Whisper The Darkness Part 14

Anya sniffed, a habit she had almost completely broken during the past few days. 'You don't know anything about it,' she said.

'She was going to live with another man, not Daddy, and there was no room for me. Only-only she drove too fast and almost killed us all!'

Joanna was appalled. Until then, she had imagined, foolishly she now realised, that Jake had been driving the car when the accident took place. But Anya knew the truth, Anya was there; and these revelations might well provide an answer to the problem child she had become since her mother's death.

There was an uneasy silence after Anya had finished speaking, while Joanna sought to a.s.similate the significance of what she had said. It cast an entirely new light on the whole situation, and she wondered if Jake was aware of his daughter's feelings.

'You mean your mummy was driving the night your daddy got so badly hurt?'

Wrapped in thought, Joanna had almost forgotten Mrs Parrish's presence, but now, as she asked the question, she was forced to acknowledge her. However, Anya surprised them both by performing a sudden volte-face.

'I didn't say that,' she declared, avoiding their eyes. 'I said she almost killed us all, but I didn't say when. It-it was another time. Not- not the night Daddy was hurt.'

Joanna's brows descended. She was almost completely convinced that Anya was lying, but she didn't know why. There was no earthly reason why she should lie about the accident, and yet it seemed that she was.

Mrs Parrish, however, merely shrugged her shoulders. 'I'm glad to hear it,' she averred, setting the bowls of soup in front of them.

'Would have been an irony, that would, wouldn't it? Her getting killed, and destroying her husband into the bargain.'

Joanna's eyes were indignant as they sought the housekeeper's. 'Mr Sheldon was not-destroyed, Mrs Parrish,'

she exclaimed, the censure audible in her voice. 'As a matter of fact, I see no reason why he shouldn't eventually try to take up his life where he left off.'

'But I thought as how he couldn't,' protested Mrs Parrish, as Joanna glanced impatiently at Anya.

'The kind of-effects he suffered are not usually lasting,' she retorted, unwilling to say much more in the child's presence. She turned her attention back to the housekeeper. 'You shouldn't jump to conclusions, Mrs Parrish. Things are not always as they seem.'

Anya went to bed as usual at about eight-thirty, and Joanna left the drab confines of the living room for the more homely atmosphere of the library. This room, of all the rooms at Ravengarth, seemed to have absorbed a little of the character of its occupants, and sitting in one of the easy chairs on the hearth, she could watch the firelight flickering over the shelves of books and paintings.

On impulse she left her chair to kneel down beside a pile of paintings, giving each of them more attention than she had previously applied. Until then she had regarded them as the careless etchings of an indifferent artist, but now she was forced to revise her opinion. They were not brilliant. She had certainly seen better. But their very simplicity was appealing, and with a very little work they might well be worthy of an exhibition.

She sat back, well pleased with her a.s.sessment, wondering whether she knew anyone who might be prepared to give a professional opinion. Surely, among all the people she had known in London there was someone who could advise her, and if not, there was always Aunt Lydia, with her large circle of acquaintances.

Then she sighed. Of course, she could do nothing without Jake's approval, and somehow she knew he would never give it.

The last thing he needed was for some imprudent art critic to belittle his efforts, and to succeed in anything, one had first to expose one's vulnerability.

Getting up from her knees, she gathered the paintings together and restored them to their resting place, struggling, as several of the smaller sketches slid out of her grasp. In her attempt to save them, she dislodged the plaited coronet on top of her head, and felt the two braids tumbling on to her shoulders.

With a sigh, she acknowledged farewell to her brief spell of sophistication, and with resignation she unthreaded the coils until her hair was a silky curtain about her shoulders.

Then she re-seated herself by the fire, kicking off her sandals and gazing disconsolately into the flames. Jake was such a talented man, she thought, with increasing frustration. If only he could be made to see that he was wasting himself by living this hermit-like existence!

She must have fallen asleep, lulled by the lamplit room and the comforting warmth of the fire, for she was abruptly aroused by the sudden opening and closing of the door. She blinked, still half drowsy from her slumbers, and gazed up in faint alarm into Jake's harsh, uncompromising features.

'What are you doing?' he demanded, almost as if he hadn't invited her to join him there, and her eyes widened in mild indignation.

'You wanted to see me,' she exclaimed, trying to dislodge the feeling of disorientation she was feeling. 'I've been waiting for you.'

