by Mary Lyons
‘What marriage?’ she bit out savagely through nervous, chattering teeth as she jerked herself free. ‘I wouldn’t marry you—not even if you were the last man on earth!’
‘Oh, yes, I’m very sure you will,’ Max drawled flatly as she bolted across the room towards the door, his bark of harsh, sardonic laughter echoing in her ears as she stumbled up the stairs to the refuge of her bedroom.
CHAPTER SIX
A SHRILL ringing from the clock beside her bed broke through Amber’s restless sleep. Yawning, she put out a hand to silence the alarm before raising her weary head to check the time. Eight o’clock—and time to get up.
Amber groaned, turning over to bury her face in the pillows. Tossing and turning throughout the night, she’d hardly had a wink of sleep. And it was all Max Warner’s fault. Lying wide awake through the long hours of darkness, she’d been finally forced to accept that he was quite right. She really was still crazy about him! Even thinking about that torrid embrace last night was enough to set her stomach churning wildly, like a cement-mixer out of control. How on earth was she going to stagger through what promised to be a hideously long day?
If only she had some experience to fall back on. Some knowledge of both men and the world outside the provincial backwater in which she’d lived for most of her twenty-six years. Unfortunately, having fallen madly in love with Max at the age of eighteen, her subsequent pregnancy and marriage to Clive Stanhope had prevented her from taking part in the normal life of most teenagers. While her contemporaries had been going through the natural process of growing up—gaining some experience of the world and their own sexuality—she’d been looking after a small baby and, before the year was out, mourning the death of her young husband.
It was cringingly embarrassing to realise that her friends would undoubtedly react with screams of laughter, ridicule and sheer disbelief if they ever learned the truth. How could she possibly confess, even to Rose Thomas, that Max had been her first and only lover? That she now felt badly frightened, and completely out of her depth in trying to deal with such a hard, tough and sophisticated man?
With a heavy sigh of deep depression, Amber threw back the covers and swung her feet off the bed. Sitting on the edge of the mattress and staring blindly down at the floor, she realised that she had to pull herself together. Having to face the disastrous truth that she was still in love with Max was only a minor problem compared to the all-important fact that Lucy would be coming home later on this morning. She must try to work out exactly how she was going to handle the situation. Max was obviously a whiz at business affairs, but he clearly wasn’t used to dealing with a seven-year-old little girl. And while she didn’t really believe he would demand that Lucy should immediately be told he was her real father, he was plainly determined to push ahead with his mad idea concerning their marriage. He’d also made it clear that if she didn’t agree to his plans for a Christmas wedding, he wouldn’t hesitate to carry out his vile, cruel threats to keep her tied up in the courts for ever and a day, destroying both the life of herself and her daughter. So far, none of her protests or arguments had appeared to make the slightest bit of difference. What could she say, or do, that would make him change his mind?
Drawing back the curtains of her bedroom, she saw that there had been a heavy fall of snow during the night. The garden was now covered by a thick white blanket. Glancing up at the heavy grey sky overhead, Amber had no doubt that although it may have stopped snowing for the moment, it wouldn’t be long before it started again.
By the time she was downstairs in the kitchen, preparing the breakfast trays for her mother and their guest, she was still feeling deeply depressed at having made no progress in finding an answer to her many problems. In what was clearly an either-or situation, Max seemed to hold all the cards. And it wasn’t just the fact that he was insisting that she marry him. What about Lucy? What sort of father would he make for her little girl? Goodness knows it wasn’t easy to be a parent these days. It was so important to try and set your children a good example, to bring them up in a steady, responsible manner, which you hoped would give them a sound foundation for their future life. But words like ‘steady’ and ‘responsible’ certainly weren’t those she associated with Max’s past behaviour. Was he likely to change his ways? Was he—hell! she thought grimly, recalling the disgusting way he’d so enthusiastically kissed Cynthia. And the glamorous divorcee had also made it blatantly obvious that, given half a chance, she’d happily jump into his bed.
