Marriage On The Agenda

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…’

Embarrassed to realise she was still standing goggling at him like a fool, Loris prepared to make her escape. Only to find that, somehow, Jonathan was between her and the door.

‘I’ll say goodnight again.’ She was aware that she sounded breathless.

He took her hand, while green eyes smiled into gold.

Wits scattered, she stood gazing back at him like someone mesmerised, before making an effort to free her hand.

When he failed to release it, she said huskily, ‘I must go.’

‘Must you?’

Without realising how provocative it looked, she used the tip of her tongue to moisten lips gone suddenly dry.

Using the hand he was holding to draw her closer, he said softly, ‘This time I think I’ll take you up on the invitation.’

His free hand slid under the fall of dark silky hair to cup the back of her head, and a second later his mouth was covering hers.

Loris found his light kiss both pleasurable and exciting. But though it sent a tingle right down to her toes there was nothing alarming about it, nothing to warn her that she was in any danger.

While part of her mind pointed out that she shouldn’t be letting this happen, another part answered that, as kisses went, it was relatively innocent.

She wasn’t caught up, wasn’t involved… She could walk away whenever she pleased.

But she hadn’t reckoned on the seductive sweetness that, almost without her realising it, made her want the kiss to go on, made her want to kiss him back.

As her lips parted, his tongue-tip stroked along the velvety-smooth inner skin, making her quiver, before he deepened the kiss.

Mark’s kisses were ardent, hot-blooded, sometimes bruising in their intensity. They totally lacked the finesse, the subtlety and imagination of this man’s lovemaking.

He explored her mouth with a kind of delicate enjoyment that sent little shudders running through her, while, almost unnoticed, his free hand traced her slender curves.

When it found the soft swell of her breast and his thumb brushed coaxingly over the nipple, she knew it was time to call a halt.

But the sensations that the thistledown-touch was arousing were so exquisite that every bone in her body seemed to melt, and an awakening hunger that refused to be stilled cried out for more.

Responding to that hunger, his lovemaking gradually became more intense as he added a new and disturbing dimension.

Passion.

But it wasn’t a tempestuous, uncontrolled passion that might have swamped any response, or served to scare her. This was a leashed passion that lured her onwards, that enticed and invited an answering passion, until suddenly she was lost. Mindless. Carried away. Caught and held in a web of sensual delight…

Loris stirred and surfaced slowly from a deep and contented sleep, to find grey morning light was filtering into the room.

Though her mind was still enshrouded in a kind of golden haze, she was dimly aware that her body felt relaxed and satisfied.

She was stretching luxuriously when one of her feet brushed against a man’s hair-roughened leg.

Shock hit her, and she stiffened as the sharp, cold wind of memory blew in, dispersing the haze.

Oh, dear heaven, what had she done?

After putting off her own fiancé for several months she had gone to bed with a virtual stranger.

She only just stopped herself groaning aloud.

Lying unnaturally still, afraid to move a finger, she listened to Jonathan Drummond’s quiet, even breathing.

Satisfied that he wasn’t yet awake, she turned her head slowly to look at him.

He was lying facing her, so close that they were almost touching. His tanned skin was clear and healthy, his breath sweet. There were grooves each side of his mouth, and little laughter-lines radiated from the corners of his eyes. Thick, gold-tipped lashes lay like a fan on his high cheekbones.

It was the face she remembered from the previous night, yet not the same.

The mature self-assurance and the somewhat disturbing irony were gone from it. With his tousled hair and his confident mouth relaxed in sleep he looked endearingly boyish, in spite of the morning stubble adorning his chin.

But there had been nothing remotely boyish about him last night. His lovemaking had proved him to be a skilful and experienced man.

Heat ran through her as she remembered all the things he had made her feel, and her own unexpectedly passionate response. After the fiasco with Nigel, she had started to wonder uneasily if she might be frigid. That had been one of the reasons she had remained celibate for so long. She had been afraid to start another relationship in case the same thing happened.

But last night had proved that she could be warm and responsive and far from frigid. The fault hadn’t been hers.

Nigel, she knew now, had been a selfish, uncaring, inept lover who, as well as mangling her self-respect, had almost destroyed her faith in herself as a woman.

Jonathan’s skill and generosity, his imaginative lovemaking, had triggered a response that had shaken her to the core. For the first time in her life she had experienced all the joy and delight she had only ever dreamt about.

If it had been Mark she had spent the night with, she would be on top of the world.

Only it hadn’t been Mark.

Rather than her own fiancé, it had been a man she had only just met. A man who would no doubt consider her easy and, in the cold light of day, feel nothing but contempt for her.

Gathering her wits, and desperate to get away before he awoke, Loris turned carefully onto her side. Her back to him, she was about to ease herself towards the edge of the bed when she felt him stir.

His arm came around her, and with a sleepy murmur of contentment he moved his warm palm to cup her breast.

Like some terrified animal, she froze into utter stillness, her heart pounding. She could feel the heat from his body, and his light breath stirring her hair.

After a moment or two his breathing returned to the evenness of sleep, the arm across her grew heavier, and she felt his hand relax its hold.

Taking a deep breath, she moved cautiously onto her back. Slowly, and with the greatest care, she eased herself from beneath the surprisingly muscular arm and slipped out of bed.

Though on one level she had known she was bare, the sight of her nakedness in the full-length mirror made her cringe. She averted her eyes.

The sooner she had put something on and was out of here the better.

Her last night’s clothes were lying in an abandoned heap, one silk stocking trailing seductively.

