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Roderick, an only son, backed by the Bentinck family money, was in banking. He owned a bachelor pad in the City but, having no great liking for town life, preferred to escape into the country from Friday until Sunday.
His parents, who were always delighted to see Bel, had given her an open invitation, and after she had become engaged to Roderick she had usually accompanied him.
Her father had occasionally been persuaded to join them on what, apart from the odd game of tennis, were essentially peaceful, relaxing weekends.
But on this occasion, because it was the Bentincks’ fortieth wedding anniversary the following day, there was to be a weekend get-together. It was due to begin with a Friday evening party to welcome both visiting relatives and guests.
Bel had been looking forward to it until the previous day, but now worry cast something of a blight.
As soon as the Cavalier drew up on the paved apron in front of the mellow creeper-covered walls, Daphne Bentinck, a slight woman with grey hair curling around a cheerful face, came out to greet her.
‘How lovely to see you!’ she exclaimed as Bel got out of the car.
Defying the heat in a mauve twin-set and pearls, she gave her future daughter-in-law a quick hug before rattling on in her usual non-stop, staccato fashion.
‘Roderick isn’t home yet, I’m afraid, and I have to pop into the rectory. Such a nuisance. But you won’t mind taking care of yourself, will you? You’re in the rose room as usual.
‘I’ve left the front door open for you. Leave your car where it is; Thomas will move it later. Tell Maggie to make you a pot of tea and some sandwiches to tide you over. Must dash…’
She trotted off at speed towards an elderly Bentley parked in front of a stable block long since converted into garages.
Smiling, Bel took her case from the car and, leaving the keys in the ignition, made her way to the house.
As she entered the long, oak-panelled hall Margaret McDougal appeared and asked cheerfully, ‘You’ll be wanting some tea?’
‘I’d love a cup. When I’ve put my case in my room I’ll come down to the kitchen, if you like, and save your legs.’
As soon as Bel reached the pleasant, familiar room, with its rose-patterned wallpaper and light fashionable furniture, she unpacked and made sure the present she was carrying was safe.
A Jesse Harland figurine to add to Daphne and Roger Bentinck’s priceless collection, it was simple and oddly moving—a boyish figure of a young girl in jeans, the head tilted slightly, the gaze shy but steady.
Roderick had suggested that, to get the maximum effect, instead of having it gift-wrapped it should simply appear on the Bentincks’ breakfast table the following morning, and she had agreed.
Putting it carefully on the dressing table, Bel went to wash her hands and run a comb through her hair before making her way down to the huge kitchen.
On the oak table, large enough to have graced a medieval banqueting hall, Maggie had set out a tray with a freshly brewed pot of tea, a plate of dainty sandwiches and a selection of home-made cake.
‘That looks wonderful,’ Bel said appreciatively.
‘Then sit yourself down.’
‘Won’t you have a cup with me?’ Bel asked.
‘Aye, I might that.’
Maggie filled two cups with the steaming amber liquid, and the women sipped in amicable silence.
Peckish, after a salad lunch, and with no need to calorie-count to keep her slim figure, Bel ate a couple of the sandwiches and a piece of cake. She was on her second cup of tea when the door opened and Roderick came in.
Though he couldn’t be termed handsome, be was a pleasant-looking man, with fine brown hair, a thin, intelligent face and clear hazel eyes.
His small features, slightly sloping shoulders, and neat hands and feet made him appear somewhat prissy.
Which he wasn’t
He was open-minded, humorous, and excellent company, and Bel had liked him since they’d met at a business conference early in the spring.
‘So there you are.’ He stooped to kiss her cheek. ‘I saw the car, and when you were nowhere about I thought you must have gone for a walk or something.’
Dropping into the seat Maggie had vacated, he asked, ‘I take it you saw Mother? Did she tell you she’s had to invite Suzy for the weekend?’
Without waiting for an answer to either question, he went on, ‘It was a bit awkward, as her parents are two of our oldest friends. When they were invited, it was understood that Suzy would still be abroad. But she came home yesterday, and Mother had no option but to extend the invitation to her. I hope you don’t mind?’
‘Of course I don’t mind,’ Bel told him, while admitting silently that she would have preferred the other girl to be safely abroad.
It wasn’t so much that she didn’t like Suzy, as that Suzy didn’t like her.
Barely eighteen, and spoilt rotten, the pretty, petite redhead hero-worshipped Roderick and had been devastated when she’d lost out to another woman.
Unable to control her tongue or her spite, she had made one weekend visit very uncomfortable. Sensibly, Bel had ignored all the gibes and, refusing to enter the fray, had done her best to keep the peace.
But she wasn’t looking forward to a rematch, especially with a houseful of strangers for an audience.
Clearly concerned that that shouldn’t happen, Roderick added carefully, ‘I have every intention of having a straight talk with her as soon as she gets here. I’m fond of Suzy, we’ve known each other all our lives, but I won’t have you upset or my parents’ anniversary spoiled.’
By eight o’clock that Friday evening most of the guests had arrived and been made welcome, including Suzy and her doting middle-aged parents.
It soon appeared that Roderick had been as good as his word, for when the redhead, looking both older and younger than her years in a black satin mini-dress, joined the party, she gave her rival a small, tight smile and then a wide berth.
Which suited Bel just fine.
Wearing a white dress with shoestring straps and a full skirt, her flawless skin a pale gold, her ash-blonde hair in a shining coil on top of her head, Bel looked lovely—cool and elegant and poised.
Her fiancé, debonair in evening dress, showed her off to his friends and members of the family she hadn’t yet met with undisguised pride.
A serve-yourself bar and buffet had been set up in the large conservatory and, the evening being fine and warm, there was dancing on the lantern-lit terrace.
