Dangerous Temptation Read online

  "You'll see him tomorrow, Daddy," she protested when Matthew Webster exhorted her to go and wake him up. "Besides, I don't know what you expect him to say to you. So far as he's concerned, he doesn't even remember your name."

  "We'll see," responded her father enigmatically, revealing that Nathan hadn't been far wrong in his estimate of why the older man had chosen to contact the Harley Street physician. But at least it had enabled her to turn the tables on him. He'd rung off with her resentment ringing in his ears.

  This morning, she'd made sure Nathan was still in bed when she'd left the flat. Deciding there was no point in trying to wet-nurse him, she'd left a message for Mrs Spriggs that she had gone to the shop. It was running away, and she knew it, but she needed an objective viewpoint. At least Janie understood what was going on.

  And it was so good to see her friend again. After exchanging hugs, the two young women had sat down to share a mug of coffee together, Janie turning the sign on the door to Closed so they wouldn't be disturbed.

  "So—what's happening?" she asked when Caitlin showed no inclination to offer an explanation. "Aren't you going to Fairings for the weekend after all?"

  "No. That is—yes, yes, we are," said Caitlin confusingly, cradling her mug of coffee between her palms. "But— I just felt like coming to see you." She bit her lip. "It seems ages since I was here."

  "Don't I know it?" Janie's response was fervent. "But I thought you couldn't leave Nathan on his own."

  "I—I didn't say that exactly." Caitlin wasn't sure how far to take this. "Oh—if you must know, he has been out on his own."

  "Out?" Janie stared at her. "You mean—as in driving his car? Oh, Cat, is that wise? Are you sure he still understands the rules of the road? He is an American, when all's said and done."

  Caitlin regarded her dourly. "Did I say in his car?" she protested. "No—I mean he's been out walking. And running, too, yesterday morning."

  "Running!" Janie stared at her. "Since when did Nathan exercise his bulk?"

  "Since—I don't know." Caitlin was discomforted. "But it's obvious he's not unused to doing it. And—and he's lost some weight, as well. He looks quite—thin."

  "Thin?" Patently, Janie didn't believe her. "Are you sure we're talking about the same person, Cat? Your husband likes his liquid lunches too well to ever be called—thin."

  Caitlin could feel her colour rising. "Well, I can't help that. It's happened. He's—changed. I told you that." And at Janie's arching brows, "He has!"

  Janie frowned. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you sounded as if you admired him for it. Why have you really come here, Cat? Are you trying to tell me you've changed your mind about the divorce?"

  "No." Caitlin was indignant, but her colour didn't subside. "I just wish that you could see him for yourself."

  "Why?"

  "Why?" Caitlin found it difficult to say. "I don't know. He's just so—different, as I say."

  "Different?" Janie regarded her speculatively. "Okay. So you say he's lost weight, and he's not abused you like he used to do, and you're feeling sorry for him, right?"

  "Right." Caitlin could live with that.

  "But you're not attracted to him, are you?"

  "No. That is…" Caitlin could feel Janie's eyes upon her. "It's not that simple, Janie. Sometimes I don't know what I feel myself."

  "Oh, this is ridiculous!" Janie exploded. "Must I remind you that this is the man who brutalised you on your honeymoon and has been keeping another woman for the past God knows how many years? The man's a parasite, Caitlin. I thought you understood that. Just because he's feeling sorry for himself now, don't let him make a fool of you again."

  "I don't intend to," exclaimed Caitlin defensively, but the truth was, she'd never felt so unsure. She was overwhelmingly grateful when a customer tapped on the door with an inquiry, and Janie was forced to assume her business face.

  The woman asked about a nineteenth-century Tiffany lamp that was displayed in the window, and Janie was too professional a dealer not to treat the inquiry seriously. It gave Caitlin the time she needed to finish off her coffee, and by the time the woman was ready to leave, so was she.

  She knew Janie wasn't pleased with her, but there wasn't time to say much more than, "Have a good weekend." But their conversation wasn't over; Janie's wry expression promised that, and Caitlin fretted about what she hadn't said all the way home.

