Threat From The Past

Although she had deliberately dressed down, making no concessions to her femininity, the dark navy fine wool dress she had chosen to wear seemed to flatter her greyhound slenderness, subtly emphasising the sensuality of the curves she had intended it to disguise. Strange. A frown caught the soft skin between her brows. She had never before noticed what the understated, very simple style of the dress did to her figure before, or how the deep, almost sombre colour made her hair look like living flame.

But it was too late to change. It was almost eight and pride wouldn’t allow her to keep him waiting. If he was left to kick his heels in the drawing-room he would believe, in his conceit, that she was taking her time over making herself look her best for him.

As she reached the head of the stairs she heard the chime of the doorbell and her heart leapt into her mouth. Meg was already crossing the echoing space of the softly lit hall to admit him. Selina had never felt so alone in her life but she was determined not to let it show as she descended the stairs, her head held high, her eyes carefully fixed just above his left shoulder as he crossed the portal, her voice devoid of expression as she instructed, before he could get a word in, ‘Take Mr Tudor’s coat, Meg, and we’ll eat in half an hour.’ There were a few flakes of snow on the shoulders of the soft sheepskin. Her eyes followed Meg as she carried the garment to the carved oak hanging cupboard tucked away beside the main door. And she used those small signs of the inclement weather as an excuse as she said, still not looking at him directly, ‘We’ll keep that dinner appointment here. The weather’s too foul to think of going out,’ and cursed herself for needing an excuse at all, for allowing him to deduce that she did.

And her skin crawled with embarrassed humiliation as he drawled smokily, a smile in his voice, ‘Relax. The idea’s fine by me. When I need my arm twisting before I’ll dine alone with a beautiful woman I’ll know it’s time I was pushing up daisies.’

So he, the prime egotist, believed she’d decided to entertain him here in order to be quite alone with him! His conceit was beyond bearing!

She turned quickly, hiding the way her face ran with colour, and stalked ahead to the drawing-room. But by the time she’d gone through, noted that Meg had banked the fire up, drawn the long burgundy-red velvet curtains against the wild black night outside she had herself well in hand. And her eyes met his with cool mockery as she put him straight, facing him confidently as she told him, ‘Don’t flatter yourself. What I have to say to you can be better said without an audience. Besides, I couldn’t be bothered to make the effort to go anywhere with you. Sherry?’

And she saw his eyes darken and narrow, his mouth tighten as a spurt of anger made his impressive frame go rigid. So her calculated rudeness had flicked him on the raw and, just for a moment, she exulted in her hitherto unsuspected power to hurt him.

But the unworthy emotion didn’t last long because something else took its place, something dark and tormented which sprang into shocking life, spreading its tortuous, poisoned talons into every vein, every nerve-ending, making her soul shake as he said through his teeth, every word tight with menace, ‘My God, you’re asking for it.’ Two furious paces brought him to her side and, shaken by the hot glitter of anger in his eyes, she turned her back on him, slim fingers sliding over the cool, carved glass of the sherry decanter. But his hands went to her shoulders, his grip impressive as he swung her round to face him again, his mouth a slashing stroke of derision as he told her, ‘There are more ways than one of taming a hell-cat,’ and proved it, bending his head to hers, his lips hard and punishing as they covered hers.

Her head jerked back beneath the ferocity of his kiss but her body was imprisoned in the iron cage of his arms and every last inch of her went up in flame beneath the pressuring contact of his ruthless masculine frame. And it was like nothing she had ever experienced before and as his tongue penetrated the soft inner moistness of her mouth her brain switched off on sudden burn-out and her senses took over, adding to the torment of sweet ravishment as she kissed him back, her body all boneless grace, and pliant, melting into his as his mouth gentled, still hungry, but different, intoxicatingly different.

