Captive Destiny Read online

  Andrew began to talk again, asking Emma more general things about her life in England, questioning her about her job with Gilda Avery, reminding her that despite the distance that separated him from Abingford, he was just as deeply interested in its affairs as ever.

  The only thing he never touched on was his own health, and Emma found it impossible to ask him about his illness in Jordan’s mocking presence. That he was not a well man was evident in the greyness of his features, in the faintly translucent quality of his skin; and what could she say that would not sound gratuitous?

  In the late afternoon Andrew fell asleep, and only then did Jordan rise slowly to his feet, stretching with evident relief in the expansion of his muscles. Then, as Stacey swung her legs expectantly to the ground, he turned to Emma and said in a low voice:

  ‘Would you like to swim now? In the sea, of course.’

  Emma’s lips parted silently, startled by his unexpected change of mood, and Stacey took the opportunity to take possession of his arm and say eagerly: ‘Did you say swim? Darling, I thought you’d never ask!’

  Jordan glanced at her half impatiently, then he looked at Emma again. ‘Well?’ he mouthed, and she pressed her lips together for a moment, unwilling to answer him. ‘Come on,’ he persisted. ‘He’s not in the glare of the sun, and he’ll sleep for an hour at least.’

  With a sigh, Emma got to her feet, and facing him, she murmured: ‘I didn’t bring a swimsuit.’

  ‘You didn’t?’ Jordan’s surprise was short-lived. ‘No, well, I guess you wouldn’t.’ He turned to Stacey. ‘Do you have a suit of some kind you could lend Emma?’

  ‘I doubt if—Emma—would want to wear anything of mine,’ demurred the other girl coolly. She looked squarely at her. ‘Do you normally wear a bikini or a one-piece?’

  Emma shook her head. ‘I don’t—normally—wear either,’ she replied evenly. ‘I don’t do a lot of swimming these days.’

  ‘Don’t you?’

  Jordan was looking at her and unwillingly she remembered the nights they had swum in the river, nights when wearing a swimsuit had seemed an unnecessary encumbrance…

  Tearing her eyes away, she bent her head, shaking it again vigorously. ‘You—you two go,’ she exclaimed tautly. ‘I—’

  ‘That’s a good idea,’ interposed Stacey, but Jordan wasn’t listening to her.

  ‘Go and get a swimsuit for Emma,’ he said shortly, and with a venomous backward glance, she complied.

  Alone with Jordan, Emma put some distance between them, but he came after her, catching her wrist and looking down at her with unconcealed impatience. ‘Don’t you want to come?’ he demanded. ‘Or is it Stacey? Did you believe what she told you?’

  Emma stared at him in amazement, and his mouth took on a mocking curve. ‘Voices carry,’ he told her softly. ‘And if you remember I was just down on the verandah.’

  ‘But—but Stacey said you were asleep!’ Emma protested, forgetting for the moment what he had heard, and he shrugged.

  ‘Have you ever known me sleep in the morning?’ he retorted. ‘Except in bed, of course.’

  Emma shook her head helplessly. ‘You—you—’

  ‘Will this do?’

  Silently, Stacey had returned carrying two swimsuits, and Jordan’s hand fell from Emma’s wrist with casual indifference. The suit Stacey had chosen for the other girl was a plain pink bikini. Her own suit was two scraps of scarlet lace held together with slender white cords, and while Emma realised Stacey had chosen the contrast deliberately, she was relieved she didn’t have to wear the too-brief scarlet bikini. It was barely decent, and despite, or maybe because, of her relationship with Jordan, she could not wear such a thing in front of him. Whatever had been between them had been natural and wholesome, not the result of deliberate provocation.

  The girls changed in the cabanas, and it was only as she viewed her appearance in the mirror that lined one wall that Emma realised Jordan had not denied Stacey’s accusation. All he had done was to ask her whether she believed it. And that could mean anything.

  Outside again, the subject of her speculations was just emerging from the house again. In their absence, he had been indoors and changed into denim shorts that exposed the powerful length of his legs and revealed that his skin was used to the rays of the sun. His eyes flickered over her briefly, then he remarked dryly: ‘Stacey surely didn’t know what she was doing lending you that suit.’

