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‘Pity.’
‘But thanks all the same.’
‘Think nothing of it. We aim to please. So what’s it to be?’
Briefly she considered asking him to take her to a hotel, then dismissed the idea. She could well do without the expense. In any case, by breakfast-time next day her parents would require some kind of explanation. Though she dreaded the prospect, her practical streak insisted that it would make sense to be there in person to make it.
Coming to a decision, she said, ‘If you really don’t mind, I think I’d better go to Paddleham.’
‘Paddleham it is.’
A moment or two later they had joined the traffic stream and were heading out of town through gleaming, rain-lashed streets.
Worrying her bottom lip, she wondered how she was going to explain away Mark’s absence.
Of course she could simply tell her parents the truth. But if she did she knew it would be her they would be blaming, saying she’d brought it on herself.
Which in a way she had. If she hadn’t been late for the party in the first place. Though her lateness, she recognised, had only been the catalyst. None of this would have happened if she’d agreed to sleep with Mark when he’d first pressed her to.
But, even after six years, the remembrance of the shame and humiliation she had suffered over Nigel was still a powerful deterrent.
She had been in her first year at art school when she had met him. The son of Sir Denzyl Roberts, one of her father’s wealthy friends, Nigel had been five years older, and light years ahead of her in experience. Expecting her to be like most of the women he had known, he had been surprised and intrigued to find she was supremely innocent.
On her part it had never been a conscious decision to remain a virgin. It had just happened. Since her early teens her unusual beauty had made her a target for every male aged between fifteen and fifty. But, naturally fastidious, she had kept them at bay, disliking their one-track minds and fly-paper hands. Waiting for someone special. Someone she could love.
There had been one boy, different from the rest, a fleeting attraction that might have developed into something deeper if, before she could get to know him, he hadn’t vanished from the scene.
At the same time she had met Nigel. Impressed by his looks and maturity, and perhaps falling in love with love, she had fondly imagined he was that someone special.
Even so, almost out of force of habit, she had held him off until, rapidly losing patience, he had proposed to her.
Though she had still been very young, the match, from her parents’ point of view, had been an advantageous one and, highly delighted, they had encouraged the engagement.
Once the ring was on her finger, Nigel had redoubled his efforts to get her into bed. Certain she loved him, and happy in the knowledge that they were going to be married, she had given in.
Loris had found their lovemaking disappointing, getting little or nothing from it. She had consoled herself with the thought that it was bound to get better when they were used to each other.
It hadn’t.
Blaming herself, her inexperience, she had said nothing, merely kept on trying to please him.
They had been sleeping together for almost three months when, turning up unexpectedly at his flat one evening, intending to surprise him, she had found him with another woman.
Though hurt and bewildered, she had been ready to forgive him, until the girl in his bed had taunted her with the fact that this was no one-off, but was, and had been for some time, a regular arrangement for the nights Loris wasn’t there.
‘He needs a woman who’s got some life in her, who knows how to please a man. Not some frigid statue who just lies there and—’
‘That’s enough!’ Nigel had silenced her at that point.
But it had been too late. As far as Loris was concerned, the damage had been done. Nigel had told this brazen slut of a girl intimate details about something she had considered essentially private and sacrosanct.
Badly humiliated, and furious at the way he had treated her, she had thrown his ring at him and walked out.
When her father and mother had learnt of the broken engagement, deploring the fact that she was ‘losing her chance to marry well’, they had tried to get her to change her mind. But, while refusing to tell them the reason for the break-up, she had made it clear that it was final.
Judy, her friend and room-mate at college, was the only one in whom she had confided her hurt, but down-to-earth as usual, Judy had pulled no punches. ‘Think about it. Would you really want to marry a two-timing rat like that?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘Then forget him. He’s not worth a second thought.’
‘I just wish I hadn’t been such a fool.’
‘Well, we all make mistakes. It isn’t the end of the world.’
It had only felt like it.
‘I thought he loved me,’ Loris had said sadly. ‘But he was only using me.’
‘Surely you got something out of it?’
Loris had shaken her head wordlessly.
Judy had said a rude word. ‘Still, it’ll be different next time, you’ll see.’
But, feeling degraded by the experience, Loris had vowed there would be no next time. Even so, it had taken her a long while to regain her self-respect…
Flashing lights suddenly reflected in a myriad raindrops, and the urgent sound of a siren bearing down on them brought Loris back to the present with a start.
The road they were on was narrow, and there was on-coming traffic. Pulling half-onto the wet, deserted pavement, Jonathan made room, and a second later the ambulance went racing past on its errand of mercy.
Impressed by his presence of mind, she glanced at him. His face was calm, unperturbed.
Intercepting her glance, he gave her a sidelong smile that quickened her pulse-rate and made her feel suddenly breathless.
A moment later they had regained the road and were continuing their journey. By now they were on the outskirts of town, and the downpour was continuing unabated. Rain beat against the windscreen and even at their fastest speed the wipers had a job to keep it clear.
As they reached a crossroads and turned right it occurred to Loris, belatedly, that she had given him no directions and he had asked for none.
Wondering how, being from the States, he knew the way, she queried, ‘Are you familiar with this part of the world?’
‘I was born and brought up quite near Paddleham.’
‘Really? Then your parents were English?’
‘My father, a hard-working GP, was English while my mother, who was an airline stewardess until she married, came from Albany.’
‘The capital of New York State?’
‘That’s right. Her parents owned a small business there.’
To Loris, the details of his modest background seemed at odds with his cultured voice.
‘Have you lived in the US long?’ she asked, wanting to know more about him.
‘For several years now.’
