Sophisticated Seduction

She liked Virginia, and if she herself couldn’t have the love she had dreamed of, so unrealistically, at least she could help Virginia have and keep hers.

Thus she had agreed to this Indian trip, confident that she could handle the buying and prove herself an asset to Ginny’s, doing her best to soothe the doubts Virginia so obviously had. She had arrived in New Delhi to find that Virginia did in fact still rely on her brother, or Stirling Industries, for some things in addition to using the company house, as the head of Stirling Industries’ Indian interests, Mr Bhandari, had insisted on making all Bridget’s domestic travel arrangements for her, brushing aside her embarrassed protests with the assertion that he always did the same for Virginia on her trips.

Tonight, thoughts of Loris were relentlessly intrusive again, invading her mind, tormenting her as they had done so persistently in the days and nights preceding her departure from England, which had mercifully coincided with one of those periods when Loris didn’t contact her—presumably in deference to the possessive Pagan. Since then, the novelty of her surroundings and the responsibilities of her job had provided some relief, but now the ache had begun again, somehow stirred by Nicholas Stirling’s arrival.

Surprisingly, Bridget had found herself unable to shed any tears over Loris, but that too was now suddenly at an end, she discovered as hot tears welled, filling her eyes irresistibly and tightening her throat. Her mouth worked and finally she had to yield to the hurt and humiliation she felt.

The house was situated towards New Delhi’s outskirts and not for the first time Bridget heard the howl of jackals from the hills outside the city, the sound seemingly so full of a profound, poignant grief that she felt her own to be trivial and was abruptly furious with herself—lying here in the dark, sobbing in her bed for an impossible dream, just like the teenager that horrible man Nicholas Stirling believed she was.

But crying had given her unhappiness a looser, more manageable feel, and the emotional release ensured that she slept well and woke with her plans for the day bubbling round in her mind.

Of course, Nicholas Stirling’s presence in the house remained a flaw, but perhaps he and Wanda would sleep late.

As she had formed the habit of doing, Bridget took a tray bearing a glass of mango juice and a pot of coffee out to the table on the long covered veranda with its ornately fretted arches on the side of the house away from the road. The garden here was a formal, symmetrical one, tiled walks running between massed roses which she had been told bloomed for most of the year, and the morning was already hazy with heat.

She had just put down her glass and was pouring coffee when Nicholas Stirling appeared on the veranda, carrying a tie and the jacket of his lightweight suit.

‘So you’re still around?’ He dropped them over the back of a chair and stood surveying Bridget challengingly. ‘I suppose you’ve also told Sita Menon that she’s not required in the mornings? Presumably you don’t eat breakfast either?’

Bridget experienced a frisson of complex emotion as she stared back at him, unable to look away although normally her natural shyness would have had her dropping her eyes after a moment or two. He looked so dark and strong, and yet the vigorous impression was at odds with the jaded, cynical expression in the grey eyeseyes that had seen everything and believed nothing.

‘I accept that I’ve inconvenienced you, but neither Sita nor I could know you were arriving,’ she submitted tightly. ‘Mr Bhandari didn’t mention that you were coming.’

‘He didn’t know,’ he admitted shortly.

‘I hope you’re not expecting me to provide breakfast for you?’ she mocked, adding gently, ‘Although I suppose it’s almost certain that someone like you can’t cook! What about Miss—Wanda? Is she still in bed?’

‘I wouldn’t know. She isn’t here,’ he returned caustically, and his sudden slashingly savage smile was a taunt. ‘She went to a hotel in the end. Your presence here must have inhibited her, or perhaps she balked at the idea of being a corruptive influence on one so young.’

‘Oh.’ Disconcerted, Bridget spoke without thinking. ‘Is that why you’re still in such a bad mood this morning?’

In talking about her brother on various occasions, Virginia had drawn a picture of a man accustomed to having women fall into his bed for his pleasure whenever he wanted them, although he seemed to be discreet in his affairs, his liaison with the fashionable wife of a mainstream rock star the only one to have invited the more prurient attentions of the media.

As she regarded him from beneath the screen of her long eyelashes, potent was the unsought word that came drifting into Bridget’s consciousness. Then her face flamed as she registered its true meaning.

