Compulsion

by Charlotte Lamb

  Her heart missed a beat. She didn't answer, staring at her own fingers as they fidgeted with the sheet.

  'I can't let you do it, Lissa,' he told her roughly.

  'You can't stop me.'

  He swung, his face fixed in a frowning mask. 'I know I've handled this all wrong, but you've got to trust me, Lissa, At least let me take you to my home for a few days while you find yourself work and a place to live.'

  'No.' Her mouth was stiff and stubborn and he watched her with a barely controlled impatience, his body shifting restlessly.

  'You're being stupid,' he bit out. His mouth twisted and the blue eyes held sardonic irritation. 'Do you want my word that I won't try to rape you?'

  Her colour rushed up in a blinding heat and she glared at him. 'Maybe I do! I wouldn't put it past you.'

  She saw that he did not like that. His face tightened. But he said coolly enough: 'Very well, you have my word. I shall not try to rape you. Is that sufficiently re­assuring?' He turned and walked to the door. 'Dandy and his wife will be around, anyway. You won't be alone with me.'

  When he had gone Lissa stared at the closed door.

  Somehow that promise of his was not so very reassur­ing, after all. Rape was not what she really feared—it was the insidious, tempting seduction of his hands and mouth which might prove really alarming. In spite of what she had said to him about not wanting him, she knew that all her own sensual instincts fought on his side whenever he touched her.

  Her common sense and her intelligence warned her not to give in to him, but her senses clamoured for the pleasure he had begun to teach her. Lissa was not cer­tain that in a straight fight between her mind and her body, her mind would win.

  She had meant what she said about disliking his attitude. If she gave in to Luc's seductive caresses she would be exchanging the frying pan for the fire. Luc could destroy her every bit as much as Chris would have done. She had no intention of becoming his mis­tress for a few months until he tired of her. Her whole nature disposed her to feel sick at the very idea.

  For most of her life she had been floating in a romantic mist, not seeing very clearly, not understand­ing herself or anyone around her. She had been fooled by Chris because of her naive romantic blindness. Now she had grown up very rapidly and painfully and she was facing facts; not only about the world but about herself.

  It had never occurred to her until recently that it was necessary to understand oneself. She had never known that she did not understand herself. The un­thinking projection of her own personality which had gone on since she left the convent school had ended. The girl who had never noticed the sort of world she was living in had been a fool, and Lissa's own intelligence had sharpened at the realisation of it.

  She had so much more to find out about herself, so much more to discover about the world, but of one thing she was absolutely certain; she was not the sort of girl who could blithely enter into a sexual relation­ship with a man she scarcely knew. She was strong enough to survive on her own—difficult though it might be—and she refused to trade her body for the sort of security Luc was presumably offering her.

  The days when a woman had no choice but to do that were long gone. She was free and independent and she was her own mistress. She would not slide into becoming Luc's.

  The following evening they drove to London through a windblown landscape whose bland, domestic con­tours seemed very strange to her eyes. Dusk was falling to shroud it as they drove, but she stared out at the countryside excitedly for as long as she could see it.

  She kept comparing it with the fertile, vibrant colours and sounds of the island of her childhood. Everything she saw seemed to lack that drama—the empty great plains of Somerset, the neat little fields of Wiltshire, seemed colourless to her. But her fascination and surprise over the English countryside was as noth­ing compared to the traumatic cultural shock of Lon­don's overcrowded grey streets and bumper-to-bumper traffic.

  Her head ached and throbbed, her eyes were dazed, her ears hummed with noise. Luc glanced at her and smiled faintly. 'Something of a shock, isn't it?'

  It was quite dark now, but London seemed to blaze with light. Shops and street lights flared orange in the night. The city lay in a smoky flaring light which could be seen from a long way off—for a moment Lissa had almost thought it was on fire. They drove in over an enormous flyover and she stared down from the car, wincing at the spread of the city.

  'I feel like Alice in Wonderland,' she said to Luc.

  'You'll get used to it,' he promised her with a re­assuring glance. 'You can adapt to anything, believe me. In a few months you'll feel as if you've never lived anywhere else.'