  Lunch was an omelette and salad, prepared without too much effort and eaten in much the same way. Nathan acknowledged her reappearance, but he didn't ask about her morning, and after the meal was over, Caitlin went to pack.

  She used two suitcases, one for herself and one for Nathan. If she'd been concerned that he might come into his bedroom while she was organising his clothes, she needn't have worried. He was lounging on the sofa in the living room when she emerged, one ankle propped across his knee.

  "Ready?" she asked, attempting to behave naturally, and Nathan gave a careless shrug of his shoulders.

  "As I'll ever be, I guess," he responded, getting sinuously to his feet, and she was unhappily aware that her emotions were still not under control. The trouble was, she couldn't remember ever being so aware of him before, and his lean, powerful body made her feel weak.

  It crossed her mind, as they set off, that her father would find a difference in him, and he was unlikely to approve of the jeans and the bulky sweater he was wearing today. In fact, she doubted her father had seen Nathan in anything other than a suit or well-cut casual trousers and a cashmere jacket. Until recently, she'd have said the same of herself.

  His hair, too, would be another source of irritation. Although it was clean, her father would think it was far too long. A swift glance reminded her of how sleekly and smoothly it lay against his scalp, but the urge to run her fingers through its silky darkness was swiftly suppressed.

  Besides, as they passed the Paddington Basin, heading towards the junction of the M40, she realised there were more important things to worry about than Nathan's appearance. What would he do if his memory never returned, for instance? How could he work for Webster Development if he couldn't even remember what he did?

  Obviously, her father was going to find it very hard to cope with. Never a patient man, in recent years Matthew Webster had become irascible at best. In one of their few conversations in recent months, Nathan had implied that he was being made a scapegoat by her father. Ever since Marshall O'Brien had joined the firm, Nathan's authority was constantly being challenged.

  And, in this instance, Caitlin had had to agree with him. Never a fan of Marshall's herself, she could quite see how his attitude might aggravate the other man. It aggravated her, for heaven's sake, reminding her of what she had once aspired to. Marshall was always there at her father's side, like some Machiavellian skeleton at the feast.

  It had got to such a point that even she had begun to feel resentful. It was as if her father couldn't make his own decisions any more. What power did Marshall hold that her father should always defer to him? It wasn't as if he'd worked for the company that long.

  Sometimes, Caitlin had wondered if there was something her father was keeping from them. Just occasionally, when she'd caught Marshall watching her, she'd wondered if his role wasn't mainly that of a spy. Certainly, his familiarity with her father was suspicious; Matthew Webster had never let anyone get that close before.

  Whatever, Marshall's appointment, just a few months after her father's heart attack, had infuriated Nathan. She knew her husband had been expecting her father to retire, but instead, he'd installed a stranger in his place. The won-der was that no one else had voiced their disapproval. After all, Marshall had had little experience in that field.

  Of course, he didn't run the company single-handedly. Even before he'd returned to his desk, Matthew Webster had been the guiding force behind any decisions he had made. For all her father had been warned to take things easier in the future, he had gradually resumed his authority, with Marshall at his side—in Nathan's
place…

  "How far is it?"

  Nathan's question interrupted her troubled thoughts, and she turned to him with some relief. The idea that her father might use Nathan's disability to get him out of the company should have pleased her. If he was becoming disillusioned with her husband, she might soon be free.

  "Um—not too far," she answered now, her hands tightening on the wheel. "The house is in Buckinghamshire. Not far from High Wycombe. We should be there in a little less than an hour."

  Nathan frowned. "Buckinghamshire," he said, pronouncing every syllable. "That's what you call a county, is that right?"

  "Right." Caitlin caught her lower lip between her teeth. "It's good to know you haven't forgotten your geography. Do you remember Brook's End?"

  "Brook's End?"

  Clearly, he didn't, and forcing herself to speak casually, Caitlin explained. "That's the name of the village where my parents' house is situated. I told you about Fairings, didn't I? That's the—"

  "Name of the house," he finished drily. "Yes, I remember that. Despite what you think, I'm not totally goofy. I remember most of what you've told me since that accident. If only I could remember what came before."

