Melting Fire Read online

  ‘Come here,’ said David huskily, as they reached the floor, and she went smilingly into his arms, moving easily to the lazy rhythm the group were playing. She would just relax and enjoy herself, she told herself firmly, and then stiffened involuntarily at the sight of Shelley dancing with Richard.

  ‘Hey!’ David had noticed her withdrawal. ‘What happened? Did I stand on your toe?’

  Olivia looked at him, forcing herself to adopt a casual air. ‘I guess I’m out of practice,’ she said, shaking her head. ‘What are you doing these days anyway?’

  David was diverted, and for the rest of the dance he told her about his course at agricultural college, and how he hoped to buy the farm adjoining his father’s when its owner retired in eighteen months’ time. Olivia was interested in spite of herself, yet unconsciously she was listening for Shelley’s soft laughter, and the deeper tones of Richard’s quiet voice. They were close enough for her to see the way Shelley’s scarlet-tipped fingers caressed her stepbrother’s nape as they danced, and the casual way he was holding her, with his arms about her waist. It was nothing to do with her, but she resented their intimacy with every inch of her being, and she knew she was being neurotic in imagining that their conversation had anything to do with her. Yet she strained her ears to hear what Richard was saying, and grew impatient when she found it was impossible to do so.

  At last the dance was over, and she accompanied David back to the entrance where Jules had at last managed to escape his fans. Only Janice remained, but when Olivia appeared, Jules deserted her too.

  ‘Where did you go?’ he demanded, casting a look of jealousy in David’s direction, and Olivia sighed.

  ‘Just to dance,’ she responded shortly, not in the mood to suffer anyone’s censure, and Jules had to be content with the taut response. But, glancing round, she had discovered that Richard and Shelley had not come to join them, and her mood of frustration deepened at the realisation that once again she was allowing him to manipulate her. What did it matter what he did, or where he went? Why couldn’t she forget about him?

  The music changed to the throbbing rhythm of the drums, and she was glad when Jules suggested they danced. In the purely physical expression of the dance she could dispel her tension, and Jules had no inhibitions on the floor. They were good together, she knew that, and it was exhilarating to know that they had attracted an audience. When the music ended Olivia was hot and breathless, but much more relaxed.

  The buffet supper was laid out in an adjoining room, and gradually guests drifted through, helping themselves from tables groaning with cold meats and salads, shellfish, savoury flans, canapés and crisps, and potatoes in their jackets. There were jellies and trifles, ice-cream of every kind, and dishes of fresh cream to enrich the fruit pies. There was a bowl of punch, as well as the bar, but Olivia decided to stick to orange juice until her head felt a little less swimmy.

  She and Jules had become part of a group which included David Foster and a girl called Hazel, Janice and a boy-friend she had produced for the occasion, and two other couples. Although Olivia saw Richard from time to time, he appeared to be involved with a more mature crowd which encompassed the Gerrards and another friend of his, Lucas Preston and his wife, and Shelley, of course. No doubt the older girl thought it was her birthday, thought Olivia maliciously, wondering why it hurt so much that it should be Shelley whom he chose to partner.

  She was coming out of the powder room after taking the shine from her nose when she encountered Madeline Gerrard. Janice’s mother smiled when she recognised Olivia, and said warmly: ‘Where have you been all evening? No, don’t tell me, I know—with that handsome Frenchman Janice has done nothing but talk about since she came to your house!’

  Olivia’s lips felt stiff. ‘Are—are you enjoying yourself, Mrs Gerrard?’

  ‘Reasonably so. Are you? Or shouldn’t I ask such an obvious question?’

  Olivia’s smile was faint. ‘These—these affairs always go on too long,’ she ventured and Madeline nodded.

  ‘I agree. Still, it’s after eleven. We’ll be leaving soon. That young man of yours isn’t driving back to town tonight, is he?’

  ‘No!’ Olivia shook her head. ‘Rich—Rich said he could spend the night.’

  ‘Good. Good.’ Madeline patted her hand. ‘Well, I must go and spend a penny! Too much punch, I think. I don’t know what they put in it, but it’s fairly suspect, I should think.’

