When the Devil Drives (9 page)

Read When the Devil Drives Online

Authors: Sara Craven

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #General

folds of the robe. So he still used the same cologne, she thought, her

mind wincing from the memories it evoked.

The door on the other side of the room stood half open. Presumably

that was the bathroom, and the source of the sounds which had

disturbed her. Moving with unwonted care, because she still felt

faintly groggy, Joanna made her way across the room and peeped

round the door.

Cal was standing at the basin, his only covering a towel draped round

his hips. He was busy removing lather from his chin with long brisk

strokes of the razor.

He turned immediately, as if sensing her presence, and grinned at her

sardonically. 'Good morning,' he said. 'I hope you spent a pleasant

night.'

He'd made his greeting deliberately ambiguous, she thought crossly,

as her face reddened involuntarily. But there was no point in beating

about the bush. She had to
know.
She said, 'I don't understand.

Exactly what took place?'

'We slept.' Cal rinsed away the lingering traces of lather, and

subjected the smoothness of his shave to a minute inspection iff the

mirror. 'You with chemical assistance, I with the benefit of a clear

conscience.'

She gave him a look of total disbelief. 'What the hell do you

mean—chemical assistance?'

'You were clearly in a highly nervous state.' He applied aftershave. 'I

decided you needed a good night's sleep, and arranged for you to have

one.'

She went on staring at him. 'Do you actually mean that you drugged

me? My God, that's the most despicable --'

'Hardly drugged.' He replaced the cap on the bottle of aftershave. 'My

secretary suffers from insomnia sometimes. Her husband works on an

oil rig in the North Sea, and obviously she worries about him. I asked

her for a couple of the sleeping-pills she uses, and put them in your

coffee.'

'You've got a nerve,' she said bitterly, remembering the cloud of

weariness which had descended on her. 'They were more like

knock-out drops!'

'They seemed to be what you needed.' Cal ran a comb through his

thick dark hair. 'You had bags under your eyes you could have

brought coal home in,' he added kindly.

'Thank you,' said Joanna, quivering with temper. 'I suppose it never

occurred to you that I've been under a. certain amount of stress

lately?'

'I'm sure you're just as capable of working yourself into a frenzy over

nothing as any other woman,' he said, shrugging bare brown

shoulders.

Joanna bit her lip hard, refusing to take the bait. 'I still need to know

what happened,' she said stubbornly. 'After you put me to sleep, did

you...?' She paused, at a loss how to phrase the enquiry.

Cal's brows lifted. 'For a married woman, Joanna, you can be

incredibly naive,' he said, with an edge to his voice. 'If I'd made love

to you last night, don't you think your body might have known about

it this morning?'

Her flush deepened. 'I—suppose so,' she admitted sullenly.

'And I'm bloody sure of it,' he said grimly.

'Yet that's what you brought me here for.'

'I invited you for dinner, which you ate, and breakfast, which is on its

way up—the Continental variety. I don't like heavy meals at the start

of the day.'

'But you let me think...'

'The worst,' he supplied affably. 'Of course I did, Joanna. I enjoyed

having you on the hook. Seeing that celebrated cool of yours melt

round the edges. And all for nothing. I never had any intention of

touching you last night.'

She said unevenly, 'You utter bastard!'

'Don't call me names, beauty,' he said gently, 'or I might think of one

or two for you.'

'You can think up a whole dictionary, as far as I'm concerned,' she

said curtly. 'I'm leaving here now, and you can find someone else to

torment with your sick games.'

'You're going nowhere,' he said. 'Except into the next room, while I

dress, to wait nicely for your breakfast like a good girl.'

'Don't treat me like a child!'

'Then stop behaving like one. You know as well as I do that walking

out of here isn't part of the deal at all.'

'You intend to go on with this—obscene farce?'

'If that's how you wish to regard it—yes. It's what you agreed to, after

all.'

'I didn't really think that you were serious—that you meant to go

through with it.'

'Don't lie to me, Joanna, not now or ever. You've always known

exactly my intentions where you're concerned. Your only error was to

presume I was going to rush you into bed immediately, and I admit I

misled you a little.'

She didn't look at him. 'Why—didn't you—last night?'

'Because you were tense, hostile and emotionally exhausted,' he said

calmly. 'You were also unconscious. I prefer to wait a little longer,

and hope for better things.' He walked across to her and put a finger

under her chin, tilting her face up towards him. His voice was very

quiet. 'I have a fantasy, Joanna, which I've been nursing for a long

time. You, in my arms, warm, relaxed, and quite definitely wanting

me as much as I want you.'

She,drew a sharp, uneven breath. 'Then you'll wait forever!'

He shook his head, holding her gaze with his. 'I don't think so. I

haven't that much patience. And I suspect, you haven't either, beauty.

You're curious already—asking questions, and that's good. And, if

you're honest, it's been inevitable since the first time we saw each

other.'

'No.'

'Oh, yes,' he said gently. 'In spite of everything that's happened in the

past—the antagonism, the bitterness—whenever you and I have been

together, it's always been the same. I'm looking at you. You're

looking at me. Don't pretend you haven't been aware of it.'

'Your—arrogance is quite incredible.'

'Not arrogance,' he said. 'Certainty. The knowledge of who I am and

where I'm going. The intangible thing my grandfather fought for.'

'Well, don't be too sure of yourself,' she bit back at him. 'I expect

you've heard the old saying, "From clogs to clogs in three

generations."'

He laughed, releasing her chin. 'Is that what you hope for me—ruin?

It won't happen, Joanna. I'll see to that. We Blackstones have worked

too hard and sacrificed too much for what we've got to let it slip

away.'

'That,' she said, 'was what the Chalfonts thought too.'