She was having to cling on to him to maintain her balance and her hands had found their way beneath his jacket, and the feel of his body heat through the crisp cotton shirt he was wearing was intensely disturbing—

So disturbing that when he at last lifted his head from hers she was breathing in shallow, rapid gasps, her heart fluttering beneath her breastbone, her eyes hazed with the effects of what he had done to her senses, barely registering the smouldering quality of his thickly lashed, shadowed green gaze as his own eyes drifted from her parted, swollen lips to the crazy pulse-beat where it fluttered at the base of her throat and down, down to the twin, tumescent peaks of her breasts as they thrust their erotic invitation against the soft wool of her dress.

And slowly his fingers followed the lazy drift of his eyes and her senses leapt in tumultuous, untameable excitement as the pads of his long clever fingers scorched fire down the length of her throat, slipping beneath the V of her neckline to draw soft, slow circles around one thrusting nipple, laying waste her powers of reason, ravishing her senses until she no longer knew where she was. Or cared.

And later she would never be able to say with honesty where the black magic of his sexual onslaught would have led her if the door hadn’t opened to Meg’s, ‘I’m carrying dinner through now, Miss Selina.’

Utter disorientation held her where she was and she was thankful for the way he turned to face the door, effectively screening her from the housekeeper’s view as her fingers fumbled in an agonised, uncoordinated hurry to straighten her clothing. And when he stepped casually to one side she caught Meg’s straight stare and felt the colour of her overheated cheeks turn to a crimson conflagration, and she mumbled something, she had no idea what, and was too busy trying to cut through the heavy swaths of her utterly shameful and unprecedented sexual arousal with a brain that seemed to have been drugged out of orbit to make any sense of Meg’s dour, ‘Snow’s coming down like you wouldn’t believe. I thought I should warn you.’

‘Thank you.’ It was Adam Tudor who effectively took over, normalising a situation which had all the hallmarks of a nightmare, Selina thought distractedly as he added, ‘We’ll be right on through.’ And one of his hands cupped her elbow lightly, the gentle pressure of his fingers easing her forward as she tried to marshal her mental powers and push his unforgivable, disgraceful behaviour right to the back of her mind.

And, almost, she achieved it because as Meg disappeared she dug her heels in, wrenched her arm from his grasp and, not daring to look at him, not caring to be reminded of—of anything she spat out, ‘That was totally uncalled for. Don’t ever, ever touch me again!’

Jerking her chin up, she stalked out of the room, the height of her spindly heels making her hips sway. Knowing he was following, just a whisper away, did nothing for her blood-pressure and when she paused outside the dining-room door, and turned, her soft body brushed against the hardness of his and her breath jerked in her lungs and solidified painfully when he told her with arrogant ease, ‘Don’t spit, little cat. You’ve just had a sample of the methods I’ll use to tame that temper. So sheath those claws and purr for me because, believe me, you ain’t seen nothing yet!’

CHAPTER THREE

THANKFULLY, Meg appeared at that moment, wheeling a heated trolley along the passage, but Selina gave him one look of seething, burning hatred before leading the way into the dining-room. She had been right to be afraid of being alone with this devil in human guise; the first encounter with the burning brand of his mouth had been enough to make her lose all control. But there would be no second encounter; she would make absolutely sure of that!

Seating herself, her nostrils flared with a tiny surge of anger. She’d told Meg not to go to any trouble but she’d gone ahead and pulled out all the stops. Despite the adequate central heating a huge fire burned companionably in the grate, the overhead spots doused to leave a couple of rich-shaded table lamps to shed soft intimacy over the panelled room, and pure white candles lent extra grace to the fine Irish linen, old silver and exquisite crystal set before them.

If Meg had deliberately set out to impress Martin’s wealth and standing on the stranger then she couldn’t have done better. It was just a pity that the last person that should be impressed was Adam Grab-What’s-On-Offer Tudor!

‘The beef Wellington and the greens are on the trolley,’ the housekeeper informed her sniffily, handing out the steaming bowls of walnut soup. ‘Trifle, cheeseboard and fruit on the sideboard. I’ll bring coffee later.’ Sighing gustily, she stumped out of the room, leaving a positive miasma of disapproval behind. Selina smothered a sigh of her own.

