her teeth to stop herself from groaning out loud.
‘For God’s sake, Autumn,’ he muttered savagely as though she had goaded him beyond endurance. ‘If you look at me like that no one’s going to be deceived for very long.’ He came towards her, and she sprang up, backing away, her legs trembling and buckling underneath her as she felt the edge of the bed behind her. Her frightened cry was lost as Yorke grasped her arms, his face white with rage as he stared down into her terror-blinded eyes.
‘I never did anything to you to make you look at me like this,’ he grated. ‘It’s not me you’re frightened of, Autumn—it’s your own feelings.’ His fingers grasped her chin, his shirt a white glimmer above her. ‘Whether you like it or not, you’re an intensely passionate woman. I never had to force you, Autumn…’
Her hands were over her ears, her eyes huge and anguished. ‘Stop it!’ she moaned softly. ‘Stop it, I don’t want to hear…’
Yorke moved suddenly, his weight pinning her down on the bed, his eyes almost black with rage.
‘Well, you’re damned well going to hear it! You might like to try and kid yourself that you’re cool and untouchable, but you’re not. God,’ he swore softly, the sound bringing the blood rushing to her skin, ‘do you think I’ve forgotten what it felt like to have you in my arms? You were with me all the way, Autumn.’
She moaned protestingly, her head thrashing wildly from side to side, trying to blot out what he was saying and the pictures his words resurrected.
‘No… no… I never wanted you. I don’t want anyone!’ The weight of his body was arousing sensations she had almost forgotten—sensations which she feared and fought frantically against, her fists beating protestingly against Yorke’s chest. He captured them easily, pinning her wrists above her head, his eyes moving slowly along her body before returning to her face, probing hers unmercifully as he waited for her reaction.
‘Don’t worry,’ he told her softly. ‘When we make love, you’ll come to me willingly.’
‘Never!’ Autumn spat at him, struggling furiously, her eyes the colour of amethysts in her pale face.
He bent closer, his breath fanning her hair, his lips soft as they feathered across hers. He lifted his head and watched her, and she prayed that she had not betrayed any reaction. Just for a moment her body had been tempted to respond to that fleeting caress.
‘Let me go,’ she demanded bitterly. ‘Or is this the sort of thing that gives you kicks?’
She could feel his anger. His eyes were hard and she shivered convulsively, terror giving way to surprise as his lips started to brush her skin gently, touching her mouth like butterfly wings until she felt dizzy and drained by the effort of staying rigidly still.
His lips teased hers again and she sighed. A faint sound, but he heard it, stiffening and moving to look down into eyes that were momentarily unguarded.
‘Oh no, Autumn,’ he said softly. ‘This time I’m not giving you the chance to accuse me of forcing you.’ He got up off the bed, leaving her staring at him.
He paused by the connecting door.
‘If you want me, you know where to find me,’ he said silkily.
When the door closed she shuddered deeply, mortified by her body’s momentary betrayal, for as he had seen, there had been a fleeting second when despite everything that had happened, her bones had melted against him and had he not prevented her she would have responded to him.
The knowledge was bitter. She paced her room, torn by conflicting emotions. What was the matter with her? Was she some sort of masochist? Or was it true when they said that a woman’s body always responded to the touch of her first lover?
And Yorke? Did he merely want her back so that he could get his knighthood, or had he something more sinister in mind? He was a man of intense pride and must have had to face awkward questions when she left. Was he going to use the next four months as a means of inflicting retribution for the past? Was he going to attempt to force her to beg her way back to his bed? She shuddered deeply. She could not survive that kind of humiliation. His words returned to taunt her. It was true, she had resented what she termed her body’s betrayal of her; its ardent response and desire for what was merely physical satisfaction, and Yorke’s ability to conjure up that desire. Her mind told her that such passionate abandonment belonged only to love, and yet Yorke did not love her.
It was a long time before she slept.
* * *
The next day she refused to think about it. Yorke was eating his breakfast when she went downstairs. She acknowledged his ‘good morning’ coldly, unfolding a newspaper and retreating behind it while Mrs Jacobs brought her toast.
An article on St John’s caught her eye and she read it, absorbed by the lavish description of the island and hotel. It was the sort of article that made the reader immediately long to sample the island’s pleasures for himself, written by an entertaining and witty travel editor.
The hairs on the back of her neck prickled warningly as Yorke got up. He stood behind her and she knew that he was doing it deliberately. She gave no indication that she was aware of him, re-reading the article unhurriedly. His hand touched her shoulder caressingly as Mrs Jacobs walked in, and Autumn tensed. The housekeeper gave them an indulgent smile, and Autumn gritted her teeth.
Yorke was leaning over her, pretending to read her paper—at least she thought he had been pretending until he commented, ‘Peters has made a good job of that. It should go a long way to improving bookings.’
‘You mean you organised the article?’ In her surprise she forgot not to react and he smiled grimly.