Of course, the thought was prompted by the way he had suddenly been looking at her, as if his thoughts were a kind of reverse, or the other side of hers, and he was contemplating her as some kind of recipient of his maleness—and rejecting her!

‘No, you won’t suffice at all, although it seems you have heard of frustration, as I presume that’s what you’re alluding to,’ he observed with cold amusement. ‘But I’m not here to satisfy your juvenile curiosity. As for breakfast, I’ll get something when I go out. I want to talk to you.’

He had dropped easily into the chair opposite her, and now he took several seconds to scrutinise her once more, rejecting her all over again, Bridget noted with automatic relief. She probably still looked eighteen to him this morning, with her hair gathered loosely up into a ponytail that fell straight and silky from the top of her head, a few strands already escaping to frame her face, which was again untouched by make-up because she had discovered that even the little she occasionally wore melted in the Delhi heat. She was wearing a white sleeveless cotton top tucked into a short, straight skirt in dark pink, her low-heeled court shoes the same colour, her lightly tanned legs bare and delicately golden-brown, wonderfully long and slender, her arms the same shade and very slim. Earrings were her only jewellery, plain little hoops of fine silver.

‘Mr Stirling—’

‘I have to accept that you do work for my sister,’ he overrode her arrogantly. ‘Otherwise you wouldn’t be here, because Anand Bhandari wouldn’t have allowed you to have the keys. So what I want to know is how you conned Virginia into handing over one of her most cherished projects to you.’

‘I didn’t!’ Bridget began indignantly. ‘She asked me to do it because she couldn’t.’

‘Why couldn’t she?’

It was the question Bridget dreaded, and she hesitated, torn between her dislike of lying and loyalty to Virginia.

‘Because she… she has fallen in love.’ Surely it could do no harm to tell him that much?

Nicholas Stirling’s brief laugh was drily sceptical.

‘Virginia is no more likely to fall in love than I am. She’s far too intelligent.’

‘What has intelligence got to do with it?’ she wondered faintly.

‘Quite a lot, I’d say.’ Pausing, he let his eyes rest a moment on her mouth, its tender shape so expressive of her gentle nature, and his own tightened. ‘Now, will you kindly stop wasting my time, trying to see how far you can go with these wild stories, and tell me the real reason for Virginia’s change of plan?’

‘I have. It’s true—’ Seeing his disbelief, Bridget broke off, and finally came to a decision. ‘Mr Stirling, I’ve told you as much of the truth as I can, but I can’t go into any details because I promised Virginia I wouldn’t.’

Hard, compelling grey eyes held hers, searching their dark, shadowy green depths.

‘So break your promise,’ he invited her impatiently.

Bridget’s eyes widened, and now she was the one searching his face, endeavouring to gauge his seriousness.

‘I can’t do that,’ she protested eventually.

‘Why not?’

‘Break a promise—’

‘Everyone else does,’ he cut in on a note of finality, as if that concluded the argument and he was now waiting for her to proceed.

‘Well, I don’t,’ Bridget snapped.

She wasn’t exactly shocked, but the extent of his cynicism dismayed her as she had never encountered it in such total, unrelenting form before.

‘I could make you, quite easily,’ he observed softly.

‘You’re unbelievable!’ The words were torn from her. ‘No wonder you’re only ever called Nicholas, never Nick or Nicky.’

‘What has that got to do with anything?’ Nicholas demanded irritably, and Bridget had to acknowledge privately that she didn’t really know what she had meant by it either. ‘And what are you getting so emotional for? Did you think I was threatening you? I merely commented to the effect that I could make you tell me the truth, but it’s only an option I’m keeping in reserve for the future. An even easier one is to find out what Anand Bhandari knows about all this.’

It would solve her problem if Mr Bhandari could tell him what he wanted to know, but Bridget wasn’t sure how much Virginia would have confided when she had been in touch to warn him to expect her. At least she didn’t have to break her promise quite yet, although she supposed she would be driven to it if Nicholas looked like hindering her business here unless she told him everything, because she was determined to make a success of the task Virginia had given her.

‘Virginia did say she might phone, so perhaps you’ll be able to talk to her yourself,’ she offered, hoping it might act as a curb to his impatience.

‘You can’t phone her yourself?’ he probed, accepting it without comment when she shook her head. ‘Is this your first time in India?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who’s in charge of you?’