Meg could have served cottage pie and fresh fruit in the more informal breakfast-room, which had been the kind of fare Selina had had in mind when she’d told her not to go to any trouble. But she’d perversely put in as much effort as she could, making a martyr of herself to stamp home her disapproval of the fact that Selina was entertaining at all as firmly as she could.

But Meg’s long-endured vagaries were pushed to the back of Selina’s mind because she could feel that intense, wicked green gaze on her—it prickled right through her skin. But she didn’t look up from her soup.

After that degrading scene back in the drawing-room she would have demanded he leave, had ached to do so, but she still had to discover why he had wanted to see Martin in the first place. Raising her head at last because no problem went away if you went on ignoring it, she met his eyes across the table and found a tone of cool enquiry.

‘Suppose you tell me why you’re here.’ And wished in a moment of childish panic that she didn’t feel so deserted. She couldn’t blame Vanessa for wanting to stay with Martin until she was properly satisfied he was on the mend, but Dominic needn’t have fled back to London in such a bone-breaking hurry...

‘But you know why I’m here.’ The smoky voice was velvet-soft, the green eyes glinting with triumph. ‘I wanted to get to know you better, and so far I’ve enjoyed the progress we’ve made.’ He had finished his soup and was pouring Martin’s prized and classic burgundy into Waterford glasses, and Selina stopped pushing the croutons around her bowl and laid down her spoon.

‘What did you want Martin to do for you?’ she asked tightly, ignoring his unforgivable reference to the way he’d kissed her, the way she’d allowed it, actually encouraged it.

‘It’s not a question of what he can do for me, rather of what I can do for him.’ He was still smiling softly, his voice gentle, as if they were discussing something pleasant and normal and not something devious and sinister, something that had given Martin a heart attack. And the insouciant devil was moving around, collecting the soup plates and reaching for the beef and vegetables, the hot plates from the trolley. As if he owned the place, as if he had rights. And Selina, provoked beyond caution, snorted,

‘Do you really think I’m crazy enough to believe that?’ She would have liked to punch the facts home, call the monster’s bluff, let him know that the thought of a visit from him had put an elderly man into hospital. But she couldn’t allow herself that luxury. She had to prevent him from finding out where Martin was, prevent him from turning up at the sick man’s bedside.

So she contented herself with staring at him from furious yellow eyes, her arms crossed over her chest, and the fury changed to resentment as, taking over, he calmly carved slices of meat, added a generous portion of vegetables and handed her the heaped plate. Which she ignored.

And then, settling down to his own meal, he asked levelly enough, ‘So what have you been told about me?’ He speared a piece of tender, pastry-enclosed beef with his fork and sipped Martin’s best burgundy with evident appreciation. ‘From your reception of me, I take it Vanessa’s been getting at you, giving her distorted version of my character. And I don’t suppose Dominic had any hesitation over putting his oar in the water, either.’

A dark eyebrow rose with half-contemptuous amusement and she scornfully gave him full marks for trying, for taking the game right into her court, and told him frankly, ‘I was told that you are Martin’s son. That Martin supported you both until your mother died. By which time you were eighteen and able to fend for yourself.’ She pushed her untouched food away and picked up her wine glass, hoping the alcohol would calm her stretched nerves. ‘The general opinion is, I believe, that you would have liked to receive Martin’s financial support indefinitely.’

She hoped she had put that delicately enough. She had no wish to pussy-foot around, because from what Dominic had told her, and from her own knowledge of the effect his intended visit had had on her uncle, he deserved all he got. But she had already had one extremely graphic demonstration of his reactions to the way she had deliberately angered him before and wasn’t angling for a repeat performance.

‘I see.’ He laid down his cutlery and gave her an unreadable look. ‘And did either of them mention my mother—apart from the fact that she’d died?’

Selina quickly buried her nose in her glass. Dominic had. But again, to reveal she’d been told that Adam Tudor’s mother—and why, dammit, did that name seem oddly familiar?—had been promiscuous, had taken advantage of a much younger man’s inexperience, had tried, throughout the rest of her life to bleed him dry, and how her son, after her death, had tried to do the same, had come looking for charity, would definitely bring his own special brand of retribution down on her head.

