Free Spirit Part 9

For a moment Hannah genuinely thought she had gone too far. She was prying into an area of Silas's life that had nothing to do with her, betrayed by her genuine curiosity about how he might deal with such a situation into asking questions which would better have remained unvoiced.

He was silent for a long time, so long that she thought he meant to ignore her questions, and then at last he said quietly, 'I can't deny that what you say is true. However, I believe I can make it plain . . .

indeed, I have made it plain to Fiona, without actually having to reject her, that we aren't going to have an affair. If she refused to accept the situation, then I shall try to arrange all my future meetings with Lord Redvers not to include her.'

'Wouldn't it be simpler and more honest to just tell her the truth?'

Hannah asked him cynically.

She felt him looking at her. 'Is that how you deal with unwanted advances, Hannah? Bluntly and efficiently?'

'Women aren't in the same situation as men,' she reminded him bitterly. 'If we don't give an unequivocal "no" we are accused of teasing, of saying "no" when we mean "yes". I prefer to make my position perfectly clear. In the long run, it's more honest and more sensible.'

She noticed that they were almost back at the Dower House; her nerves felt as tightly strung as tension wire. She knew it would be hours before she got to sleep, if indeed she managed to sleep at all.

'So you don't feel that for the sake of the single parents and children who hopefully will one day benefit from our plans for the place, I should put aside my personal feelings and beliefs and-er-give in to Fiona's blandishments?'

The implications of his questions, coming so unexpectedly out of the darkness, flooded her mind and body with dark, unfamiliar pain.

It came at her like a tidal wave, destructive and dangerous, crashing down through the barriers of her defences, swirling icily through the most private corners of her being, opening her to anguish and reality so that she had to grit her teeth together to stop herself from giving vent to what she was feeling, to buy herself time.

'No answer? It's a tricky one, isn't it?' he said quietly.

He had turned off the main road now, and the entrance to the drive loomed ahead of them. He turned into it, and in the car's headlights she saw the familiar bulk of the house. How many thousands of children would this house give pleasure to if Silas's plans were successful? The greater good . . . the words beat drearily through her, almost like a dirge.

The car swept round the drive towards the Dower House. Silas switched off the engine.

'If I were to ask you, what would you advise me to do, I wonder?

Fiona is a creature of greedy impulse, soon satiated and bored. A few nights together . . . the basic mechanics of making love...'

Hannah felt her gorge rise. Unable to stop herself, she pushed open the car door and started to run towards the house. She couldn't listen to any more without betraying something of what she was going through. The mere thought of him with Fiona in his arms, of that greedy, predatory mouth on his . . .

He caught her half-way towards the door, spinning her round with such force that she staggered and almost lost her balance.

As he held on to her, he asked grimly, 'What the h.e.l.l was that for?'

The easy mood of insouciant sophistication was gone. Her stomach trembled as she looked into his face and saw the tamped down maleness there, the essential predatory masculinity . . .

'Nothing,' she lied. 'I don't care what you do.

Go and make love to Fiona, if that's what you want.'

'But it isn't what I want.'

How silky his voice sounded, seducing her senses away from her.

'She isn't what I want. Ironic, isn't it? All evening, while I've been struggling to hold her at bay, I've been wondering what it would be like to hold you like this .. .'

He had shifted his weight somehow so that she was almost leaning full length against him, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressed hard and flat against his chest, her body encircled by his arm so that she couldn't move away.

Her thighs against his, the sudden, heart-stopping movement of his free hand along the contour of her hip up over her waist to rest just beneath the fullness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, made the breath lock in her throat and her body tremble with awareness of his own arousal.

'Hannah . . .'He said her name as though he was tasting it. His mouth touched her jaw and moved over her skin tantalisingly, drawing closer and closer to her lips.

She could feel herself quivering with an antic.i.p.ation she made no attempt to fight or hide.

When his mouth finally touched hers, she wasn't sure which of them gave that tiny, betraying sigh of satisfaction, but there was no mistaking the way her body melted into his embrace, the way her breast swelled into his hand, so that he made a husky sound of pleasure deep in his throat and stroked his tongue over her lips, over and over again until the torment of that delicate touch made her cry out softly and tremble, blind to everything but the satisfaction of at least feeling his mouth moving so savagely and eagerly against her own.