How could she bear to marry a man who’d not only cruelly deserted her, but who had obviously spent most of his adult life having affairs with one beautiful woman after another? Let’s hope he hadn’t left any of them holding a baby, she told herself bitterly as she placed fresh, warm croissants and toast on his breakfast tray.
Not for the first time, Amber dearly wished that she’d never had the idea of taking in paying guests, which had enabled Max to gain a foothold in the house—something he’d never have been able to do in a private house. Praying that her visitor had passed a thoroughly uncomfortable night, she stomped aggressively up the stairs, not bothering to knock as she threw open the guest-room door, quite happy to chuck his tray at the awful man if he so much as dared to say a word out of place.
Unfortunately, far from still being fast asleep, Max had obviously been up for some time, having already shaved and had a shower. Amber gave him a quick, apprehensive glance, her cheeks flaming with embarrassment as she realised that the tall figure standing across the room was clearly naked, save for a short white towel about his slim hips.
‘You must be a mind-reader,’ he smiled. ‘I was wondering about the arrangements for breakfast.’
‘Yes...um...our guests normally prefer to eat breakfast in their rooms,’ she muttered breathlessly, trying to tear her eyes away from the sight of his fit, lithe body. The faint drops of moisture still glistened on the bronze skin of his broad shoulders and the hard, muscular chest liberally covered with thick black hair.
Her heart seemed to be pounding like a sledgehammer, her pulse racing out of control as she desperately wished that she’d stayed down in the kitchen, well away from the sight of his strong, powerful frame and the long, tanned brown legs beneath that ridiculously small towel.
His eyes gleamed with unconcealed mockery as he walked slowly towards her. ‘Poor Amber, you look tired. Didn’t you sleep very well?’ he drawled, his mouth curving with amusement.
‘No, I didn’t!’ she snapped, backing nervously towards the door.
‘Relax—there’s no need to act like a frightened virgin,’ he grinned. ‘It’s not as though we haven’t seen each other’s naked bodies in the past.’
‘It’s not an experience I’m in any hurry to repeat!’ she retorted grimly, quickly placing the tray down on a nearby table, the infuriating sound of his laughter echoing behind her as she made a speedy exit from the room.
For the next hour or so, it seemed as though she was in a complete daze. She realised that she must have collected her mother’s tray (wild horses wouldn’t have dragged her back upstairs to Max’s room again), done the washing up and run a vacuum over the carpets in the downstairs rooms. But she had no recollection of having done so. She couldn’t seem to think of anything but Lucy’s imminent return, and the catastrophic result of Max’s strong, sensual appeal on her fragile emotions.
Goodness knows, she had tried to guard and protect herself, rightly fearing the impact of his overpowering attraction on her heart. But it was now far too late for any such dire warnings. In the past, she’d always regarded her love for Max as some sort of sickness or virus, from which she had slowly recovered over the years. How could she have guessed that it was a terminal illness—an acute infection that had no cure? How, when he’d treated her so badly, could she still be so deeply in love with him?
Her distressing, gloomy thoughts were interrupted by a phone call from the local garage, informing her that her old Land Rover was ready for collection. Gratef
ully thanking the mechanic for having fixed it so quickly, she was surprised by the man’s chuckle of amusement.
‘I wish all my jobs were that easy,’ he told her. ‘All the same, mind you tell young Lucy not to pull out them electrical wires from the back of the dashboard. Else you and she won’t be going anywhere fast!’
‘Lucy wasn’t with me at the time,’ she protested, but he only gave another rumble of laughter before putting down the phone.
Frowning in puzzlement, she didn’t have time to think any more about the matter as she heard the toot of a horn. A moment later, her daughter raced into the house as fast as her young legs could carry her.
‘Mummy...Mummy! I’ve had a really fan-tab-ulous time!’ Lucy cried, throwing her arms about her mother’s waist. ‘Emily and I saw Father Christmas, and he gave me a lovely present,’ she added breathlessly. ‘It was terrific—really wicked!’
