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

‘What did she ever know about love?’ Her aunt glared at her. ‘All she knew was having her fun and wheedling all she could out of another woman’s husband. And after he was dead, and there were no more pickings to be had, she had to do something. Find some other fool to keep her.’

Her mouth thinned. ‘And you’ll have to do the same, my lady. Don’t think you’re staying here after tonight’s goings-on. Even if I was prepared to keep you, Mrs Seymour won’t have it. Reckons you’re an insult to her sister, and that Mr Diaz must have run mad to look twice at you with what he knows.’

‘But nothing happened,’ Rhianna protested desperately. ‘Or not like you think, anyway,’ she added. But it could have done, said a sly voice in her head. He was the one who put a stop to it, not you, so no credit to you. And you can’t even claim it was his fault—not this time.

But I can’t think about that, she told herself, wincing inwardly. I’ve got to forget those dark, urgent moments in his arms when nothing mattered but his mouth on mine and the touch of his hand on my skin.

‘A seriously bad idea for a great many reasons.’ That was what he’d said, and now she knew what he’d meant. Why he’d let her go. And why he’d do nothing to prevent her being sent away permanently. Not this time.

‘Nor is it going to happen.’ Miss Trewint’s voice reached her grimly. ‘So you can start packing your bags. I knew you were going to be a bad lot from the first, hanging round Mr Diaz whenever he came here. And there you were tonight, supposed to be working, but throwing yourself at any man who’d look at you.’ She snorted. ‘I should have turned you out two years ago, when you were sixteen, but for that headmistress of yours insisting you should finish your education—get more qualifications.’ She shook her head. ‘I was a fool to listen. But you’ll make no more mischief here. You’re going tomorrow, and good riddance too.’

But where am I to go? Rhianna wanted to ask. What can I do? I haven’t earned enough to save anything, so what am I going to live on while I find work—somewhere to live? And although I never wanted to come here, and the last six years of my life haven’t been that happy, at the same time they’ve been centred exclusively on this house. I’ve grown accustomed to it. I don’t know anywhere else.

But she said none of those things aloud. She wouldn’t argue, she thought. Nor would she beg.

I can take care of myself. Her own words, she thought. And if they’d been an empty boast a little while ago, she would have to live up to them now.

She was putting the last of her things in her only suitcase the next morning when Carrie put a cautious head round her bedroom door.

‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘Your aunt’s supervising the cleaning-up operation, stalking round like Medusa on a bad day.’ She saw the open case and her eyes widened in distress. ‘Oh, God, it’s true. You’re really leaving. I heard Mum and Dad rowing in the study when I came down, and apparently there was another huge row earlier, between Diaz and my mother, and he slammed out of the house and drove off somewhere. I thought he might simply be peeved about the state of the house,’ she added glumly. ‘Wine and food spilled all over the place, half the crockery and stuff abandoned on the lawn, and Simon, among others, getting totally wasted with his ghastly friend Jimmy, who was sick everywhere.’ She groaned. ‘Thank God I’ll only be eighteen once. I couldn’t go through all that again.’

She paused. ‘But Mum was saying you had to go, and Dad was trying to reason with her, so what’s happened?’

Rhianna bit her lip. ‘Your cousin Diaz kissed me goodnight.’ She tried to sound nonchalant. ‘Your mother and my aunt both saw it, and as a consequence all hell has broken loose.’

Carrie gaped at her. ‘But it wouldn’t have meant anything,’ she protested. ‘Not from Diaz. He probably realised you were rightly miffed about the waitressing business and was just being kind again.’ She sat on the edge of the bed. ‘Face it, love,’ she said gently. ‘You’re far too young for him. He dates the kind of women who go to first nights at the opera and have their photographs taken in the Royal Enclosure at Ascot. Mum knows that perfectly well.’

‘Yes,’ Rhianna said, trying to ignore the sudden bleak feeling in the pit of her stomach. ‘But she also knows that my mother had a serious affair with your uncle Ben, and, however unlikely it may be, she doesn’t want history to repeat itself.’

If she hadn’t been so het-up she might have found the expression of blank shock on Carrie’s face almost funny.

‘I was going to say you must be joking,’ she said at last. ‘But clearly you’re not. When did you find out about this?’