  Lissa wasn't sure she wanted to adapt to this crazy, surrealistic place. There were too many people, too much noise. Things rushed and pounded at her eyes and ears and she couldn't take any more of it in, her mind confused.

  Luc obviously knew his way around the city. He turned into a stream of traffic going north and a few moments later they were purring down a" quiet street of eighteenth-century houses. 'Regent's Park,' he in­formed her as he drew up outside one.

  She looked at the house and although she knew noth­ing much about London she did not need great imagi­nation to work out th,at this was the home of a wealthy man. Luc watched her wary, pale face.

  Lissa was too tired to make any comment. When he got out and walked round to help her out of the car she let him steer her towards the house while Dandy took Luc's place at the wheel and drove the car away.

  'Where's Dandy going?' she asked, halting.

  'To park the car,' he said drily. 'The garage is round the corner.' He gave her a cool glance. 'He'll be back in a few moments.'

  The door was suddenly flung open and a very short, very thin woman rushed at Luc with her arms wide and hugged him, kissing his check. 'You're later than you said!'

  'Traffic,' he said succinctly. When the thin arms re­leased him he smiled down at the woman and said: 'This is Lissa, Megan.'

  Lissa felt the quick searching stare of very bright dark eyes. Megan was around fifty, she guessed, filled with an energy which made her face vitally alive. Her grey hair curled around that face. She wore a dark dress which made her look thinner than ever and her voice had a faint, soft lilt which Lissa could not identify.

  'Hallo,' said Megan, holding out her hand,

  Lissa shyly shook hands and Luc said: 'Megan is Dandy's wife.'

  Megan smiled at her. 'When he's home! One of these days I'm going with them to find out what they get up to on that boat.'

  'You know you get as sick as a dog after five minutes,'

  Luc told her, and she groaned.

  'Isn't that the truth?' Her dark eyes smiled at Lissa. 'Are you a good sailor, Lissa?'

  'Rotten,' said Luc, smiling. 'She was sick for most of the voyage. We thought we might have to chuck her overboard.'

  Lissa flushed and Megan observed it with calm amusement. 'Take no notice, love. Luc is a terrible tease.'

  The lilt had grown stronger and Lissa frowned, try­ing to work out what it was, but failing.

  'That isn't an English accent, is it?'

  'Welsh, love,' said Megan, with obvious satisfaction.

  'She hasn't lived there for twenty years,' Luc drawled, 'but she clings to that accent like glue.'

  'What's wrong with my accent?' Megan demanded.

  'It's very beautiful,' said Lissa and Luc laughed.

  'Tactful, isn't she?'

  'People who don't like Welsh accents don't get any supper,' Megan assured him.

  'I love them,' he said quickly, and got his ear pinched.

  'Get inside, you!'

  Luc waved Lissa into the house and followed her, talking to Megan cheerfully. Lissa looked around her with weary interest. They were standing in a cream-painted hall of spacious dimensions. Pale gilt medal­lions gleamed on the walls. A grandfather clock ticked in a deep, solemn voice near by. The carpet was deep and soft, a discreet shade of blue which was almos
t grey.

  'Tired, love?' Megan asked her, making her jump.

  She smiled and Luc said quietly: 'She's exhausted.'

  'Bed for you, then,' said Megan. 'I'll take her up right away. She can have a tray in bed.'

  Lissa followed her, barely aware of her surroundings now because her tiredness had become extreme. She stood in the bedroom to which Megan took her and shivered as though with a chill. Megan touched the radiator hidden behind a wood panelling. 'Cold, love?'

  'Just tired,' Lissa admitted.

  'Would you like me to help you get undressed?' Megan suggested.

  Lissa shook her head. 'I'll be fine, thank you.'

  'You slip into bed, then, and I'll be back with a tray,' said Megan, leaving her. Lissa opened her case and took out one of her nighties. Slowly she undressed, her body aching. When Megan returned Lissa was already asleep, her head buried on the pillow.

  Megan turned off the bedside lamp and tiptoed out with the tray. Lissa half stirred as the light was doused, b,ut sleep had her too deeply. She did not wake.

