A Trial Marriage

Rachel’s cheeks burned. ‘Done—what?’

Jake gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘Yates will get the wrong impression.’

Rachel quivered. ‘I’m not worried.’

‘Perhaps I am.’

She sighed. ‘But why?’ she implored. ‘I was on my way up to my room when he stopped me.’

Jake ran a hand round the back of his neck, and tugged the hair at his nape. He was wearing a leather overcoat this evening, and the wine-coloured fabric accentuated the sallow cast of his skin. His long legs were encased in dark green whipcord, and Rachel had great difficulty in preventing herself from staring at the narrow welt of brown flesh that appeared between his black nylon sweater and the low belt of his pants when he stretched.

The lift arrived, and Rachel preceded him inside. They had it to themselves as before, and Jake pressed the button for the first floor. He didn’t look at her as they were borne upward, and it took only seconds to cover the few feet to his landing.

The doors slid open and Jake took a step forward, but while Rachel was contemplating going up to her room and giving in to the tears that were threatening, he stopped and said: ‘What do you plan to do for the rest of the evening?’

Rachel swallowed convulsively. ‘What do I—why, watch television, I suppose.’

His stare tore her nerves to pieces. ‘And if I offered an alternative?’

‘Wh—what alternative?’

He sighed, as if becoming impatient with himself as well as her. ‘What’s your name? Rachel? Rachel—do you know how old I am?’

She shrugged uncertainly. ‘Thirty-eight, thirty-nine …’

‘I’m forty-one. How about you?’

She shifted from one foot to the other. ‘Nearly nineteen.’

‘Eighteen!’

‘All right. Eighteen.’

He raised his eyes heavenward. ‘I must be out of my mind!’

Without another word he stepped out of the lift, and the automatic mechanism set the doors gliding closed. Unable to prevent herself, Rachel pressed the button to open the doors again, and stepped through them, feeling a sense of inevitability as they closed behind her, and the lift whined away upward.

Jake, who had been striding along the corridor towards his apartments, glanced over his shoulder as he heard the lift depart, and his brow furrowed angrily when he saw Rachel standing there. He halted abruptly and came slowly back to her, his hands deep in the pockets of his coat.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he demanded.

Rachel shook her head, unable to voice what she had thought. ‘I—I can use the service stairs,’ she stammered, and he uttered a word she scarcely understood.

‘You’d better go,’ he said. ‘If anyone sees you on this floor——’

He broke off expressively, and her lips trembled. ‘That would never do, would it?’ she burst out, unable to prevent the words in her humiliation.

Jake’s dark eyes raked her savagely. ‘All right, all right,’ he snapped. ‘If you don’t care, why should I?’ He spread a mocking hand towards his door. ‘Come into my parlour!’

Rachel pressed her lips together. ‘Couldn’t we—couldn’t we have a drink together?’

‘I thought I heard you telling Yates you didn’t drink?’ he countered.

‘I don’t. Not much, anyway.’

‘Nor do I. My—doctor won’t allow it.’

This last was said with heavy sarcasm, and she guessed it had not always been so.

‘We—we could have a coffee …’ she ventured, but he shook his head.

‘I think not.’

‘Why not?’

‘I have no intention of inciting that Draconian guardian of yours by creating gossip of that kind.’

Rachel caught her breath. ‘Della’s not my guardian. She’s my employer. I’m over age. I can do what I like.’

‘And what do you like, I wonder?’ he demanded grimly. ‘Oh, Rachel, why me? Why not Carl—or that handsome wine waiter—or practically anyone, for that matter!’

Rachel took an involuntary step forward. ‘You do—like me?’

His lips twisted. ‘Yes,’ he muttered, ‘I like you.’

Turning away, he pulled his keys out of his coat pocket and inserted them in the door to his suite. As he did so, two elderly women came along the corridor towards them, their curiosity sharpening as they recognised Rachel. A quick exchange of glances indicated the direction of their thoughts, and their reproving: ‘Good evening, Miss Lesley!’ brought the hot colour to her cheeks.

Jake ignored them, pushing open his door and switching on the light just inside. Then he turned, leaned against the frame, waiting until Rachel looked at him again.

‘Well?’ he said, as her eyes followed the two women’s progress to the lift. ‘Wouldn’t you like to go with them?’