She responded to the pa.s.sion she could sense inside him in full measure, allowing him the access he sought to her body as he moved her within his arms and cursed against her lips at the dress that prevented his lean fingers from doing anything more than merely shaping the round swell of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

The arousal of his body, her own need, the fierce, tumultuous pleasure of feeling him kiss her with all the intimacy and desire she knew she had craved, for a time obliterated everything else.

But only for a time. As he reached behind her for her zip, sanity crashed through her sensual haze; released from the confinement of his arms, she sprang back from him, panic and self-disgust written plainly on her face for him to see.

Almost loathing herself for her own self-betrayal, she made no attempt to hide her reactions, and Silas, seeing them, said quietly, 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that.'

'No, you shouldn't,' Hannah agreed shakily, conveniently forgetting how very little discouragement she had given him. And, also forgetting what he'd said before kissing her, she added unforgivably, 'I'm not Fiona. There's nothing to be gained from making love to me.'

There was a long silence, during which she found that she couldn't meet his eyes; she felt almost ashamed . . . and not just ashamed, but hurt inside, as though she wanted him to deny what she was saying and take her back in his arms. Instead he said quietly, so quietly that she barely heard him, 'No. It doesn't seem as though there is.'

And then, without another word, he walked past her and unlocked the door to the house, holding it open and waiting politely and distantly until she followed him inside.

CHAPTER NINE.

As SHE had already mentally predicted, Hannah got very little sleep.

A whole night spent virtually wide awake, with no distraction other than that caused by the ancient grumblings of an old house, was a marvellous way of focusing the mind, Hannah reflected while she dressed.

Although she had tussled with the problem virtually all night, she had known from the outset that there was only once course she could take.

She would have to resign from her job with Silas. Not specifically because he had kissed her, but because of the way she herself had felt.

The most feminine and secret part of her had recognised in his arms an awareness of herself as a desirable woman, which, if allowed to develop, would lead to all manner of problems; not least the fact that, should Silas choose to lay siege to her s.e.xually, she doubted her ability to reject him.

And so she had no alternative. The moment they were back in London she intended to hand him her written resignation. It was better that way, allowing no room for arguments. She ignored the tiny voice that mocked her for being a coward, telling her that she lacked the courage to meet him face to face in the intimacy of his home, and tell him what she planned to do.

What her emotional female inner self termed cowardice, her outer, more rational mind deemed mere caution and common sense. There was no point in deliberately courting danger, in almost actively inviting the very kind of explosive situation she was fighting to avoid.

She tried to imagine what might have happened last night had Silas not stepped back from her when he did . . . had she been wearing something that had allowed him easier access to her body . . . had she felt his hands against her skin, while his mouth was still on hers, obliterating all rationality.

She wouldn't have been able to resist the deep- rooted urge of her own nature, the need she had so desperately fought against ever since they had met. She would have willingly urged him to take her upstairs to the privacy of his bedroom, to strip the clothes from her body and make love to her. She shivered in the morning chill, staring blindly out of her bedroom window and across the mist-enshrouded landscape.

Beyond the mist, in the far distance, the sun was starting to break through the cloud. The storm was over, just like the storm within her. She shivered again, acknowledging that hand in hand with her belief that she had made the right, indeed the only decision, went a bleak awareness of all that she was turning her back on.

Fiona hadn't lied or exaggerated when she had claimed that Silas would be a lover that few women could resist. Last night Hannah had experienced the full magnetic force of his sensuality. She had felt instinctively, intuitively, that he was one of those rare men who genuinely believed womankind to be his equal, and at the same time retained an essential maleness that allowed him to accept such knowledge with grace and still to treat her s.e.x with tenderness and caring.

He was a man wholly proud and at ease with his masculinity, and yet who appreciated everything that was different about a woman.

Even now, with her decision made and irreversible, there was still a part of her that yearned most dangerously to turn back the clock and relive last night, but to give it a different ending . . . one that allowed her to spend the night in Silas's arms, to wake up basking in the warmth of his desire. But she had to quell that weakness, to destroy it, to submerge it in other and more sensible thoughts.

It was time to go down for breakfast.

Silas was already seated at the table. He stood up as she walked in, and gave her a cool, a.s.sessing glance, which she withstood with as much calm as she could, proffering a professional, distancing smile as she sat down in the chair he pulled out for her, commenting brightly on the change in the weather, asking what time he planned to return to London.