‘I gather that’s the very latest “in” word, at the moment,’ Rose said, smiling at the bemused expression on her friend’s face as she handed over Lucy’s small suitcase. ‘We loved having her and she was as good as gold,’ she added, quickly brushing aside Amber’s grateful thanks for giving her daughter such a treat. ‘I’d love to be able to stop and tell you all about it, but I must get back home. There’s a mountain of ironing to be done—and I haven’t a clue what I’m going to cook for lunch!’
After waving goodbye to Rose, Amber hurried back into the house, but Lucy was nowhere to be seen. Only the tall figure of Max standing in the kitchen.
‘Ah, there you are. Hurry up. It’s time we were off.’
‘Off where?’ she demanded curtly, deeply resenting the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach as she viewed his firmly muscled legs in the tight-fitting, dark blue denim jeans topped by a thick, navy-blue sweater that emphasised his tan. He looked tough, formidable and—alas—so outrageously attractive that she had to swallow hard, fighting to control a mad impulse to leap into his arms. ‘Where’s Lucy?’ she asked anxiously. ‘I hope you haven’t...’
‘Relax! I haven’t done anything,’ he retorted impatiently. ‘I merely suggested that both you and she might like to see my grandmother’s old house—or more accurately, what’s left of it—followed by lunch in the local pub. Lucy seemed to think that it was a splendid idea. Especially when I promised to help her build a snowman!’
Amber hesitated, longing to tell him to get lost. On the other hand, she knew that he’d already spiked her guns by telling Lucy, and to refuse to go along with his plans would only result in the little girl being disappointed and upset. Besides, like the rest of her neighbours, she’d never been invited to his grandmother’s home, since old Lady Parker had been a recluse for the twenty-five years up to her death. The large house was now apparently a pile of rubble. However, she had to admit—privately, to herself—that it might be interesting to see the ruins.
‘Well?’
She shrugged. ‘Yes...all right. But I’m not sure about lunch. A lot of pubs aren’t too keen on letting in young children.’
‘That’s no problem. I’ve already phoned up the Red Lion and checked that it’s OK. However, don’t forget that it’s freezing outside, so make sure that you’re both well wrapped up,’ he added, glancing at her slim figure, clothed in a cream-coloured Aran sweater and tan cords. ‘And it might be a good idea to take a thermos of coffee along with us, as well.’
The damned man thinks of everything! she thought gloomily as she finally tracked Lucy down in her mother’s side of the house, excitedly telling her grandmother all about her wonderful time in London.
Anxious to assure her mother that they wouldn’t be away from the house for too long, Amber was amazed to find the older woman up, dressed and in surprisingly good spirits.
‘I’m feeling much better, so there’s no need to worry about me, dear,’ Violet told her with a beaming smile. ‘You just run along and enjoy yourselves.’
Puzzled, but at the same time extremely grateful for her mother’s sudden return to apparent good health, Amber hurried down to the kitchen, quickly filling a thermos before bundling herself and Lucy into some warm clothes.
* * *
Never having seen the old Victorian mansion, Amber had difficulty in imagining how it must have looked in its heyday. After the fire in which Max’s grandmother had died, there now remained only a burnt-out shell, many of whose walls had been reduced to rubble, with broken statues and cracked urns lying discarded on the weed-covered terrace overlooking the wooded valley far below. However, most of the outbuildings, garages and stables were in reasonably good shape. As was the orangery.
‘Did your grandmother ever grow oranges in here?’ Amber asked as she gazed around at what appeared to be a large, elegant and surprisingly warm room.
‘No, I shouldn’t think so. But since I never met the old dragon, I really haven’t a clue.’ Max shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I’m far more interested, at the moment, in a hot cup of coffee. Quite frankly,’ he added with a grin, ‘I never realised that building a snowman would be such hard work!’
‘It’s harder than it looks,’ Amber agreed with a laugh as she looked out of the window at Lucy, who was now busy decorating a decidedly lopsided, squat-looking structure with Max’s long woollen scarf.
