Desire For Revenge

The bottle of champagne Tom ordered was a magnum, and by the time Ralph was pressing her third glass of champagne on her, Sarah was feeling decidedly light-headed. She had little head for alcohol at the best of times and the euphoria of hearing about Ralph’s success, combined with the dizzying sense of instantaneous recognition that had flashed between her and the man she had seen in the town square that afternoon seemed to have completely removed her normal reticence. She found herself laughing as easily as Jane at Tom Merryweather’s teasing jokes, and even flirting rather mildly with the older man when he praised her outfit.

Veronica Merryweather was quieter than her husband; a pretty rather than elegant woman, who Sarah suspected was a perfect foil for her more exuberant mate. There was no doubt that they were an extremely happily married couple. They had two daughters, Sarah learned, as she drank her champagne, both married and with children of their own now, and it had been as a direct result of one of their grandchildren desperately needing a very difficult heart operation as a baby which had led to Veronica’s heavy involvement in charity fund raising.

Despite the muzzy sensation brought on by the unaccustomed champagne Sarah could see that through Ralph’s business connections with Tom, her sister was also likely to become involved in working alongside Veronica in her fund raising work. It was a role that would ideally suit her sister, who was already beginning to wonder what she would do with her time once the triplets were at school. Jane had a tremendous flair for organisation and Sarah was pleased to see that this gift would find a proper outlet.

They heard the small dance combo striking up a waltz, and across the table Veronica grinned at her husband and instructed, ‘We’re going to dance this waltz, even if it’s the only time I manage to get you on the floor tonight—they played it for us at our reception when we were married,’ she explained to everyone else.

‘And I asked them to play it for us tonight,’ Tom told her with a corresponding grin.

‘What do you think of them?’ Jane asked Sarah when they had gone.

‘I like them. He seems very down to earth, shrewd, but completely honest, not the sort of man it would be easy to fool, or deceive.’

‘No, he’s got no time for what he calls “posers”,’ Ralph told her. ‘A few of the old brigade locally don’t care for him—but I’ve always found him pleasant enough. He’s apt to call a spade a spade, and he’s come on in life the hard way. He’ll have no truck with any pretence but he’s exceptionally kind-hearted—and not because he’s one of these self-made millionaires who’s out to buy himself a peerage, either.’

‘You must be thrilled to bits about the contract,’ Sarah enthused to Ralph. ‘It will make all the difference to the business. The pair of you should be out celebrating alone tonight without having me tagging along.’

‘Oh, we can celebrate in private later on.’

Ralph grinned, laughing when Jane blushed slightly and said reprovingly, ‘Ralph…’

‘But if you’ll excuse us, Sarah, I would like to dance with my wife.’

‘Dancing…is that what you call it,’ Jane groaned, but nevertheless she stood up, pausing only to say to Sarah, ‘Are you sure you don’t mind?’

‘Don’t be silly. Off you go.’

Slowly sipping what was left of her champagne Sarah sat back in her chair and studied her surroundings. Apart from a disconcerting tendency to sway rather unnervingly whenever she chanced to move her head too quickly, she could find nothing to criticise in the very traditional Adam décor of the room she was in. The walls had panels in the same eau de nil as her gown, a similar colour contrasted with a soft butter yellow used on the intricately plasterworked ceiling, with the plasterwork itself picked out in white and embellished with gold.

At one end of the room was an Adam fireplace over which hung a giltwood mirror. Several portraits ornamented the rooms, and Sarah was studying one several yards away, a mother and daughter study very much in the style of Lely, wondering if it was genuine, when a voice against her ear made her jump and clutch wildly at the stem of her champagne glass, her eyes swivelling from the picture to those of the man bending over her.

‘She was reputed to be one of Charles II’s many mistresses,’ he murmured dulcetly. ‘That was how the family got this land. Lely in his time had a reputation for being the portraitist of the “Royal Whores”.’