Jake sighed, striding impatiently about the room, dark and forbidding in an unusually elegant suit of black suede, the jacket unb.u.t.toned to reveal a matching waistcoat and white shirt beneath.

'Do you have any idea what time it is?' he exhorted irritably, and she raised her wrist watch to eye level and tried to distinguish the figures. 'It's half past twelve,' he continued, without waiting for her answer. 'Half past twelve, Miss Seton.

Hardly the time for an interview, wouldn't you say? Or are you so desperate to be given your notice?'

Joanna pushed her, stockinged feet to the floor and groped around with her toes for her sandals. 'I'm not desperate at all, Mr Sheldon,'

she declared, refusing to argue with him in this mood. 'I-I'm sorry, I must have fallen asleep.'

Jake stopped his pacing to come and stand on the hearth, hands in the pockets of his jacket, staring broodingly into the glowing embers which were all that remained of the blaze there had been when Joanna sought this refuge. Then, as if irritated by her attempts to reach for her sandals, he turned and kicked them aside, looking down into her surprised face with moody intensity.

Joanna returned that provoking stare for only a few seconds before looking away. She had the uneasy impression that his reaction at finding her here had triggered some latent force inside him, and while she was not afraid of him, she was afraid of betraying herself.

Perhaps it would be as well if she left here, she thought unwillingly, as the full realisation of the ambiguity of their relationship brought a tremulous weakening of her knees. He disliked her already, but at least that left her some respect. If he suspected her feelings, he might despise her or worse, pity her.

Getting to her feet, she started in pursuit of her sandals, saying nervously: 'Did-er-did you find Matt? Mrs Parrish told me where you had gone. It does seem a shame -'

'Matt was not involved.'

Jake made the statement flatly, dispa.s.sionately, and Joanna halted uncertainly, wondering whether she had made some mistake.

'But -' She searched for words. 'Mrs Parrish said -'

'I know what Mrs Parrish said,' he retorted, with a curious lift of his broad shoulders. 'But she was wrong.'

Joanna blinked. 'I don't understand ...'

'Don't you?' His eyes were enigmatic. 'I should have thought it was quite simple.'

Joanna sighed. 'You mean Matt didn't-go drinking?'

'So far as I know, he's as sober as a judge.'

Joanna stared at him. 'Then why tell Mrs Parrish -'

'Perhaps I wanted an excuse to go out,' he stated, with a deprecatory twist of his features. 'Can you think of a better reason?'

Joanna dragged her gaze away, looking about her almost blindly for the scattered sandals. She had the definite impression that she should not be here, listening to these revelations, and the sooner she made herself scarce the better.

'You're looking particularly lovely this evening,' he remarked, as she bent to pick up the offending footwear, deciding it would be quicker and easier to carry them, and her heart quickened its beat at the uninvited compliment. 'But then you always look beautiful, don't you, Miss Seton? It's one of the crosses I have to bear.'

Joanna bent her head. 'I think I ought to be going to bed, Mr Sheldon,' she said quietly. 'I-er-do you want to see me in the morning?'

'I want to see you every morning,' he said, making no move towards her, just letting the husky intonation of his attractive voice accomplish more than a physical contact could have done.

'I'd like to wake up every morning and find your head beside me on the pillow-but disregard these observations. They're just the meanderings of a man who's had a little too much to drink.'

Joanna's head jerked back. Was it true? Was that why he had used that excuse to Mrs Parrish? Because he, and not Matt, had intended to drink more than was good for him? If it were true, he could certainly hold his liquor better than the old man, but it had loosened his tongue and relaxed his inhibitions.

He moved his shoulders in a dismissing gesture now, the harsh mouth twisting in grim self-deprecation. 'Don't you believe me?'

he asked, allowing his gaze to move intimately over her shoulders and the undisguised burgeoning of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, to the narrow waist and shapely hips, and slender legs beneath. 'I a.s.sure you, I had every intention of getting roaring drunk this evening, only somehow it doesn't seem to have worked.'

Joanna took an unsteady breath. 'I-I think you have- had too much to drink, I mean,' she ventured. 'Otherwise you-you wouldn't be saying these things to me.'

'Wouldn't I?' The tawny eyes smouldered as they returned to her face. 'You were supposed to have got tired of waiting for me.

