Edge of Temptation Page 14

  'To—Rafe?'

  'No.' Jeff grimaced. 'To Thomas.' He flicked a speculative look at her. 'But you knew that, didn't you?' He sighed. 'I think you know a lot more than you're admitting. Hell, I should have guessed. An attractive girl like you, unmarried—'

  'No! No, you're wrong.' Catherine swallowed convulsively. 'I—there's nothing between—between Rafe and me.'

  'No?' Jeff sounded unconvinced, but he shrugged his broad shoulders. 'Well, perhaps not physically.' 'What do you mean?'

  'Let me tell you something.' Jeff summoned the waiter and when Catherine refused a drink, he ordered himself another brandy. 'We were students together, you know, Rafe and I—at Oxford. I guess it must be almost fifteen years ago now.' He shook his head. 'Anyway, there was this woman—'

  'I—I don't think this has anything to do with me,' Catherine began uncomfortably, but Jeff silenced her with a squeeze of his hand on hers.

  'No, listen to me,' he begged. 'This woman, the female in question, she was the wife of one of our professors.' He smiled reminiscently. 'She was quite something—tall and slim and willowy. Years older than us, of course, but not at all the sort of creature you'd expect to be married to someone like Professor Donnelly.' 'What has this to do with me?' 'Let me tell you. As you may have expected, she took a fancy for Rafe—'

  'Oh, Jeff—'

  '—but he wasn't interested.' He laughed softly. 'Oh, she tried her best—you know, making sure' they kept bumping into each other, always attending the same university functions, making it patently obvious what she wanted. The rest of us—boy! We'd have jumped at his chances, but we might as well not have existed as far as Mrs Donnelly was concerned.'

  Catherine pressed her lips together. 'So what are you saying? That Rafe—really was in love with her?'

  'Hell, no! I guess he may have been tempted to give her what she wanted. Who wouldn't be? But she was married, and so far as he was concerned, it was no contest.' 'And?'

  'Well, I'm just trying to illustrate what an honourable bastard—oh, sorry!—I mean, that's the kind of man he is.'

  Catherine looked down at the table. 'So?'

  'Hell, Catherine, you know what I'm trying to say. It's he who's married now. Don't you see that?'

  Catherine's face flamed. 'I think you're letting your imagination run away with you, Jeff. Either that, or the brandy has gone to your head.'

  'Brandy never goes to my head,' retorted Jeff heavily. Then he stretched out a hand and lifted her chin. 'So what are you saying, Catherine? That the field is clear.' That I can joust for the lady's colours?'

  Catherine pulled her chin away from his hand. 'I think we ought to be leaving,' she said. 'Like it or not, I do have a job to do in the morning.'

  They drove back to the cottage in Jeff's B.M.W. 'Nice car,' said Catherine, as her fingers lingered on the metallic paint. 'The fruits of a bachelor existence, hmm?'

  Jeff took her by the shoulders and bent to kiss her lips. 'Why do I get the feeling you don't envy me?' he demanded cynically, when he lifted his head. 'Your lips are cold. Are you going to offer me something to warm us both up?'

  'Not tonight.' Catherine shook her head. 'I could only offer you cocoa, and I'm sure that's not what you have in mind. But thank you for a very—edifying evening. I enjoyed it.'

  'Did you?' Jeff sounded unconvinced. Then: 'Will you tell Rafe?'

  She drew away from him abruptly. 'What makes you think I'll be given an opportunity?'

  Jeff opened his car door with an exaggerated sigh. 'Let's say it's an informed opinion.' He levered himself behind the wheel. 'Goodnight, Catherine. Go and make your lonely mug of cocoa. I'm going to take something stronger to help me sleep!'

  The garage rang the following morning to let her know her car was ready. Catherine arranged to collect it that afternoon, and realised as she rang off that she now had no excuse to stay away from Penwyn. As soon as Owen knew she was mobile again, he would expect her to attend to the mare, which meant her running the risk of meeting Rafe again. She would rather not see him, she had decided, in the wee small hours of the morning. In spite of her instinctive reaction to Jeff's revelations, she knew it would be easier not to see him, even though the knowledge of his being ill filled her with dismay.