Bel was busy enjoying the evening, and with the party atmosphere drinking more champagne than she was used to, when she felt an uncomfortable prickle of awareness, and sensed that someone was watching her.
Lifting her gleaming head, she glanced around.
A short distance away, his back to the light, a tall, well-built man in immaculate evening dress was standing, his eyes fixed on her.
She saw his hair was crisp and dark, but his face was in shadow. Even so, she was sure there was something about him…something oddly familiar…
As the thought crossed her mind his white teeth flashed in a smile. ‘How nice to see you again so soon.’ His voice was low and intimate, slightly husky. ‘Come and dance with me.’
Before Bel could gather her scattered wits, he had drawn her into the throng of dancers.
He was a good six inches taller than she was, Bel noted abstractedly, with shoulders wide as a barn door and narrow hips.
‘I really don’t…’ The protest died on her lips as they moved into the light and she saw his handsome, strongboned face, with its chiselled mouth, well-marked brows and thickly-lashed eyes.
Eyes that, ever since they’d looked into hers that lunchtime, had haunted her.
Though she felt as if she’d fallen down a lift shaft, somehow her legs kept moving to the rhythm of the slow foxtrot. In a strangled voice, she exclaimed, ‘You! What are you doing here?’
He looked sardonically amused. ‘I was invited.’
‘Your being here is too much of a coincidence.’ Gazing into that lean, compellingly attractive face, she spoke her confused thoughts aloud.
‘Not at all,’ he corrected calmly. ‘Our meeting in the restaurant was a coincidence. This one was carefully planned.’
‘I really don’t know what you mean…’ What had been intended as a cool put-down somehow sounded merely petulant. Taking a deep breath, she went on more hardily, ‘But I do know you have no right to kiss me like—’
He bent and covered her mouth with his, stopping the indignant flow of words and sending her head spinning. ‘Like that?’
His kiss, though brief, had been shattering, and even when her lips were free again, her head continued to spin for a moment.
As it cleared she caught a glimpse of Suzy’s startled gaze fixed on her, before the redhead and her partner were lost amongst the other dancers.
Scared, both of this man’s arrogant demonstration of possessiveness and her own helpless reaction to it, Bel stopped dancing and made an effort to pull herself free.
He merely tightened his hold.
‘Let me go,’ she said in a fierce undertone.
‘I want to talk to you. But first we’ll get away from this crowd.’
Clasping her right wrist, he led her down the terrace steps and across the smooth expanse of gently sloping lawn to a wooden bench beyond the range of the lanterns.
She should have resisted, even if it meant making a scene, but, knocked completely off balance, her common sense swamped by too much champagne, she found herself going without further protest.
It was a glorious evening—the sky a clear dark blue pricked with stars, a pale, shining disc of moon hanging like an angel’s cradle just above the treetops. The air was warm, soft as velvet, perfumed with honeysuckle and gillyflowers and the sharper, lemony scent of geraniums.
But, finding it difficult to breathe, all Bel was conscious of was the man who was holding her so lightly but inexorably.
Sitting on the bench, he drew her down beside him.
In spite of the background of lights and music, she felt curiously alone, isolated, as if no one else existed.
His handsome eyes silver in the moonlight, her captor studied her face with an unnerving scrutiny.
His long fingers still held her wrist and, knowing he must be aware of her racing pulse, she strove for calm. But her usual self-possession had deserted her entirely.
As though he knew exactly how he affected her, and was pleased, he smiled and said softly, ‘Without that air of cool composure you’re even more bewitching.’
Ignoring the compliment, she demanded, ‘Who are you?’ and was annoyed to find she sounded as agitated as she felt. ‘Are you a friend of Roderick’s?’
‘A business acquaintance…Andrew Storm.’
‘Andrew Storm,’ she repeated slowly. ‘Somehow it suits you.’ Once again she spoke her thoughts aloud.
‘And your name suits you, ma belle.’
Wondering how he knew her name, presuming Roderick must have mentioned it, she shook her head. ‘I was christened Annabel, but it was always shortened to Bel.’
His free hand came up to touch her cheek. Flinching away from that caressing touch, and trying desperately to find some stable ground, she said jerkily, ‘I’m Roderick’s fiancée. We’re getting married in October.’
‘Really?’ He sounded as if he doubted it.
To add weight to the declaration, she lifted her left hand and displayed her engagement ring.
‘Why did you choose a diamond?’
‘I didn’t. Roderick chose it.’
With a shake of his head, Andrew Storm dismissed the solitaire. ‘A diamond is too cold. You need the warmth of a topaz, or the green fire of an emerald. Beneath that air of cool reserve there’s a passionate woman…’
Startled by his assertion, striving to sound amused, derisive, she queried, ‘Do you think so?’
His arm went around her. ‘Would you like me to prove it, Bel?’
‘No!’
‘Scared?’
Terrified. ‘No, I’m not scared. But I am Roderick’s fiancée.’
He shrugged, discounting the fact as coolly as he’d discounted the ring. ‘So you’ve just told me. How long have you been engaged?’
‘Three months.’
‘Do you and Bentinck sleep together?’
The question took her by surprise. ‘That’s none of your business,’ she said indignantly.
‘It could be relevant to our discussion,’ he pointed out coolly. ‘If you do—’
‘We don’t.’ The moment the words were out she could have bitten her tongue, realising she’d fallen into his trap.
He laughed softly at her discomfort.
Knowing she must put an end to this dangerous têteà-tête, she gathered herself and, jumping to her feet, said abruptly, ‘I’d like to go back to the party.’
Rather to her surprise he rose and, with an air of satisfaction, as though he’d achieved his object, agreed, ‘Very well.’
Tucking her hand through his arm, he walked her back to the terrace, where lantern-light took the place of moonlight and the party was still going strong.
