Wicked Surrender: Ruthless Awakening / The Multi-Millionaire's Virgin Mistress / The Timber Baron's Virgin Bride

‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘I simply found it—instructive. To see what you’ve become.’

‘I’ve become a highly paid professional actor,’ she said stonily. ‘I’m not ashamed of that. But my screen persona and my private life are leagues apart, whatever you may want to believe. And forget that garbage about the casting couch too. I don’t go in for casual sex. As you would have found out, Mr Penvarnon, dinner is one thing, but I’d have to love a man before I slept with him.’

She saw his jaw muscles clench and braced herself for anger, but when he spoke his voice was cool.

‘Then let me put your mind at rest,’ he said. ‘The term “advance honeymoon” was only a figure of speech. I wouldn’t really want Simon Rawlins’ leavings.’

‘I’m sure,’ she said. ‘But I still have a problem. As you’ve already noticed, I’m pretty recognisable, and if we’re seen together—in Spain, France, or anywhere else—the obvious conclusions will be drawn.’

‘Maybe,’ he said. ‘But when we resume our totally separate lives they’ll have to think again.’

‘And I know what they’ll think,’ she said curtly. ‘That I’m your discarded mistress. You talked about potential headlines earlier. Well, I can see these now: “Ariadne dumped.” “Millionaire turns down TV’s Sex Siren.” I don’t court bad publicity. I can’t afford to. And I shouldn’t think you want it either.’

She paused. ‘Especially if people start digging around, unearthing old scandals. How long, do you think, before that nasty little man from the Duchy Herald is told gloatingly by someone that my mother was your father’s mistress? That she betrayed a sick woman who trusted her, and destroyed her marriage, driving her into a nervous breakdown. Which is why Esther Penvarnon lives in widowed exile to this day—because it’s too painful for her to return.’

She drew a harsh breath. ‘Isn’t that still the authorised version of what happened?’

‘You, of course, have a different one.’

‘I certainly have another perception of my mother. You never knew her.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘And you never knew mine.’

‘True. However, I’m sure she wouldn’t want those stories rehashed either, or served up as background to your supposed involvement with me.’

‘Indeed not,’ he said. ‘So I shall make damned sure that our “supposed involvement” remains our little secret, and I advise you most strongly to do the same. Unless you think I missed the vague threat in your last remark.’

He paused. ‘I’m not planning to parade you through the streets of Barcelona, sweetheart, or sunbathe nude with you by a pool on the Côte d’Azur. The paparazzi can’t board this boat, and this is where you’ll stay—until the wedding’s past and gone and the happy couple far away where you can’t touch them.’

He sent her a grim smile as he turned to leave. At the door he hesitated, glancing back at her. ‘In retrospect,’ he said, ‘wouldn’t it have been better just to have taken my advice and stayed in London? Think it over, if by some mischance you can’t sleep. Goodnight, Rhianna.’

‘In retrospect,’ she said, ‘wouldn’t it have been better, in fact, if you and I had never met? You think about that.’

The door closed behind him, and this time she heard the key turn in the lock. For a moment she sat motionless, then she drew a long quivering breath and bent forward, covering her face with her hands.

While in her head a voice whispered over and over again, What can I do? Oh, God, what I can I do? How can I bear this?

But she heard only silence in reply.

CHAPTER SIX

AS A confrontation, she thought painfully, it had not gone too well. She might have had the last word, but the upper hand had eluded her completely.

What on earth had possessed her to rake up past history to throw at him? They both knew what had happened, and nothing could change that—a certainty she’d lived with during the whole five years since she’d first learned the truth.

The summer when her life had changed forever.

She’d had her eighteenth birthday, acknowledged as usual by a card from her aunt, and celebrated joyously by a night out in Falmouth with Carrie and some of the girls from school. Her final examinations had been over, and she’d been waiting for the results—although her grades hadn’t really been all that important, she reflected unhappily, as Aunt Kezia had refused point-blank to allow her to apply for a university place, unlike Carrie, who’d been hoping to go to Oxford.

‘It’s time you went out to work, my girl,’ Miss Trewint declared harshly. ‘Started contributing to your upkeep.’

In the meantime, almost as soon as the school gates closed, she found Rhianna a job for the season at Rollo’s Café. The hours were long, it was poorly paid, Mrs Rollo was a witch and by the time her board and lodging had been extracted Rhianna was left with little to show for each week’s hard work.