So she held her tongue but it appeared he could see directly inside her head because his face closed up, his eyes narrowing to slits as he repeated, ‘I see,’ forcing the words through his teeth.

‘I’m sorry.’ Her mouth tense, she got to her feet. The polite form of words was so patently untrue that she felt like a fool for saying them. And she added quickly, ‘You must see that in coming here you’re wasting your time, upsetting the family.’ That was as near as she could get to the truth, without letting him know what he had done to Martin, and her eyes went cold. She had only one thing on her mind now—to get rid of him, once and for all.

But Adam had other ideas. He stayed exactly where he was but his eyes followed her tall, swaying figure as she walked to the door, and the heavenly voice was cutting as he told her, ‘Have you stopped to ask yourself why Vanessa and Dominic painted me black? And don’t pretend they didn’t. Your reception of me alone pointed to that. And did you wonder why the whole damn lot of them seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth?’ Then, as sanguinely as a prowling cat, he was on his feet, his mouth barely moving as he commanded, ‘Come back here. I haven’t finished with you yet, not by a long way.’

She flicked her eyes to his and then quickly away again as her heart tightened and shifted inside her. There was a dark magic in the way he looked and moved and spoke, something indefinable that reached right out to her. And she didn’t want it to be that way so she fixed her eyes on a point somewhere just above his left shoulder as she took two concessionary paces back into the room and said as coldly as she knew how, ‘You’re magnifying your own importance.’ Her small chin lifted as, against every self-preserving instinct, her eyes were drawn to his wicked green gaze. And although she felt the heat of betraying colour cover her creamy skin she refused to look away, to back down in front of this opportunistic devil. ‘My aunt and uncle are away from home and Dominic’s tied up in London on the firm’s business.’

‘Oh, I just bet he is!’ Adam drawled, his mouth curling cynically. ‘I don’t give a damn about him or Vanessa. But it’s vitally important I see my father.’

Selina stared at him. What kind of fool did he think she was? And she drawled right back at him, ‘Vitally important to whom? Or to what? Your bank balance, most likely! The type of clothes you wear, for a start, don’t come off the bargain rail in a chain-store basement.’

The way he looked at her sent a stab of apprehension through her stomach but he did no more than shrug very slightly before he told her, ‘If that’s what you want to believe, go ahead.’

And strangely, despite what she’d been told about him, the hard facts that all added up to his utter detriment, she didn’t want to believe it. But charm, allied to his fantastic looks, was part of his stock-in-trade, and she wasn’t going to fall for it, was she? Besides, if what he wanted of Martin was above-board, then there would be nothing to stop him telling her what it was.

‘Tell me why it’s so vitally important that you see him, and if I agree I’ll tell you how to contact him.’ Her voice had emerged rustily as she’d issued the challenge, and she knew by the frantic flutter of her heartbeats that she actually wanted to hear that what he had to say to her uncle was innocent of the threat both Dominic and Vanessa had implied.

She dragged in a breath, the tip of her tongue nervously moistening her parched lips, and felt the quick hot stab of something nameless as she watched his half-hooded eyes lazily follow that give-away movement.

His soft smile was tinged with regret but the wicked green glints in his eyes cancelled out the spurious remorse as he told her, ‘I’m afraid it’s between me and Martin,’ and the disappointment was keen, sharp as a knife just for one moment before she thrust it out of existence, because all along she had known—hadn’t she just?—how rotten he was. Dominic had called him his father’s enemy and never again would she even begin to question that.

‘Then we’ve reached an impasse. And I’m afraid I can’t help you, Mr Tudor.’ No way was she about to tell this devious swine how to contact Martin, where he was. She would defend the beloved elderly man any way she could. He had been warned to avoid stress and anxiety and Adam Tudor meant just that—stress and anxiety in its most undiluted form!

‘Why so formal, Selina? We’re capable of being on very friendly terms indeed—I think we’ve proved that much, to our mutual satisfaction, don’t you?’ He had started to move towards her and the look in his memorable eyes made his intentions quite plain. He was about to do something she wouldn’t like. Or rather, she corrected herself with panicky honesty, something she might like too damn much!

