Rooted in Dishonour Read online

  'I told you,' she exclaimed, trying to sound offhand. 'You did!'

  'No, I didn't.' Willard spoke quite evenly, and if it had not been for the content of his words, she would not have known he was angry. 'I knew that earlier, but there was always the possibility that Barbara had said something. She told me you knew before he came to the house.'

  Beth continued unbuttoning his shirt, searching desperately for something to say. But what could she say, except the truth? And perhaps it was better if he heard it from her, and not some garbled story from someone else.

  'All right,' she said carefully, 'I did know. As—as a matter of fact, I was there when he did it.'

  Willard grasped her wrist, preventing her from going on with her task. 'You were what!'

  'I was there.' She licked her lips. 'I thought you knew that. I thought that was what all this was about.'

  'No!' He glared up at her. 'Go on—how were you there?'

  'That day—the. day Barbara and I went riding—'

  'When he brought you home? You mean you had arranged to meet him?'

  'No!' Beth was appalled at the way he immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. 'But as you say, he did bring me home and—well, he—he'd found some sun-, glasses of mine on the beach...' An inspiration, she thought weakly, hoping Willard believed her. 'And—he suggested we collected them—'

  'You're lying!'

  'I'm not!' Beth's face was scarlet. 'He—he did find my sunglasses on the beach—'

  'But that's not why you went to his house!'

  'It is. He—and—well, I felt sick, and he suggested we had a cup of—of coffee.'

  Willard twisted her wrist so that her arm was actually pained. 'What do you think?' he sneered. 'Do you think I'm some wet-eared moron?'

  'No—'

  'You must do. If you think I'd go for a story like that!'

  'Willard, he did scald his hand making coffee '

  'Maybe, maybe. But it's what came before the coffee that interests me.'

  'Nothing came before the coffee!' she declared desperately. 'Willard, you're hurting me...'

  'I'd like to hurt you a lot more than this,' he snapped, his previous air of exhaustion completely gone now. 'I'm no fool, Beth, and it's time you realised it. I see now why you kept putting me off with tales of what it might do to my health! You wanted the best of both worlds—my money and his body!'

  'No!' Beth was horrified. 'Willard, you're crazy—'

  'I have been, I admit it. And blind, too. I should have listened to Barbara before this, I see that now. But I thought you really cared about me. Oh, I realised the money was no small enticement, but I really believed

  you had some affection for me—'

  'I did. I do Oh, Willard, I admit I should have told

  you about Raoul—'

  'Raoul! Raoul, is it?' His lips curled. 'Of course. I should have realised a woman like you couldn't do without a man for any length of time!'

  'A—a woman—like me?' she echoed uncomprehendingly, and he nodded.

  'Yes.' His eyes travelled insolently over her heaving breasts. 'Ripe and ready, aren't you? Well, don't let it be said that Willard Petrie was ever a man to disappoint a lady!' and with a wrench, he jerked her down beside him and his parted lips sought hers.

  Beth felt her head swimming as he forced her neck back and she thought that at any moment it would snap. But the alternative was to give in to him and fall back on the bed, and that was the last thing she wanted to do. Willard was no longer the weakened invalid he had been when they first came to the island. These weeks had strengthened him, and besides, with the weight of his body on hers she would stand no chance, willing or not.

  And then, just when she had given up hope of holding out, uproar erupted. There was the banging of doors and someone screaming and even Willard could not ignore what was going on. Swearing savagely, he thrust her away from him and got to his feet, striding to the door with none of the uncertainty he had displayed earlier.

  Beth was too stunned to move as he pulled the door open, but the draught of cool air emitted from the corridor brought her limbs to sluggish life. She dragged herself off the bed, and stumbled after him, blinking un- comprehendingly at the gathering in the corridor.

  The Templetons were there, so too were the Hammonds, but it was Marta de Vries who was making the most noise. She was crying hysterically now and her husband was trying to calm her While Charles Templeton explained to Willard what had happened.

  'It was the mattress, man!' he exclaimed harshly. 'Infested with cockroaches! My God, what kind of servants do you employ? Don't they do their work? None of those beds is fit to sleep in!'