Rachel hesitated only a moment, and then shook her head, walking determinedly towards him, and preceding him into a luxuriously furnished lounge. The door closed behind her, and only then did she feel relief from the disapproving eyes she had felt boring into her back.

CHAPTER THREE

AT least her surroundings were reassuring. This had to be the best suite in the hotel, she thought. Della’s rooms were not like this, and the green and gold pattern of the carpet was reflected in the long curtains and matching cushions. A self-coloured hide suite looked soft, and squashily comfortable. There were several small tables, as well as a television, as big as the one downstairs, and the dining table, in the window embrasure, commanded a magnificent view over the lights of the harbour.

While she looked around, assuming an interest in the concealed lighting above the ceiling moulding, Jake took off his overcoat and slung it carelessly over a chair near the door. Then he moved to stand before the huge marble fireplace, obsolete now, since the introduction of central heating. Against its veined beauty his profile had a dark, forbidding quality, and a momentary sense of panic gripped her.

‘Regretting it already?’ he inquired dryly, and she looked up at him defensively.

‘No.’

‘Who were those women?’

‘Acquaintances of Mrs Faulkner-Stewart,’ replied Rachel offhandedly. ‘You have a wonderful view——’

‘Will they tell her where you are?’

Rachel sighed frustratedly. ‘I don’t know.’

‘You’re not worried?’

‘No!’

He moved his shoulders in a gesture of dismissal, and her eyes were irresistibly drawn to the lean muscularity beneath the fine material. ‘If you insist …’ he commented carelessly. Then: ‘Tell me about Mrs Faulkner-Stewart? Is she some relation of yours?’

‘I’ve told you. She’s my employer,’ replied Rachel stiffly.

‘Only that?’ He seemed surprised. ‘An unusual occupation for a girl of your age.’ He paused. ‘And generation.’

Rachel sighed. ‘She was a close friend of my mother’s. When—when my parents died within a few weeks of one another, Della looked after me.’

‘But surely that wasn’t what you intended doing with your life,’ he probed. ‘A girl like you. Had you no ambitions of—an academic nature?’

Rachel nodded. ‘As a matter of fact, I was planning to go to university. But—what with Daddy and Mummy dying … Della said it was better to give myself time to get over it.’

‘And in so doing provide her with a ready-made companion.’

‘It wasn’t as callous as that,’ she protested. ‘Who knows? I might have failed the exams.’

‘Do you intend to try again? Next year, for example?’

‘Perhaps. If I have enough money.’

‘Money.’ His echoing of her word was almost a sneer. ‘Ah, yes. Everything revolves around money, doesn’t it?’

‘I wouldn’t say that,’ she declared indignantly.

‘No?’

‘No.’

‘So you’re a romantic, on top of all else,’ he drawled sardonically. ‘What a novelty!’

Rachel bent her head. ‘Do you want rid of me?’

The expletive he uttered made her flinch. ‘Such a remark does not deserve an answer!’ he snapped. ‘Come off it, Rachel. You’re not dealing with some callow youth who needs that kind of immature invitation!’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean—coyness doesn’t suit you!’ he retorted coldly, lifting one suede-booted foot to rest on the iron fender surrounding the hearth. ‘Like I said before—I must be out of my tiny mind!’

‘If—if that’s the way you feel …’

Rachel turned abruptly away, her nerves unable to stand any more of this biting double-talk. She had started this; it was up to her to finish it.

But before she had taken a couple of steps, he moved with surprising agility, interposing himself between her and the door, his fingers closing painfully round the soft flesh of her upper arm. She tried to pull away from him, alarmed by the smouldering look in his eyes, but he jerked her back against him, and she felt the hard length of his body against hers. His arms went round her, sliding across her flat stomach, propelling her closer, so that for the first time in her life Rachel could feel the throbbing heat of his desire.

‘You have no conception of how I feel,’ he protested roughly, bending his head to brush her neck with his tongue.

Rachel’s panic began to subside. ‘I—I thought you were angry with me,’ she stammered.

‘I am,’ he retorted unsteadily. ‘I shouldn’t be holding you like this, and you shouldn’t be letting me.’

‘Why not?’ Her mouth was dry, and she moistened her lips as his hands slid up over her rib-cage to cup her breasts.