‘Just before my sentence of banishment was pronounced last night.’ Rhianna tried to speak lightly. ‘In a way, it was a relief to know there is a reason for my having been the resident leper all these years. But it wasn’t the most welcome news I’ve ever had either.’ She looked at Carrie. ‘You never knew—never guessed?’

The other shook her head. ‘Never—cross my heart. But a lot of stuff finally makes sense,’ she added soberly. ‘Like being told I was too young to understand when I used to ask why Aunt Esther never came back here, even to visit.’

Her tone became brisker. ‘But this isn’t your fault, love. And Uncle Ben must have died at least four years before you were born, so there can’t possibly be any connection there.’

She paused. ‘Mind you, I remember Mrs Welling saying once that he’d always been a devil for the women—before and after he married Aunt Esther. So perhaps your mother wasn’t really to blame either.’ She pulled a face. ‘Maybe it was one of those squire and village maiden things.’

‘I don’t think so.’ Rhianna grimaced too. ‘Apparently your aunt was ill and my mother was nursing her when it started. Which somehow makes it even worse—if it’s true, of course.’ She sighed. ‘I can’t believe anyone as warm and kind as my mother would have taken advantage of a sick woman by stealing her husband.’

She tucked her small make-up purse down the side of the case. ‘What was wrong with Esther Penvarnon. Do you know?’

‘Not really,’ Carrie said, frowning. ‘According to my mother she had a bad time when Diaz was born, and was never well afterwards. It might have been one of those virus things, like ME, because according to the Welling information service Aunt Esther spent a lot of time in a wheelchair.’

She frowned. ‘Although I have to say Mrs W also claimed she could walk perfectly well if she wanted. She reckoned, and I quote, that my aunt should have “got up and got on with being Mr Penvarnon’s missus,” thus saving a heap of trouble all round.’

She paused. ‘Especially for you. Talk about the sins of the mothers…’ Her face acquired the stubborn look that Rhianna remembered from the first days of their friendship. ‘However, you can’t simply be thrown out on to the streets with nowhere to go.’

‘But that isn’t the case any longer. I do have a place to stay—back in London.’ Rhianna forced a smile. ‘Remember the Jessops, who looked after me after my mother died? Well, we’ve always stayed in touch, and over the years they’ve kept asking me to visit them—but I never could because Aunt Kezia said the fare was too expensive. Well, I phoned them this morning, and as soon as I tell them what train I’m catching they’re going to meet me at Paddington. I can live with them again until I’ve found a job and got settled.’

‘Well, thank God for that at least,’ Carrie said roundly. ‘But you’ve still been treated very badly by our family—Diaz included. If he wanted to kiss someone, why didn’t he pick Janie Trevellin? After all, they were seeing each other when he was over last year, and Mother thought at one point they might even get engaged.’

She shrugged. ‘Some hopes. One day he threw his stuff in the car, as usual, and went.’ She gave a reluctant grin. ‘According to Welling wisdom, Penvarnon men have always been restless. Never in one place, wanting to be somewhere else. “Hard to tie down, and impossible to keep tied after”.’

Rhianna made herself speak evenly. ‘Then maybe Janie Trevellin had a lucky escape.’

‘I bet she doesn’t think so.’ Carrie watched Rhianna fasten her case. ‘Look, are you quite sure about this? Perhaps things were said in the heat of the moment last night, and everyone will have calmed down by now?’

‘Not my aunt,’ Rhianna said briefly. ‘Besides, I never planned to stay here for ever, so maybe being pushed into action now is actually a blessing in disguise.’

‘Like the pigs currently flying over the roof,’ Carrie retorted. ‘You’ve got my mobile number haven’t you. Let me know you’re safe and sound, and keep in touch with all your new contact details. Oxford’s much nearer London, so, fingers crossed, we can go on seeing each other quite easily.’

Rhianna took a deep breath. ‘I’m sure you won’t just be seeing me.’

‘Well, no.’ She flushed a little, her smile tender. ‘Simon came over a little while ago, to grovel about Jimmy and a lot of other things besides. He said going to university, getting away from the family and finding his freedom, knocked him sideways for a while, but he’s back on track now. And he wants to see me again—seriously this time.’

‘Then last night clearly wasn’t all bad.’ Smiling was an effort, but Rhianna managed it. ‘If he’s truly the one, Carrie, go for it.’ But, please God, don’t let it be true. Let her find someone else.

