Rooted in Dishonour Page 16

  'I'm sure it was.'

  Isabelle regarded her sympathetically, and Beth wondered how she could be so understanding when she, of all of them, had reason to hate her. But perhaps, like Barbara, Isabelle knew Raoul's shortcomings and accepted them. Beth shivered, in spite of the heat. She thought she would never accept that kind of a situation.

  She was hardly aware that Raoul had crossed the room to join them until she felt his fingers closing on her elbow. She flinched away from his touch, looking in horror at Isabelle as she did so, but the older woman seemed intent on Raoul's dark face.

  'Is everything arranged?' she asked, and Raoul, after exchanging a hostile stare with Beth, agreed.

  'The coffin will be here by two o'clock,' he answered in an undertone. 'They've done what they can for him, and if you want to see him, now's the time.'

  Isabelle drew a deep breath. 'Yes. Yes, I think I will. Will you come up with me?'

  Raoul nodded. 'All right. Just give me a minute to speak to Beth, will you?'

  'Of course.' Isabelle smiled at the girl, and then walked slowly towards the door. Immediately, Raoul gripped Beth's arm again, and this time there was no escape.

  'What's wrong with you?' he demanded, in a low angry tone. 'Why did you nearly jump out of your skin when I touched you just now? You don't care what these people are saying about us, do you?'

  'Obviously you don't,' she whispered coldly.

  'No, I don't. Why should I? They're nothing to me.'

  'Is anyone?' she demanded, and then hastened on as his eyes narrowed: 'I'd rather not talk about it. Everyone is looking at us, and I can imagine what they're thinking.'

  'So can I,' said Raoul flatly. 'They think we slept together last night, and I haven't disabused them.'

  'I bet you haven't,' she muttered bitterly, and a look of frustration crossed his face.

  'Beth,' he muttered urgently, 'I have to talk to you. And I've got to go upstairs with Isabelle. Come into the hall when we come down, and we'll go into the library '

  'No!'

  'What do you mean—no?'

  'You're hurting my arm.'

  'I'll hurt you a damn sight more than this if you don't tell me what the hell is the matter with you!' he told her violently.

  'Can't you guess?' she asked, forcing herself to look at him. 'Mr Valerian—or should I say.—Petrie!'

  'Barbara,' he muttered heavily. 'I might have known.'

  Beth bent her head. 'It's true, then?'

  His hand fell from her arm. 'Yes. It's true.'

  Beth trembled. 'I knew it was.'

  Raoul shifted impatiently. 'I should have told you.'

  'Yes, you should.' She lifted her head. 'Ought— oughtn't you to go? Mrs Signy is waiting for you.'

  'Beth...' His eyes sought hers searchingly. 'Beth, does it make any difference?'

  She found it difficult to swallow suddenly. 'What do you mean?'

  He glanced round frustratedly at the interested, if disapproving, stares which were being directed at them, and grasped her hands in spite of them. 'Beth, do you love me?'

  Her face burned with colour. 'Love you? Raoul—'

  'Raoul, Mrs Signy is waiting for you to escort her upstairs!'

  Barbara's cool intrusive tones made Beth automatically withdraw her hands from his, and although his eyes continued to hold hers for a long disturbing moment, their physical separation was complete. There was half a minute's silence, and then Raoul turned to his half-sister and regarded her expressionlessly.

  'Mrs Signy,' she repeated, indicating the door. 'She's waiting for you.'

  'Thank you, Barbara, I did know that,' he retorted, and strode abruptly away.

  Immediately the pregnant atmosphere in the room was eased, and in the hum of conversation that ensued, Barbara was able to speak to Beth without fear of being overheard.

  'Saying your farewells, Miss Rivers?' she enquired silk- ily. 'Have you told Raoul you're leaving today?'

  'How did you—that is—' Beth endeavoured to compose herself. 'Am I?'

  Barbara was taken aback, but she hid it well. 'Oh, yes,' she said now, smiling, and to anyone watching it would appear she Was comforting the girl who had so nearly usurped her position as mistress of the island. 'Didn't I make that clear? The island is mine now, and that means I own the plantation. Ergo, I am Raoul's employer. Do I make myself clear?'