‘In charge?’ Bridget stared at him in astonishment. ‘What do you mean? I’m here—’

‘Do you have a family back in England? Parents?’ he elaborated.

‘Of course…’ She wondered what he was getting at with his peremptory questions.

‘There’s no “of course” about it,’ he retorted, and she stirred contritely, recalling Virginia telling her that their parents, along with Loris’s, had all been killed together when Nicholas was eighteen. ‘So what are they doing, letting you loose on your own like this?’

Bridget’s chin lifted. ‘They know I can cope.’

‘But can you? You’re not out of your depth and homesick?’ He continued the interrogation relentlessly.

‘Of course not!’ She denied it vehemently, incipient indignation making her eyes sparkle.

‘Then what were you sobbing your eyes out for last night? It didn’t sound exactly like coping to me,’ he announced sardonically.

Bridget had coloured sensitively.

‘You could pretend you hadn’t heard,’ she suggested resentfully. ‘Any nice person would.’

‘I’m not nice.’

‘Tell me about it!’ She was scathing.

‘So what were you crying for if you’re coping so well?’

‘Something personal—private,’ she emphasised pointedly.

‘A broken heart, I suppose,’ he guessed disgustedly, lips curved in mockery, and Bridget wondered if the hot, angry emotion suddenly choking her could be classed as hatred.

‘What would you know about broken hearts?’ she challenged scornfully.

‘Not much,’ he admitted coolly. ‘But I do remember glancing through some of the magazines my sister used to read as a teenager, and there’d always be some girl writing to the problem page convinced that her life was over because the boy of her dreams hadn’t even looked at her at a party.’

‘This would be when you were vetting her reading matter, I suppose?’ It was rare for Bridget to lose her temper, but now she discovered how exhilarating a sensation it could be. ‘I suppose you did it with a fat black pencil in your hand, ready to delete anything undesirable! She told me how you’ve always interfered, managing everyone’s lives for them!’

‘Back then, Virginia’s life required a considerable amount of managing,’ he informed her edgily, his glittering eyes making her aware that she had succeeded in provoking him. ‘But censorship was not part of it. The more she knew, the better she’d get at handling her own life—as she does quite ably these days, which is why I do not believe your pathetic story about her having fallen in love. She’s not that stupid. So if I don’t get the truth from Bhandari you’re going to have to break whatever promise you made and give it to me yourself. Will you be here today or are you going out?’

‘It seems to me that you’re still trying to manage her life by insisting on knowing things that are her private business,’ Bridget taunted but, seeing the way his eyes blazed, she added swiftly, ‘I’ve got a meeting with a man who sells fabrics in Connaught Place. He’s going to put me in touch with his suppliers. Virginia told me she always shops around rather than relying on the same people every time. Also, Mr Bhandari’s wife is taking me to the Rajghat as there’s a ceremony in memory of Gandhi today.’

‘Oh, you’ve got Mirabai looking after you, then,’ he registered in a neutral tone, but Bridget still resented the implication that she needed looking after. ‘One more thing, Bridget. I don’t want you sneaking off to a hotel now I’m here and asking questions. Until I hear from my sister what this is all about, I want you here under this roof where I can keep an eye on you—or on her interests, rather. I’ll want reports on what you’re doing, too, as the Indian lines have always been her pride and joy, the focal point of her collections, and I won’t stand by and let you sabotage her reputation.’

Sheer rage was choking her at hearing her professionalism so openly doubted. ‘Virginia herself trained me!’

‘And now you’re off to do business on her behalf,’ he murmured amusedly, his mood suddenly dramatically altered as his gaze dropped briefly to the white top she wore, his unexpected smile so full of wicked charm that Bridget’s breath caught in her throat.

Then she glanced down and saw what had caused it.

‘Oh!’

She must have been so preoccupied with her plans for the day that she hadn’t paid any attention to what she was putting on, and the pink and white candy-stripes of her bra were clearly visible through the thin white cotton of the shirt.

‘Where are you going?’ he enquired innocently as she leapt to her feet.

‘To put a plain white bra on, of course,’ she answered bitingly.

‘I never said a word,’ he protested, still using that mock-innocent voice and still with that smile that hinted at an aspect of his personality less impatient and cynical than that which he had so far shown her. ‘But fleshcoloured would be better. It won’t show at all.’

