seat. The towel, and the rest of the gear in the bag, was unused, so he
must be on his way to the country club, but if so what was he doing on
the high road, when there were other, more direct routes?
In spite of the towel's pristine condition, it was still his property, and
she was deeply reluctant to use so personal an item. The idea of
having to be beholden to him in any way affronted and revolted her.
But she couldn't escape the fact that water was dripping dismally
from her hair on to her face, and, after a brief internal tussle, she
unfolded the towel and began to blot away the worst of the moisture.
With any luck, he would be the one to catch pneumonia, she thought,
glaring through the windscreen at him as he worked. And, as if aware
of her scrutiny, Cal Blackstone looked round from his task, and
waved.
With a snort of temper Joanna tossed the towel back into the bag and
leaned back, savouring the undeniable comfort of her seat. Her father
had driven a Jaguar when she was a small child, she remembered, and
she'd always loved riding in it. She began to examine the dashboard
and internal fittings, trying to remember what they'd been like in her
father's day.
She'd been sitting with her father in the back of the Jaguar the first
time she'd seen Cal Blackstone, she remembered with a shiver of pure
distaste.
With regrettable promptitude, he appeared at the side of the car. 'Your
wheel is duly changed, madam. Don't forget to have your damaged
tyre mended.'
'I'm quite capable of working that out for myself,' she snapped.
'Of course.' He got into the driver's seat, and gave her a long look. His
eyes were grey, she found herself noticing for the first time. Grey
eyes, hard as steel, and cold as the skies above them. 'Please don't
overwhelm me with gratitude.'
Joanna flushed at the sarcasm in his tone. 'Thank you,' she said stiffly.
'It was—fortunate that you were passing.'
'I often use this road,' he returned. 'I like the view of the Northwaite
valley from up here.'
'If you can see it today, you must have X-ray vision.'
'I don't need to see it,' he said softly. 'I know what's there by heart. I've
always known.' He pointed outinto the mist and cloud. 'Away to your
right is the country club. As you come down the valley, there are the
chimneys of the Blackstone engineering works. They're generally
what people notice first, just as my grandfather intended when he
built the place. Then there's the Mill, relegated to second place these
days, I'm afraid.' He paused for a moment as if expecting some
response, some denial, and when there was none he continued, 'And
finally, down to the left, well away from the pollution of the workers'
houses in Northwaite, tucked away as if it's trying to hide, is Chalfont
House.'
When he smiled, his teeth were very white. A predator's smile,
Joanna thought, and her heart began to thump suddenly, harshly.
'Everything I own,' he said. 'And everything I intend to own before
I've finished. Including you, Joanna Chalfont, you beautiful, hostile
little bitch.'
For a moment she sat gaping at him, hardly able to credit what she'd
just heard. Then,
'How dare you?' She could barely squeeze the words out of the
frightening, painful tightness in her throat.
Cal Blackstone threw back his head and laughed. 'Said to the manner
born,' he mocked. 'The well-born young lady rebuking the upstart
pleb. It's wonderful what they teach you at those fancy Harrogate
schools!'
'I think you must be insane,' said Joanna, fumbling for the handle of
the door. 'I refuse to listen to any more of this.'
'You don't have to.' He was infuriatingly at his ease. 'I want you, and
I'm going to have you. There's nothing more to be said.'
'Well, you couldn't be more wrong!' Joanna flung at him. She was
trembling all over, fighting to keep her voice steady. 'I have a few
things to say myself, and the first is that I wouldn't have you, Callum
Blackstone, if you came gift-wrapped.'
He was still smiling. 'And what do you know about it?' he asked
softly. 'What do you know about anything, Miss Chalfont, except
pride and your own version of the past?' He shook his head slowly,
his gaze locked with hers. 'It's time you began to think of the future,
so let's start your thoughts in the right direction.'
The car door refused to budge under her frantic fingers. It was clearly
linked to some central locking system outside her control, trapping
her there alone with him.
Shrinking into the corner of her seat, Joanna saw Cal Blackstone
reach for her, felt her shoulders grasped without gentleness, and her
whole body drawn inexorably forward towards him. The smile had
been wiped from his face, and his grey eyes glittered with something
far removed from amusement. Something she barely understood, but,
strangely, feared just the same.
She said, on a little sob, 'No—ah—no,' then his mouth was on hers
and all further protest was stifled.
Nothing in her limited experience had prepared her for Cal's kiss and
nothing could have done. He held her ruthlessly, crushing her soft
breasts against the hard muscular wall of his chest, twining his hand
in her still-damp hair to hold her still, while his lips plundered hers,
relentlessly, hungrily—and endlessly.
She couldn't breathe. The scent of his skin filled her nostrils with a
sudden and desperate familiarity. Tiny coloured lights danced
frenetically behind her closed lids. She felt physically overpowered,
totally at his mercy. She thought she might be going to faint, and with
the thought came a surge of anger, and contempt for her own
weakness.
He muttered against her lips, 'Open your mouth,' and in a flash she
saw her salvation. Pliantly she obeyed. She felt his sigh of
satisfaction, was aware of his clasp slackening slightly so that he
could turn her in his arms, to hold her more easily against his body,
and as he relaxed she bit him hard, sinking her teeth into his lower lip.
Cal jerked his head away, swearing, lifting a hand almost
unbelievingly to his bleeding mouth.
'You little shrew!'
'Try explaining that to your latest woman!' Joanna flung at him. 'And,
from now on, keep your distance from me.'
He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the blood. To
her fury he was grinning again.
'Not now I've had a taste of delights to come, sweetheart.'