‘Don’t worry,’ Carrie assured her. ‘I shall.’ She paused again. ‘How are you getting to the station? You can’t possibly walk.’

‘No choice. I certainly can’t afford a taxi.’

‘I shall take you,’ Carrie said firmly. ‘In Mother’s car. And I shall ask her for the wages you’re owed for last night, too.’

Rhianna stared into her shoulder bag on the pretext of checking its contents, aware that her face had reddened.

‘Please don’t,’ she said constrictedly. ‘I think that’s best forgotten. Besides, I don’t want anything from her. From anyone.’

But later, at the station, Carrie produced a roll of notes and handed them to her. ‘For you,’ she said. ‘From my father, wishing you all the best.’

Rhianna stared at it in disbelief. ‘But it’s five hundred pounds,’ she said. ‘I couldn’t possibly take it.’

‘He says you have to.’ Carrie looked awkward. ‘It seems Uncle Ben left your mother some money in his will, but she refused to accept it. By comparison, this is a pittance, but Dad says it will make him feel much better, knowing that you’re not penniless.’

‘How lovely of him.’ Rhianna felt perilously close to tears.

Francis Seymour was such a contrast, she thought, to her aunt, who’d said curtly, ‘So you’re off, then? No doubt you’ll fall on your feet. Your sort always does.’

And Rhianna’s brief but carefully prepared speech of thanks for the home she’d been given for the past six years had died in her throat.

And that, she thought now, was the last time I saw her.

The last time I believed I would see any of them.

And, oh, God, it would have been so much better that way.

CHAPTER SEVEN

HER face was wet again now, Rhianna realised, raising her head at last.

Stress, she told herself. A natural reaction to finding herself in this totally unnatural situation. Certainly not an appropriate time to start remembering the unhappiness of the past.

Especially when she should be concentrating all her energies strictly on the present—getting out of this mess.

And yet the past five years had certainly not been all bad. On the contrary. There’d been good things to treasure as well, she thought. The unfailing kindness of the Jessops, who’d treated her as if she’d never been away. Her continued friendship with Carrie, who’d secured her Oxford place with ease, and had only been sorry that Rhianna wasn’t there with her.

And the wonderful Marika Fenton, the retired actress running drama classes at a local evening institute, who’d used jealously guarded contacts to get her star student into stage school, and chivvied the board of trustees into granting whatever bursaries might be going.

She’d written regularly to Aunt Kezia, but had never received a reply. Then her aunt had died very suddenly of a heart attack, before receiving the letter in which Rhianna told her she’d just won a leading role in a brand-new drama series called Castle Pride.

A clearly embarrassed communication from Francis Seymour had told her that Miss Trewint had given strict instructions that Rhianna was not to attend her funeral service or cremation, that her possessions should be sold and any money raised, together with her meagre savings, donated to the RSPCA.

Rhianna had accepted those harsh final wishes without protest.

The following day she’d begun to rehearse the role of Lady Ariadne. And the rest, as they said, was history.

She stood up, stretching. And history it had to remain. She had to deal with the here and now. Get through the pain of the next few days as efficiently as possible.

And to start with it seemed pointless to spend all night on this sofa when there was a perfectly good bed waiting, she told herself.

If she had to be miserable, then it might as well be in comfort.

So, having changed into her nightgown, performed her simple beauty routine, cleaned her teeth and brushed her hair, Rhianna slipped under the covers.

But sleep proved elusive. However much her mind might twist and turn, she could see no easy way out of this present disaster, she thought. Diaz had set a trap, and she’d walked blindly, insanely, into it.

And the old anodyne about things looking better in the morning didn’t seem to apply in the current situation.

Unless she woke to find herself back in the primrose room, recovering from a particularly bad nightmare, she thought wryly. And how likely was that?

Eventually, however, the comfort of the mattress beneath her was too enticing, and the pillows too soft to resist, so that the next time she opened her eyes it was broad daylight.

She lay still for a moment. It’s here, she thought. It’s today. Carrie’s marrying Simon and I’m not there. God help me, I’m in the middle of the ocean with Diaz Penvarnon. No bad dream. It’s really happening.