  Emma glanced down at herself in embarrassment. ‘It looks all right, doesn’t it? I like it.’

  ‘So you should,’ he conceded shortly, and Stacey’s appearance robbed her of the necessity to think of some suitable retort.

  The other girl was sufficiently satisfied with her own appearance not to pay too much attention to Emma. Slipping her arm through Jordan’s, she insisted she needed his assistance to descend the cliff path, and Emma was forced to follow them at a much slower pace than she would have liked.

  Shallow steps had been cut into the rock face, and there was no difficulty about the descent. The hardest thing, Emma guessed, would be to climb the steps after an exhausting hour’s swimming, but she was so enchanted by her surroundings, she determinedly put all other considerations aside. There would be time enough to worry about David, and Andrew, Stacey’s startling revelations, and her own futile emotions. For the present she was going to enjoy the moment…and let it last.

  The shoulders of the headland curved round this natural basin, and Jordan warned them both that the land shelved rapidly beyond the shallows. Stacey suggested they swam out to the yacht, but Jordan said it was too far for a first attempt, and they contented themselves with exploring the underwater life of the shoreline.

  Emma, left to her own devices, decided she would swim to the yacht. It was not far, barely a quarter of a mile, she estimated, and the exercise would do her good. Her whole body felt tense with pent-up feelings, a sensation of thwarted excitement that was not relieved by the sight of Stacey winding her arms about Jordan’s neck and pulling him under. The physical energy needed to achieve her objective might release the tension she was feeling, and leave her pleasantly exhausted.

  She heard Jordan call her name once as she left them playing in the shallows, but she pretended not to hear him. She didn’t want his advice or his censure. She only wanted to get away from both of them. Stacey would be pleased, she thought with a pang. She hadn’t wanted her to join them in the first place.

  It was further to the yacht than she had at first imagined, and her arms were aching by the time she reached the ladder that was suspended over the hull. She clung to the rungs for several seconds taking huge gulps of air, and then heard the sound of someone, or something, behind her. She glanced round just as Jordan’s muscular arm reached past her to grasp the ladder, and felt the wet, slippery length of his body right behind her.

  ‘I said it was too far to swim out here,’ he grated in her ear, and she looked over his shoulder to see if Stacey had followed him.

  ‘I didn’t ask you to come after me,’ she protested, when she saw that the other girl was still standing in the shallows, looking after them with what Emma was sure was malevolent hostility, but Jordan only made a sound of impatience.

  ‘Can you climb on board?’ he asked, without answering her, and she nodded before saying: ‘I think so.’

  It was harder than she had thought to put one foot above the other and her legs felt like jelly when she stumbled on to the deck. But she managed to pull herself along by the side of the cabin windows, and flopped in an ungainly heap oh the engine housing. Jordan followed her, his shorts dripping wetly on to the shining boards, his hair several shades darker with the salt water.

  Avoiding his gaze, Emma stared determinedly about her. It was a luxurious vessel, that much she could see at a glance, with a hardwood hull and bronze fastenings. Through the windows of the cabin she could see the padded cushions of the banquettes that lined the walls, and the polished wood of the table that formed a barrier between. It was
obviously capable of sailing long distances, and she wondered if Jordan and his father had used it for that purpose. It made her realise how little she knew of his life these days, and reminded her anew of the differences in their financial status.

  Jordan leaned against the rail that ran around the deck area, and regarded her half impatiently. Then he said quietly: ‘You knew I would follow you, didn’t you? Why did you do it, Emma? Wasn’t last night warning enough for you?’

  She scrambled to her feet at his words, and wrung the water out of her hair, leaving it to hang in an ebony rope over one shoulder. Then, squaring her shoulders, she said firmly: ‘I didn’t know you’d follow me. And as for—for last night, well—after what Stacey told me—’

  ‘Oh, come on!’ His temper snapped suddenly. ‘You didn’t believe all that, did you? I know Stacey’s game, but I’m not stupid. When I choose to marry someone, it will be on my terms, not theirs.’

  Emma’s lips trembled as she looked up at him. ‘And—and the baby?’