  Beth clung weakly to the doorpost as Willard tried to bluster his way out of it. He paid good wages, he said peevishly, and if the rooms were not habitable it was through no fault of his. She listened to him in appalled disbelief. He knew perfectly well what kind of state those rooms were in. She had told him, and he had ignored her.

  Now they were all going down the stairs, Willard bawling loudly for Jonas as he went, uncaring that the black servants had retired several hours ago and would likely not hear him, thought Beth agitatedly.

  But in this, it seemed, she was wrong. As she stumbled along to the gallery at the head of the stairs, she saw Jonas running from the servants' quarters, pulling on his waistcoat over his unbuttoned shirt, his grey hair sticking up in tufts all over his head.

  She went down the stairs one step at a time, hardly knowing what she was doing. She could hear Willard berating the elderly servant in furious tones, interspersed here and there by Jonas's incoherent replies, and now and then a few words from the others, but their problems seemed of little magnitude compared to her own. She could not go back upstairs again, she thought. She could not bear for Willard to touch her again, and that meant she could not stay in this house. But where could she go? Who would help her? Barbara? Perhaps. If she thought she could get rid of her. The Marins? But they were miles away in Ste Germaine. Raoul!

  She expelled her breath unsteadily. Had she any alternative? Or was she just finding excuses to go to him and throw herself on his mercy?

  Moistening her upper lip, she covered the shadowy expanse of tiling and reached the double doors. They were secured with bolts, but even though they squeaked a little as she withdrew them, the argument ensuing in the drawing room more than covered her gasp of horror. The night air had never felt more appealing, and she stepped out of the house with a nervous shudder of relief.

  CHAPTER NINE

  THE lights Willard had switched on in the drawing room illuminated the curve of the drive, and Beth circled the house on shaking legs, expecting every moment to be observed and brought back. But she reached the shelter of the trees without incident and stood for a few moments recovering her nerve.

  Something shifted close by as she stood there and she almost let out a cry of terror, but whatever it was it wasn't human, and a small furry body scuttled away into the night. Nevertheless, the experience left her overwhelmingly conscious of her own vulnerability and reminded her that scorpions were also nocturnal creatures and inhabited rocks and undergrowth exactly like where she was standing.

  The realisation set her moving again, scrambling down on to the beach, and running breathlessly along the sand. There was no moon, and with only the stars to guide her, it was difficult to estimate where Raoul's house was. But eventually she saw it, a darker patch against the hillside, but without a light to indicate that he was still up.

  She hesitated when she reached the verandah. With the distance opening up between her and Willard, the need for flight seemed foolish and unnecessary. What could she say to Raoul, after all? What could she tell him? Except that she had decided to leave the island ...

  She took a step and stepped again as the wood creaked noisily beneath her feet. It probably made exactly the same sound in daylight, but at night it seemed deafening. She was faltering there, unwilling to go on and as unwilling to go back, when the door
to the verandah was flung open, and a harsh male voice exclaimed: 'For God's sake, Barbara, go home! Haven't you learned enough tonight to stay away from me!'

  There was no light for him to see who it was hovering on the steps, but somehow Raoul must have sensed it was not Barbara he had to deal with. With a grim exclamation, he came across the verandah and down the steps, his fingers fastening firmly around her bare arm.

  'Beth!' he muttered disbelievingly. 'For the love of Mary, what are you doing here?'

  His breath fanned her forehead, and in the half light she could see he was still wearing his shirt and the trousers of the suit he had worn to the dinner party. But the shirt was unbuttoned and the warm heat of his body drifted irresistibly to her nostrils.

  'I—I—' She couldn't get the words out. 'Willard—'

  'I get the picture,' he muttered harshly, and propelled her up the steps ahead of him and into the house, closing the door and the curtains before switching on the electric light.

  Beth blinked in the sudden illumination, looking down self-consciously at her dress which had not been improved by her flight along the sand. The hem was filmed with grains, and when she shook it they fell all over Raoul's floor.

  'Oh—I'm sorry,' she murmured unhappily, indicating what she had done, but Raoul was taking no notice, intent on pouring something from a bottle into a heavy- based glass.

