Authors: Sara Craven
The car was slowing, turning into a large square. She looked out with bewilderment at the row of Regency houses confronting her. If there was a restaurant here, they were being very discreet about it. There were no signs, or awnings, or even a commissionaire.
As the chauffeur helped her out of the car, she saw the door at the top of the elegant flight of stone steps had opened and a woman in a dark dress stood waiting to welcome her.
Fighting for composure, Cass mounted the steps.
'Good evening, Mrs Linton.' A pleasant voice with a faint North Country burr. 'May I take your wrap?'
Cass surrendered it in a kind of daze as she took in her surroundings. She was in a large hall with a tiled floor, one long antique table bearing a bowl of spring flowers its sole furnishing.
She swallowed. His home, she thought. His London house. And herself delivered there—gift-wrapped.
She realised suddenly the enormity of what she was doing.
She could say there'd been a mistake, she thought wildly. Say she felt ill. Escape now— while there was still time.
Then the double doors on one side of the hall swung open, and Rohan stood there, and she knew that all thoughts—all hopes of escape were much, much too late.
For a moment, they stood looking at each other, and Cass saw his eyes narrow as if he recognised in her that deep, sudden terror. Then he crossed to her side, smiling easily, lifting both her hands to his lips in a swift, casual caress.
He said softly so that only she could hear, 'Don't run out on me, Cassie. Mrs Grayson is a superb cook, and I don't want her upset, or she might leave.'
She was surprised into laughter, and on that note allowed herself to be led across the hall, and into the room he'd just come from. She looked around at book-lined walls, saw two big, hide sofas flanking an open fire, and felt her heels sink into the softness of a rich Turkey cat pet.
She went to the fireplace and stretched out her hands to the flames, but nothing could dispel the chill of apprehension inside her.
'Sherry, darling?' he asked, adding on a note of faint mockery, 'Or would you prefer something stronger?'
'Sherry, please. Dry.' She was thankful to hear how normal her voice sounded. She'd been terrified that she might utter some half-paralysed squeak.
He brought her drink, and took up a position on the other side of the fireplace, resting a relaxed arm on the mantelpiece. Cass looked at the floor, the gleaming fire irons, the sherry like a pale topaz in her glass—anywhere but at him. She'd already seen too much. No dinner jacket tonight, but the most formal of dark suits, elegantly tailored to his lean muscular body, the waistcoat fitting like a second skin.
But what had she expected, she asked in self-derision? That he'd greet her in a silk dressing gown, like some wolf from a Thirties comedy?
He said, 'You look very beautiful, Cassie. But so I'm sure did Anne Boleyn on her way to execution.'
The irony in his tone wasn't lost her, and she looked up flushing.
She said with a little gasp. 'I'm sorry—I shouldn't have come here...'
He shrugged. 'Why not? You need to eat, and Mrs Grayson's cooking is worth coming across London for, I promise. And when the meal is over, and we've drunk our coffee, if you're still of the same mind as you are now, I'll get Parsons to drive you quietly and virtuously back to your flat.'
She looked at him blankly. 'Don't you want me to stay?' The words were out before she could stop them.
'Of course.' His mouth twisted slightly. 'But I don't regard it as obligatory either. I hope that reassures you.'
She'd never felt in greater need of assurance. She decided to change the subject. 'You have— another beautiful home.'
'I'm glad you approve,' he said lazily. 'But this isn't wholly mine, and neither is Gray stocks. They're family houses which I share with my parents. They're enjoying a very leisurely cruise aboard a friend's yacht at the moment, or you'd have met them at the party.'
She smiled faintly, 'That's probably just as well.'
'Why?'
She shrugged. 'Lloyd was planning to introduce me to his family, but by degrees. Myself first, Jodie much later. I don't think his mother feels a widow with a child is what she has planned for her only son.
'How very blind of her,' he drawled. 'She should thank God that at least he's had the wit to choose a girl with the ambition and intelligence that he lacks.'
Cass flushed. 'That's not fair.'
'But true,' he said drily. 'What does the woman want? The usual white Anglo Saxon virgin, I suppose, with her brains in her apron.' He smiled at her. 'She should have waited to meet you, Cassie. For a woman who's been married and had a child, you have an intensely virginal quality, as I'm sure Lloyd is aware.'