'Like you, I feel that I might as well stay on and enjoy the benefits of a weekend in the country. We should have got through the rest of the work here by mid-afternoon. I'll run you over to your parents then, and we can arrange what time I'll pick you up on Monday morning.'

Beneath her immaculate silk shirt and thick tweed sweater, Hannah felt her heart start to pound rapidly.

'That won't be necessary,' she told him, softening the baldness of the words with a brief smile. 'It will be quite easy for me to get the train to London. There's no point in you coming out of your way.'

She saw the way his whole face darkened, and sensed the anger he was fighting to control, acknowledging with an inward shiver that he could be extremely intimidating.

'As far as I am aware, your parents' village isn't out of my way,' he told her frigidly. 'However, if you prefer to make your own arrangements...'

'I. . . I thought I might go back to London early on Sunday. There are one or two things I want to do. People I need to see...'

His eyebrows lifted, an expression of cynicism twisting his mouth as he said silkily, 'There's no need to be afraid of speaking bluntly to me, Hannah. If you mean that you want to return to London because you wish to be with a man-a lover-then by all means say so.'

'If I did, I would,' Hannah interrupted him hotly, forgetting her danger and the need for self-preservation in her need to deny his cynicism. 'Your implication was unwarranted, especially when you already know that I'm not involved in that kind of relationship. Nor do I want to be.'

She saw a faint shadow touch his eyes, and wondered what she had said to cause it. His mouth became grim, his voice unusually harsh as he said curtly^ 'I'm sorry. Your private time and how you spend it is, of course, your own concern. If you wish to make your own arrangements to travel back to London, then naturally you must do so. Now, I suggest that we make an early start on the work we need to get through.

'I'm going to make a call to London to find out if there's anything there that needs my attention. If you could be in my study at ten o'clock, we can talk about the responsibilities I want you to take on personally with regard to the redevelopment of the Court.'

As he got up and pushed back his chair, Hannah reflected guiltily that she really ought to tell him now that she intended to hand in her notice. It wasn't fair to allow him to waste his time involving her in what was patently a project very close to his heart, when she knew she was not going to be working on it.

But she couldn't tell him. Not now, not here. And she didn't want to go too deeply into her own reasons for not wanting to, even though she knew that that reluctance d.a.m.ned her even more firmly.

At ten o'clock she presented herself in the study, and even though Silas worked her hard, displaying the shrewdness and ac.u.men she had heard so much about, even though she was concentrating almost fully on what he was saying to her, a tiny part of her consciousness remained apart to notice how his woollen shirt revealed the muscles of his chest and arms . . . how the jeans he was wearing clung to the leanness of his hips and thighs, how when he got up from behind his desk and paced the floor between it and the window he moved lithely and efficiently, making the blood run hot in her veins . . .

When he picked up a book from the window-seat and absently ran his fingers along the leather spine, she shivered inwardly, as though it was her body he had touched. Her mouth went suddenly dry, her lips parting on a slight sound of arousal, which he nevertheless seemed to hear because he turned round abruptly and looked at her, his attention focusing on her mouth so that her heart went crazy, and the sound of its frantic pounding was like the crashing of storm-driven waves against the rocks of some inhospitable coastline.

He had stopped talking. She knew her breathing had become provocatively shallow and, even though she fought to stop herself from doing it, she couldn't prevent her tongue from snaking out and wetting her dry lips.

A shiver seemed to run through him, convulsing his body, making a small muscle twitch in his jaw, and his chest lift deeply, as though he couldn't get enough air to breathe. He lifted his glance from her mouth to her eyes, and his were brilliant with desire and fierce maleness. One tiny step towards him,. that was all it would take to release the s.e.xual tension she could almost feel emanating from him. One tiny step and he would be hers . . . He would be reaching for her, enfolding- H?r in his arms, kissing her with all the fierce ruthlessness she could see glittering in his eyes. One 'tiny step and her body would know the infinitely seductive sensation of his hands upon it. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, still aching with the need he had aroused in them last night, would know the caressing touch of his fingers, the hot suckle of his mouth. One tiny step ...

One tiny step and everything she had planned for her life would be lost to her. With an immense effort she managed to break free of the spell of her own sensuality. Dragging her bemused gaze away from him, she said shakily, 'You were saying about the number of single-parent families you hope to offer holidays to at one time . . .'