  How could anyone be so foolish she asked herself that morning, labelling a carton of shirts that had arrived from the wholesaler. Unwilling to meet the man for whom she cared desperately, yet unable to move far enough away so that there was no possibility of them ever encountering one another again. It was like living on the knife-edge of temptation, walking a precarious path between two impossible solutions.

  She took the bus to Penwyth that afternoon, getting off in the village and collecting her car from the service station. Mr Blake, the proprietor, was very deferential, pointing out the various adjustments which had been made, and assuring her that she should have no further trouble. Even his bill seemed modest after what she had expected, and she speculated that perhaps she would not have to use the insurance after all.

  Driving out of the yard, she hesitated before turning back to Pendower. She knew she ought to call at the farm and see how everyone was faring, but censuring herself for a coward, she drove back to town. She would come out to the farm in the morning, she promised herself, remembering it was Saturday, and therefore her free day this week. She had a part-time assistant who helped in the boutique on Saturdays, and she and Mary took it in turns to have the day off.

  The telephone was ringing as she arrived home that evening, and she felt slightly guilty when she recognised her aunt's voice. Had someone seen her in the village? Someone who had taken the trouble to report it to her aunt?

  'Why didn't you call this afternoon?' Her first words seemed to confirm this belief, but before Catherine could think of a reply, her aunt went on: 'I hope you know I've had Mr Glyndower sitting in my kitchen for over two hours. He expected you to come, and I must say, so did I.'

  Catherine sank down weakly on to the cushioned seat beside the telephone. 'Rafe Glyndower?' she echoed faintly. 'You've had him—'

  '—for two hours, yes.' Her aunt sounded harassed. 'I didn't know what to say to him, and Mervyn—well, you know what he's like at the moment.'

  Catherine tried to gather herself. 'But what did he want?'

  'I don't know, do I? To see you, I suppose. Something to do with the horses, I think. He knew your car was ready for collection, and I suppose he expected you to call and see your own family.'

  'Oh, Aunt Margaret…' Catherine put a bewildered hand to her head, 'I don't know what to say.'

  'No more do I.' Her aunt's voice was dry. 'I just hope you know what you're doing, girl, getting involved with a man like him. I mean, it's not as if he was a single man, is it? People will talk. They're talking already —'

  'Oh, Aunt Margaret!'

  'Is that all you can say? Did you know he was here? Is that why you didn't call?' ,

  'No! No!' The silent protest was almost violent in its denial. If she had known he would be there…

  Yet would she have called, knowing that? Could she have faced him in her aunt's kitchen, acted as if that scene the other evening had never happened? Aunt Margaret knew her so well. She had known Rafe a long time too, and even though she called him Mr Glyndower these days he was still the boy who had helped with the haymaking, and shared their supper on more than one occasion. Might she have seen behind the masks of politeness they would both have been obliged to adopt? Might doubt have hardened into real suspicion?

  'Well?'

  Realising her aunt was still waiting for her answer, Catherine quickly made the denial. 'Honestly,' she said, 'I didn't have any idea. He—he's never come to the farm before.'

  'Not in recent years,' agreed her aunt dourly. Then, as if wishing to be done with the matter, she added: 'I wish you had come. I had a nice apple pie for you to take home for your supper.'

  Catherine sighed guiltily. 'Can you keep it until tomorrow? It's my day off, and I thought I'd come o
ver in the morning.'

  'Come for lunch,' invited her aunt generously, and Catherine had agreed and hung up before considering the possible repercussions of Rafe's visit. There was still Owen and her uncle to face, but with a stiffening of her spine, she refused to let them deter her.

  It was a frosty night, the sky clear and star-studded as she went to empty her pedal bin into the dustbin. Shivering, she turned back towards the cottage, and then almost jumped out of her skin as a man's tall figure loomed from the shadows at the side of the house.

  'Catherine?'

  The husky tones were disturbingly familiar, and it was incredibly difficult to answer him calmly. 'What are you doing here?' she demanded. 'Scaring the life out of me? Why didn't you go to the front door and ring the bell like anybody else?'