And this, she supposed, was to be her future. Or some dead-end office job, using the computing and word processing course from school, bolstered by weekend and evening work during the summer.

The only bright spot on the horizon was the anticipation of Carrie’s eighteenth birthday, which was going to be marked by a major party at Penvarnon House.

And for once Simon was expected to be there.

He’d pretty much faded out of the picture since he’d gone up to Cambridge two years ago. He still came to Polkernick sometimes in the summer, when his parents were there, but they were fleeting visits, and often he was accompanied by friends from university, his time occupied with them. Sometimes, too, the friends were female.

Instinct told Rhianna, suffering her own pangs, how much Carrie must be hurt by this, and by the fact that her regular letters to Simon had been answered so infrequently since he left for university.

‘He’s frantically busy, of course,’ she’d said once, her clear eyes faintly shadowed. ‘With work and all the other stuff he’s involved in. Because it’s a different world. Everyone says so. Three years of complete whirl.’ She’d paused. ‘Besides, everything changes. We all move on, and I shall too.’

But Rhianna wasn’t convinced. And her own dream image of Simon the Golden wasn’t quite as perfect as it had been once, its gold just a little tarnished.

She wondered if he was bringing anyone to Carrie’s party, and hoped devoutly that he wasn’t.

She’d been invited, although naturally she wouldn’t be attending the dinner that would precede the dancing. Judging by Carrie’s obvious embarrassment, it was clear her mother had vetoed any such idea.

Carrie had the world’s loveliest dress, in aquamarine chiffon, and Rhianna couldn’t hope to emulate that. However, a charity shop in Truro had yielded a simple black slip of a dress in a silky fabric, cut on the bias with shoestring straps, nearly new, in her size and affordable. They’d even found her a pair of high-heeled sandals to match—which, the helper had confided, had proved too narrow-fitting for most of their customers.

‘Might have been made for you, my handsome,’ she’d said cheerfully, as she’d wrapped them.

And they did look good, Rhianna thought as she gave herself a last critical once-over before the party. She was just turning from the mirror when her door opened abruptly and her aunt marched in.

‘They’re going to be a waitress short at the dinner tonight,’ she said, her eyes sweeping scornfully over Rhianna’s slim figure. ‘One of the girls is sick, so I told Mrs Seymour you’d take her place.’

Rhianna gasped helplessly. ‘But I can’t do that. Carrie’s invited me to the dancing as a guest,’ she protested. ‘You know that. And I bought this dress specially.’

‘Yes, and a rare waste of money too. Good job you have it to burn.’ Miss Trewint tossed the dark button-through dress and frilled white apron she had over her arm onto Rhianna’s bed. ‘Well, you won’t be parading yourself like a trollop tonight, madam. So get changed and over to the house, and sharp about it. People will be arriving. And tie your hair back.’

The door banged behind her. Throat tight, eyes burning, Rhianna hung the black dress back in the wardrobe and put on the navy uniform. It was a size too big, but she tied the apron more tightly round her waist to give it more shape. She dragged her hair back from her face and plaited it quickly, her fingers shaking, then changed her sandals for the low-heeled pair she wore at the café.

The hired help, she thought bitterly, and looking just as drab as Aunt Kezia could have wished.

Carrie met her with a look of utter consternation. ‘I don’t believe this,’ she said furiously. ‘Your aunt—my mother—what the hell are they playing at?’

‘Teaching me my place, I think.’ Rhianna gave her a swift hug. ‘Don’t worry about it. We can exchange above and below stairs viewpoints afterwards.’ She wanted to add, I really don’t mind, but it wasn’t true. She minded like blazes.

It was a very long evening. Rhianna carried round trays of drinks, platters of canapés, and later stood at the dinner, helping to serve the poached salmon and carve the turkey.

Mrs Seymour, she thought, surreptitiously easing her aching feet as she watched Moira’s lavender-clad figure floating radiantly among the guests, is certainly getting her money’s worth. That is if she actually intends to pay me.

One of the first people she’d seen had naturally been Simon.

‘Good God.’ He’d looked her up and down blankly, then started to grin. ‘If it isn’t the lovely Rhianna. Bloody hell, I didn’t realise this was supposed to be fancy dress.’