But she knew. She had read books, and her instincts warned her that she was playing with fire. Yet she couldn’t help herself. She wanted him to hold her, and the thin material of her chemise was no barrier to the way her breasts responded to his touch, swelling and hardening beneath his experienced fingers.

‘Oh, Jake …’ she breathed chokingly, using his name without thinking, and with a muffled oath, he twisted her round in his arms and covered her mouth with his.

A thousand stars seemed to explode in her head at the touch of his lips, and she clung to him desperately as the room swung giddily about her. She realised with a pang that she had never been kissed before this moment. The boyish embraces she had endured had never felt like this, and the muscled hardness of his thighs made her overwhelmingly aware of what she was inviting.

He released her lips to bury his face in her neck, his hands tangled in her hair, and she realised he was trembling. There was a heady intoxication in the knowledge that she could arouse him in this way, and her hands burrowed beneath his sweater, finding the slightly damp skin of his back. He was so hard and male and virile, and she pressed herself closer against him, delighting in the strength of his legs against hers.

But suddenly, with a stifled oath, Jake set her free, turning away from her violently, raking back his hair with unsteady hands. He put the width of the couch between them, and then turned to look at her through tormented eyes. Rachel was shocked by his pallor, the way his eyes seemed to have sunk further into his head, and she stared at him anxiously as he made an obvious effort to behave normally.

‘What is it?’ she cried. ‘What’s wrong?’

Jake made a negative gesture. ‘I think you’d better go.’

‘Jake——’

He turned his back on her, resting his hands on the mantel above the hearth. ‘God, I need a drink!’ he muttered. Then: ‘Don’t make it any harder than it already is, Rachel. Just go!’

‘But why? Why? What have I done?’ She was confused. ‘Are you still angry with me?’

He sighed, casting a contemptuous look in her direction. ‘I think you know better than that,’ he told her heavily. He straightened, staring up at the hunting scene pictured above the fireplace. ‘I suppose I should apologise. But you asked for it.’

Rachel shook her head. ‘Jake, don’t say things like that!’ she implored wretchedly. ‘I—well, I’m sorry if I—if I did something wrong, but I’ve never——’

‘That’s just it!’ he declared savagely. ‘You’ve never. But I have. And I wanted to, but God help me, I can’t!’

Rachel’s face flamed. ‘Why—why not? Or—or is that what’s wrong with you?’

A faint wave of colour entered his cheeks at her words, and she was horrified at her own audacity in voicing them. ‘Is that what you think?’ he demanded.

Rachel quivered. ‘I don’t know, do I?’

He was breathing hard. ‘Well,’ he ground out harshly, ‘not to my knowledge. But I’m not such a swine as to take advantage of a girl young enough to be my daughter!’

Rachel caught her lip between her teeth. ‘That’s what you say …’

He made a bitter sound, dragging the palms of his hands down over his thighs. ‘If you must know, I had a breakdown! I went to pieces. Couldn’t work—couldn’t sleep!’ His lips curled. ‘I was a wreck. But not impotent!’

Rachel pressed her palms to her hot cheeks. ‘I—I suppose what you’re really saying is, I—I’m not very good at it, am I?’

Jake stared at her frustratedly, and the intensity of his stare achieved its usual breath-stopping effect. Then he said flatly: ‘All right—no. You’re not very good. You’re much too inexperienced.’

The callousness of his statement robbed her of what little composure she had left. ‘Then—then why pretend it’s anything else?’ she cried tearfully, and appalled at her lack of self-control, she turned towards the door.

‘Rachel!’ His tone stopped her, containing as it did a reluctant reassurance. ‘Rachel, I am sorry, believe me. But I am too old for you.’

She swung round again, searching his features for some sign of his real feelings. ‘You’re not old,’ she exclaimed.

‘I think we both know I am,’ he said evenly. ‘And what is more, if your employer learns that you’ve been here, I run the risk of being blacklisted by the management.’

Rachel bent her head, her hair tumbling with unknowing sensuality about her shoulders. ‘I don’t believe you care what the management think,’ she retorted.

He sighed. ‘Well, accept that I care what happens to you,’ he said.

Her eyes lifted, seeking his. ‘Do you?’

‘Enough not to want to ruin your life,’ he responded crushingly. ‘But thank you for the compliment.’

‘What compliment?’

He gave her a crooked smile. ‘It’s good for my morale to know that a beautiful girl wasn’t averse to my kissing her.’