‘What did you expect me to do? Run it down? I’m investing heavily in it, aren’t I? I don’t give up on my investments, Autumn,’ he told her softly, ‘whatever they are. Don’t forget to tell Mrs Jacobs we’ll be dining out tonight,’ he reminded her as he finished his coffee. ‘I’ll be in my study if you want me.’
‘That’ll be the day,’ Autumn muttered rebelliously under her breath, tensing as his eyes gleamed brilliantly. ‘Indeed it will!’
She dressed for the evening without any enthusiasm. The affair would be formal and
expensive and she prepared accordingly, spraying her skin with her favourite perfume and applying her make-up with dexterous skill, standing back from the mirror to inspect the finished effect.
Subtle shadowing made her eyes look larger and darker, a fine coat of mascara emphasising the thickness and length of her lashes. Colour gleamed softly along her cheekbones, throwing them into prominence.
She slid into her dress, enjoying the feel of the silk whispering against her skin, shivering suddenly as she realised why she enjoyed its sensuous feel.
She had twisted her hair into a loose coil, securing it with diamanté-studded combs, leaving only a few tendrils free to soften its starkness, and she was just applying a coat of lip-gloss when Yorke knocked and sauntered in. His cool appraisal was intimidating, and Autumn found herself holding her breath while she waited for him to say something, even if he only expressed disapproval.
‘Ivory and pearl,’ he said at last his eyes flicking from her dress to her skin, ‘but beneath it there’s flesh and blood, Autumn. We both know that.’
The sapphires hugged her throat, glittering fiercely, and as she followed him downstairs, Autumn’s eyes strayed helplessly to the breadth of Yorke’s shoulders.
Sir Giles owned a small Georgian manor house ten miles away, and it was ablaze with lights as Autumn and Yorke stepped out of the Rolls.
Someone had been burning leaves and their wood-smoke scent hung nostalgically on the air. It was a cold night with a touch of frost; the sky bright with diamond-shining stars against a dark blue velvet background.
Annette rushed up to them the moment they stepped into the hall, flinging her arms round Yorke’s neck and kissing his cheek. One or two of the older guests smiled indulgently, but Autumn caught Sir Giles’ frown, and more out of compassion for him than anything else, she moved closer to Yorke, sliding her hand through his arm and leaning slightly towards him.
He stiffened and stared at her, but before he could say anything Sir Giles was ushering them through to join the other guests.
Her work in large hotels and as Alan’s assistant had taught Autumn to mingle easily with people from all walks of life, and where once she would have been intimidated, uncomfortably aware of the overt speculation of others, she was now able to smile calmly and talk about the resumption of their marriage without embarrassment.
Annette clung to Yorke’s arm like a limpet, and watching Sir Giles Autumn felt a twinge of pity for him. He quite obviously adored his daughter, and yet he was far too astute not to see what she was. She eyed Autumn’s dress belligerently, her feelings so apparent that Autumn had to turn aside to hide a smile.
Yorke was drawn into a discussion with the group of men standing with the lion of the evening, and Autumn moved discreetly away.
‘So you’re Yorke’s wife!’
She turned and smiled at the woman who had addressed her. Small, grey-haired, dressed in an elegant gown, diamonds winking in her eyes and on her small plump hands, she surveyed Autumn contemplatively, her head slightly to one side.
‘Do you know Yorke well?’ Autumn asked politely. ‘I’m sorry, I’m afraid I don’t…’
‘Know who I am?’ she supplied cheerfully with a chuckle. ‘By the looks of him that husband of yours isn’t going to have time to introduce us. Get a group of males together and they’re worse gossips than us females! You won’t know me, my dear, but I’ve followed Yorke’s career very closely. Even as a boy he had something about him, and I wasn’t surprised when he did so well.’
‘You knew Yorke as a boy?’ Autumn frowned. From what Richard had told her of Yorke’s childhood she had not envisaged that it had been spent among the County set.
‘We lived in the same village,’ her companion told her, startling her still further. ‘Didn’t you know he’d been brought up in the Cotswolds?’
‘It isn’t something he talks about,’ Autumn admitted, sensing that to lie would only lead her into deep water.
‘Well, that’s understandable in the circumstances. In many ways I’m surprised that he came back. It takes a brave man to exorcise the ghosts of the past in such a way. I was very glad to hear that you were back together,’ the woman went on. ‘When I heard that he’d married I was pleased. He above all men needed the security of a good marriage, and then when he came back here and bought Queen’s Bower, without you, I feared that the past had, after all, scarred him too badly for him to overcome it. However, the mere fact that you’re together again tells me that I was wrong, and I’m very glad. Yorke deserves to be happy. He had little enough joy as a child. My husband was a J.P.,’ she explained. ‘That was how Yorke first came to my notice…’.
Autumn was just about to ask her more when she felt Yorke’s hand on her arm, his smile quite genuine as he greeted her companion.
‘Lady Morley.’