  'Here,' he said, handing the glass to her. 'Drink some of that. It's not rum, it's cognac. Quite a good cognac, actually. I got it from the captain of a Dutch freighter that docked in Castries last time I was there.'

  Beth knew he was only talking to reassure her, and she sipped the brandy obediently. She was glad to have something to do, and its heat was reviving. She coughed once as the raw spirit caught the back of her throat, and then held the glass in her hands, warming it between her palms.

  Raoul had not poured himself a drink but stood regarding her steadily, his eyes narrowed and thoughtful. When she recovered sufficiently to look him in the face, he said: 'Do you want to talk about it?'

  Beth shook her head. 'I—want to leave.'

  'Here?' Raoul frowned. 'Or the island?'

  'The island, of course.' Beth's teeth fastened on her lower lip. 'When—I mean—how soon could I—'

  'Hold on,' he advised flatly. 'Let's not make any reckless decisions, shall we? It's...' he consulted his watch, '... nearly three a.m. Perhaps you should wait until the morning before—'

  'No!' Beth was adamant. 'I don't want to stay in that house a moment longer...'

  Raoul raked long fingers through his hair and paced impatiently across the room. 'I gather after what happened tonight Willie's decided not to wait any longer before claiming his rights!' he remarked tersely, and Beth gasped.

  'They—he has no rights! Not yet.'

  Raoul halted and looked at her. 'Did you try telling him that?'

  Beth bent her head. 'Yes.'

  'But he wouldn't believe you.' 'No.'

  Raoul shook his head. 'Yet he let you come here.'

  'He didn't—let me come here,' she said, lifting her head. 'We—I was in his room—helping him to undress.' And then, seeing the look of incredulity on Raoul's face, she hastened on: 'I'm a nurse. I used often to help him undress when he was weaker. He—he said he felt unable to manage. I—I had to help him.'

  Raoul schooled his features. 'And?'

  'We—we had this disagreement, and then—and then Mrs de Vries started screaming—'

  'Marta?'

  'Yes.' Beth paused. 'Willard had put them in the spare wing. I—I saw those rooms and I told him what kind of state they were in, but he wouldn't listen to me. Apparently there were—cockroaches...'

  'My God!' Raoul stared at her. 'And that broke the party up?'

  'Willard had to go and speak to them. He—he blamed Jonas, but I know he was just using him.'

  'And where does he think you are now?'

  Beth's arms slid round herself. 'In—in my room, I suppose. Unless he's already looked there for me.'

  Raoul considered this, and then he said quietly: 'And why did you come here? Why to me?'

  Beth's face flamed. 'There—there was no one else I could turn to. No—no one who wouldn't put—put Willard first.'

  'What makes you think I won't?'

  She shifted restlessly. 'I—I'm not asking much. Just— just some place to stay tonight. I—I'll leave in the morning.'

  'Then where will you go?'

  'Where will I—' She broke off. 'Back—back to England, of course.'

  'How do you propose to get to Castries?'

  Beth moved her shoulders helplessly. 'There are boats, aren't there?' 'You realise Willie has control over all incoming and outgoing cargo.'

  'I'm not cargo!' she cried.

  'No,' he conceded. 'But you are his fiancee, aren't you? You're still wearing Agnes's ring.'

  Beth looked down in horror at the solitaire diamond sparkling on her finger. In her panic, she had forgotten all about the ring, but now she tugged it off and dropped it on to the low table nearby. Her lips trembled as she watched it roll over a couple of times before coming to rest. Raoul had said Agnes's ring. Had it really belonged to the dead woman? She raised tortured eyes to his face, and he nodded implacably.

  'Didn't you know?'

  'How could I?' she implored. 'I never saw it before tonight.'

  Raoul expelled his breath noisily. 'So—the engagement's over. The wedding's off.' His lips twisted. 'Barbara will be pleased.'

  Beth sighed. 'I don't know why she disliked me so much.'

  'Don't you?' He was mocking.