The friend accompanying him had roared with laughter, his hot brown eyes assessing Rhianna in a way she didn’t like. She’d cared for him even less when she spotted him later, adding the contents of his hip flask to the non-alcoholic punch.

But the next time she’d seen Simon he’d been dancing with Carrie, his lips close to her ear, whispering things that had her blushing, her face radiant with a delight she couldn’t have concealed if she’d tried.

And she wasn’t trying very hard, Rhianna thought ruefully. So much for moving on.

During the course of the evening she’d also seen Diaz Penvarnon arrive late. She’d assumed he wasn’t coming at all. At the sight of him, she’d longed to fade back into the wall, but he hadn’t appeared to notice her, so perhaps the waitress gear had made her temporarily invisible.

Although there was no reason why he should care if she was there as friend or servant, she reminded herself.

Whenever he visited Penvarnon House he always spoke to her, but as if, she thought sometimes, he was taking care to be pleasant. Yet, while there’d naturally never been any repeat of that wonderful birthday dinner, he’d invariably remembered to send her a card when the anniversary came round.

It was getting on for midnight when Simon approached her again. ‘Going to dance with me?’ he asked, bending towards her, his face flushed.

‘For goodness’ sake, Simon, I can’t,’ she muttered. ‘I’m here to work, and Mrs Seymour’s watching me.’ She raised her voice a little. ‘Is there something I can get you, sir?’

‘Absolutely. Dance with me and I’ll tell you.’ He grinned at her.

‘Simon,’ she said. ‘This isn’t funny. Please go away.’

‘Poor Cinderella,’ he said. ‘But they can’t keep you slaving all night. You deserve some fun. And you can at least have some champagne to toast Carrie’s birthday, like everyone else. She’d want that.’ He paused. ‘Tell you what—I’ll get a bottle, and we’ll meet you round by the stables in ten minutes. How would that be?’

She bit her lip. ‘Well, OK. But I can only stay a few minutes.’

When he’d gone, Rhianna glanced round her. She probably wouldn’t be missed at this stage, she thought. No one wanted any more food, at least not until the eggs and bacon were to be served very much later on. And Aunt Kezia’s eagle eye was now superintending the clearing-up operation in the kitchen. She probably could slip out for a little while. And if she was spotted then she would have Carrie to defend her.

Apart from the moon, there was no light in the yard. It was cooler now, too, after the heat of the house, and Rhianna hugged herself, shivering a little.

She called softly, ‘Carrie?’

‘Over here.’ Simon’s voice reached her from one of the disused loose boxes.

He was standing just inside, leaning against the wall, a dark shape among the shadows. As her eyes adjusted Rhianna realised he was alone, his tie loosened, and that he was clasping an open bottle of champagne, which he held out to her.

‘So,’ he said, his voice slurring a little. ‘Here we are at last. Let’s party.’

‘Where’s Carrie?’

‘Being the obedient daughter and perfect hostess.’ He said it with a laugh that was almost a sneer. ‘Where else?’

‘Then I should get back to being the perfect waitress,’ she said. ‘I haven’t got time to party—or not without Carrie, anyway.’

‘She won’t miss you. Come on, Rhianna, loosen up.’ Putting down the bottle, he pushed himself away from the wall and came over to her. ‘Neither of us is on the A list tonight, so we may as well drown our sorrows.’

Judging by the alcohol on his breath, Simon’s troubles were already well submerged. She drew back. ‘No, thank you.’

‘Oh, come on, sweetheart. What’s your problem?’ He looked her up and down. ‘Don’t pretend you don’t fancy me. You have done for years. I heard all about it from a girl at your school. Only I didn’t feel like following it up—then. But things—and people—change with time.’ He paused. ‘Who’d have thought it, eh? From scrawny kid to hot totty in one blink of the eye.’

She was getting more uncomfortable by the second. ‘Simon, I have to get back—really.’ She turned towards the house. ‘People will be wondering where I am.’

‘But my need,’ he said thickly, ‘is much greater than theirs—believe me.’ He grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him. ‘So stay and be nice. You know you want to.’

Caught off balance, Rhianna found herself pinned against him so closely that his state of arousal became embarrassingly evident.

She tried to say, Stop this now—but her words were smothered by the heat of his mouth, and his hands were tugging at the buttons of her dress.

Then from behind them, a man’s cool voice said, ‘So there you are, Simon. Everyone’s looking for you, particularly Carrie. Your friend Jimmy’s drunk and behaving rather badly.’