  ‘There is no baby!’ declared Jordan harshly, turning to rest his elbows on the rail. ‘I don’t know how she’s become suspicious of our relationship. I surely didn’t say anything. But she was waiting for me last night when I got back from your room, and it didn’t need a degree in psychology to see I was not my usual charming self!’

  Emma bent her head. ‘No doubt she proved an adequate substitute,’ she ventured, but his angry intake of breath belied her words.

  ‘That’s some opinion you have of me, isn’t it?’ he said violently. ‘I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I’m not an animal. Contrary to your belief, I do not find one woman as satisfactory as another!’

  ‘So you didn’t sleep with her?’

  ‘No, I didn’t sleep with her,’ he agreed grimly. ‘Unlike you, I have no desire to tie myself to someone I don’t love.’

  ‘But—but why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you deny it?’ Emma cried, ‘Why did you let her get away with it?’

  Jordan straightened, regarding her with disturbing intensity. ‘Why should I deny something that will deny itself in the course of time? Why should I give her a reason to air her grievances in public? Because that’s what she would do, I know. And you’re a perfect target.’

  ‘Me?’

  ‘Yes, you. As you maintained so fervently last evening, you are married, and unless Andrew—’

  He broke off abruptly, and Emma stared at him expectantly. ‘Unless Andrew—what?’ she prompted, but he shook his head, and his expression took on the cool, detached mask she was coming to know so well.

  ‘You’re cold,’ he said, and his words drew her attention to the fact that she was indeed shivering, but whether that was with the cold or reaction, she couldn’t be sure. ‘Come down to the cabin,’ he suggested, indicating the stairway that led below. ‘I think my father keeps something on board to ward off chills on occasions like this.’

  Emma hesitated. ‘What about—Miss Albert?’

  Jordan cast a resigned look shorewards. ‘Miss Albert can take care of herself,’ he replied, and went ahead of her down the steps.

  The twenty-two-feet-long cabin was divided into galley and living areas. The teak fittings were satin-smooth, and the warmth engendered by wall-to-wall carpeting could be dispelled, if required, by an efficient air-conditioning system. There was a bar and lounging area, and a small cabin aft which Jordan explained had two independent berths. The galley was all-electric, with a rotisserie oven and even a deep-freeze, and there was room to relax in the wheelhouse, with all-round observation.

  Emma was very conscious of her wet swimsuit as she accompanied Jordan into the cabin, but he dismissed her half-formed protests. ‘Here’s a towel. Use it if you must,’ he advised, tossing her a soft blue bathsheet from its storage place in one of the ottomans, and she wrapped its folds about her gratefully.

  Apparently uncaring that he was dripping water on to the carpet, Jordan opened the bar and set two glasses aside while he unscrewed the cap of a bottle of brandy. ‘Genuine Napoleon,’ he declared, handing her a glass containing a generous measure. ‘Guaranteed to fire the iciest blood.’

  Emma took the glass reluctantly, but aware she was still shivering, in spite of the towel, she took a tentative sip. The raw spirit burned her throat and stung her eyes, but it sent the blood rushing through her veins and discernibly her skin felt warmer. The chill in her stomach was dissipating a little, too, although that was as much at the knowledge that Stacey had been lying to her as the effect of the potent liquid.

  ‘Better?’ asked Jordan, having swallowed the measure he had poured himself and replaced his glass on the bar. ‘It’s certainly brought some colour to your cheeks.’

  ‘Yes, thank you.’ Emma took another swallow, and gulped as it descended. ‘I hope your father won’t object.’

  Jordan shook his head and turned to put the bottle back in its place. ‘He won’t.’ Then he turned again, and said: ‘Tell me, when I asked you to come out here, did you think it was a strange request?’

  Emma quivered once more as the implications of what he was asking struck a matching chord inside her. ‘I—you said your father wanted to see me. I could understand that—I think.’

  Jordan’s brows arched. ‘But didn’t you wonder why he should wait so long before—before breaching the gap?’

  Emma frowned. ‘Why are you asking me these things? Don’t you know? You’re your father’s son.’

  ‘I know that.’ Jordan’s mouth was tense with emotion. Then he said unexpectedly: ‘Did you—did you speak to your father before he died?’

