Edge of Temptation Read online

  But even as this realisation came to her, she remembered her thoughts of the night before. Would he have come to the cottage, would he have stayed, if he had not been mildly delirious with the fever? And if not, how would he feel to find she had shared his bed, whether he liked it or not?

  Moving carefully, she managed to get a leg out of bed, levering herself from under his detaining arm, tugging her hair gently from beneath his cheek. Then, cold and shivery on the bedside rug, she gave in to the temptation she had known ever since she opened her eyes to find him beside her. She bent and put her mouth to his parted lips, lingering longer than she had intended at the sensuous response she aroused.

  When she finally forced herself to draw away, he was already stirring, and gathering up her dressing gown, Catherine hastened into the bathroom. With the door locked, she rested against it, closing her eyes, realising she had had no cause for alarm the night before. She had only to see Rafe, only to touch him, for her blood to overheat madly, and race like a blistering torrent through her veins.

  She cleaned her teeth, and washed her face and hands, and then emerged again on to the landing. There was no sound from her room, but she couldn't resist looking inside, and tentatively, she put her head around the door.

  The bed was empty. The covers had been thrown aside and Rafe's clothes were missing from the chair by the window. Arched brows narrowing in surprise, she turned, a frown tilting down the corners of her mouth, and as she did so, two strong hands descended on her shoulders. Wrapped in her own peculiar misery, she had not heard him ascending the stairs, but when his hands slid intimately over the sides of her breasts to her waist, drawing her back, she could not prevent herself yielding against him. He bent his head to put urgent lips against her nape, then after stroking her ear with his tongue, he sucked in his breath with sudden impatience.

  'Why didn't you wake me?' he demanded, turning her in his arms until she was facing him.

  'I—I didn't realise you wanted to be up,' she protested obtusely, and the compression of his mouth revealed his awareness of her fabrication.

  'You know what I mean,' he declared, shaking her gently, so that the lapels of her gown parted slightly to reveal the provocatively unbuttoned neckline of her nightshirt. 'Do you realise what time it is? Like it or not, I have to go now. I have an appointment with Marland in less than an hour. It's almost half past ten!'

  'It can't be!' Catherine was appalled.

  'I assure you it is.' Rafe's eyes darkened as they lingered on the rapid rise and fall of her full breasts. 'God! I don't want to leave you, but—' He released her abruptly. 'I must.'

  Catherine swayed a little as he let her go. 'I—I'm sorry,' she ventured. 'I don't normally oversleep—'

  'You don't normally sleep with me,' he retorted, destroying once and for all her hopes that perhaps he had not been aware of her presence in his bed. 'But you'll be happy to know I feel a hundred times fitter this morning, even though I could flay myself for what happened last night.'

  'Wh-what happened?' Catherine's lips parted, and his hands went towards her, only to be withdrawn again.

  'Nothing!' he declared harshly. 'That's what I mean. I've ruined your reputation, for a good night's sleep!'

  Catherine felt weak with relief. 'I—I don't mind—'

  'No. But I do.' Giving in to an impulse stronger than himself, he hauled her close to him again, seeking her mouth with his own and reducing her in seconds to a clinging supplicant. 'You see!' he groaned. 'I can't leave you alone.' Catherine's shaky laughter was barely audible. 'I—I was afraid it was the—the fever,' she confessed, when his expression darkened ominously. 'Oh, Rafe—darling! I love you!'

  He was not proof against such endearments, and her breasts swelled beneath the probing caress of his hands as he slid her nightshirt from her shoulders. But although his embrace was urgent, it was also all too short, and with a strangled sound he pulled her gown back into place.

  'Not now,' he muttered, stroking back the damp tendrils of hair from her forehead with his thumbs. 'Tonight. I'll come back tonight. And I promise I'll remain conscious this time.'

  'No.' Catherine felt wretched, but she had to shake her head. 'I can't see you tonight.'

  'Why not?' Rafe's expression revealed his lack of comprehension. Then his eyes narrowed. 'You have another engagement?'