  Caitlin sighed. "You will," she said comfortingly, and sensed the frustrated look he cast her way.

  "Will I?" he countered sardonically. "Well, hey, that's reassuring. But, you know, I get the feeling you don't really care."

  "That's not true!"

  Caitlin was indignant, but Nathan merely slumped farther into his seat. "You have no idea what it's like," he said, pressing the heel of his hand against his forehead. "I seem to have an enormous void where my memory used to be."

  Caitlin swallowed. "I know it must be hard—"

  "Oh, it is. Bloody hard," he told her harshly. "And it's a damn sight harder when you've got no one to support you." His lips twisted. "I wouldn't want to upset you, but I'm gradually getting the feeling that you'd have been happier if I hadn't made it back."

  "That's not true."

  Caitlin was horrified now, but Nathan didn't appear convinced by her denial. "No?" he taunted softly. "When we don't appear to have a life together? For Christ's sake, Kate, we even sleep in separate rooms."

  "Lots of people sleep in separate rooms," responded Caitlin defensively. "And in the circumstances, I really think it's for the best."

  "The best for whom?" asked Nathan scornfully. "For you—because you don't trust me? Or because you'll do any damn thing to ensure we're never alone?"

  Caitlin caught her breath. "We're often alone," she protested. "We're alone now."

  "In a car? On a busy road?" Nathan gave her an impatient stare. "I meant in intimate circumstances. You know what I mean."

  Caitlin licked her lips. "I don't know what you mean," she said.

  "Don't you?" His expression mocked her. "Would you like me to draw you a picture instead?" His fingers brushed her arm. "You might enjoy it. Or shall I just tell you what I think we'd do in bed?"

  A wave of heat swept over her body, moistening her palms and causing little rivulets of awareness to spread to every extremity. If she'd been standing, she was sure her knees would have shaken. As it was, her foot pressed a little jerkily on the pedal.

  "Watch it!" he snapped suddenly, and she realised she'd been accelerating up to the back of a furniture lorry instead of moving into the overtaking lane.

  But dammit, she thought, she wasn't used to anyone making those kinds of insinuations to her, and her nerves were already stretched beyond belief.

  There was silence for a while after that, and she was beginning to hope he had forgotten their conversation until he spoke again. "I guess it was easy to fool me while I was in the hospital," he ventured wryly, "when you didn't have to prove the way you felt. But since we got back to England, you've avoided any explanation, and you run a mile every time I get too close."

  Caitlin took a steadying breath. "I think you're exaggerating."

  "Am I?" He regarded her disparagingly. "So it's not because of our—disagreement, shall we say—that you conceived this idea of spending the weekend with your folks?"

  "No." Caitlin endeavoured to concentrate on the road. "It was my father's idea, actually. Naturally—naturally, he and my mother want to—to assure themselves that you're— all right."

  "Not lying, you mean?" he said, disconcerting her intentionally. "I guess you had to think of something to tell your father when I wasn't available. What excuse did you give, just so I know the score?"

  Caitlin pressed her lips together. "I didn't give any excuse," she replied tersely, realising that once again he had assumed the upper hand. "I'm not a child, you know. I don't have to report all my actions to him. But I could hardly tell him where you were, because I didn't know."

  "True." Nathan was laconic now. His lips twisted. "I doubt if I'd have had an answer for you if you'd asked. London is—familiar, but not Knightsbridge. At least—I've heard of Harrods, of course, but not Wellsley Square."

  Which was where the flat was situated, as Caitlin well knew, and for a few moments she sensed his feelings of despair. But the junction for Wendover and Princes Risborough distracted her attention, and putting all negative thoughts aside, she turned the car off the motorway and joined the minor road that eventually led to Brook's End.

  She did notice that Nathan was studying the signposts, too. But he made no comment, and she guessed they meant nothing to him. Evidently, the villages of Bledlow and Owlswick were as unfamiliar as their flat, and she felt a sense of pity for his loss.