‘Oh, Jake!’

She took a step towards him, but he shook his head firmly, and she halted again.

‘Go to bed, Rachel,’ he told her roughly. ‘You’ll thank me for this one day.’

Rachel didn’t answer him. She just stood looking at him with all the hurt fervour of her untried youth, and he flung himself down on to the couch, closing his eyes against the unconscious allure of her.

‘Go away, Rachel,’ he said, and she had no choice but to obey him.

In her own room again, Rachel paced miserably about the floor. What a disastrous affair it had been! The brief elation she had felt in his arms had quickly evaporated in the aftermath, but although she knew she ought to feel grateful to him for not despoiling her innocence, she didn’t feel that way. She ached with the longings he had aroused inside her, and when she closed her eyes she could see nothing but him—his sardonic face, the long narrow fingers, and the lean muscular strength of his body. She would have stayed with him, if he had asked her to, if he had wanted her to; she would have been a willing pupil …

She was scarcely conscious of the passage of time, but a spell must have elapsed before Della came knocking at her door. Not knowing at first who it might be, Rachel quickly switched on the television and went to answer it without any of the coolness she would have liked to have possessed. The older woman’s probing stare was denigrating.

‘You haven’t taken Minstrel for his walk,’ Della stated accusingly, and Rachel blinked.

‘Minstrel?’ she echoed dazedly.

‘Yes, Minstrel.’ Della looked at her suspiciously. ‘What’s the matter with you?’ She looked beyond her into the room. ‘Have you been asleep or something? It’s half past ten, and Minstrel hasn’t had his walk. In consequence, I’ve had to call room service to come and clean up the mess.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry.’ Rachel shook her head helplessly. ‘I didn’t realise it was so late. I—I suppose I must have fallen asleep.’ She coloured at the deliberate lie. ‘I—I was watching television.’

‘Huh!’ Fortunately Della was too annoyed to notice the momentary hesitation. ‘Well, I don’t think it’s too much to ask that you remember a dog needs exercising!’ she declared. ‘You’re not exactly worked to death, are you?’

‘No. I’m sorry.’ Rachel really was, not least because the last thing she wanted now was a row with Della. ‘It won’t happen again.’

‘See that it doesn’t!’

Without even saying goodnight, Della marched away, every generous curve of her over-indulged body quivering with indignation.

Rachel closed the door again and breathed a deep sigh. She knew Della well enough to know that she had not heard the last of the matter. Her carelessness and lack of gratitude would be brought up on every occasion until her employer was satisfied that she was dutifully repentant.

Rachel didn’t sleep well, which was hardly surprising in the circumstances. Her over-stimulated body would not let her rest, and Della’s angry remarks had not in any way relieved her. Then a warm wind sprang up towards dawn which made the presence of the heating system almost unbearable.

At eight o’clock, she was up and dressed, and letting herself into Della’s suite she retrieved the excitable poodle for an early outing. Minstrel showed his gratitude by smothering her in wet doggy kisses, the abrasive lick of his tongue a balm to her troubled spirit.

The sea-front was almost deserted and as the tide was out, she went down on to the damp sand, letting Minstrel off his leash to chase madly after gulls and sandpipers searching among the debris of seaweed on the shoreline. The wind was mild, blowing as it did from the south-west, and she breathed deeply, feeling its riotous fingers through her hair.

Back at the hotel, Della was preparing to go down for breakfast. She viewed Minstrel’s sandy paws without enthusiasm, and said: ‘Don’t let him loose in here. The management apparently take a dim view of clearing up after animals.’

Accepting the implied criticism for what it was, Rachel pushed Minstrel into the bathroom and closed the door. ‘I have said I’m sorry, Della. About last night, I mean. I—I don’t know how I forgot the time.’

‘No, well, nor do I,’ remarked Della severely. ‘However … I’m going down for breakfast. Are you coming?’

Aware of Della’s reproving regard for her appearance, Rachel shook her head.

‘I’ll tidy up first,’ she said, and satisfied, Della left her to go downstairs.

When Rachel entered the dining room some fifteen minutes later, Della was wading through scrambled eggs and bacon. Rachel knew her employer preferred to start the meal without her. That way, Rachel’s own choice of grapefruit and toast did not jar so obviously with Della’s more liberal demands. She seated herself at the table and by the time her grapefruit had been consumed they were ready to start on the toast together.