‘Well, I haven’t got one!’ She always bypassed fleshcoloured when shopping because it seemed so utilitarian, attracted by the more prettily frivolous colours. ‘You would be an expert on women’s underwear!’

She heard him laughing at her as she stalked from the veranda into the house, and she thought tempestuously that she had never met anyone so vile in her life.

CHAPTER TWO

‘You got my message, then?’ With a quick, raking glance for Bridget, Nicholas addressed Sita Menon, having found the two of them together in the cool, spacious kitchen on his return to the house that evening.

Bridget’s senses had given an odd little jump as he entered, and somehow the kitchen seemed smaller in response to the overwhelming vibrancy of his presence, as if he existed surrounded by an aura of energy that took up all the space around him.

‘Yes, sir.’ A slim, trim woman of thirty, the housekeeper and cook gave him an open smile. ‘And welcome back. It has been too long, but in fact your welcome dinner comes with the assistance of Bridget.’

‘I’m honoured.’

Slightly sardonic as it was, his smile made Bridget catch her breath, and the reaction put her on the defensive.

‘Don’t flatter yourself. I’d have helped even if you hadn’t been here.’

She had offered on getting back to the house and learning that Sita had been summoned, Nicholas intending dining here tonight. Her participation in preparing the meal certainly hadn’t been meant as a peaceoffering, since she didn’t owe him any such thing, but now it occurred to her that it might help create a more agreeable atmosphere between herself and this man with whom it seemed she would temporarily be sharing the house. She just wished she were in a position to ignore his warning not to retreat to a hotel, but as Virginia herself always stayed here the budget for this trip wouldn’t stretch to the expense.

Not a fighter by nature, Bridget could usually find excuses for people’s bad behaviour, and of course Nicholas would have been irritated at discovering a mystery surrounding his sister and no explanation forthcoming from Virginia’s replacement, especially if he had business matters on his mind as well.

Now he turned his gaze on Bridget, who had changed into a simple thin cotton dress with tiny creamy flowers scattered over a golden-yellow background and had pulled her dark hair into a single loose plait that hung down her back.

‘You cook?’ he enquired, considering her dispassionately.

‘And eat,’ she added, recalling his comments in that regard, before her enthusiasm for the discoveries she was making brought a shy smile to her face. ‘It’s fun cooking in a new country, a challenge because some of the things we use at home aren’t available here, but then there are all sorts of other fascinating ingredients I’ve never come across before. I’ve been shopping with Sita a couple of times and she has been teaching me some Indian dishes— only simple ones so far, so it’s tandoori chicken tonight. She says you like it?’

‘Yes,’ he agreed almost absently, seemingly studying the pure, youthful curve of her cheek.

‘Sita could have the evening off, couldn’t she?’ she went on quickly, taking advantage of his mood. ‘If you don’t need her to serve? Remember I told you she has got a relative in hospital? I could do it just as easily.’

‘You are eating with me?’ he prompted, his tone unfathomable.

She didn’t really relish the thought of being alone with him, but Sita’s need was real, and perhaps by now he had accepted that Virginia really had given her this assignment and that she must therefore be capable of doing the selecting and ordering it entailed.

‘If I may,’ she responded demurely, and he laughed.

‘Then fine. I’ll be with you shortly. I want a shower.’

It was a start, she reflected with relief as she departed.

‘Thank you, Bridget,’ Sita said gratefully. ‘I didn’t like to ask so soon after his arrival, but my nephew relies on me now that the doctor has ordered my sister to bed for this stage of her pregnancy, and my brother-in-law is away on these army exercises. He gets so bored if no one comes, and upsets the whole ward with his mischief.’

‘Poor little thing.’ Bridget already knew all about the nephew’s accident. ‘Maybe I could visit him too one evening?’

Sita had departed by the time Nicholas returned, wearing casually stylish trousers and an open-necked shirt.

‘Time for a drink first?’ he asked, finding Bridget in the living-room, and she nodded. ‘I don’t use spirits here—the Scotch in the kitchen is just in case my grandfather was right to swear by it for scratches and cuts in a hot climate. I presume you’ve been warned to be careful if you acquire any sort of wound? Have you tried Indian wine? It’s in the Portuguese vinho verde tradition. You know about Goa? But I’m not sure if you should have any ’

‘Just how old do you think I am?’ Bridget demanded, peaceable intentions blown.