  She did wake up, however, next morning, when she heard Megan drawing the curtains back. Megan turned with a smile. 'I brought you breakfast in bed,' Megan informed her. 'You look better this morning. You were dead to the world when I looked in last night,'

  'I'm not used to travelling,' Lissa admitted.

  'You'll have to get used to it with Luc,' Megan said with a little chuckle. 'He's born restless, always off to the other end of the world.'

  She went out and Lissa buried her hot face in the pillow. Did Megan, too, expect her to become Luc's mistress? The thought made her so embarrassed and angry she wanted to scream.

  She shouldn't have allowed him to bring her here. She was being put in a difficult position merely by being here in his house. Last night she had been too tired to think. Now she felt much more awake and aware, and as she looked around the pretty, expensively furnished room she felt her nerves prickle with anxiety.

  Today she would go out and look for a job—any job that would take her away from Luc and the constant temptation of his inviting blue eyes and experienced hands.

  She ate her breakfast while the morning light bright­ened the pale London sky. She heard birds calling somewhere outside and when she got up and went to the window she saw the trees of Regent's Park massed between two houses across the street. The elegant street was very quiet, but she could hear the far-off muted roar of London in the background. It reminded her of the sound of the sea which had been so constant a factor of life at St Lerie. .

  Later, dressed in a shirt and jeans, she went down the stairs with her tray. She paused in the hall, looking around her, and Luc appeared in a doorway, startling her.

  'Oh!' she gasped. He looked very different today. He was wearing a formal dark striped suit, beneath which she could see a pale blue shirt and a rather sombre tie. That formality emphasised the razor edge of his profile, the cynical awareness of the blue eyes. Lissa looked at him and felt the enormous gulf between them, her heart wincing in pain.

  'Megan says you slept well.' The deep cool drawl was very controlled. If she had first seen Luc looking like this, she realised, her impression of him would have been very different. He was not the mocking, reckless stranger she had known on St Lerie—this was a man sheathed in power and money, faintly remote, wearing authority like a gloss over his brown skin.

  'I did. Thank you.' Her own voice was soft and polite, conscious of the distance between them.

  'Put the tray on that table,' he said, glancing at it in her hand. 'Megan will collect it later.'

  She put the tray down where he indicated and Luc waved her through the door of the room from which he had appeared. Lissa looked around it as she walked into it and was shaken by the unobtrusive elegance it presented. Luc came from a world she had never known before. She felt very out of place in her jeans and yellow shirt.

  Closing the door, Luc stood watching her, one hand in his pocket, the other brushing back his black hair. 'What are your plans for today?' he enquired calmly.

  She looked back at him. 'I must look for a job.'

  Luc frowned slightly. 'There's no hurry.'

  'There is for me.'

  He ignored that. 'I have to go to the office this morn­ing. Megan will take you on a shopping expedition.'

  'Shopping? I haven't got enough money for...'

  'You won't make a very favourable impression on a prospective employer in jeans,' Luc interrupted drily.

  'Oh,' she said, flushing. She had brought a mere handful of clothes with her and it had not occurred to her until now that this would be a problem.

  'Don't worry about money,' Luc said casually. 'Megan will charge whatever you buy.'

  'I can't take money from you!' Her skin was burning and her eyes were a vivid, angry green.

  'You can pay me back,' he drawled, and she felt her back stiffen at something in his eyes as he said that.

  She involuntarily took a backward step and Luc's cool manner became suddenly glacial. 'And I didn't mean what you thought I meant!'

  Her eyes fell away from the angry stare of his and she muttered: 'I'm sorry.'

  There was a silence, then he said almost wearily: 'Can't you trust me, Lissa? Is it too much to ask?'

  She looked up. 'If I don't trust you, whose fault is that?'

  His face hardened. 'We can't talk now,' he said tersely. 'I have an appointment at eleven and I've got to go. Promise me to stay with Megan until I get back. She'll show you some of London. I don't want you wandering off on your own.'

  Lissa hesitated and Luc said forcibly: For God's sake, does one day matter? Promise me!'