  Her voice was sharp, but she couldn't help it, though she felt a trace of remorse as Rafe replied: 'I did, but no one answered. I could see the kitchen light was on, so…' He shrugged. 'I'm sorry if I frightened you.'

  Catherine was shivering now. Her smock dress was made of wool, but it was very fine, and the elbow-length sleeves left her forearms bare.

  'I—I—what do you want?' she asked, remembering their previous encounter, and telling herself that it mustn't happen again. 'It's too cold to stand here chatting together.'

  His back was to the light, and she couldn't see his expression, but she saw the way his shoulders hunched as he pushed his hands into his coat pockets. 'Aren't you going to invite me in?' he countered quietly, and she felt her determination faltering.

  'I—no!' she said at last, firmly. 'I—don't think that would be a very good idea.'

  He inclined his head briefly in a kind of acknowledgement. Then he said: 'I thought I might see you this afternoon, at Penwyn, but you didn't call.'

  'No, I know. That is—Aunt Margaret rang a few minutes ago.' Catherine caught her lower lip between her teeth, to stop them from chattering.. 'Is this something urgent? Wouldn't it have been easier to ring?'

  'I wanted to talk to you,' he replied simply. 'I didn't realise you would still be angry with me.'

  'Angry with you?' Catherine made a sound of exasperation. 'Rafe, you're crazy coming here!'

  'Just desperate,' he replied steadily, and with an exclamation of protest she brushed past him into the cottage.

  'You—you'd better come in,' she muttered unwillingly, and after a moment's hesitation he followed her into the kitchen, closing the door against the cold night air.

  Turning to face him, she was shocked at his pallor. Jeff had not been exaggerating when he had said Rafe looked ill, and she had to twist her fingers together to prevent herself from touching him. His fur-lined grey parka seemed to rob his face of any trace of colour, his dark hair lapping the collar at the back. He unzipped the neckline of the parka in the warmth of the kitchen, but he made no other move towards staying, and she- knew she ought to feel relieved.

  'So?' she said, moving her shoulders awkwardly. 'What did you want to talk to me about?'

  'You're looking well, Catherine,' he said without answering her question, and her nails dug into her palms.

  'You're not,' she retorted, and as if to justify her statement, Rafe groped for a handkerchief then to trap the sneeze that erupted from him.

  'It's a cold, that's all,' he told her brusquely, irritated by this show of weakness. 'I—you got your car?'

  Catherine nodded. 'Yes, thank you.' She hesitated. 'I never thanked you for arranging that.'

  Rafe made a gesture of dismissal, before continuing: 'Did your aunt tell you how long I waited?'

  Catherine bent her head. 'She—she said you waited quite a while.' Then, looking up, she added impatiently: 'Don't you think that was a foolish thing to do? Owen has no love for you. He'll enjoy relating the story—with certain embellishments of course.'

  'It can't hurt you,' he retorted stiffly, but Catherine could not let it end there.

  'It could hurt you! And your family,' she declared, and saw the expression of defeat that crossed his face.

  'I know that,' he muttered, long fingers massaging the back of his neck. 'But I had to see you.' His lips twisted. 'Which shows what a bloody fool I am, doesn't it?'

  'Oh, Rafe…'

  The torment in his face was too much for her. Almost involuntarily, she covered the space between them, and unable to resist the temptation, took his face between her two hands and put her mouth to his.

  It was heaven feeling him close to her again, his lips parting against her mouth. He made no move to hold her or enfold her, or compel her in any way to stay close to him, but their lips said it all. They exchanged short, urgent kisses that quickened their breathing and inflamed their senses, until they both knew the dangerous line they were treading.

  At last Catherine came down off her toes, her hands still lingering at either side of his face, her tongue appearing to savour the taste of his lips. Rafe's eyes were dark with emotion, and the pulse that beat at his jawline revealed the erratic pounding of his heart, though he still made no move to detain her.

  'Is this why you wanted to see me?' she breathed, one finger brushing the thick length of his lashes, delighting in the shy intimacy, and he closed his eyes for a moment against the warm invitation in hers.