She thought he was going to leave it at that, when he added, ‘After my father died my mother got homesick for her birthplace and went back to Albany.’
‘Do you have any brothers or sisters?’
‘One sister. When she left university she married the son of a local landowner. But there was nothing to keep me here, so I spent some time travelling, trying my hand at various jobs, before I made up my mind to settle in the States.’
His answers had been easy enough, but when he volunteered no further information, afraid of sounding nosy, she relapsed into silence.
Once the suburbs had been left behind them, from being unpleasant, the journey became positively hazardous. The country roads were dark and muddy, littered with snapped-off branches and storm debris.
In the bright tunnel made by their headlights Loris could see that a lot of the verges were partially flooded, and though Jonathan drove with care their nearside wheels almost constantly threw up a wave of water.
Just before they reached their destination a swollen stream that had overflowed its banks, and covered the low-lying road to what he estimated was an unnavigable depth, made a detour necessary. Feeling guilty at having dragged him so far on such a terrible night, Loris was seriously wishing she had plumped for a hotel.
‘I’m sorry about all this,’ she apologised.
Sounding quite unconcerned, he said, ‘You mean the conditions? Don’t worry—I’ve driven in a great deal worse.’
A few more minutes and they were passing through the dark and sleeping village of Paddleham. An occasional streetlamp lit up the driving rain, and strung high across the roadway a saturated banner announcing a St Valentine’s dance at the village hall flapped dementedly in the wind.
The Yew Tree came into sight, its inn sign swinging on the supporting chains. ‘We’re almost there,’ Loris said, making no attempt to hide her relief. ‘Just past the church there’s a turning off to the left, then about half a mile down the lane, also on the left, you’ll see the entrance to Monkswood. The gates should be open.’
The black and gold wrought-iron gates were open wide, and the Tarmacked drive was well-lit. Several sleek cars were parked on the paved apron in front of the house.
Jonathan drew up beneath the ornate lantern that hung over the porticoed entrance and, leaving the engine running, came round to help Loris out.
She couldn’t fail to notice that, parked between a Porsche and a Mercedes, the ordinary little car looked out of place.
Key in hand, she had opened the door by the time he had retrieved her case. A chandelier in the hall, and one at the top of the grand staircase, had been left on, but the rest of the house was dark and still.
‘I can’t thank you enough for bringing me,’ she said, as he handed over her case.
‘It was my pleasure.’ Briskly, he added, ‘Well, everyone seems to be in bed, so I’ll say goodnight and let you join them.’
As though her subconscious had already decided, she found herself saying, ‘Please, won’t you stay? I’d hate to think of you having to drive all the way back to town on a night like this.’
‘I wouldn’t want to put you to so much trouble.’
‘It’s the very least I can do. And it really is no trouble. Do stay. You can have Mark’s room.’
Though he never moved a muscle, Loris sensed his surprise. Obviously he’d presumed that she and Mark shared a room.
‘In that case I’ll be happy to.’
Crossing to the car, he switched off the engine and doused the lights before joining her in the hall and relieving her of her case once more.
When she had closed the door behind him, and shot the heavy bolts, she turned and led the way up the richly carpeted stairs and through a decorative archway to the right.
‘This is my room.’ Taking her case from him, she put it inside before crossing the wide corridor to open a door opposite. ‘And this is Mark’s.’
Switching on the lights, she led the way into a comfortably furnished bedroom decorated in masculine colours of blue and grey.
‘He doesn’t leave clothes here, so I’m afraid I can’t offer you any pyjamas.’
‘That’s all right.’ Jonathan smiled. ‘I don’t use them.’
Feeling her colour rise, she said hastily, ‘But you should find a new toothbrush and everything else you need in the bathroom cabinet.’
‘Thank you.’
A thought struck her, and she added regretfully, ‘Except a shaver, that is. I’m sorry.’
He shrugged. ‘Don’t worry. Though I can’t see myself with a beard, in an emergency I have been known to wear designer stubble.’
‘Well, goodnight.’
‘Goodnight, Loris,’ he said gravely.
Feeling curiously restless and unsettled, she went back to her own room and was about to prepare for bed when she thought of her stepbrother.
Though Monkswood was virtually Simon’s second home, he wasn’t going to be here this weekend. Consequently, in his bathroom, there would almost certainly be a razor that their last-minute guest could borrow.
Without further ado she hastened barefoot along the darkened corridor to Simon’s room and went in quietly. Sure enough, on the bathroom shelf was an electric razor. If Jonathan Drummond hadn’t already gone to bed, she could give it to him now, ready for the morning.
As she reached his room she saw through the multicoloured fanlight above the door that his light was still on. Bearing in mind that not too far away people were sleeping, she tapped softly. When there was no answer, she tried again. Still no answer.
Perhaps he was in the bathroom?
She opened the door a crack, and could just make out the sound of the shower running. Deciding to leave the razor where he couldn’t fail to notice it, she slipped inside and tiptoed across the room to put it on the bedside cabinet.
Turning back to the door, she gave a half-stifled gasp. Just emerging from the bathroom, Jonathan was in the act of pulling on a short white towelling robe. His hair was wet and rumpled, and drops of water still clung to the fine golden fuzz on his legs.
Without undue haste or self-consciousness, he adjusted the robe and fastened the belt.
Thrown by how irresistibly sexy he looked, and feeling a sudden potent attraction, she stammered, ‘I—I did knock, but you must have been in the shower. I’ve brought you Simon’s razor. He won’t be wanting it this weekend.’
A well-marked brow rose. ‘Simon?’
‘My stepbrother.’
‘Ah, yes…’