  She nodded and he sighed faintly, turning to the door. She felt reluctant to see him go suddenly. She moved instinctively and he looked back at her over his shoulder, the turn of the dark profile making her heart turn over.

  'You still haven't told me,' she said. 'What work do you do?'

  'I told you the truth,' Luc shrugged drily. 'I deal in stocks and shares. I'm not a stockbroker, I'm a merchant banker. For most of the year I'm so respectable it's tedious. I break out of it to get away on the boat.'

  'Banking?' she said in dazed disbelief. Whatever she had expected to hear, it had not been that.

  He laughed shortly. 'Your expression! Yes, I'm afraid I'm what the newspapers call a "financier". I manage other people's money.'

  Lissa glanced slowly round the room. 'And you have a lot of your own,' she muttered in grim realisation.

  'I inherited it and I've increased it,' he admitted. 'I've got quite a flair for investment—I told you, it's an­other form of gambling. There's always an element of risk in it, but I was born with a sure instinct for the market. You can't be taught how to predict market fluctuation. You have to know by instinct and be ready to take risks.'

  'What if something happened when you were away on the boat for weeks on end?' she asked, frowning. 'What if something went wrong in London?'

  He laughed. 'There's a radio on the boat. I'm in constant touch with London. You don't think I leave anything to chance, do. you? And I've got a brilliant team of men managing things while I'm away. I don't believe in keeping a dog and barking myself.' His blue eyes held a wry amusement. 'Far from being a risk it's the only thing that keeps me sane. I need to get away. I love sailing. Dandy and I have fought our way through a hundred storms—it's the sort of challenge I need.' He glanced at his watch again. 'I have to go, Lissa.' 'Yes,' she said huskily, and he glanced at her quickly, then he pulled open the door and went out without say­ing anything.

  Lissa stood in the beautiful, gracious room staring around at the brocades and fine antique furniture. This was Luc's real background and she did not belong in it. The realisation made her stomach sink and her skin feel cold.

  Luc had rescued her from Chris and maybe now he felt responsible for her, because he had brought her here into an environment for which she was not yet adjusted, but any help he gave her from now on would have strings a
ttached to it. The more she let him in­volve himself in her life, the less hope she would have of ever getting away from him. The longer she stayed in his house the more likely it would become that she would end up as his mistress for as long as he wanted her. That prospect made Lissa shiver.

  'There you are,' said Megan from the door, beaming at her. 'Luc says you want to see London. Where shall we go first?'

  Lissa pulled herself together, imposing a bright smile. 'I've no idea. Where do you suggest?'

  Megan eyed her jeans. 'Shopping first,' she said. 'It's best to do that while we're still full of energy.'

  Looking around her later in Oxford Street Lissa could see that Luc was right about her clothes. She was going to need something other than jeans when she was interviewed by prospective employers. She would pay him back as soon as she had the money, she told herself. It disturbed her to accept money from him, but what choice did she have?

  London stores fascinated her so much that she was re­luctant to turn her attention to actually choosing any­thing at all. Megan tried to persuade her to buy a whole wardrobe of clothes, but Lissa obstinately settled for one discreet little dress in a smooth caramel shade. She bought shoes in a darker tone and a short camelhair jacket.

  Disappointed, Megan kept urging her to look at other things. Lissa smiled at her. 'Please, I honestly don't want anything else,' she insisted, and Megan shrugged in defeat.

  They began their tour of London after a quick lunch. Megan was a tireless guide. She showed Lissa every tourist attraction she could think of, pointing out famous landmarks on every side until Lissa's head ached and she couldn't take anything in at all.

  They returned to the Regent's Park house in a taxi. Lissa was limp with exhaustion, but Megan seemed as lively as ever. Giving her a tolerant look, Megan told her to sit down while she made some tea. Lissa drifted wearily into the drawing-room and lay back in one of the deep, brocade-upholstered chairs, her eyes closed.

  Her mind swam with impressions of a city whose every corner showed new surprises. The tropical luxuri­ance of St Lerie seemed already a vague and distant memory.