  Still, Caitlin couldn't deny a certain lifting of her spirits. Despite the fact that she'd lived in London since she was twenty-one, she had always preferred the country, and Brook's End was one of those sleepy villages that seemed rooted in a previous century. Situated off the beaten track, with no main road to divide it, and a pond where a handful of ducks had taken up residence, it was delightfully rural. Even the atmosphere was decidedly Victorian, with little traffic to disturb its calm civility.

  A row of pretty cottages faced the green, with a general store-cum-post office at one end and a tearoom at the other.

  St Aiden's and its adjoining vicarage provided for its spiritual needs, while The Bay Horse accommodated the rest.

  Fairings was situated at the far end of the village, with wrought-iron gates that stood open beside a single-storied lodge. Beyond the gates, a stretch of parkland surrounded a mellow building, and the tyres clanked noisily over a metal grid.

  "Very feudal," remarked Nathan drily, his tone intimating that so far as he was concerned, their previous discussion was at an end. "Tell me, are your parents the lord and lady of the manor? Don't tell me you're an Honourable, as well."

  "No."

  Caitlin decided not to start anything else she couldn't finish, and as they came off the cattle grid, Ted Follett, who lived at the lodge, appeared from around the side of the house.

  "Afternoon, Mrs Wolfe," he greeted her warmly, doffing his tweed cap. Then, his eyes darting inquisitively to the man beside her, "Mr Wolfe," he appended politely. "Nice to see you up and about again, sir."

  Nathan exchanged a swift glance with Caitlin, and then forced a thin smile. "Thank you," he said stiffly. "Um—it's good to be back."

  "The hedges are looking pretty, Mr Follett," Caitlin put in quickly, realising Nathan hadn't recognised the man. She gave her husband a sideways glance, and then continued, "There are so many berries. Are we going to have a hard winter?"

  "That's what they say," agreed the old man, but his attention was clearly fixed on Nathan. "What do you say, Mr Wolfe? I reckon you'll be looking forward to a few days' rest."

  "Maybe."

  Nathan's response was wary, and as if sensing this, Mr Follett scratched his bald pate before replacing his cap. "We was sorry to hear about the accident," he added. "I said to Ellie, I said, it must have been terrible for you."

  "Indeed."

  Nathan's tone had hardened almost imperceptibly, and Caitlin guesse
d he was well aware of Ted Follett's efforts to pry. But for all that, she prayed he wouldn't say anything outrageous. The last thing she wanted was for him to offend the old man.

  However, "It's good to see you again, Mr Follett" was all Nathan offered. "Perhaps we'll meet again before I leave. Please give your wife my good wishes, won't you?"

  Fortunately, Caitlin had anticipated what was coming and had put the car into gear and pulled away before her husband could finish what he was saying. Looking back through the rear-view mirror, she could see the old man staring after them with some bewilderment, but she was fairly sure he'd missed Nathan's final words.

  "There is no Mrs Follett," she said in answer to her husband's silent indignation, and he uttered a muffled oath beneath his breath. "Mr Follett's a bachelor. He always has been. Ellie is his niece. I should have explained."

  Nathan grimaced. "Oh, well—I don't suppose it matters. He'll probably think I'm drunk or on drugs—something like that." He gave her a rueful smile. "You'll have to give me some tuition. I'd hate to make the same mistake again."

  "You won't."

  Caitlin tried to sound confident, but she was afraid it came out rather differently than she'd hoped. The trouble was, when Nathan smiled at her like that, she found it incredibly difficult to concentrate on anything but him, and the knowledge brought a sudden tension to her words.

  11

  He sprawled indolently on the cushioned window seat, one leg outstretched on the carpet, the other drawn up on the seat beside him, a resting place for his chin. He was supposed to be relaxing, looking out at the darkening garden beyond the windows, but half his attention was on Caitlin as she moved about the bedroom behind him.

  She was nervous. He knew that. Even though his view of her was only a reflection in the glass, it was obvious from the agitated speed of her movements that she was constantly on edge. She was unpacking their suitcases. She was removing skirts and dresses from one, jackets and trousers from the other and hanging them away in the massive closets to be found in the dressing room next door.