‘I’ll hurry Meg along with the coffee. You might as well have a cup before you leave.’ The words came out on a husky rush and she left the room with more haste than dignity. Then, overcoming the impulse to lean back against the smooth wood of the door, to get herself back together and give herself time to work out just how to ask Meg to stay glued to her side after she’d brought in that coffee, instruct her not to leave her until that devil was safely out of the house, she strode rapidly down the corridor to the kitchen.

But maybe enlisting Meg’s help wasn’t such a good idea, Selina decided as the housekeeper said stiffly, ‘Finished that lot already?’ meaning the minor banquet she’d martyred herself preparing and of which Selina herself had hardly tasted a mouthful.

‘We’re ready for coffee; I’ll take it through.’ She could ask Adam Tudor to leave the premises all by herself, she told herself staunchly. She didn’t have to panic when he looked as if kissing her again was the only thing on his mind. For pity’s sake, she had deflected many an amorous male in the past without calling in the troops, and to ask for Meg’s support would call for explanations she had no intention of making. Far better to say nothing and endure the older woman’s huffy mood.

‘You do that.’ Meg banged a few saucepans around. ‘And I’ll go and make up a bed in one of the guest rooms for your man friend. Whether he uses it or not is up to you. But I dare say it will look better if I go through the motions.’

‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Selina put the filter-coffee jug down on a tray with a crash. Meg was what was politely known as a ‘character’ and had ruled the family with a heavy hand and sharp tongue for many years, everyone putting up with her moods, ignoring them because they knew she would die for any one of them if she had to. But this was carrying the sharp-tongued-old-retainer bit much too far and Selina growled, ‘If you’re implying what I think you’re—’

‘If the cap fits.’ Meg’s long nose was high in the air. ‘It’s not seemly—entertaining men friends when your poor uncle’s fighting for his life and your aunt’s worried half to death and Dominic’s working all hours to keep things going.’

‘And I’m taking the heaven-sent opportunity to indulge in a bit of sneaky bacchanalia!’ Selina supplied sarcastically, fuming at the housekeeper’s exaggeration, her gross distortion of the facts. ‘It’s business. I told you.’

And Meg pushed her chin in the air, her mouth turning down as she snorted, ‘I’m not that daft. And I’ve got eyes in my head, haven’t I?’ Meaning she’d taken in that torrid embrace, and, that being so, Selina could find nothing to say in her own defence because she had reacted shamefully to his kisses and Meg had walked in on them just as she’d been about to go completely over the top!

Trying to forget the slow burn of colour that crept over her skin, she informed Meg crossly, ‘There is no question of Mr Tudor staying the night. He will be leaving just as soon as he’s had coffee.’ She added cream and sugar to the tray, her hands shaking with temper. One day someone would have to remind Meg of who paid her wages!

‘Well, if he doesn’t sleep here I don’t know where he will sleep,’ Meg grumbled, beginning to back down, as she always did, if she sensed she’d gone too far. ‘I did tell you about the snow. He could have got out then. Not now. Look for yourself.’

Selina stared at the housekeeper in appalled disbelief, her feet seemingly rooted to the kitchen floor, and, giving her a withering look, Meg clicked her tongue impatiently and marched to one of the windows, dragging back the curtains. ‘Well?’

No need to say a thing. What could she say when the outside security lights danced back from drifts and heaps of glittering whiteness, mockingly magnifying the swirling, sticky flakes that were still pouring out of the cold night sky?

‘I’ll put him in the oak room,’ Meg said grimly. ‘That should cool his ardour.’

If that remark had been meant to shake Selina out of her trance-like stillness, it failed. Something akin to shock kept her where she was, and speechless. The immense disquiet filling her right now had more to do with her insane reaction to him as a man than the very real knowledge of how bitterly angry both Dom and Vanessa would be when they found out that Martin’s son and enemy had been offered refuge for the night. Suddenly she began to shiver.

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