  'In a manner of speaking.' Catherine gazed helplessly up into his face. 'Oh, darling, don't look like that. Do you remember that call I had yesterday evening? Oh, yes, of course you must.' She hastened on, in no way reassured by his attitude. 'Well, it was from my mother—'

  'Your mother?'

  'Yes. Do you remember her? I think you met her once when she came to fetch me home from Penwyn.' 'Go on.'

  'Well, it was she who called. I'm afraid I've neglected her lately, and she—she insisted I drove up to London this weekend, to stay with her and my stepfather.'

  'I see.' Rafe was studying her features intently. 'So you're going to London,' he affirmed heavily. 'This weekend.'

  'Yes, oh, yes.' Disregarding his earlier withdrawal, she pressed herself against him, delighting in the freedom to touch him at will. 'I don't want to go, you know that. But she is my mother—'

  'Of course.' Rafe disengaged himself with taut composure. 'It's probably just as well. I may not be free until late this evening.'

  Catherine's lips quivered. 'And of course, Lucy may not allow you to escape two nights running,' she declared bitterly, stung by his acceptance.

  Rafe turned to her then, the violence of his mouth on hers destroying the crippling doubts that his detachment had evoked. 'How do you think I feel, knowing your friend Robert is in London?' he demanded, when they were both breathless. 'And I don't like the idea of you driving all that way alone. I'd take you myself, only I'm expected to have lunch with Marland, and God knows what time I'll be able to get away.'

  Catherine smiled up at him now, secure in the knowledge of his feelings for her. 'I'll be okay,' she insisted, stroking the shadow of beard on his jawline. 'You need a shave. I'm sorry, I don't have a razor.'

  Rafe forcefully put her away from him and went halfway down the stairs. 'I've got to go,' he muttered, raking back his hair with an unsteady hand. 'When will you be back?'

  'Sunday evening.' Catherine leant over the banister, unaware as she did so of the shadowy hollow of her cleavage exposed to his gaze. 'Why? Will I see you then?'

  Rafe's impatience with himself was half humorous. 'Go and get dressed,' he advised huskily. 'Until tomorrow…'

  'But you haven't had any breakfast,' she protested, as he reached the hall, and he pulled on his parka with wry determination.

  'I'll survive,' he assured her, walking to the door. 'Drive carefully.'

  'You, too,' she called, but all she heard in reply was the slamming of the door after him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Catherine awakened on Sunday morning with a distinct feeling of apprehension hanging over her. She couldn't at first ally it to the strangeness of her surroundings, and then she remembered where she was and what had happened the night before.

  It had been late in the evening before she arrived at her mother's house. The drive had been accomplished without incident, except that she was tired at the end of it, but she had not left Penwyn much before teatime. Oversleeping on Saturday morning had meant it was almost lunchtime before she arrived at the farm, and after accepting her aunt's invitation to share the midday meal with them, it was well into the afternoon before the stables were mucked out and Juniper exercised. She could have asked Rafe to make some other arrangement, but she hadn't wanted to. Ordinarily, she loved these chores, and it was almost a week since she had ridden. But the prospect of the long drive ahead of her had soured the day somewhat, and not even the rumour going around that there was not enough lead in the valley to warrant a full-scale exploration could entirely lift her mood. Nevertheless, it was good to see her uncle showing a little more enthusiasm for his lunch, and actually entering into t
he conversation from time to time. She would have liked nothing better than to stay at Penwyn for the rest of the day, knowing that Rafe was only a couple of miles away at the Manor.

  Her welcome in London, on the other hand, was another matter. Her mother was waiting for her with unconcealed impatience, pouncing on her the minute she arrived, demanding to know why it had taken her so long to get there.

  'I knew you didn't want to come,' Mrs Hartley declared, sniffing expressively, 'but I never thought you'd keep me waiting and worrying all day and night as well.'

  Catherine sighed. 'Mum, I told you I had to go to Penwyn—'

  'To attend to some horses—yes, I know.' Her mother emphasised the connotation. 'It seems to me that animal means more to you than I do.'

  'Oh, Mum!' Futilely, Catherine tried to explain how she had slept in on Saturday morning, and in consequence had wasted half the day. 'I didn't do it deliberately. I'm sorry I'm late, and I'm sorry you've been worried, but I'm here now, and—and it's lovely to see you.'