He grinned at her. 'What sort of clogs have you been wearing,

Joanna? Italian ones with four-inch heels?' He took her by the

shoulders and turned her towards the door. 'Now run away, and wait

for your breakfast.'

'I'm not hungry. And I don't take orders from you.'

He shrugged again. 'As you wish. Stay and watch me get dressed if

that's what turns you on.' He began to loosen the towel he was

wearing, watching her mockingly. 'Unless, of course, you'd prefer me

to cancel breakfast altogether—and take you back to bed?'

'No,' Joanna said, furiously conscious that she was blushing again, 'I

would not!'

She swept out of the bathroom with as much dignity as she could

muster, trying not to trip on the trailing hem of Cal's robe.

The living-room, she found, had already been tidied and made ready

for the day, the sofa cushions plumped and the windows opened.

It really was a most attractive room, she decided grudgingly. The

previous night she'd been feeling too fraught to appreciate its finer

points, but now she could view them at her leisure.

It was clear Cal hadn't opted for wall-to-wall professional interior

design. The few ornaments on display had obviously been personally

chosen over a number of years. Some were antiques, and others were

just fun, like the collection of china bears she found on a side-table.

The pictures were interesting too, prints mingling with original

water-colours, while above the fireplace hung a magnificent

oil-painting of a stark stretch of moorland, lashed by rain under a

thunderous sky.

Joanna wandered over to study it more closely, and it was then that

her attention was caught by a much smaller painting hanging on the

wall to the right of the. fireplace. It was a miniature—a head and

shoulders portrait of a woman, no longer in the first flush of youth,

but vibrantly, glowingly beautiful, the corners of her mouth lifting in

a smile, half shy, half mischievous.

I've seen her before, Joanna told herself, frowning. But where?

The little portrait clearly belonged to a much earfier era. The

demurely high-necked blouse, and the thick fair hair, waving back

from her forehead, and drawn into a loose chignon at the nape of her

neck, betrayed that.

She was still puzzling over it when there was a tap at the door and a

girl in an overall came in, pushing a trolley. There was a jug of chilled

fruit juice, a basket of hot rolls and croissants wrapped in napkins,

dishes of marmalade and other preserves, and a tall pot of coffee.

'Is there anything else I can get you, madam?'

Joanna's lips tightened at the sly avidity in the girl's voice. She said

shortly, 'No, thank you,' then stopped as her eyes took in the dumpy

figure and over-frizzed hair with dismayed recognition. She said, 'It's

Stella, isn't it?'

•That's right, Miss Chalfont—Mrs Bentham, I should say. Fancy you

remembering me after all this time!'

Once seen, never forgotten, Joanna thought without pleasure. Stella

Dyson had worked briefly as a domestic at Chalfont House before

Joanna had married Martin Bentham.

She had become convinced the girl was an obsessive snoop,

searching regularly through drawers, desks and cupboards in the

house. She had always been finding her things slightly disarranged,

especially in her bedroom, but couldn't prove a thing. Nothing had

ever been missing, but the girl's behaviour was disturbing, and it was

a relief when she'd given notice instead of having to be asked to leave.

She was also an inveterate gossip, Joanna thought wretchedly. And

now the whole of Northwaite would know that Joanna Bentham had

not only dined but had breakfasted with Cal Blackstone, wearing his

dressing-gown too.

She said, 'I didn't know you worked at the country club, Stella.'

'I've been here over two months, madam. The hours are a bit long, but

the wages are really good.' She giggled. 'I'm always short of money,

though.' She sent Joanna a meaning look. 'A little more always comes

in handy.'

Oh, no, you little witch, Joanna said silently. I'm already being

blackmailed by an expert. You stand no chance at all.

Her smile was civil but totally dismissive. 'Then you'll have to ask Mr

Blackstone for a rise.' She began to pour herself some coffee. 'That

will be all, thank you.'

'Yes, madam.' The words 'stuck-up bitch' seemed to float in the air

between them, as Stella turned to depart with one last, malignant

look.

Joanna sighed, as she drank some coffee. There was no way back

now, she realised despondently. After Stella had said her piece, there

wouldn't be a soul in the West Riding who would believe she was

anything but Cal Blackstone's mistress. Which, of course, was

precisely what he intended, she thought sombrely. He wanted

everyone to know that his victory over the Chalfoats was total and

complete.

'You look rather grim.' Cal's approach had been silent and

unsuspected, and she started as he came to sit beside her, knotting his

tie.

'I'm hardly likely to feel like the life and soul of the party in the

circumstances,' she retorted.

His brows lifted. 'Not when I've assured you that your virtue is in no

immediate danger?'

'I'm not interested in games of cat and mouse,' Joanna said shortly.

He smiled at her. 'No? Then what does interest you? We'll talk about

that instead.'

She bit her lip. He seemed, infuriatingly, to have an answer for

everything. And there was little point in continuing to be churlish

with someone who refused to be needled.

She said with an effort, 'Well—I like some of your pictures.' She

nodded at the moorscape. 'Isn't that by Ashley Jackson?'

'Yes. You know his work?'

'Martin's aunt gave us one of his paintings as a wedding present.

I—returned it to her—afterwards.'

'Isn't that rather unusual?'

Joanna shrugged. 'It was what she wanted.' She hesitated. 'I—I was

never a favourite of hers, so I preferred not to argue about it.'

Now what did I tell him that for? she asked herself vexedly. I've just

provided him with another stick to beat me with. But apart from

sending her a slightly enigmatic look Cal offered no comment,

Other books

William W. Johnstone by Law of the Mountain Man
Mutation by Robin Cook
Ghost in the Razor by Jonathan Moeller
The Ice Wolves by Mark Chadbourn
These Is My Words by Nancy E. Turner