  'I intended to ride with you,' he said at last, opening his eyes again. 'I was sure if you came to Penwyn, you would take out the mare, and I thought it would give us a chance to talk.'

  Catherine gazed up at him helplessly. 'But you're not fit to go riding!' she protested, her fingers dropping to the zip on his parka and propelling it slowly downwards. 'You know you're not. And—and I thought—the last time you were here—'

  Rafe lifted an unsteady hand to his temple and pushed back the heavy strands of dark hair she had disordered. 'I spoke to Jeff today,' he said, his voice low, and deeper than usual because of his cold. 'He told me you had dinner together last night.'

  Catherine's hands fell to her sides. What else had Jeff told him? she wondered, remembering the slant of their conversation. What ideas had Jeff put into his head, that had not been there before? He had not seemed a man of particular sensitivity, and her skin crawled at the possibility that perhaps he had intimated that she was ripe for an affair.

  Taking a step back from him, she said coolly: 'Yes, I did have dinner with your friend. He rang me yesterday evening and suggested it, and I saw no reason to refuse.'

  'No.' Rafe was watching her intently. 'I thought he might contact you. He finds you very attractive.'

  Catherine's nerves stretched painfully: 'Really?' She made an offhand gesture. 'How interesting!'

  As if sensing her withdrawal, Rafe took a sudden step forward. 'What's the matter?' he demanded. 'Have I stepped on someone's toes? I'm sorry, but I had to tell you that I knew.'

  'I don't see that it matters,' declared Catherine tautly. 'Jeff Mappin has nothing to do with us. Or has he?'

  Rafe frowned. 'I don't think I understand—'

  'What else did Jeff say to you? Did he regale you with all our conversation, or just part of it?'

  'Catherine—'

  'No, I mean it. I'd like to know. You see, he had some crazy idea that—that I was involved with—with you!'

  'And aren't you?' Rafe asked quietly, his tortured expression almost her undoing, but she managed to maintain an indifferent tone.

  'Not—not perhaps to the extent you both imagine,' she retorted jerkily. 'And you have to admit, it is strange that you should come looking for me today, exactly twenty-four hours after my conversation with him!'

  Rafe exhaled heavily. 'It doesn't occur to you that I might have—come looking for you today, as you put it, because I wanted to find out for myself exactly what happened between you and Jeff?'

  'What happened?' Catherine echoed. 'Nothing happened.'

  'And I'm expected to believe that, aren't I?'

  She frowned. 'Of course.'

  'So—what do you believe? What do you think Jeff told me?' He regarded her half defeate
dly. 'Do you think I put him up to asking you out? To find out for myself whether you—slept around?'

  'No!' Catherine knew she did not believe that. 'But he— I—he said you were an honourable man. He said you would never jeopardise your marriage.'

  'Did he?' Rafe's facial muscles tensed. 'That was good of him.'

  Catherine sighed. 'I didn't have to be told, Rafe. I—I knew.'

  'Did you?' Rafe gave a resigned shrug. 'So, if you believe that, why did you let me come in?'

  Catherine turned away, shaking her head. 'I don't know.' She stretched out a hand and traced the pattern of the formica on the breakfast bar with a restless finger. 'I didn't intend to.'

  There was silence for a moment, and then Rafe said quietly: 'Do you want me to go?'

  She turned then, staring at him helplessly. 'I— why, no.' It was a painful admission, made the more so by the realisation of what he might make of it. 'You must know how I feel. I haven't exactly kept it a secret.'

  Rafe took the steps that brought him to stand right in front of her. 'You're saying—you're willing to let me stay here, knowing there's no future in this, for either of us?' he demanded thickly.

  Catherine drew a deep breath, not immune to the attraction of his nearness. 'I—suppose I am.' Her heart was pounding rapidly as she looked at him. Then, with great daring, her hands slipped beneath his parka to slide it off his shoulders. 'You—you don't need this on, do you? It— it's very warm in here…'

  CHAPTER TEN

  The parka dropped to the floor behind him, but for several seconds afterwards Rafe made no move towards her. Then, when her nerves were stretched like violin strings, he pulled her to him, his mouth seeking hers with compelling urgency, his hands sliding possessively down her back to her hips.