Her throat muscles contracted. She said, 'Please—don't talk like that.'
'As you wish,' he said pleasantly. 'Drink your sherry, Cassie.' He paused. 'Mrs Gray son will be announcing dinner very soon, and then your ordeal will be nearly over.'
Her flush deepened, and she murmured something incoherent. She was certain that when the time came she wouldn't be able to eat anything. But when eventually she found herself in a small, narrow dining room, its walls panelled in watered silk, with Mrs Grayson placing a plate of fragrant clear soup in front of her, she discovered that her appetite had miraculously revived.
Nor had Rohan exaggerated Mrs Grayson's capabilities. The delicate mousseline of sole which followed was first class, and the noisettes of lamb in a wine sauce almost defied description.
It was probably the most delicious meal Cass had ever eaten in her life, she admitted to herself as she savoured the last few crumbs of the piquant lemon cheesecake which had completed it.
She put her fork down with a sigh. 'That was wonderful.'
'I'll tell Maggie you said so. She'll be delighted.' He paused. 'She'll probably take our coffee back to the library, but if you'd prefer to drink it here with the width of this solid table safely between us, then it can be arranged.'
She didn't look at him. 'It—it doesn't matter.'
But it did matter, and she knew it. All during that marvellous, leisurely meal, Rohan had been making love to her. He hadn't touched her in any way, but then he hadn't had to. The tone of his voice when he spoke, the way his eyes lingered on her each time he looked at her was enough, charging every moment they'd spent together with sensual significance.
The food, the wine, the intimately candlelit room—they were all part of the same gently insidious seduction, and she knew it.
She'd even secretly welcomed it, because it removed the onus of choice from her. But now Rohan had put the game back in her court again.
She walked quietly to the library at his side, still not touching. Apart from his initial greeting, and the moment when he'd passed her the sherry, he had not laid a finger on her, and his restraint bewildered her.
'Will there be anything else, sir?' Mrs Grayson hovered like a benevolent but overweight fairy. 'No? In that case, I'll say good night.'
'Sleep well, genius.' Rohan took a cheroot from a box on the big desk in the corner, and lit it. 'Oh, Maggie—you might ring the garage for me and tell Parsons he won't be needed again. I'll drive Mrs Linton home myself.'
'Certainly,' Mrs Grayson beamed. 'Good night, sir, Good night, madam.'
Cass's mouth felt dry. 'Good night,' she managed.
'Brandy?' Rohan asked when they were alone.
She shook her head. 'No thank you.'
Although she could certainly do with it, she thought desperately. He must have read her thoughts, and having deciphered the chaos of emotional confusion inside her, decided to reduce the options open to her still further.
She drank her coffee, then poured herself another cup from the big silver pot in front of her. She could feel her spine stiffening in tension with every second that passed. Could feel herself growing more hideously self-conscious.
She forced some more coffee down her tightening throat, and watched him under her lashes, lounging on the sofa opposite, as if he had nothing on his mind except the brandy in the goblet he was holding, and the cheroot he was smoking.
She'd never seen him smoke before, she thought, and swallowed painfully as a sly voice in her head reminded her of all the other discoveries she might be called on to make before the night was over.
Hurriedly, she switched her mind back to his smoking. Perhaps he was nervous too, she thought, then lashed herself with self-derision. The situation, after all, was hardly a novelty to him.
No, he was biding his time, that was all. He was hardly likely to make any serious advances to her while Mrs Grayson could still be heard, moving between the dining room and the domestic quarters, and they could still be interrupted. And Mrs Grayson seemed to be extremely thorough in her clearing up, taking hours over it…
Yet there was no need for her to sit here like a dummy. All she had to do was walk to the door, open it, and ask for her wrap. Rohan might not be pleased, but he would hardly utter any protest in front of his housekeeper. And he'd said that he would drive her home, she argued with herself. But did not move.
Eventually, the house went quiet. Somewhere in its depths a door closed with a note of utter finality. Cass could hear nothing but the sigh of the logs on the hearth, and her own hurried breathing.
'I think "Alone at last" is the favoured cliché in this situation,' Rohan said silkily. 'Have you come to any decision yet, Cassie?'