  Olivia smiled again, and as Madeline disappeared into the powder room, she began to thread her way back to the ballroom. The depression which had threatened earlier had now hardened into a distinct ache at her temples, and she was reluctant to return to the noisy crowd she was with. Janice’s laughter was too shrill, and David’s girl-friend giggled. She supposed it was her fault really. They were only enjoying themselves while she …

  The hand that reached out and caught her wrist needed little exertion to stop her, but she swung round half impatiently, not really caring for the interruption. She expected it to be David or Jules, or another of the young men she had been dancing with during the course of the evening, but it was none of them; it was Richard. He brought her to a halt in front of him, and then surveyed her appraisingly, his mouth drawn down at the corners.

  ‘Well, well,’ he drawled. ‘Methinks the lady hath a long face!’

  Olivia pursed her lips. ‘Not now, Richard.’

  ‘Why not now?’ he retorted. ‘I’m not to blame if you’re not enjoying yourself. Come on, dance with me for a change. I promise not to make an exhibition of myself.’

  His eyes mocked her, but his meaning was clear. He had seen her dancing with Jules, and suddenly it seemed exhibitionist and showy. She dreaded to think what Madame at the Academy would have thought if she could have seen their display, and guessed that Richard’s thoughts parallelled her own.

  She hesitated, but he was tugging her towards the hall, and half willingly she went with him. They entered by one of the fire exits thrown open for the occasion, and thus avoided the group of people thronging near the main doors.

  The music was neither fast nor slow, but the lateness of the hour dictated a more leisurely expression. Without giving her a chance to protest, Richard pulled her into his arms, and she felt the muscled strength of his body down the length of hers. His hands rested at her waist, warm through the thin material of her gown, and her own hands were imprisoned between them, the steady beat of his heart firm beneath her palms.

  Weakness made her relax against him. She moved with him through the lingering rhythm of the music almost automatically, her steps matching his without any conscious effort on her part. It was hardly dancing. He made no attempt to follow any particular pattern on the emptying floor, and although she despised herself for giving in to him, she made no attempt to draw away.

  ‘You wore the bracelet, I see,’ he murmured suddenly, looking down, his breath fanning the hollow between her breasts. ‘I’m glad.’

  ‘I couldn’t get it off,’ she declared, her voice a little husky. ‘Was that your intention?’

  ‘I wanted you to wear it,’ he agreed, and she had to look away from the lazy penetration of his gaze. ‘I like to see you wearing my presents. It gives me great pleasure.’

  Olivia’s tongue appeared. ‘Then you must constantly feel that way, mustn’t you?’ she retorted. ‘As you pointed out on that never-to-be-forgotten occasion, your money has paid for everything I possess!’

  ‘Ah …’ His hands shifted to the small of her back, his fingers probing through the gauzy shreds. ‘That hurt, didn’t it? But I did apologise.’

  ‘To what end? You still believe what you say.’

  Richard’s lips tightened. ‘Tell me about Merignac. Have you told him what you intend to do?’

  Olivia’s lashes darted upward. ‘What I intend to do?’ she repeated. ‘I don’t know what I intend to do.’

  ‘Oh, come on, Olivia.’ Richard heaved an impatient breath. ‘You know as well as I do that accompanying him t
o Paris is out of the question.’

  ‘Do I?’

  ‘Yes.’ He was arrogant.

  ‘Why should you assume that?’

  There was silence for a few moments, then he said quietly: ‘Aside from other considerations, you wouldn’t be happy. Can you imagine what it would be like, living in a foreign country, not in school as you have been doing, protected by its boundaries, but alone and a stranger, among people alien to you?’

  Olivia straightened her spine. ‘You forget—I speak very good French.’

  ‘I wasn’t just talking about the language,’ replied Richard flatly. ‘Merignac’s life isn’t your life. You’ve been—cared for, protected! Loved!’

  Olivia trembled. ‘Jules loves me.’

  Richard drew an uneven breath. ‘And do you love Jules?’

  ‘Yes. No. That is—I like him. I like him a lot.’

  ‘Enough to live with him?’ Richard’s voice was taut.

  ‘I don’t know, do I? Not—not until I try.’

  Richard uttered a harsh laugh. ‘And you really think I’m going to let you? Try, I mean? Do you honestly believe I would let you go away with that brainless clown! Can you see me permitting such a thing?’