And, to her horror, Rhianna realised that the voice belonged to Diaz Penvarnon. And that he was standing watching them from the doorway of the loose box, dark brows raised, and his eyes like steel.

Simon let her go as if he’d been stung, and swung round defensively. ‘What am I supposed to do about it?’

‘You brought him.’ Diaz sounded bored. ‘You deal with him. He can hardly stand up, let alone walk. And go now, please,’ he added as Simon seemed prepared to argue. ‘Sorry to upset your pleasant interlude, but Carrie’s mother is getting upset.’ He paused. ‘And so is Carrie.’

Simon shrugged almost airily. ‘You know how it is, man.’ He glanced, grinning, at Rhianna. ‘If the offer’s on the table, you can hardly turn it down—especially when it comes so nicely packaged.’

He set off across the yard, walking none too steadily himself.

Dazed, Rhianna watched him go, his words beating in her brain. She thought, He’s deliberately made it sound as if this was my idea. As if I came out here to be with him—wanting—this…

She turned to Diaz, saw the direction of his gaze, and, looking down, realised her dress was unfastened almost to the waist.

‘Oh, God,’ she said. Dry-mouthed, fingers shaking, she attempted to fumble the buttons back into their holes.

‘A little late for modesty, wouldn’t you say?’ His voice reached her harshly.

‘You don’t have to watch,’ she said. ‘I have to get back to work.’

‘No,’ he said. ‘You don’t. You’re finished for tonight. The only place you’re going is home to bed.’

She said tautly, ‘Is that an order—sir?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It is.’ He paused. ‘So what was this? An extra birthday present for Carrie? Having her heart broken? Because if she’d turned up here instead of me that’s what would have happened.’

He shook his head. ‘You of all people should know how she feels about Simon Rawlins, Rhianna. And, whatever I think of him, I know that falling in love with the right person isn’t always a given—at any age. Maybe he’s like a virus, and she’ll recover eventually, but that time is clearly not yet. So keep your predatory little hands off her precious apple cart—and that’s another order.’

His words seemed to pelt her like stones, making her quiver under the onslaught. Because what could she say in her own defence? It wasn’t like that. How feeble and unconvincing was that?

Besides, when Simon had grabbed her she’d been too stunned to react immediately, so she hadn’t even been fighting him off when Diaz had walked in.

Making herself decent was no longer a priority. All that mattered was getting out of there—away from him—away from the icy condemnation in his voice for which she had no answer that he would ever believe.

But as she went past him he caught her arm, halting her.

The silver eyes were sombre. ‘Is this how you rate yourself—sex in an empty stable with another girl’s man? You disappoint me.’

‘And of course we can’t have that.’ Anger and bitterness were at war inside her, making her reckless. ‘But, as it happens, things would never have gone that far.’

‘You imagine you were the one in control of the situation?’ he asked derisively. ‘Not from where I was sitting, sweetheart. And a last-minute change of heart doesn’t always work with someone half-cut and looking for mischief. If I hadn’t followed you there could have been trouble.’

She stiffened. ‘How good of you to take such an interest in an employee’s private affairs,’ she said. ‘But also quite unnecessary. I can take care of myself.’

He said slowly, ‘Can you indeed?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Of course.’ And tried not to think of Simon’s fingers on her flesh. The pressure of his mouth.

Diaz swung her round, pushing her against the outside wall of the stable. He put one hand on the brickwork beside her and leaned towards her, his other hand cupping her chin, his thumb rhythmically stroking the delicate line of her jaw.

He said softly, ‘Are you quite sure of that?’

She looked up into his eyes. They were pale as the moonlight itself, the irises very dark. They held an expression she had never encountered before—with anyone. Certainly not with Simon a few minutes ago, she thought, and realised she was frightened and excited at the same time.

He added, ‘Prove it.’ Then bent his head and put his mouth slowly and carefully on hers, caressing her lips lightly and sensuously.

It was not the frank lust she’d experienced just now. Nor was it passion. Or not yet, anyway. Even in her comparative innocence Rhianna recognised that.

He was simply asking a question. Testing her quite gently, but also inexorably. This time demanding an answer.