‘So it is genuine?’

The last thing she wanted to do was to talk about their hostess’s art collection. Her heart was thumping so loudly it seemed impossible that she was actually able to carry on a normal conversation. How she managed to be so deeply engrossed in staring at the portrait that she had not heard him approach, especially since she had had every sense attuned for him ever since she had seen him in the ballroom, she had no idea.

At close quarters his eyes were even more darkly blue than she had realised, fringed with thick black lashes, his tanned skin, and slightly mocking expression somehow making him look far more at ease in his costume than any of the other men present.

‘I shouldn’t think so…but it’s a passable enough copy. The original was probably sold years ago. Would you care for another drink?’

Sarah grimaced ruefully into her empty glass. ‘I don’t think I’d better,’ she admitted frankly, ‘I have absolutely no head for chamgagne and that was my third glass. At the moment I doubt if I could so much as walk in a straight line from here to the ballroom!’

‘Why don’t we give it a try?’

Before she knew what was happening he was gently tugging her out of her seat, sliding his hands to her waist to support her as she stood somewhat shakily. As he bent to steady her his jaw was on a level with her mouth and she ached to touch her lips to its hard firmness. A sensation of mild shock quivered through her, its intensity muted by the champagne she had consumed, and as he guided her towards the ballroom, it suddenly struck Sarah that here was the ideal candidate with whom to rid herself of the tiresome burden of her virginity. Every female sense she possessed told her that this man would be a lover whose touch, once experienced, would never be forgotten, and above and beyond that there was something about him that reached out to her on the most primitive and intense level of her being. She wanted to make love with him, she acknowledged inwardly; and the admission brought her no shame or shock, merely a sense of rightness. She trembled, and although she knew he must have felt her physical reaction, unlike Ralph he did not ask her if she was cold, merely lifting one eyebrow and smiling down at her rather quizzically.

‘Before I steal you away, I take it the gentleman I saw you with earlier has no prior claim on you that I should know about?’

She liked that in him, Sarah thought muzzily; that he should so clearly and yet so inoffensively make his desire for her plain, and yet at the same time want to make sure that she was free to reciprocate that desire.

‘None at all,’ she assured him. ‘Ralph is my brother-in-law.’

‘Unfortunate man.’ He drawled the words softly, releasing her waist with his right hand to hold her arm, his thumb stroking softly over the vulnerable underside of her skin where the sleeve fell away from her elbow. While she was still shuddering with delicate pleasure he bent his head and caressed the inner curve of her elbow with his mouth before lifting her hand to his lips and slowly kissing the tip of each finger.

A weird swooning sensation turned her blood hot and sluggish in her veins, a pleasure so intense and all-consuming enveloping her that she moved automatically into his arms, clinging to his shoulders as her body trembled its age-old message against his.

‘I want to make love to you.’

The words fell gently against her skin as he murmured them into her ear.

In an almost dreamlike sequence Sarah heard herself replying huskily, ‘I want it too…’

It was something she had never envisaged happening to herself; this instantaneous rapport; this surge of sheer physical desire so strong that nothing could make itself heard above it. Already she could imagine herself in his arms, touching his skin, caressing him as he caressed her in turn; and as her body trembled beneath the erotic images her mind was conjuring up, Sarah knew that her desire to give herself to this man had little or nothing to do with losing her virginity, but she dismissed that knowledge, banishing it to the furthermost recess of her mind, knowing that to admit it was to open herself to a danger she was not yet ready to face.

CHAPTER THREE

THEY danced, once…twice…on the surface, neither of them in a hurry to precipitate what they both knew would be the culmination of the evening, but beneath it… Every time his body brushed hers in the movement of the dance Sarah was conscious of heightening excitement…of intense hunger, of an ache that tightened to a refined form of torture, and she knew that he felt it, too.

She had long ago forgotten about Ralph and Jane, and when the grandfather clock in one of the ante-rooms finally struck twelve she looked questioningly at her partner.