Despite having been so anxious about the situation, and deeply apprehensive about Max’s desire to get to know his daughter, it was a relief to realise that her fears had been completely unfounded. He had treated the little girl very much as he might any other seven-year-old—not only laughing at her terrible jokes, but also laying down very firm, strict instructions to avoid going anywhere near the potentially dangerous ruins of the old house.
‘It seems so extraordinary that you never met your grandmother,’ Amber said a few moments later, filling their cups with hot liquid from the thermos as he brushed the cobwebs and dirt from two dusty old packing cases. ‘Especially since you and your father were living only a few miles away.’
Max sighed and shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s a long story, but basically it seems that my grandmother was a lonely, embittered old woman. Her husband had been killed in World War II, and when her only son was killed on the hunting field, she clung like grim death to her sole remaining child—a daughter called Imogen.
‘It must have been a stifling, desperately boring life for my poor mother,’ he continued, explaining how Lady Parker would never allow her daughter to go anywhere on her own, being deliberately rude and scaring off all her boyfriends, until the poor girl had become virtually a prisoner, clearly destined to spend the rest of her days as an unpaid companion to her elderly mother.’
‘But why didn’t she just take to her heels and run away?’
‘Because she was, by all accounts, a very sweet and gentle person. She simply couldn’t bring herself to be unkind to anyone—let alone her own mother. And in any case, by the time Imogen was approaching middle age, she’d become quite convinced that no one would ever want to marry her. However, it seems she did find her religion a great source of help and strength. Luckily, Lady Parker had no objections to her daughter visiting the local church in Elmbridge as often as she liked—which is how she came to meet my father.’
However, as the story unfolded, Amber was touched to hear how the Reverend Augustus Warner, a kind if somewhat absent-minded bachelor in his late forties, had fallen deeply in love with the unhappy, thirty-eight-year-old Imogen Parker. ‘He wasn’t the slightest bit interested in her mother’s wealth, of course,’ Max said, relating how his father had tried to gain his future mother-in-law’s approval for his marriage to Imogen. But when she had resolutely refused to give the couple her blessing—even going so far as to forbid her daughter to ever see the vicar again—Imogen had, at last, found the courage to defy her mother. ‘There was nothing she could do to stop the wedding, of course. But the old dragon never forgave her daughter for “running away” with my father.’
‘It seems impossible to believe that anyone could be so c
ruel and heartless!’ Amber exclaimed, shocked to hear how, when poor Imogen had died after giving birth to Max some eighteen months later, Lady Parker had continued to refuse to have anything to do with either the vicar or her grandson.
As he related the sad story, Amber suddenly gained a fresh insight into how lonely Max must have been as a small child, with no mother to care for him, and an elderly father who’d had no idea how to rear his son. No wonder the boy, brought up by a series of temporary housekeepers, had turned into a wild teenager. She could only think that it was a miracle he hadn’t become involved in any really serious trouble.
However, gazing at the man who was sitting across the room from her, Amber was surprised to discover that they’d actually managed to spend some time together in perfect harmony. Was that because today he’d been in a quiet and reflective mood very different from the harsh and aggressive stance he’d displayed last night? It looked as though he was making a conscious effort to control the hard, forceful personality that she knew lay beneath that handsome exterior. Something for which she could only be thankful, she reminded herself quickly, profoundly grateful that Max had made no allusion to the events that had taken place last night.
But it seemed that he had been merely biding his time.
‘This appears to be a good opportunity for us to have a quiet talk,’ Max said, rising to his feet and strolling over to the window.
‘I really don’t think so...’ she muttered nervously as he waved through the glass at Lucy, who was energetically assembling a large pile of snowballs. ‘Besides, it will soon be time for lunch.’ She glanced quickly down at her watch. ‘So, maybe we ought to...’
‘Relax! I don’t imagine either of us is in the mood for any more rows or arguments,’ he said firmly. ‘But since you obviously consider me a double-dealing villain, it seems only fair that you should hear my side of the story.’
‘There’s no need...’ she murmured, the rest of what she was going to say being lost as he gave an unhappy bark of laughter.