She couldn't speak. She couldn't even look at him. She just shook her head, gripping the fragile handle of the cup as if it was a lifeline.
He tossed the stub of his cheroot into the fire. 'Then I'll make it for you,' he said almost grimly. Two strides brought him to her. He put his hands under her arms, and lifted her to her feet, coolly detaching the cup from her fingers as he did so. Then he slid one arm under her knees, lifting her completely into his arms as if she was a featherweight, and walked with her to the door. He carried her across the hall to the stairs, taking them two at a time, turning the broad, curving bend where the shadows waited…
Cass turned her head, burying her face in his shoulder, and her arms slid slowly up around his neck.
At the top of the stairs, he paused, and kissed her mouth, very slowly, and very thoroughly. She was flushed and breathless by the time he took his lips from hers, and carried her along the broad landing, shouldering his way into the room at the end.
Where he set her on her feet.
It was a large room, furnished with stark simplicity in shades of cream and ivory, the deep crimson cover on the huge bed the one vibrant statement of colour, heightened by the illumination from the one enormous shaded lamp which stood by the bed.
The dress fastened with a long sash, and deftly, unhurriedly, he untied it, and unwound it from her slim waist. When it was totally loose, the jade dress fell open, and instinctively her hands came up to cover her bare breasts. His fingers captured her wrists, gently but firmly removing the concealment.
He said huskily, 'Don't hide from me, darling. You can't be ashamed of your body. You're too beautiful.'
The dress was pushed from her shoulders, and fell in a heap at her feet. In a whisper of silk, the long waist slip followed, leaving her naked except for her tiny, lacy briefs.
His voice was soft. 'You put my dreams to shame, Cassie.'
He began to touch her slowly, exploring her with his fingertips. She gasped silently as the long, stroking caress slid down the vulnerable length of her spine, then forward, tantalisingly, over the swell of her hips, then upwards, over the soft inner flesh of her arms to her breasts. He cupped them gently, sliding his thumbs over the taut excitement of her nipples, sending white-hot shafts of pure sensation to pierce her body and make her whimper in response.
Rohan drew a sharp breath, then lowered his head, kissing the softly swollen mounds with warm, sensuous lips, circling the rigid peaks with his tongue, making her whole being quiver in endless convulsions of pleasure.
She was shaking so much, she had to cling to his shoulders for support. When at last he lifted his head, she collapsed against him, trembling. His hand tangled in her hair, tipping her head back, so that he could look at her face, her fever-bright eyes.
He sounded shaken. 'Darling, I didn't realise…' He paused, his own breathing ragged. 'Has there been no-one else, Cassie—in all this long time?'
'No-one.' A stranger's voice, harsh and strained. No-one, she thought. Like this. No-one—ever.
The body she had washed and clothed and tried to ignore seemed to belong to her no longer. The feelings, the sensations now being engendered within her were totally alien—frightening in their implications.
Rohan lifted her gently and put her on the bed. He began to pull his clothes off, his eyes exploring her in restless, passionate desire as he stripped. She turned her head away, biting her lip.
'Shy, darling?' His voice was quiet, his naked body lithe and warm against hers, as he drew her back into his arms. 'There's no need, I swear it. I only want to make you happy.' He parted her mouth with his, kissing her deeply and hungrily, and she responded helplessly, shivering with delight as the long hands slid inexorably down her body, removing her last fragile covering. For a moment she tensed in shock as she felt him part her thighs.
'Hush, love,' he whispered against her lips, as if she had spoken, and his fingers began to move on her, slowly and with silky warmth, creating the start of a rhythm she had never dreamed existed until that moment.
Her body relaxed blindly, trustingly. The seeking hands, the potent heat of his mouth on her eager breasts were luring her, beckoning her to a dimension of pleasure totally outside her experience. She felt a little sob of disbelief rise in her throat. She couldn't comprehend what was happening to her. The magic of this new and startling intimacy was too strong, too powerful.
She lifted her hands and began to touch him in turn, running her fingers over the muscled sweep of his shoulders, down the long line of his back with sweet, frantic urgency. And as if in silent response to this, the sensuous beguilement of his own caress deepened in a stark demand which made her moan, and arch her slim hips against him in involuntary longing.