  Her apologies hadn't worked, though, and her stepfather had added his recriminations to those of her mother. 'Young people today,' he intoned, 'they don't care. They leave home, leave their parents, live their own lives without thought for the people who've cared for them, looked after them, expected some degree of loyalty from them. You left home—'

  'I am twenty-five, Graham!' Catherine pointed out wearily. 'Not a child any longer. And if my apologies aren't good enough, there's nothing else I can do.'

  'You don't know how your mother's looked forward to you coming,' he exclaimed. 'Talking over old times… Women's talk!'

  'But—'

  Before Catherine could defend herself, however, her mother broke in. 'And you'll be leaving straight after lunch tomorrow, won't you? Hardly worth the journey, was it? What with Robert coming for lunch tomorrow, and church in the morning.'

  Catherine knew what was coming next, and her stepfather voiced what she had feared. 'Why don't you stay over until Monday? Surely that assistant of yours can manage for one day. You can give her a ring and let her know you won't be coming in. Monday's not such a busy day I'm sure.'

  And that was why this morning she felt such a towering weight of depression. There seemed no way she could escape from the inevitable, and in spite of her own feelings, she knew she would not disappoint her mother now. After all, it was weeks since she had seen her, and months since she had stayed here. It wasn't so much to ask, not if she could ignore the hard core of anxiety that gripped her every time she thought of Rafe.

  She contemplated phoning Rafe while they were out, but baulked at the prospect of possibly reaching Lucy Glyndower first. If only she had asked him to ring her! But she had had no intention of staying on when she left Pendower. She did ring Mary Grant, however, and explained the situation to her.

  'No problem,' Mary assured her confidently. 'Stay till Tuesday, if you like. I can cope.'

  'Oh, no!' Catherine was glad her mother wasn't around to hear that. 'I'll be back tomorrow evening. I'll see you Tuesday.'

  'All right.' Mary was unperturbed. 'Enjoy yourself.'

  'Thank you.' Catherine's tone was wry. 'I probably won't, but don't let that worry you.'

  Mary laughed. 'No?' She paused. 'As a matter of fact, I was surprised to hear you were in London,' and her casual remark set Catherine's nerves on edge once again. 'I mean, I heard a green Volvo was seen outside your cottage yesterday morning. Or is that who you're with in London? I promise I won't tell.'

  'I'm at my mother's house!' Catherine retorted, her pulses racing even so. 'Honestly, it's impossible to do anything in Pendower without it becoming a subject for conjecture!'

  'You knew that before you came here,' observed Mary dryly. 'And I'm being generous. Some people might suggest that it had been there all night.'

  Catherine made some brief response, then rang off as soon as she decently could. But after the receiver was replaced, the implications of Mary's gossip struck her with devastating force. She had known there would be talk; how could they avoid it? But somehow, the anticipation and the realisation were two very different things. It wasn't her reputation exactly, although it wasn't pleasant anticipating the comments which might be made about her, it was more the realisation of how their relationship could be interpreted. Without knowing how Rafe felt about her, it was so easy to see what might be construed, and she had no means of defence. She could not go around telling people that he loved her. No one would believe her in any case, she thought hollowly. Unlike Lucy, she would be deemed 'the other woman', the interloper, the destructive element that was tearing their marriage to pieces. It would be useless arguing that the destructive elements had been at work long before she came on the scene. People were arbitrary in their judgments. They only dealt in facts. And the fact was, she had it in her power to arrest their relationship before anything irrevocable happened.

  She was taut and on edge when Robert arrived for lunch. His kiss became a perfunctory thing when she turned her face aside, and he was hard put to it to maintain his good humour when her stepfather offered him a drink before the meal.

  'Just sherry, of course,' Mr Hartley essayed meaningfully. 'Can't afford anything stronger these days, the cost of living being what it is, and so on. A civil servant's salary goes nowhere.'