‘Yes,’ he murmured softly. ‘I think it’s time we left…I have a cottage a few miles away.’

The prosaic words held a question, and Sarah nodded her head and whispered shakily, ‘Take me there.’

She saw the smile curl his mouth and the rather whimsical expression in his eyes. ‘Just like that? You’re very trusting. We don’t even know one another’s names…’

Without knowing why she did it, Sarah reached up and pressed her fingers to his mouth. It felt hot against her skin, his lips parting to moistly caress her fingertips. Rivulets of sensation spread through her body, like darts of lightning.

‘Tonight’s a fairytale night,’ she told him softly. ‘A gift from a fairy godmother…let’s keep it like that.’

She didn’t want to talk to him…she didn’t want him to take on a more real form for her than the one he already had. Already some part of her knew that she must preserve something of herself from him for her own safety. It was easier like this…easier to pretend that this was all part of a dream, a fantasy come to life. Instinct told her that she could trust him, that he was no sadist, no violent psychopath who would do her any physical harm. The pull of her senses towards him was so strong that she dared not let there be anything more than that between them.

He was a lover sent to her as a gift by fate, or so her champagne-bemused brain told her, and she didn’t want to analyse the situation any further than that.

It never even occurred to her to tell Ralph and Jane that she was leaving. She had no wrap with her, and it was the simplest thing in the world to let him lead her downstairs and out into the night; for them to stop beside a sleek Porsche sports car, which he unlocked and then carefully tucked her into.

She felt too dreamily hazy even to fasten her seat-belt, letting him do it for her, breathing in the male scent of his skin. He took off the periwig he had been wearing as part of his costume and tossed it into the back of the car before starting the engine. His hair, thick and black, lay close to his skull, making her ache to touch it; to feel its softness beneath her fingertips. She closed her eyes as he set the car in motion.

His cottage was a middle one in a short row of what had once been estate workers’ homes, down by the river. The headlights from the Porsche as he swung it to a halt picked out the stone façade with its white-painted trellis on which a clematis was just beginning to put out new spring tendrils of green.

As he switched off the engine silence enveloped them. This was the moment when she ought to be having second thoughts Sarah realised, but instead she was wrapped in a blanket of euphoria, a feeling of such intense happiness spreading through her that she herself could hardly believe it was real. She seemed to have been freed of all moral and mental restraints; free to follow her emotions and her desires in a way that was totally unfamiliar.

It was only as he helped her out of the car that her companion said rawly, ‘Do you realise that we haven’t even exchanged first names yet?’

Sarah smiled at him. She felt no fear; no hesitation, only an intense sense of rightness.

‘Is that a gentlemanly way of telling me that you’re having second thoughts?’

They were standing under the small porch by the front door and he turned her towards him, his hands cupping her face so tightly that she could feel the faint callouses on his fingers imprinting against her face.

‘No way,’ he told her huskily. ‘I wanted you the moment I set eyes on you.’

‘Even without knowing my name?’

It was the first time Sarah had ever played such a teasing flirtations game and the look that darkened his eyes was as heady to her senses as the earlier champagne had been.

‘What’s in a name?’ He muttered it against her skin, caressing her jawline with his lips, smoothing a stray ringlet behind her ear. ‘I only know that from the first moment I saw you, I knew I wanted you in my arms…in my bed,’ he told her fiercely, adding on a lighter note, ‘What is your name?’

‘Sarah,’ she told him promptly, not vouchsafing her surname; it didn’t seem necessary.

‘Mine’s Joss,’ he responded, smothering her response with the fierce, heated pressure of his mouth.

His kiss obliterated the last remnants of her other saner self. She clung to him, welcoming the taut contraction of his muscles as she slid her hands beneath his jacket and clutched his shoulders. Her own body seemed to be a boneless, fluid entity incomplete without the hard strength of his against it. Her lips parted readily to welcome the heat of his tongue. His hand stroked up from her waist, moulding her breast, caressing her convulsively, and immediately she ached to be rid of the barriers of her clothes. She wanted his hands on her body…his skin, his mouth… against her own.