You were supposed to be in bed. Finding you here-like this -'

he gestured towards her dress and the toffee-coloured glory of her hair, 'has thrown me off key, and I don't know how to handle it.'

Joanna glanced over her shoulder at the door. 'Then- then I suppose it would be better if-if I just went to bed now, and-and left you to it -'

'No!' Jake's denial seemed wrung from him. 'That is-I wish you wouldn't. I-what I have to say might as well be said now as in the morning.'

Joanna licked her dry lips. 'Mr Sheldon -'

'My name is Jake,' he corrected her harshly, his hands balling in his pockets. 'Can't you use it? At least once? I want to hear you say it.'

Joanna hesitated. 'Very well-Jake.'

He closed his eyes for a moment, the long lashes curling with an almost painful vulnerability against his scarred face. It made her long to reach out and touch him, and her lips trembled as he opened his eyes.

'Again,' he said huskily. 'Say it again,' and when she did so, he uttered a groan of anguish.

'Oh, Joanna,' he exclaimed, taking his hands out of his pockets and clenching them at his sides. 'Why in G.o.d's name did you ever have to come to Ravengarth!'

Joanna was as caught up in emotion as he was now, and there was no way she could walk to the door and leave him. She didn't want to leave him, she wanted to stay with him, and if that meant a surrender of her self-respect, then so be it.

'Jake,' she said softly, dropping her sandals again and stepping lightly over the hearth towards him, 'don't you want me here? Is that what you're trying to tell me? Because if it is, I don't believe you.'

'Joanna -' As he spoke his breath fanned her cheek, and she smelt the sweet odour of alcohol. So he had not been lying, she thought in wonder, realising that in spite of the harsh exterior he presented to the world, underneath his emotions were as volatile as they had ever been. 'Joanna, what I want or do not want is not in question here. I- I appreciate all you've done for Anya, of course, and I realise it won't be easy finding someone else with your apt.i.tude for gaining her confidence, but the situation can-cannot continue.'

'Why not?' Joanna moved closer to him, so that the tips of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were just brushing the soft suede of his waistcoat. She knew the delicate perfume she was wearing would rise to his nostrils, and in spite of a certain incredulity at her own audacity, she maintained an air of calm purposefulness. 'Jake, stop fighting me, stop fighting yourself!'

'How?' His voice had harshened, as if he was deliberately trying to introduce anger as a defence against her. 'By letting you say what you like to me? In front of Matt and Mrs Parrish? In front of Anya?'

Joanna put her palms against his lapels, allowing her fingers to slide slowly upward, and as Jake had his back to the fire, there was no backward step he could take. 'Oh, Jake,' she breathed, allowing her tongue to appear in silent provocation, 'please, Jake, don't send me away...'

His breathing had quickened. She could hear it. It whistled tortuously in his throat, hoa.r.s.e and laboured. Yet even now he was fighting her, and doing something she had never done to any man before, she reached up and stroked his lips with her own.

His response was uncontrollable, instinctive, an urgent surrender to the needs of his physical self. Sane, sensible thought was suspended, and in its place was wild pa.s.sionate need. With a moan of capitulation, his hands sought the curving temptation of her hips, compelling her towards him, meeting her softness with the hardened muscles between his thighs. It was the first time she had been so close to him. In the car, the width of the console had prevented any intimate embrace, but now she could feel the swollen length of him against her, and knew that in spite of his attempts to repulse her, he could not hide his urgent need of her.

With his body arousing emotions she had hardly known existed within her, the probing a.s.sault of his mouth was the final devastation. Her lips parted beneath the sensual invasion of his, and her arms wound themselves eagerly around his neck, seeking a closer contact.

She was hardly aware of him drawing her down on to the rug beside the fire, or of him unb.u.t.toning his waistcoat so that presently all that was between her and the muscular hardness of his chest was the thin silk of his shirt. She wanted to be pressed against him. She wanted to feel his mouth performing a sensuous seduction of its own, and to feel the warmth and maleness of him thrust against her. She would have liked to be as confident as he was and escape from the enveloping confines of the jersey silk, but instead she submitted to his burning caress, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s straining against the fine cloth.

'This is crazy,' he muttered at last, looking down at her with tormented eyes. 'Why in G.o.d's name didn't you go to bed? This shouldn't be happening.'