  'Oh, I suppose she was jealous of me,' she began wearily, 'but there was no need—'

  'Jealous!' Raoul stifled wry amusement. 'Oh, yes, she was jealous all right. But I think she was afraid of what you might persuade her father to do, and fear makes people resentful—and malicious.'

  'Fear?' Beth spread her hands. 'Why should she fear me?'

  Raoul's hand probed the exposed expanse of his chest. 'She guessed you were marrying Willie for his financial rather than his physical attributes. She was afraid you might persuade him to sell Sans Souci.'

  'Sell Sans Souci!' Beth couldn't take this in. 'To whom?'

  'Ah—' Raoul rubbed his nose with a thoughtful

  finger. 'I think the lesson's gone far enough for tonight.

  If I told you that, who knows? You might decide the game was worth the candle after all.'

  Beth stiffened. 'You still believe I was marrying Willard for his money, don't you?'

  'Can you deny it?' Raoul shrugged. 'Doesn't your being here right now prove it? As soon as you were called upon to show your—love for him, you've chickened out!'

  Beth gulped. 'That's not true. You don't understand. In England, he was different...'

  'Less demanding, I suppose.'

  She thrust down her glass. 'He treated me like a—a lady.'

  'Like a daughter, don't you mean?' Raoul suggested dryly. 'For God's sake, Beth, you didn't honestly expect you could get away with good behaviour, did you?'

  'You don't believe me, do you?'

  'I believe you saw Willie as an escape. For some reason you've built up a resistance against physical contact. But I don't believe if he'd been some factory labourer you'd have given him a second glance!'

  Beth gasped. 'I should have known,' she cried, making for the door. 'I should have known better than to appeal to a man like you. You only see women as—as objects! To use or not to use as it takes you. You can't appreciate there are other things in life, that women might have finer feelings '

  As she reached for the handle, he caught her, spinning her back against him, knocking all the breath out of her body. His arms closed around her possessively and his hands found the hardening fullness of her breasts. With a sob of shame she felt herself yielding against him, wanting to know again the intimate moulding of his body.

  They remained like that for timeless seconds, while her agonised breathing was all
that filled her ears, and then, almost ritually, he turned her to face him, and his mouth found the trembling opening of hers.

  'Did he do this to you?' he demanded against her lips, his mouth an insistent assault on her senses. Beth moved her head spasmodically from side to side, unable to answer him, her mind spinning wildly out of control as his hands held her ever closer to that urgent pressure growing between them.

  'You know what I want to do, don't you?' he muttered, lifting his head to slide the neckline of her dress from her shoulders, and she nodded. 'Are you going to let me?'

  Beth trembled, looking down at his muscled body. 'Can—can I stop you?'

  'Do you want to stop me?' he countered huskily, drawing her hands to him, and she caught her breath.

  'No,' she whispered shamefully, and then again: 'No!' and his mouth covered hers once more, lightly at first and then as she grew more eager, hard and passionately, commanding surrender.

  She clung to him fervently, uncaring that Willard might be looking for her, that at any moment he might come to the bungalow and open the door upon them.

  But Raoul was no longer totally committed. A few minutes later he lifted his head and looked down at her again, and this time the glazed emotion was gone from his eyes. Instead, he pulled her dress up on to her shoulders once more, zipped it into place, and stepped back from her.

  Immediately, Beth was conscious of the wild disorder of her hair, but she made no attempt to tidy herself, just looked at him with wide confused eyes, waiting for him to explain his withdrawal.

  'I think it's time you were in bed,' he said at last flatly, and she moistened her lips.

  'In bed?'

  'Yes.' He turned aside as her eyes sought the betraying tautness of the material across his thighs. 'It's through here. You can sleep for what's left of the night, and in the morning '

  'With you?' she intervened softly, but he shook his head.

  'I'll show you—'

  'Why not with you?' she demanded, going after him. 'Raoul '

  'For God's sake, don't make this any harder than it already is,' he swore roughly. 'In here.'

  His bedroom was spartan in the extreme, but it was also very clean and clinical, and the narrow bed appeared to be interior-sprung. Raoul pulled back the covers and indicated a jug of cold water and a bowl on a washstand. Then he turned towards the door.