He looked amused. ‘I wasn’t referring to your age, but this is your first time in India and if you’re not acclimatised yet you should stay with soft drinks. Take lots of liquid anyway. Don’t fight the heat. Give in to it, slow down, drink lots, forget fashion and go for comfort—only I notice you don’t follow fashion anyway, although that’s a pretty dress, and it suits you. Strange, that, for someone from Ginny’s.’

He would spoil it. She had been about to apologise for jumping to conclusions, but that last observation killed the impulse.

‘Perhaps they’re following a different trend in your elderly circles! You’re the rudest, most bossy man I’ve ever met,’ she told him in a soft, angry rush. ‘What makes you think I need all that advice?’

‘Since most people in my experience are incapable of taking care of themselves in any environment, why should an innocent like you be any different?’ he derided.

‘So you think you’ve got to look after them?’ Bridget taunted. ‘Most people would rather be left to get into trouble all by themselves.’

‘That’s generally what I let them do,’ he returned dismissively.

‘Not your family, though.’

‘That’s different,’ he snapped, a glint of annoyance in his eyes. ‘Wine, then, Bridget? I saw Anand Bhandari today, incidentally. You’ve really made an impression on him, haven’t you? He kept referring to you as “that lovely young girl”.’

‘Oh!’ Unaffected surprise and pleasure made her face light up. ‘That was kind of him.’

‘I think he was being truthful rather than kind,’ Nicholas commented unexpectedly. ‘You’re certainly going to be very lovely once you’ve acquired some poise and maturity. You could make a lot of yourself.’

‘There has to be a sting in the tail of everything you say, doesn’t there?’ Bridget accused in some confusion, anger warring with amusement as he brought her a glass of wine. ‘Was Mr Bhandari able to help you? About Virginia, I mean?’

‘No, not at all, and he didn’t have any wild theories such as yours to offer, either. She merely told him she’d had to cancel this trip for herself but was sending you in her place.’ Nicholas was frowning. ‘I cannot believe she’s stupid enough to sacrifice her favourite part of her job for what she might imagine is true love, and yet I have to believe that she doesn’t know what she’s doing, sending a child like you out here as a buyer.’

‘Thanks.’ Sarcasm was new to Bridget and she spoilt the effect by continuing with her habitual sincerity, ‘I really am a trainee buyer, you know, and Virginia would have started sending me overseas next year.’

‘She has always handled the Indian trips herself, though,’ he mentioned thoughtfully. ‘Just as I and my cousins have for Stirling Industries when a presence from head office has been required. Our grandfather spent years in pre-Independence India as an engineer, and my father and his brother were both born here. I was only twelve when the old guy died but even the younger of my cousins, who was just five, remembers his stories, and I suppose something in them got hold of us and drew us back, although it’s a very different India today, better in most ways.’

‘Is that why—this house?’ Bridget asked with a shy laugh. ‘It’s not my idea of a company house.’

‘Yes, in fact it was the city residence of former, minor Rajput royalty. You’ve probably noticed that sun with its writhing rays carved into the front doors. Many of the more important royal town residences around here house embassies these days. If you’re going to Rajasthan for material you ought to stay with the previous owners. Tell me when and I’ll let Chiranji know.’

‘Those bright tie-and-dyes…’ But Bridget was more interested in the man now that he had forgotten to be so superciliously condescending. ‘What are you here for?’

‘Some extra factories we’ve acquired. The present safety standards do meet current regulations, but I want to be sure there won’t be any tragedies, so I’m having a look and then Anand can implement any upgrading I feel is necessary.’

‘Yes, I’ve heard you like to do that personally rather than delegating.’ Then pain passed across the young smoothness of Bridget’s face like the flying shadow of a cloud in the wind as she remembered that it was Loris who had told her that, and she stood up swiftly. ‘Can we take our drinks with us? I think I’d better serve now or it won’t be so nice. I’ll have to improve my timing.’

‘Why, are you planning to cook for me on a regular basis?’ Nicholas asked, rising and following her, and the idly mocking note in his voice prompted one of her uncontrollable blushes, leaving her fleetingly tongue-tied before resentment restored the power of speech.