  Olivia’s palms spread against his pleated shirt front, spread and pressed and tried impotently to separate them. ‘You—you can’t stop me,’ she declared. ‘I—I’m nineteen. I’m not a schoolgirl any more, Richard. I’m a woman!’

  ‘And I’m a man,’ he retorted, his breath hissing in her ear. ‘So what does that prove? You’re not leaving me, Olivia. I won’t let you. Do you hear me? I’d kill you first!’

  Somehow Olivia managed to get away. She suspected that having said what he wanted to say, Richard was prepared to let her go, but that did not prevent the wave of relief she felt when Jules stretched out a hand to stop her headlong dash towards the exit.

  ‘Hey, chérie! Where were you? I have been looking for you. Pauvrette, you look so pale! What has happened?’

  Olivia drew up her shoulders. ‘I—I’d like to go home, Jules. I—I don’t feel very well. I—have a headache.’ Which was nothing less than the truth.

  ‘Vraiment? Oui, I see it is so. Mais certainement. But where is your brother? We should tell him we are leaving, non?’

  ‘Non! I mean—no.’ Olivia shook her head vigorously, wincing at the pain it gave her. ‘That is—we can ask Janice to find—Richard, and—and tell him.’

  Jules shrugged, a frown marring his handsome features. ‘As you wish, chérie. But he was here only a few moments ago. I spoke with him.’

  ‘You did?’ Olivia’s voice was squeaky. ‘Oh? Why?’

  Jules pulled a face. ‘He asked where you were. I told him,’ he smiled conspiratorially, ‘I told him you were—how do you say it?—washing the hands.’

  Olivia’s breathing was uneven. So Richard had come looking for her. Their meeting had not been coincidental, after all. Somehow that made it even more disturbing.

  ‘Please,’ she said now, ‘let’s go. I—I need some air. Some fresh air.’

  Janice accepted their departure without question. No doubt she assumed they were leaving for other reasons, but Olivia felt too upset to enlighten her. Besides, wasn’t it better for Janice to believe the obvious? She was bound to convey those feelings to Richard, and the sooner he realised his threats were not going to work, the better.

  Even so, driving home in Jules’s luxurious limousine, Olivia felt none of the sense of well-being she should have experienced in his company. On the contrary, she was swamped by the greatest temptation to give in to her stepbrother’s demands and remain at Copley. If she resigned her ideas of independence and accepted the role Richard was offering her, how much easier life would be. There would be no friction, no unpleasantness, no virtual banishment from the place she loved. Notwithstanding his anger if she should leave him, Olivia knew Richard would never forgive her, and in spite of the fear and indignation he aroused in her, she did not honestly know if she could bear never to see him—or Bella—ever again. They were her family, the only family she had. Was anything, or anyone, worth their sacrifice? Was Jules? Somehow she doubted it.

  She tried to tell herself it was weariness, that the headache that throbbed behind her temples was responsible for this feeling of weakness and vulnerability, but it was more than that. The resentment she had felt, seeing him with Shelley this evening, had brought it home to her how much influence she had effected on his life, and made her realise that in his own way, Richard had considered her before anybody else. Maybe that deserved some recognition. Maybe she was going about this the wrong way. Whatever, when Jules returned to Paris, she doubted she would ever see him again.

  CHAPTER TEN

  IT hadn’t been too difficult, escaping from Jules once they reached Copley. For one thing, Bella was there waiting for them, a stern guardian angel, with the declared intention of seeing that Jules was shown to his room. It was she who undertook this duty, much to his obvious chagrin, and Olivia closed her own door with a feeling of relief. At least, her pale features had persuaded the Frenchman that she was not lying, and she had told him they would talk in the morning. She was a little contemptuous of her own duplicity, but she did not think she could face another confrontation this evening, and although Jules was not Richard, he could be temperamental at times.

  Secure in her own room, however, Olivia felt far from sleep. Her pale reflection did not please her, and she stripped off the amber gown and put on her nightshirt, preferring the peppermint candy stripe to the floating veils of chiffon. She was taut and on edge, and her head was no better, and she wished she could escape her thoughts as easily.