He moved to shake her hand, but instead she kissed him soundly on the cheek, chuckling at his expression. ‘One of the few advantages of age! I don’t suppose there’s a woman in the room who doesn’t wish she could have done that. Your husband is a very attractive man,’ she told Autumn. ‘You’re a lucky girl. You must come and see me. Next Thursday if you’re free?’
Accepting her invitation, Autumn allowed Yorke to lead her away and introduce Charles Phillips to her. He was small and dapper, with snapping black eyes, and his conversation was smoothly bland, and yet Autumn was conscious of being assessed, quietly and thoroughly.
‘Your husband tells me that you’ve been working in the Caribbean. You must find the Cotswolds quite a change.’
‘A very pleasant one,’ Autumn assured him. ‘I love it here, especially now that Yorke spends more time at home.’
‘Ah yes, I understand his addiction to hard work was one of the prime causes of your separation.’
‘That’s something we would both prefer to forget now,’ Yorke said firmly, interrupting. ‘Come along, darling, let me introduce you to everyone else.’
She raised her eyebrows slightly at the endearment but let it pass, repressing a sigh as Annette materialised in front of them. The girl’s face was slightly flushed and Autumn suspected that she had drunk rather more than was good for her. She swayed close to Yorke, her fingers stroking his arm, her eyes frankly seductive as she leaned against him.
‘Aren’t you going to dance with me, Yorke?’ she asked huskily, ignoring Autumn. She had turned aside, her attention caught by a familiar face shock jolting through her. It had never occurred to her that Julia Harding would be among the guests, although logically speaking she should not have been surprised. Julia’s father sat on a good many boards and was socially prominent in business circles. Julia was talking to a thin fair-haired man, but she broke off her conversation to stare at Autumn, her smile malicious.
‘Autumn, my dear,’ she drawled, coming across to them. ‘How lovely to see you! I had heard that you and Yorke were back together. So conveniently too, if all that one hears on the grapevine is true. Oh, don’t mind Toby,’ she added, smiling at her companion. ‘He knows all the gossip ages before anyone else. He’s the social columnist on the Herald, and nothing is secret from him, is it, darling?’
They were lovers, Autumn thought intuitively, and yet from the way Julia was looking at Yorke her feelings for Toby could not be very deep. There was an avid hungriness in her eyes that spoke volumes and Autumn wondered sickly how often that look had been apparent in her face.
‘I see that nothing changes,’ Julia commented acidly. ‘Yorke still has a penchant for young girls. Poor you,’ she added to Autumn. ‘You must be madly jealous.’
‘Puss, puss,’ Toby teased. ‘Ignore her,’ he advised Autumn with a grin. ‘Everyone apart from her unfortunate papa knows about Annette.’
‘Oh, but you don’t know Yorke,’ Julia insisted. ‘Autumn was little more than a child when they married, weren’t you, darling…’
‘I was nineteen,’ Autumn said dryly.
‘Exactly. And Yorke was thirty at least. I told you at the time
it wouldn’t last, didn’t I?’
‘And you were wrong,’ Autumn said sweetly, ‘as you can see. Please excuse me.’ She turned away and placed her hand on Yorke’s arm, feeling him stiffen in acknowledgement. Annette was still pleading with him to dance with her, and her kittenish sensuality set alight the anger Julia had aroused.
‘You promised you would only dance with me, darling,’ she said huskily, staring coldly at Annette. They must look ridiculous both clinging to an arm, like two cats fighting over a very substantial mouse!
Yorke’s arm slid round her waist, holding her against him. Jealous rage flashed in Annette’s eyes as he disengaged himself, his eyes brilliantly green as he bent towards Autumn with a smile which to an onlooker must have looked tenderly amused.
‘Thanks,’ he drawled softly against her skin. ‘A very timely rescue. You’re playing your role well.’
‘You nearly overtaxed my acting abilities,’ Autumn told him curtly. ‘I’m not very good at jealous scenes.’
He shrugged. ‘Annette’s an over-sexed adolescent. She doesn’t appeal to me.’
‘No?’ The word was out before she could stop it. She sounded like a jealous wife, she thought in dismay. Yorke was watching her through narrowed perceptive eyes.
‘You thought she did? A cretinous child like that?’
‘She’s not a child,’ Autumn said stiffly. ‘Not in the sense that you mean. At her age I…’ She broke off, wishing she had never started this conversation. It could only lead to dangerous ground.
‘At her age and beyond it, you were a complete innocent—until I came along. Isn’t that what you were going to say? I wondered when we’d get to this. I suppose the next thing you’re going to throw in my face is that I wantonly seduced you?
‘Damn!’ He swore as Sir Giles came towards them. ‘We’d better dance before Annette comes back.’ He propelled her on to the small dance floor, arms round her waist, holding her so closely that she could feel the steady thud of his heart. Her hands were trapped against the wall of his chest as she raised them to hold him away and beneath the fine silk of his shirt she could feel the soft hairs matting his chest. Her body felt oddly liquid, the feel of his chest beneath her fingers opening the floodgates to erotic memories.