She was reaching for her undies when a movement in the corridor outside brought her heart into her mouth. People were up and stirring, making their way down for breakfast.

Suppose one of the guests saw her creeping from room to room, still wearing what was obviously a party dress?

The towelling robe Jonathan had worn the previous night was tossed over a chair. Snatching it up, she pulled it on and fastened the belt. A quick glance at the bed, meant to reassure herself that he was still fast asleep, gave her a fresh shock. His green eyes brilliant, he was lying quietly watching her.

Gathering up her belongings, she fled without a word. Her timing couldn’t have been worse. Just outside the door she ran slap into her father.

‘So you did make it.’ He didn’t sound particularly pleased. ‘I thought you might have changed your mind about coming. Our journey here was bad enough, and conditions were deteriorating fast.’

If only she had known how things were going to turn out, Loris thought vainly, she could have used the weather as an excuse for not being there…

Eyeing the tell-tale clothes she was clutching, her father added drily, ‘Mark having a lie-in?’

She was saved from having to answer by a female voice cooing, ‘Oh, good morning, Sir Peter.’

A red-haired overdressed woman she had never seen before was heading towards them.

Always a ladies’ man, her father assumed an expression of charm. ‘Good morning, Mrs Delacost. So sorry we weren’t here to welcome you last night.’

‘That’s quite all right, Sir Peter. We didn’t get back from Monte Carlo until quite late, and your wife did explain about the company’s party…’

As she spoke, the redhead glanced curiously in Loris’s direction.

Noting that look, Peter said without warmth, ‘This is my daughter, Loris.’

Seeing her chance, Loris murmured a hasty, ‘Good morning,’ and bolted into her room.

As the pair moved away she could hear Mrs Delacost gushing, ‘It was so nice of you to invite us to your lovely home…’

All of a tremble, Loris sank down on the nearest chair and, twisting the magnificent half-hoop of diamonds she wore round and round her finger, gave a groan of despair.

Her father had been all for the engagement, encouraging it in every way possible, and she sensed that he had been far from displeased to find her leaving Mark’s room. But when he discovered that Mark wasn’t here it would be a very different story. He was likely to be livid, and that was putting it mildly.

She felt a leaden weight in the pit of her stomach.

Though he had never so much as raised his hand to her, preferring an icy silence or a cold reprimand when she displeased him, Loris had always shrunk from his anger.

But she was a twenty-four-year-old woman and independent, she reminded herself, not some schoolgirl. He had no right to tell her what or what not to do. No right to complain about her actions…

Except that it was his house. The last place she would have chosen to go off the rails and humiliate herself.

And that was exactly what she had done. It had been a stupid mistake. A one-night stand with no feelings on either side. She had been mentally condemning Mark, but she was no better. The only difference was that Mark’s decision to sleep with someone else had been premeditated. Whereas hers had been anything but.

So where did that leave her engagement?

In trouble.

With the beginnings of a headache, she longed for a cup of coffee but, resisting the temptation to ring for some and linger over it, she went through to the bathroom to shower.

She would have to show her face and give some kind of explanation sooner or later, so better to get it over with. Though what explanation could she give for spending the night with a virtual stranger? She couldn’t even explain to herself what had made her behave so out of character.

But perhaps it was better not to try and explain anything. Merely give the bare facts and then relieve them of her company, even if it meant staying at a hotel.

Having made the decision, she was starting to feel a shade better when it occurred to her that she couldn’t get back to London unless she left with Jonathan Drummond.

No! That wasn’t an option. She would sooner call a taxi. The thought of driving all that way with the man who had seduced her was insupportable. Not that she hadn’t been a willing victim, honesty forced her to admit. The blame was hers as much as his.

Belatedly it occurred to her to wonder how he was feeling. His behaviour hadn’t been exactly praiseworthy.

Possibly, depending on what kind of man he was, he would be embarrassed by what had happened? Maybe he’d be as anxious to leave as she was to have him go? He’d been wide awake when she had left his room, so with a bit of luck he would just dress and slip quietly away.

When she had dried herself, she made-up lightly to hide an unusual paleness before dressing in fine wool trousers the colour of tobacco, a cream blouse, and an embroidered waistcoat. Then, summoning up every ounce of composure she could muster, she lifted her chin and sallied forth.

Drawn like a magnet to the door of the room opposite, she stood listening. Not a sound. Did that mean he’d already gone? She fervently hoped so. Shamed and mortified by her own weakness, she dreaded the thought of having to meet him face to face again.

And there was another consideration. An important one. If he’d gone without anyone seeing him she wouldn’t have to divulge exactly who had slept in Mark’s room. That would save trouble all round. Though she had no reason to try and protect Jonathan Drummond, if Mark and her father were to learn his identity it could cost him dear. They would, she felt sure, pressure Cosby’s into getting rid of him on one pretext or another.

Needing to know for sure, she opened the door quietly and, holding her breath, peered inside. The room was blessedly empty, and the bathroom door, standing ajar, showed that was too.

Going over to the window, which overlooked the apron and the smooth green lawns at the front of the house, she peered out.

The rain had temporarily ceased, though the sky was heavy and overcast, threatening more. The garden looked battered and waterlogged, and shallow pools of water had gathered on the apron.

All the other sleek cars were still standing where they had been the previous night, but she could see no sign of the white saloon that Jonathan had been driving.

He must have gone back to London.

Sighing her relief, she made her way downstairs to the breakfast-room.

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