When his mouth abruptly left hers, she felt bereft; almost abandoned. Her lungs ached from the cold night air and she was shivering.

Joss was as affected as she was herself, fighting to control his own ragged breathing. His voice was deep and raw as he muttered, ‘For God’s sake, what are you doing to me? You’ve got me in such a state I could almost take you right here. We’d better go inside while I’m still capable of doing anything that doesn’t involve having you in my arms.’

He turned away from her to unlock the door, and then preceded her inside to switch on a light.

Sarah followed him, blinking in the light which illuminated the tiny sitting room. She noticed rather absently that the small room had been attractively renovated, and that it was pleasantly furnished, but her mind was not on the décor. A flight of open stairs led up from the sitting room and involuntarily her eyes followed it.

She managed to drag her attention away, feeling the colour crawl up over her skin as she saw that Joss was watching her, the same hungry burning need she could feel eating away at her, openly displayed in his eyes. She felt oddly light-headed, and moved automatically towards him.

He held out his hands, not to take hold of her, but to hold her off. For a moment rejection and pain sliced through her.

‘Don’t look at me like that,’ he demanded thickly. ‘If I touch you now, I’ll end up making love to you here where we’re standing like a raw teenager. Who are you, lovely Sarah?’ he whispered huskily. ‘What magic do you possess to make me feel this way?’

Slowly Sarah reached out and touched her fingers to his lips, her body tensing under their warmth, her senses relaying to her the knowledge that he was as affected as she was herself by that brief contact.

‘No questions. Tonight is special,’ she told him softly. ‘If there is any magic, it’s in the fact that tonight we’ve found one another. Let’s not spoil it by questioning why.’

She saw his eyes narrow faintly, and tensed herself, unwilling to question too deeply her desire to keep her image of him as a complete stranger. It was because she didn’t want to be disillusioned that she didn’t want to know more about him, she told herself defensively, but somewhere deep inside her part of her knew better. It was fear that urged the secrecy on her; fear that the more she knew about this man the more she would want to know.

Joss took her hand and led her towards the stairs, pausing there to demand rawly, ‘Are you sure this is what you want, Sarah?’

She liked that in him; that he was man enough to give her the chance to back out if she wished.

‘More than anything I’ve ever wanted in my entire life,’ she told him and it was no less than the truth.

The smile he gave her was whimsical, edged with faint self-mockery. ‘You might not believe this…but this is the first time anything like this has ever happened to me,’ he told her softly. ‘Just for the record, I don’t make a habit of making love to strange ladies, no matter how beautiful they might be.’

‘I’m glad that in my case you’re prepared to make an exception.’ Sarah said it demurely, but there was nothing demure about the way she looked at him, letting him lead her up the narrow flight of stairs.

Two doors opened off the small landing, and Joss turned the handle of the first of them, flicking a switch that snapped on a bedside lamp.

The room was furnished in soft greys and blues; the walls papered in a fabric that looked vaguely Sandersonish. A matching bedspread covered the bed, a soft blue-grey carpet underfoot.

Somehow, the room did not match the man; neither had the room downstairs Sarah thought reflectively. Intuitively she suspected that this was not his permanent home, and then she closed her mind to such thoughts because Joss was removing the satin coat that was part of his costume and coming towards her.

It struck her then vaguely that Ralph and Jane might be missing her, but she dismissed the knowledge. She was an adult, capable of making her own decisions in life. Perhaps after their discussion, Jane might even guess what she was doing. But was it purely because of David that she was here tonight with Joss? Sarah knew it was not; even without David she would still be here. Tonight was something she was embracing for herself, because intuitively she knew that not to do so was to deprive herself in a way she would regret for the rest of her life.

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