  ‘Me? Speak to him?’ Emma stared at him blankly. ‘I don’t understand what you mean.’

  Jordan sighed, moving restively about the cabin as he sought for words. ‘I mean, did you know he saw my father just before—just before—well, on the night he died?’

  Emma tried to think. ‘I think so. He’d been to Athelmere, hadn’t he? Afterwards I thought he’d been to see your father to—to ask for help.’

  Emma remembered very well her mother’s bitterness at that time. Asking Andrew Kyle for anything had been anathema to her. And besides, she knew her husband was wholly responsible for the crippling financial state of his affairs.

  Now Jordan halted in front of her, staring down at her intently. ‘And did your mother tell you that? That your father had asked mine for help?’

  ‘Not in so many words, no.’ Emma couldn’t sustain his gaze and looked down at her hands, curved tightly round the folds of the towel. ‘Why? Why are you asking?’ She paused for a moment, and then as an idea occurred to her, she looked up again. ‘Is that what you’re trying to tell me? That—that Daddy—asked Andrew for help, and he refused? Is that why he’s brought me out here? To try and assuage his conscience?’

  ‘No!’ Jordan’s denial was harsh and angry. ‘No. Never think that. What my father did, he did for the best reasons, I’m sure. He’s not the kind of man to shirk his responsibilities. If you knew—’

  He broke off again, and frustration sharpened her tongue. ‘If I knew what? What?’ she cried helplessly. ‘Why do you persist in avoiding a straight answer? Is there something I ought to know? If there is, you should tell me!’

  Jordan’s jaw worked silently for a moment, then he said savagely: ‘All right, all right. Did you know that your father borrowed money from mine? Did you know that they were private loans, not recorded in the company? That at your father’s death, he owed mine something in the region of one hundred thousand pounds?’

  ‘No!’ Now it was Emma who attempted a denial, but the conviction in Jordan’s face was too harsh to defend. ‘He—he couldn’t!’ she exclaimed, withdrawing from him, sinking down on to the soft banquette and pressing her back against it. ‘We—we would have known.’

  ‘Would you?’ Jordan came down on to the cushioned seat beside her, one elbow resting on its back, his other arm resting along his thigh. ‘How well did you know your father, I wonder? How well does anyone know
another person?’

  Emma thrust her half empty glass on to the floor, unable to continue holding it in her unsteady fingers. Jordan was too close, his eyes were surveying her too intently, and unwillingly the need to plead for his sympathy was making itself felt.

  ‘You—you think your father has brought me out here to tell me this?’ she ventured faintly, and he shrugged.

  ‘Perhaps. Among other things.’

  ‘What other things?’

  ‘He’ll tell you what he feels you ought to know.’

  ‘Oh, Jordan!’ Helplessly, she let the towel slip aside as she stretched her hand towards his knee, her fingers closing compulsively over his thigh. ‘Jordan, I’m scared.’

  ‘Scared?’ He stared at her, making no attempt to remove her hand. ‘You have nothing to be scared about.’

  ‘I do. I do!’ The need to confess was on her, and she scarcely thought that the brandy, swallowed on an empty stomach, might be loosening her tongue. ‘Jordan, I don’t know what I’m going to do. David—David and I, we—we parted so—so hatefully. And this business over the girl, Sandra Hopkins, it—well, it’s not something one can forget—’

  ‘Do you want to forget it?’ demanded Jordan, in a low husky voice, and she looked up at him tremulously.

  ‘I—I don’t know,’ she admitted honestly, her tongue appearing, to moisten her upper lip. ‘If—if there’s to be any future for us, I’ll have to, won’t I?’

  ‘Oh, God!’ Jordan dragged his gaze away from her forcefully, even while his hand covered hers on his thigh with almost cruel pressure. ‘Emma, you could stay here. Have you thought of that? Here on the island. Far away from Ingram and his damned scheming!’

  ‘With—with you?’ she tendered softly, but his rejection of that was immediate.

  ‘Not with me, no,’ he retorted, and she withdrew her hand as if his flesh had suddenly burned her. ‘With my father. He—he needs you.’