'You'll get nothing more from me as long as you live! You might have
been able to take advantage of the situation today, but I'll make sure it
never happens again.'
'Ah, but it will,' he said softly. 'I may have lost the first skirmish,
Joanna, but the war's only just beginning. And, I warn you, nothing
but your complete surrender will do.'
She drew a swift, blazing breath, glaring at him. 'You're nothing but
an animal, Cal Blackstone!'
He held out the bloodstained handkerchief, staring grimly back at her.
'Then I've certainly picked the right mate.'
'You've picked nothing and no one. From now on, keep out of my
way!' She turned to wrestle with the door-handle, and to her chagrin it
worked instantly.
'Our paths were made to cross.' His voice followed her as she
stumbled out of the car. 'If you didn't know it before, you know it
now. So drive carefully, my hot-tempered vixen. When I finally get to
unwrap my gift, I want it to be perfect.'
She got to her car somehow, and sat, shaking, in the driving seat,
waiting until the Jaguar slid past, and was swallowed up in the mist
and rain.
She put up a cautious finger and touched the swollen contours of her
mouth. Her lips felt bruised, but the greatest wound she'd suffered
was humiliation.
She stared at the grey-soaked landscape, and thought, I'm afraid of
him.
Now, in the drawing-room of Chalfont House, Joanna found the same
words rising to her lips.
I'm afraid of him.
She shook herself irritably. That was what came of letting herself
remember—relive things best banished from her mind for good. But
oh, God, it had been so real. She could swear she'd almost felt the
pressure of Cal's mouth ravaging hers once more, tasted his
blood...Two years ago she had escaped him, but at what a price. She
couldn't run away again. This time she had to stand her ground and
fight him. She squared her shoulders, glancing up again at her
grandfather's portrait.
The war's on again, Grandpa,' she said. 'And this time I mean to
win—for all our sakes.'
She had to. Because surrender on Cal Blackstone's terms was
unthinkable.
THE mist swirled thickly above the high road. Joanna was lost in the
depths of it, the damp tendrils wreathing about her, stifling her,
confining her so that her limbs felt heavy and incapable of movement.
Yet she had to move—to run, because somewhere in the fog Cal
Blackstone was waiting, his predator's hands reaching to stop her—to
take her. She took one sluggish step, then another—and screamed
aloud as a hand closed purposefully on her shoulder.
'Why, Miss Joanna, whatever's the matter with you?'
Perspiring, Joanna opened her eyes and found Nanny, comforting as
the daylight pouring through the window, standing at her bedside
with a cup of tea.
She managed a weak smile. 'Sorry, Nan, I must have been dreaming.
Did I startle you?'
'It looks more as if you startled yourself, lass.' Nanny scrutinised her
austerely. 'You're white as a sheet! Drink your tea while it's hot.'
A cup of tea, Joanna thought. Nanny's panacea for all ills from a
headache to bereavement. She sat up, punching her tumbled pillows
into shape. 'You're spoiling me.'
'Well, make the most of it. It won't happen so soon again,' Nanny said
severely. 'And I've a message from Mr Simon.'
'Let me guess.' Joanna looked up at the ceiling. 'He's won a million
pounds on the football pools and all our problems are solved.'
Nanny snorted. 'Since when has Mr Simon done the pools?' she
demanded. 'I'm to tell you that Mrs Chalfont was taken badly in the
night, and he's gone with her to the nursing home.'
'You mean Fiona's started labour?' Joanna sat bolt upright. 'But the
baby's not due for another couple of months. Oh, that's awful!'
'Don't waste your sympathy,' Nanny advised tartly. 'That baby won't
be born until the right time, take my word for it. Madam's got
indigestion, as I told her.' She snorted. 'What can she
expect—sending Mr Simon into Northwaite at all hours for that
tandoori chicken stuff?'
'Oh, is that all?' Joanna relaxed.
'Anyway, Mr Simon said to tell you if he's not back in time for the
meeting this afternoon, you've to hold the fort. He said you'd
understand.'
Joanna choked on a mouthful of tea. 'He said
what?'
'You're not deaf. And don't spill that tea on your quilt.'
'But he can't do this,' Joanna said, half to herself. 'He's got to be back
here in time—he's got to...' She looked up beseechingly at Nanny.
'The nursing home—they'll send Fiona home straight away if it's just
indigestion, won't they?'
Nanny sniffed. 'The lord only knows. She might have discovered a
few more symptoms by the time the doctor comes round. Madam's
not averse to a few days in bed being waited on.'
Nanny could never be described as the young Mrs Chalfont's greatest
fan, but Joanna had to admit she spoke with a certain amount of
justice. Once in the luxury of the nursing home, with attentive nurses
answering her every bell, Fiona might well be reluctant to return to
Chalfont House where people were more likely to tell her to pull
herself together and stop making a fuss about nothing. And she would
certainly insist on Simon dancing attendance on her.
'After all,' Fiona had often pouted to him, 'it's your fault I'm feeling so
ghastly. It's your baby.'
Joanna groaned inwardly. Her plan to put several miles between
herself and Chalfont House prior to Cal Blackstone's arrival was now
plainly inoperable.
I could always ask him to postpone his visit, she thought, but
dismissed the idea almost as soon as it had formed. The last thing she
wanted, after all, was Cal Blackstone to guess her deep reluctance to
face him. And at a wider, less personal level, any attempt to put him
off might be unwise at this juncture.
If Simon doesn't come back in time, I'll talk to him myself, she
decided grimly. And I'll let him know that though he may have