And although it took him several seconds to follow her lead, several seconds during which she dared not look at him, eventually he did so . . . his voice, when he responded to her prompting, raw with arousal and a dark hint of anger; his body, when eventually she found the courage to look at him, tense with bunched muscles and the kind of self-control that made her throat ache.

When he suggested they work through instead of stopping for lunch so that they could finish work mid-afternoon, she didn't demur. The sooner this appalling day was over, the better. The sooner she could put a much-needed physical distance between them, the better.

She didn't believe she had the strength to hold out against her own need, if she was condemned to spend another twenty-four hours enduring the kind of intimacy she had endured today.

Was it just because she was so aware of him, because she desired him, that she was so intensely aware of every inflexion of his voice, every subtle movement of his body? Or was he deliberately tormenting her, making her aware of his masculinity, making her focus on him as a man, as he paced the room, as he almost forced her by some power she could only guess at to focus almost completely on him?

It was three o'clock before he had finished briefing her.

'How long will it take you to get ready to leave?' he asked her curtly, glancing at his own watch.

'Half an hour at the most,' Hannah responded, equally coolly.

'Right, I'll meet you down here at half-past three, then.'

He let her get as far as the door, and then said quietly, 'Hannah . . .

about last night . . .'

She held her breath, feeling as though her lungs were being squeezed by an unknown force. She couldn't turn round and look at him, even though she knew she should.

Frantically she wondered what on earth she was supposed to say, and then opted for what she hoped was the safest course, deliberately misunderstanding and saying coolly, 'I hope I haven't prejudiced your plans by reacting so badly to Lady Redvers.'

And then, before he could stop her she was through the door, although she thought she heard him swear, just as she closed it, 'To h.e.l.l with b.l.o.o.d.y Fiona!'

Hannah would have given anything to be able to drive herself to her parents, but since she had no form of transport, and since to insist on calling a taxi would have been ridiculous, she was forced to endure the almost stifling intimacy of Silas's presence and Silas's car and Silas's silence as he drove towards her home village.

The journey, which should have been pleasantly relaxing, for the roads were relatively free of traffic and the afternoon was balmy and fine, was instead a refined form of torture.

When she saw the familiar church spire in the distance, Hannah almost heaved a sigh of relief, shakily giving Silas directions as they approached the village.

Instead of stopping outside the house as she had hoped, he turned into the drive and, as ill-luck would have it, her mother was kneeling beside one of the borders, busily weeding.

Of course, Hannah was obliged to introduce her to Silas, and after she had laughingly said how pleased she and Hannah's father were about her new job, because they had benefited through being given Hannah's virtually brand new car, she insisted on offering Silas a cup of tea and something to eat.

Expecting him to refuse, Hannah's heart sank when he accepted and seemed genuinely pleased to allow her mother to lead the way to the back door, pausing every now and again to compliment her on the garden, talking so knowledgeably about it that Hannah was surprised into numb silence.

As always on a Friday afternoon, her father was in his study putting the finishing touches to his sermon, but he appeared from this private retreat to be introduced to Silas, and when the four of them sat down to the generous afternoon tea her mother had provided Hannah discovered that she was the one who remained silent, while Silas and her parents talked with the ease and familiarity of very old friends.

It was well over an hour before he got up to leave, during which time Hannah had grown steadily more tense.

When she walked out to his car with him, she felt totally unable to speak, even when she saw the coldly impatient look he gave her and the hard compression of his mouth. As he got into his car, his manner towards her was coolly distant, mimicking her own towards him. It was what she wanted, and yet, oh, how it hurt.

As he switched on the engine, she ached to lean forwards and touch her fingers to his mouth, stroking away its cynical twist, but such dangerous thoughts only reinforced her awareness of how dangerously vulnerable she had become.

As he drove away, she turned her back on him and headed back to the house, only to stop after half a dozen paces, unable to give up the hurting pleasure of turning round to watch him until he was out of sight.

'What a charming man,' her mother commented predictably when she rejoined her parents.

Less predictably, her father remarked in that vague manner of his that at times had driven his offspring mad, but which with maturity they all recognised as springing from his genuine absorption with his pastoral responsibilities, 'I liked him; a thoroughly intelligent and well-informed man. You must find working with him an enjoyable challenge.'