Buttering the bread, Rachel could not prevent her thoughts from dwelling on what Jake might be doing at this moment. Ever since she got up, she had determinedly put all thoughts of him out of her mind, but now, with Della’s mouth briefly silenced by food, she was unable to halt the flow of emotion that engulfed her. She went over again what he had said in minute detail, wondering about the illness which had sent him here, wondering why she felt this increasing attraction towards a man who was, as he had said, undoubtedly too old for her.

She crunched impatiently at her toast, returning the Colonel’s impudent stare with less animosity than usual, and earning herself a wink from that quarter. She looked away irritably, annoyed that he should imagine she was interested in him, and Della caught the angry tightening of her lips.

‘What’s the matter with you this morning?’ she inquired, pouring herself more coffee. ‘Just because I had to chastise you about Minstrel, there’s no reason to get huffy.’

‘I’m not—huffy.’ Rachel reached for her own coffee cup, and then almost choked on its contents when the two women she and Jake had encountered on his landing the night before entered the dining room and approached their table.

Della watched her with evident impatience, and then smiled disarmingly as the two women stopped beside her. ‘Good morning.’ she said, and indicated Rachel’s discomfort with a casual wave of her hand. ‘These young people! They’re always in such a hurry.’

They both regarded Rachel without sympathy, and she wished she could dissolve into the floorboards at their feet. Then one of them said:

‘Did you have a good game last evening, Della? I heard that you and Colonel Jameson made quite a killing.’

Della flushed with pleasure. ‘Well—not exactly,’ she demurred modestly ‘But we did do rather well.’

‘Yes.’ The other woman’s eyes flickered over Rachel, recovered now and watching the interchange warily. ‘What a pity your companion doesn’t play cards. We might make up another table with Mr Allan.’

Rachel’s hands clenched together in her lap as Della said: ‘I didn’t know he played until the Colonel mentioned it. But he seems to keep very much to himself, doesn’t he?’

The two women exchanged a glance and Rachel waited for the explosion their revelations would ignite. But instead of exposing her, they agreed with Della, and then excused themselves to move to their own table.

Rachel breathed a silent sigh of relief, but Della’s next words were hardly reassuring:

‘I’m thinking of giving a small dinner party tomorrow evening, Rachel Just myself and the Colonel, and one or two others. I wonder if Mr Allan would care to join us?’

The rest of the morning passed in a rather one-sided discussion of whether Mr Yates would allow Della to use one of the smaller reception rooms for her dinner party. She got rather excited at the prospect of presiding over her own dinner table again, and it was as well that she was too absorbed with her own plans to notice Rachel’s white features.

During the afternoon, Rachel escaped from the hotel and made her own way to the dunes, some distance from the town itself. She would have welcomed Minstrel’s company, but for once Della had decided she would exercise the poodle, and had given Rachel permission to do what she liked for the afternoon. Perhaps she had seen Jake taking his solitary walks, Rachel speculated miserably. Perhaps Della hoped she might encounter him while she was out with the poodle.

It was colder now, and although the chill air was refreshing, Rachel was shivering by the time she boarded the bus back to town. She remained in her seat long after the bus had stopped at the harbour station and eventually the conductor came along the aisle to ask her whether she was feeling well.

‘What?’ Rachel stared at him without comprehension for a moment, and then realisation dawned. ‘Oh—oh, yes. I’m fine. Sorry!’

Colouring hotly, she followed him off the bus, and was aware that his eyes followed her as she hurried along the esplanade towards the hotel. She entered the lobby with her head down, and started violently when a hand closed firmly round her suede-clad arm.

‘Rachel!’ Jake’s low voice was disastrously familiar, and she looked up at him defensively, unconsciously arming herself against his unwelcome attraction. ‘Are you all right?’

He was no less disturbing to her peace of mind, and she was frightened by the knowledge that he could do this to her without any apparent self-involvement. She had never before experienced the emotions he could arouse in her, and the desire to throw herself into his arms was as potent as it was foolish. His fingers gripping her arm were painful, but she revelled in the sensation.

‘Rachel!’ When she made no immediate effort to answer him, he spoke again, glancing impatiently round the lobby, aware that no encounter in such public surroundings went unnoticed. ‘Rachel, where have you been?’