She’d been kissed before tonight, of course. Not often, it was true, and certainly not well. The school had thrown a leavers’ party with a disco, and several of the lads had tried their luck during the slow dances. She’d accepted those minor advances with good-humoured resignation, if not pleasure. The boys hadn’t been strangers, after all, and she hadn’t wanted to make a fuss or hurt anyone’s feelings. But she’d moved away as soon as the dance was over, making it tacitly plain there’d be no repetition.

But this—this—was wholly different. As his kiss deepened, coaxing her lips to part for him, his hand was tracing the curve of her slender throat, lingering on the leap and flutter of her pulse, then moving down to her loosened dress to stroke the first delicate swell of her breast and linger there.

Her reaction was instant, shocking her with its intensity. Making her aware of explicit sensations—needs—never before imagined, let alone experienced. Enticing her with the scent—the taste of him.

She wanted, she thought as her brain reeled, to answer all his questions. To twine her arms round his neck and feel the warmth, the male hardness of him against her. To return the pressure of his lips and more. To feel his touch on her naked skin and show him she was ready to be a woman. His woman, if he so desired.

But it seemed he did not.

Instead he was lifting his head and stepping back, his expression guarded as he studied her.

He said quietly, ‘I think you seriously over-estimate your resistance levels, Rhianna. Just be glad I don’t take sweets from babies, or you’d be spending the night in my bed, not your own. Which is a seriously bad idea for a great many reasons.’ He added almost harshly, ‘Now, run along, and don’t go looking for trouble with men. Because you’ll surely find it.’

He turned and walked away, and she stayed where she was, leaning against the wall, her legs shaking too much to move.

And at that moment a light came on, illuminating the entire yard—including the tall figure of Diaz Penvarnon crossing to the rear entrance of the house.

Rhianna turned her head, startled, and saw the dark shape of her aunt standing at the window of the flat, looking down. She couldn’t see her face, but instinct warned she’d gone from one kind of trouble straight to another.

Reluctantly she moved, walking slowly round the yard to the flat door and going in.

Kezia Trewint was waiting for her in the living room, her face set, her deep-set eyes burning with anger and scorn as she looked at the girl hesitating in the doorway.

‘So,’ she said. ‘You’ve been with him. Another Carlow woman chasing after a Penvarnon man. Just as I knew you’d be all those years ago.’

Rhianna gasped. ‘What—what do you mean?’

‘I mean you—up against the stable wall with Mr Diaz. A slut—a dirty little tart—just like your mother before you.’ She drew a hoarse breath. ‘Didn’t she bring enough shame on our family? And him of all men?’

‘No,’ Rhianna managed. ‘It—it wasn’t like that…’

Oh, God, she thought. This was an entirely different level of misunderstanding. This was terrible.

‘You think you weren’t seen sneaking off, and him following?’ Miss Trewint demanded derisively. ‘That Mrs Seymour didn’t go after him, and me with her? That we didn’t see you with our own eyes? It’s what the family have been expecting ever since you came here. Grace Carlow’s daughter, and the living image of her. Made him wonder, I dare say, what Ben Penvarnon once had, and fancy a taste of the same.’

Her eyes rested on Rhianna’s still unfastened buttons. Her sudden laugh was vicious, grating. ‘But that’s where it’ll end. I promise you that. Because he’s not like his father. Not that one. He won’t be setting you up in some London flat and paying the bills in return for his pleasures. Now he’s used you, he’ll forget you. He can’t do otherwise. Because she might find out, and he can’t risk that.’

Rhianna stared at her. She felt very cold. ‘I don’t understand,’ she said. ‘What are you talking about. Who is she? And what are you saying about my mother?’

‘She was Ben Penvarnon’s mistress, bought and kept,’ Miss Trewint flung at her. ‘As everyone knows. And I was the one, God forgive me, who brought her into this house and put temptation in his way, flaunting herself in front of him.

‘“Yes, Mr Penvarnon,”‘ she mimicked. ‘“No, Mr Penvarnon.” “I think Mrs Esther’s a little better today, Mr Penvarnon.”‘ She drew a shuddering breath. ‘Playing sweetness and concern for the sick woman she was supposed to be tending, and all the time she was running off to meet with her wedded husband in that hut on the beach or up on the moors. And you’re proving yourself no better with his son.’

‘That’s a lie. And I don’t believe what you’re saying about my mother either.’ Rhianna’s chest was so tight it was difficult to breathe. ‘She was in love with Daddy. You only had to see them together to know that.’