  Bella knocked at her door as she was creaming her face, and came into the room at her bidding carrying a mug of cocoa and a couple of pain-killers.

  ‘Here you are,’ she said, and her voice was almost gentle. ‘I can see the evening wasn’t a complete success, and you’re not going to sleep without a sedative. Take these. They’re only aspirin, but they’ll ease your head, and maybe help you to relax.’

  Olivia took the tablets eagerly, swallowing them with a little of the cocoa, but grimacing at the rest. ‘You’re a mind-reader, Bella,’ she exclaimed gratefully, setting the mug aside, but the housekeeper shook her head.

  ‘Not at all,’ she said, gathering up the balls of cotton wool Olivia had been using and carrying them into the bathroom to flush away. ‘I could see something was wrong when you came home, and there’s nothing like a warm drink to help you to sleep.’

  Olivia sighed. ‘You’re too good to me, Bella,’ she murmured, and the old woman folded her hands in front of her.

  ‘You could be right,’ she agreed, sniffing. ‘So what went wrong? Where’s Richard? Don’t tell me you didn’t let him know you were leaving.’

  ‘No …’ Olivia was reluctant to discuss her stepbrother. ‘He knows. But—well, I had a headache, and—as I went with Jules …’ She paused. ‘In any case, he’ll probably be taking Shelley home. She came with her brother, but Richard drove her to the Royal.’

  ‘Mmm.’ Bella sounded sceptical. ‘That young woman never gives up, does she?’

  Olivia frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know what I mean. I’ve told you—Shelley Foster will insinuate herself in here any way she can, and one of these days she’s going to find Richard in a weak moment, and then …’

  Olivia quivered. ‘Then—what?’

  Bella shrugged, moving towards the door. ‘How would you like her to be mistress of Copley?’

  ‘No——’

  ‘It could happen.’ Bella nodded sagely. ‘Sometimes it’s just a matter of being in a certain place at a certain time. Fate, I suppose you’d call it. Or circumstance.’ She moved her shoulders tiredly. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to get some rest now. See you in the morning, Olivia.’

  The door closed behind her, but Olivia continued to gaze at the blank panels long after the housekeeper’s image had faded. She couldn�
��t be serious, she thought disbelievingly. Bella couldn’t actually believe that Richard might ask Shelley to marry him. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. And yet, if she went away …

  Olivia’s stomach revolted. Shelley was so—basic, so physical! She wasn’t Richard’s type at all. Whenever Olivia had thought about Richard getting married, she had envisaged some intellectual type, someone not particularly handsome, but possessed of a wit and an intelligence to match his own. She had pictured someone cool and sophisticated, someone she could be friendly with—someone, she realised, she need not be jealous of.

  She sighed, and getting to her feet she padded into the bathroom to clean her teeth. What was the matter with her? she thought disgustedly. She used not to be so spiteful. Shelley was a friend, whatever her motivations, and Richard’s affairs should not concern her.

  She heard Richard’s car as she was getting into bed. The engine roared up the drive, with a distinct disregard for the lateness of the hour, and presently she heard the outer door open and close. Then there was silence, and she stole a look at the clock on the bedside table. It was almost three, and her eyes widened. He must have taken Shelley home. Why else would he be so late? The ball had ended a couple of hours ago, early for such affairs, but not in Chelmsbury, and the drive home was only a matter of some twenty minutes or so.

  Immediately her mind was filled with images of Richard and Shelley together. She remembered those scarlet nails moving against his nape, and those full breasts surging against his dinner jacket. Had he kissed her? Had he embraced her? Of course he must have. Had he made love to her? Her nails curled into her palms. Oh, God, why shouldn’t he, if she was willing? But where? And when?

  With a groan, she rolled on to her stomach, beating at her pillows with her balled up fist, taunted by the sight of the emerald bracelet she had still found impossible to remove. She felt sick and abandoned, and she was so hot that even the cotton nightshirt was clinging to her.

  The sound of the door handle being turned, and the door slowly opening, brought her upwards on her elbows. In the subdued light from the lamp still glowing on the landing, she saw a man’s outline silhouetted in dark relief. For one heart-stopping moment she thought it was Jules, and a scream trembled on her lips, but he was not so tall or so dark and she realised it was Richard.