There’d been some troubling moments in the night, she remembered painfully. Her mind had been invaded by disturbing images of weeping, unhappy girls, Carrie and Daisy among them, their faces blotched and swollen with emotion. And another, her expression haggard, the velvet dark of her pansy-brown eyes red-rimmed with tears.

That one most of all, she thought, moving restively.

Her reverie was interrupted by a tap on the door, and Enrique came in with a tray holding a cafetière, cup and saucer, and a cream jug.

‘Buenos dias, señorita,’ he greeted her respectfully, just as if he hadn’t had to unlock her door to gain entry. ‘It is fine today, with much sun, and the sea is calm. The señor hopes that you will join him for breakfast presently.’

A number of responses occurred to Rhianna, most of them occupying a position between fury and obscenity, but she reminded herself that Enrique was only obeying orders, and managed to confine herself to a quiet, ‘Thank you.’

Alone again, she leaned back against her pillows and considered. A fine day, she thought. Wasn’t there a saying about “Happy is the bride that the sun shines on”?

Oh, let it be true, she begged silently and passionately. Let Carrie’s happiness be unclouded, and maybe that will justify this whole hideous business.

In a few hours’ time the wedding would be over, anyway, and if there had ever been a time for intervention it was long past.

She could only hope and pray that Simon had been sincere when he’d claimed Carrie was the one he really wanted all along. But his straying could hardly be dismissed as a temporary aberration when it had left such misery in its wake.

Cape Town should be far enough away to give the pair of them a totally fresh start. No chance of embarrassing or agonised encounters in the street or at parties there. No startled recognition in theatre bars or restaurants.

London’s a village, she thought. Sooner or later you bump into everyone. As she knew to her cost…

Stop thinking like that, she adjured herself fiercely. Today’s going to be quite tricky enough, and you need to be on top of your game, so stop right now.

She turned determinedly to the coffee, which was hot, strong and aromatic, and she could almost feel it putting new life into her.

A shower helped too, even if the limitations of her wardrobe became all too apparent immediately afterwards.

With a mental shrug, she picked out the white cut-offs and the green and white striped shirt she worn on the beach at Penvarnon the previous day, and slid her feet into espadrilles.

She brushed her hair back from her face with unwonted severity, securing it at the nape of her neck with an elastic band which had begun its life round the folder containing her train ticket and seat reservation.

The return portion would now remain unused, of course, she thought. wondering ironically if the train company would deem being kidnapped as a valid excuse for a refund.

Another item, she told herself, to be added to the cost of my stupidity.

Biting her lip, she walked to the door. When she tried it this time, however, it opened easily, and, drawing a long, deep breath, she went out and up the companionway to join her captor.

She found Diaz on the sun deck, where a table and two folding chairs had been placed. He was casual, in shabby cream shorts and a faded dark red polo shirt, his eyes hidden behind sunglasses as he studied some very small item of hand-held technical gadgetry, which probably contained, she reflected, his bank statements, his address book and details of his business commitments for the next ten years.

And she thought how much she’d like to throw it overboard.

At her approach, however, he switched it off and rose courteously to his feet.

‘Good morning,’ he said. ‘I hope you slept well.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘But that was hardly likely—under the circumstances.’

His brows lifted quizzically. ‘Because you’ve been under a certain amount of tension lately? Is that what you’re saying?’

She thought of the anguished phone calls, the bitter outbursts, the threats of self-harm, and all those other truly sleepless nights, punctuated by harsh, heart-rending sobbing. All culminating in the final acknowledgement that Simon had gone, and all hope had gone with him.

She looked past him. ‘You don’t know the half of it.’

‘One of those situations where ignorance is definitely bliss.’ His tone bit. ‘But you’re a really splendid actress, my sweet,’ he went on, after a pause. ‘Because when I came in to check on you, just after dawn, I’d have sworn you were flat out. I thought I even detected a little snore. How wrong can anyone be?’

She shrugged. ‘I’d say the field was wide open.’ She sat down, determined not to show her inner disturbance at the thought of him watching her sleeping, and unfolded her table napkin. ‘But you seem to have insomnia problems too, if you were lurking around in the small hours.’ She gave him a small, flat smile. ‘Conscience troubling you, perhaps?’

‘Not at all,’ he said. ‘These are busy waters. I had no wish for a moment’s inattention to result in our being mown down by a tanker.’