  Beth's brows drew together. 'But surely,' she said carefully, 'if what you said earlier was true, Raoul should be as keen as you are to get me off the island?'

  Barbara's lips tightened. 'Raoul does as he's told,' she snapped.

  'So you're threatening his livelihood if I—stay.'

  'In a nutshell—yes.'

  'What makes you think Raoul wouldn't fight you?'

  'Because I have the ultimate weapon—I could sell the island.'

  Beth drew an unsteady breath. 'I don't believe you'd do that. Where would you go?'

  'Why should I go anywhere? The consortium who are interested in buying Sans Souci and turning it into a millionaires' playground will need staff—and advisers. I could make my employment part of the deal—if I wanted.'

  'Then why couldn't Raoul be employed too?'

  'Oh, Miss Rivers, you know so little about him, don't you?' Barbara sneered. 'Haven't you learned yet that these people here who work on the plantation are all he cares about? Do you think he would ever forgive himself if he destroyed their way of life for you! How long do you think you could compensate him? A month, six weeks? Three months, at the most. And then he'd begin to hate you for making him lose his own self-respect!'

  Beth had heard enough. Pressing a hand to her lips, she hurried across the room, uncaring of the curious looks that followed her, running across the hall and up the stairs—only to run straight into Raoul and Isabelle.

  Catching her breath on a sob, she stared at them in dismay, and Raoul exclaimed: 'Where are you going?'

  'To my room,' she choked, stumbling past them. 'I—I have to get changed.'

  'Wait!' Raoul looked imploringly at Isabelle and she nodded.

  'I'll see you downstairs,' she said, and when Beth opened the door of her room, Raoul was right behind her.

  'Now,' he muttered, slamming the door behind them and leaning back against it, 'what is this?'

  She knew then that she couldn't tell him. She suspected that he cared about her, although she doubted he loved her as she loved him or he would not flaunt his other women in front of her. But he was Wiliard's son, and perhaps, like his father, he could not be content with only one. Whatever the truth of this, she nevertheless believed what Barbara had told her of his love for the people of the island, and because of this she could not risk his calling his half-sister's bluff and living openly with her. Marriage did not seem high on his list of priorities, but even if it had been, the result would have been the same. Barbara held all the cards, and she was unscrupulous enough to play them. Beth could not live with any more guilt than she already felt.

  Now she moved to the windows and released the blinds to let in a little more air. The room was stuffy, but it would remain that way until after the funeral, the sun only filtering through the shutters.

  'Beth!'

  His troubled use of her name brought her round to face him, and she forced herself to meet his frustrated stare. 'What is what?' she asked now, playing for time, and he straightened away from the door in one lithe forceful movement.

  'Come here,' he said, loosening the button under his tie and pulling the tie down a couple of inches. But she remained where she was.

  'We—have nothing to say to one another,' she insisted unevenly, and saw the green eyes glitter dangerously.

  'Haven't we?'

  'No.' She cleared her throat. 'Raoul, I really do have to change. I can't wear these jeans—oh!'

  Her words were severed by a startled gasp when he reached for her roughly, jerking her towards him. One hand at her nape brought her mouth to his, and a groan of satisfaction escaped him as her li
ps parted against his. His fingers spread across her spine, arching her body against his, weakening her resolve with its thrusting urgency.

  'Let me go, Raoul,' she begged, when he released her mouth to bestow fleeting kisses along the curve of her cheek and her jawline, and she felt him tremble.

  'Do you think I need you to remind me that I shouldn't be doing this, here—and now?' he demanded roughly, the tip of his tongue caressing the outline of her ear. 'I should be downstairs, I know that—with Isabelle, and my dear half-sister, and the de Vries and the Templetons...' His mouth found hers again and then dragged itself away to resume its tantalising exploration of her face. 'Do you think I don't appreciate my responsibilities?' he muttered fervently. 'But God help me, Beth, I need you...'

  His mouth captured hers again and the flooding warmth of desire betwen them would not be denied. As her fingers twined between the buttons of his shirt, his hand slid beneath her vest and found the unconfined fullness of her breast.

  'Dear God, Beth,' he groaned, 'I love you. Let me love you...'