  'Perhaps if you contributed less to that organisation of yours, you'd be better off,' Catherine was stung to reply, aware that his remarks were directed at her. He had never truly forgiven her mother for advancing her enough cash to convince the bank of her viability, and the success of her business ventures was a sore point with him. It didn't seem to matter that she had since repaid her mother, with interest. He seemed of the opinion that she owed them something, and while Catherine would never see her mother in difficult straits, she refused to offer money which would ultimately find its way into the party treasury.

  'Isn't this nice?' her mother interposed before her husband could make any cutting response. 'All of us together again for Sunday lunch.' She turned to Robert. 'We see too little of both of you these days. I think it's about time you called a halt to all this nonsense.'

  'Mum!' Catherine was horrified, particularly after their conversation two evenings ago, and even Robert looked slightly uncomfortable.

  'I'm afraid I have no influence with your daughter, Mrs Hartley,' he declared regretfully. 'Like you, I wish she'd give up this crazy idea of living in Wales, but she seems determined to ruin herself.'

  'I trust you mean—financially?' Catherine enquired, steeling herself not to lose her temper. 'In which case, you couldn't be more wrong. The Pendower boutique is doing famously.'

  'Are you going to visit Sarah while you're here?' Robert changed the subject abruptly, and when she made no reply, he went on: 'I think you should. There are matters that require your attention.'

  'What matters?' Catherine's fingers curled into her palms. 'Sarah knows her job as well as I know mine. She hasn't asked for my assistance.'

  'You should look at the books.' Robert was persistent, and she felt her patience shredding in the complex turmoil of her thoughts.

  'That's what I pay you for, Robert,' she retorted now, wondering how she had ever imagined she could come here without getting embroiled in this kind of conversation. 'Have you heard any more about the lease? Or was that just another of your little ploys to—bring me to my senses?'

  'It's—possible the lease will be renewed,' conceded Robert huffily, and her lips parted in disbelief.

  'You mean—you mean you've known this without telling me?' she exclaimed angrily, throwing off her mother's warning fingers, and Robert adopted an air of injured dignity.

  'I didn't think you were particularly interested, the last time I broached the subject,' .he responded, shifting beneath her intent gaze like an insect on a pin. 'So long as the status quo is maintained, you're prepared to rest on your profits, however small, like—like a laurel wreath!'

  Catherine gasped. 'That's not true—'

 
'It is true.' Robert gained confidence from her shocked expression. 'Why, only the other day, Sarah was saying to me that she'd like to expand, to move into a larger store. She's not afraid of the responsibility it might entail.'

  'Oh, really, you two! Stop it!' Mrs Hartley was clearly wishing she had never started this altercation, but Catherine wasn't listening to her.

  'Well, here's something else for you to think about,' she asserted coldly, crumbling the roll on her plate without regard for its edibility. 'I'm thinking of selling the Hammersmith shop, with or without the lease, and I'll find another accountant to handle my affairs in Pendower!'

  Of course, afterwards, she regretted her own recklessness. It had been born of the uncertainty of her association with Rafe, and her mother's coy references to a relationship with Robert. She felt torn in half a dozen directions, not really knowing which she ought to take. Thomas's innocent little face kept imposing itself upon her mind, and the realisation of his involvement in all this could not be ignored. And Robert? He was not to blame for the complexity of her problems, nor Sarah a brunt for her own inadequacy. She had made a mess of her life; was she now to make a mess of theirs?

  In spite of her boorishness, Robert stayed most of the afternoon, talking to her mother and parrying her stepfather's efforts to interest him in his nationalist policies, and when it was time for him to leave, Catherine accompanied him into the hall.

  'I wanted to apologise,' she said, closing the glass door which shut them into the privacy of the lobby. 'I haven't really thought of selling the shop. But—well, I'm a bit— chewed up at the moment. Maybe I need a holiday, to get things into perspective again.'

  Robert's withdrawn expression gentled. 'It's okay,' he said, after a minute. 'I should have told you about the lease. I guess we've both got problems. Only you could solve mine, whereas I can't solve yours, can I?' Catherine shook her head, and he sighed before continuing: 'Your mother told me, you know. When she rang and invited me for lunch today, she said she was worried about you.'