The arrival of the attentive Enrique, with glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice and a basket of warm rolls, followed almost at once by scrambled eggs with chorizo and another large pot of coffee, saved her having to find a reply.

‘I hope the sea air has given you an appetite,’ Diaz remarked, offering her the pepper mill.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Rhianna said icily, aware, to her everlasting shame, that her mouth was watering in response to the aroma from her plate. ‘Being shut up in that five-star cell you condemned me to, I didn’t know it existed. After all, I could hardly open a window to check the ozone levels.’

‘Well, your freedom has been now fully restored, and you can breathe again.’ He indicated a powerful-looking pair of binoculars lying on the table beside him. ‘Are you interested in bird-watching? It could be a good day for it, now we’ve left the sea mist off Brest behind us.’

‘I’m afraid your plans for my shipboard entertainment are doomed,’ she returned, doing her damnedest not to eat too fast, even though these were the best scrambled eggs she’d ever tasted. She added untruthfully, ‘I really wouldn’t know a canary from a robin.’

‘I think Biscay goes in more for shearwaters and arctic terns,’ he said. ‘But maybe you prefer mammals. We can usually offer a selection of dolphins in good weather, or, if you’re lucky, you might even spot a whale.’

‘If I was lucky,’ she said stonily, concealing a flash of delight, ‘I wouldn’t be here in the first place. And why would I want to see a whale anyway?’

‘Because they’re rare and beautiful creatures,’ Diaz said quietly. ‘I thought like might call to like.’

Rhianna looked down at her empty plate, her throat tightening as he paused.

‘Besides,’ he went on, ‘you might get cast one day in another remake of Moby Dick, with the advantage of being already acquainted with the main character.’

‘Unlikely,’ she said, forbidding herself even a marginal smile. ‘Female roles are pretty thin in that particular epic.’

‘I’m sure they’d adapt it to accommodate you,’ he said, pouring more coffee. ‘A girl stowaway on the Pequod who slowly wins the heart of Captain Ahab and turns him from his revenge to joint ownership of a seafood restaurant on Nantucket.’

She shuddered. ‘Oh, God, don’t even suggest it. Someone might hear.’

‘But if not that,’ he said, ‘there’ll be other roles to play eventually.’

‘I hope so,’ Rhianna said slowly. ‘I wouldn’t like to think that Lady Ariadne would be all I’d be remembered for.’ She bit her lip. ‘But at the moment I’m not looking beyond the next series.’

‘And what would have happened to that,’ he enquired levelly, ‘if Simon had asked you to marry him after all? If he’d wanted you to keep the baby? What price Lady Ariadne then?’

Be careful, said the voice in her head. Be very careful. You can’t give anything away.

She shrugged again. ‘That was never going to happen,’ she said. ‘I knew it. Simon certainly knew it. And we both made our choices long before you decided to interfere. Whatever you may have seen or heard, or think you know, the wedding was never in any danger from me.’

She sent him a cool smile. ‘So now you’ll have to live with the knowledge that it’s all been a total waste of time. That you’ve carried me off for nothing, Mr Penvarnon.’ She lifted her chin. ‘Therefore, why don’t you admit defeat, turn this expensive piece of equipment right around, and take me back to England?’

He pushed his chair back and rose. ‘Because it’s far too late for that, Rhianna,’ he said softly. ‘It always has been. And if you don’t know that, sweetheart, then you’re lying not just to me but to yourself as well.’

And he walked away, leaving her staring after him, her mouth suddenly dry and her pulses pounding.

In spite of the breeze, it was still hot enough for Rhianna to be thankful for the awning above the sun deck, where she lay on a cushioned lounger. But even in its shade her clothes were sticking to her.

I didn’t bring a bikini on this trip, she thought wryly, because it never occurred to me I’d have time to sunbathe. Besides, I knew I could always borrow a costume from Carrie if I fancied a quick swim in between pre-wedding chores.

But maybe a bikini, or any kind of swimwear, would not be a good choice for these particular circumstances. Being fully dressed might not be comfortable, but it seemed altogether the safer option.

In view of his parting shot, she’d been half tempted to go to her stateroom and stay there, not venturing back on deck at all. But that might suggest she was disturbed by what he’d said, and she couldn’t afford that. She had to appear indifferent, even relaxed, if that was possible.