  'No, Raoul!'

  Somehow his words penetrated the mists of incoher- ency his hands were creating, and with her hands pressed against his chest, he looked down at her.

  'I don't mean now,' he said harshly. 'Not this minute. Although God knows, I could.' Her lips curved sensuously.

  'Nor do I, Raoul,' she got out jerkily. 'I don't mean that when—when this is over—'

  His hands gripped her arms. 'What are you trying to say?'

  It was the hardest moment of her life. Beth licked her dry lips, searching for words. 'I mean—after the funeral, I'm leaving '

  'Like hell you are!' His eyes blazed with anger, and she ached inside for what she was doing to him.

  'I am, Raoul,' she insisted unsteadily. 'I must. I shall go back to Castries with the de Vries—'

  'No!'

  'You can't change my mind,' she persisted, although her nerve was going, and he shook her violently until her neck drooped limply.

  'Why?' he demanded then. "Why? Now that—my father is dead, why must you pretend?'

  'I'm not pretending, Raoul.' She stared, at him miserably. 'I know I never loved Willard, but—but I don't love you either.'

  This last was said in a rush, and his eyes narrowed grimly. 'I see,' he said at last, and she wondered exactly what he did see. 'I was forgetting. I have nothing to offer a girl like you, do I? And I'm a bastard into the bargain.'

  'Oh, Raoul...' Beth couldn't suppress the involuntary cry of denial, but even as he turned away, someone starting knocking at the door.

  'Miss Rivers!' It was Marya, and Beth looked wretchedly at Raoul before taking a step towards the door. But he forestalled her, .striding past her to swing it open and brushing past the startled servant girl before she had a chance to register who it was. Her eyes widened as they took in Beth's look of bemused sensuality, and then she said: 'Lunch is served, miss. Miss Barbara sent me to tell you.'

  Thank you, Marya.' Beth heard little of what the girl was saying, her eyes following Raoul until he disappeared down the stairs. But the present demanded attention and after thanking the maid for the message,, she went quickly into the bathroom and took a cold shower before attempting to dress.

  There was no formal church service. A black priest from

 

  the Catholic church in Ste Germaine came out to conduct the burial, and Wiliard's coffin was carried from the house to the family tomb on the shoulders of his son and five of his colleagues. Until then, Beth had paid scant attention to the worn stone mausoleum standing in the grounds among trees, and she was glad when the short address was over and they could all go back to the house.

  To hef surprise, Isabelle seemed to have constituted herself her protector, and later, when the will was produced to be read, she and Beth sat together in the drawing room while Barbara and Raoul went to listen to what Charles Templeton had to tell them.

  'Raoul tells me you're leaving this evening,' Isabelle ventured, and Beth nodded. 'Do you want to go?'

  Beth hesitated. She could not confide in the other woman, but the temptation to ask for advice was overwhelming.

  'You've known Raoul a long time,' she said, evading answering Isabelle's question, and the other woman smiled.

  'You might say that.'

  'Then you must know how he loves the island.'

  'Yes.'

  Beth took a deep breath? 'Do you believe he could live anywhere else?'

  Isabelle looked puzzled. 'I suppose a person could live anywhere, if he was obliged to do so.'

  Beth sighed. 'I know, but—I just wondered...' She was getting into deeper water and she knew it. 'I mean would you say he would ever leave the island of his own free will?'

  'For good, you mean?' Isabelle shrugged. 'I don't know. Why? Has he said he wants to leave?'

  'Oh, no. No!' Beth quickly shook her head. 'But—well, it did occur to me that—as the island belongs to Barbara now, he might feel differently.'

  Isabelle considered this. 'Barbara might feel differently, don't you mean?' she suggested shrewdly. '1 don't think Barbara could do without Raoul to run the plantation.'

  'I'm sure she couldn't.' The last thing Beth wanted was for Isabelle to tell Raoul that maybe Barbara had other plans for him. 'But there has been talk of—well, selling the island, hasn't there?'

  'I see.' Isabelle regarded her curiously. Then she said: 'Perhaps you're telling me you couldn't live on the island.'

  'Me?' Beth's laugh was bitter. 'I don't belong here. You know that.'