'But it is,' she whispered, reaching up to him, slender fingers exploring the harsh planes of his face, until he caught their teasing softness and turned his mouth into her palm. 'Love me, Jake, love me! Don't pretend you don't want to, because I know you do.'

'You don't know what you're saying,' he protested, closing his eyes against the alluring demand of her inviting limbs, and she felt the force of the defences he was trying to build against her.

'I do, I do,' she told him urgently. 'I want to go to bed, Jake, but not alone. With you!'

'No!' He drew back from her abruptly, squatting on the floor beside her, combing his hair with demented fingers. 'For G.o.d's sake, Joanna, don't make me lose what little self-respect I have left.'

'Why should it?' With a sound of frustration she struggled on to her knees beside him, resisting his efforts to escape when she put her hands at die back of his neck. 'Oh, Jake! Don't keep me away from you. Let me in! Let me love you. That's all I want to do.'

His eyes were dark with anguish, the tawny irises hidden beneath a veil of uncertainty. He gazed at her agonisingly, irresistibly drawn by the lissom beauty he was being offered, and yet fighting an attraction for which he had no solution.

'It's no use,' he groaned, getting unsteadily to his feet, and she almost gave up at the determination in his face. But she didn't.

Getting up too, she faced him fearlessly, making no move to put into order the hair which he had so pa.s.sionately disordered.

She just waited, in silence, for him to make the next move.

He shook his head almost helplessly, dragging his eyes away from hers, brushing the immaculate legs of his pants free of any clinging threads from the rug. He was obviously hoping she would accept his ultimatum and go, but she didn't, and when he lifted his head she was almost sure she had won.

'Joanna...' Her name on his lips was a plea for help, but she couldn't help him. 'Oh, Joanna!' and with a heavy sigh, he sought the slender bones of her shoulders as he pulled her back into his arms.

It was where she wanted to be, where she belonged, she thought wonderingly, returning the hungry pressure of his mouth with equal fervour. Nothing else mattered but that he should go on making love to her, and she gave herself to him mentally, without fear of his physical possession. She wanted to be a part of him, she wanted him to be a part of her-and if her innocence proved a barrier, it could easily be broken.

She gasped when Jake swung her off her feet and into his arms, the tawny eyes slumbrous now and glazed with emotion.

She was not afraid, only apprehensive of her inexperience, but her instincts told her that Jake would never hurt her. He was not that kind of man, and picturing him without the civilising influence of his clothes brought a purely pagan thrill of antic.i.p.ation. Skin against skin, she thought with satisfaction, and met his probing lips with hers.

He carried her across the room and into the hall, climbing the staircase with a determined tread, as if he was trampling his inhibitions, she thought with momentary uncertainty. What if he regretted this in the morning? she fretted. What if he despised her for taking advantage of him?

But she refused to entertain such drab preconceptions. She loved Jake-and if he did not love her now, she would teach him to do so.

He had been hurt and confused, but she would make him whole again, and for now that was as far as she dared to go.

He staggered as he reached the top of the stairs, the effects of the alcohol making his head swim, and Joanna uttered an unwary gasp.

It was as uncontrollable as it was audible, and Jake froze, making no move backward or forward. It was as if he was waiting for something to happen, Joanna realised later, and he was not disappointed. Almost instantaneously Anya's bedroom door opened, and her small face appeared, eyes round and apprehensive in the aperture.

'Daddy!' she exclaimed, when she saw him, and his burden.

'What is it? What's happened? Is Miss Seton ill? Why are you carrying her?'

Jake's reaction was slow but deliberate. With unhurried movements he set Joanna on her feet, and she stood there feeling like a reprimanded child beneath his condemning gaze.

'Miss-er-Miss Seton fell asleep downstairs,' he declared, daring her to contradict him. 'But she's wide awake now, as you can see, so she can make her own way to bed.'

It was doubtful which of them was the most confused, Joanna decided bitterly, realising that Anya's advent had accomplished all that Jake's protestations had not. She had reminded him of the past, of everything Joanna tried to erase from his thoughts, and in so doing had destroyed perhaps their only chance of happiness. She didn't have to be told. It was there in his eyes, in his face, in the downward twist of his mouth, and her frustration at her own foolishness in crying out like that filled her with despair.

'Goodnight, Miss Seton,' Jake was saying now, making his way towards his daughter's door. 'We'll talk again in the morning.