  Isabelle was still looking at her rather thoughtfully when Barbara came back into the room. She was leaning heavily on Charles Templeton's arm, and Raoul and Esther Templeton were right behind them. Beth could tell from Barbara's expression that something was wrong, and Isabelle rose at once and went to speak to Raoul. Beth remained where she was, involved and yet not involved in what was going on.

  Barbara subsided weakly into a low chair and while Charles went to get her a drink, Raoul, Isabelle and Esther spoke together in undertones. Raoul did not look in Beth's direction, and her hands clasped tightly together in her lap. What had happened? Had the will been read? Would anyone bother to tell her what it all meant?

  When Barbara was sipping some brandy and a little colour began to return to her cheeks, Charles turned to speak to Raoul, and Isabelle took the opportunity to return to her seat. She made herself comfortable beside Beth, and then she said huskily:

  'Willard has left the island to Raoul. There was a second will. All Barbara gets is a yearly allowance from the estate.'

  Beth could hardly believe her ears. The island belonged to Raoul. Not to Barbara. She couldn't hurt them any more. Raoul's position here was safe. Safe!

  Isabelle tipped her head on one side. 'You've gone

  quite pink,' she said. 'Are you feeling well?'

  'Oh, yes. Yes.' Beth caught her lower lip between her teeth, staring across the room at Raoul, willing him to look her way. But when he did so, it was like a douche of cold water thrown into her face. There was nothing but cold contempt in his eyes.

  'Willard was still alive when Raoul got here this morning,' Isabelle was continuing in a low voice, and briefly Beth was distracted from the anguish inside her.

  'Alive?' she echoed disbelievingly, and Isabelle nodded.

  'That's right. Barbara wasn't told, because in any case, he was dying and there would have been no time to fetch her to him.' She paused, and then added significantly : 'Besides, he didn't want to see her.'

  Beth couldn't take it in. 'What do you mean? What did he say?'

  Isabelle cast a swift look around to reassure herself that their conversation was not being overheard, and then went on: 'Apparently, he and Barbara had—spoken together after you left the house. I don't know what they said to one another, Raoul hasn't told me, but the outcome of it all was that Willard chose to re-write his will in the early hours of the morning, and have Jonas and Clarrie witness it. It's all perfect
ly legal. Charles has already told Barbara she has no chance of successfully contesting it. Raoul is his heir, as he should have been all along.'

  This last was said with a certain amount of bitterness, but Beth barely noticed it. She was too wrapped up in her own misery as the realisation of what Raoul would be thinking made itself clear to her. He had not been surprised at her reaction to the news, he had been expecting it. He thought that his becoming the new owner of the island had made her change her mind—and there was no way she could convince him otherwise. Unless Barbara chose to tell him the truth ... But would she? Beth's eyes moved to the other girl and found Barbara's eyes upon her. There was still hostility between them, she could sense it, and as if knowing what she was thinking, Barbara shifted her gaze to Raoul. Then she looked back at Beth with a vaguely triumphant air and Beth knew she had no chance of persuading Barbara to help her.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  THE boat rocked on its moorings, and Beth, seated inside in the cabin, felt her stomach heaving with the tide. She should have had something to eat, she thought, before attempting the crossing, but food was anathema to her. The de Vries were still on the quay, speaking to Manuel, the pilot of the small motor craft which was to take them back to St Lucia, but she had scrambled aboard. She had stowed her luggage under the seats and now sat waiting for the de Vries to join her, desperate to get away before the desire to appeal once again to Raoul drove her back.

  After Isabelle's devastating announcement that afternoon and her own realisation of what this would mean to Raoul, a kind of numbed inertia had descended upon her. It seemed so cruel that Raoul could believe what he did of her, although she had to admit he had cause. After all, he had never believed she was marrying Willard for any other reason than a mercenary one, so why should he believe any differently of himself? Particularly after the way she had behaved before the funeral...

  If only she had called Barbara's bluff, she thought with hindsight, but she had never dreamed Willard might leave the island to his son. He had never hinted at Raoul's parentage to her, and while she was sorry he was dead, it wasn't easy to forget the pain and suffering he must have caused in his lifetime.