Edge of Temptation Read online

  'Yes.' He took her hand between both of his, smoothing the soft skin almost absently. 'I may not get any insurance money from the fire. In fact, I'm pretty sure I won't.'

  'No?' Catherine was puzzled. 'Why not?'

  Rafe sighed. 'It's a long story…'

  'Thomas told me there was a row last night.'

  'Did he?' Rafe raised his dark eyebrows. 'Yes, of course he would. That, I hear, was why he ran away.' He shuddered. 'Thank God he did!'

  'You'd have got him out,' exclaimed Catherine eagerly. 'You know you would. My aunt said you couldn't find him.'

  'No.' Rafe nodded reminiscently, his face twisting with remembered agony. 'God, I nearly went out of my mind! I was sure he must be in there. And the flames were so fierce. I imagined them on his skin…'

  'Don't!' Catherine touched his cheek with her free hand. 'It never happened. It never would. He would have been unconscious long before the flames touched him. As—as your father would be…'

  'My father? Oh, yes,' Rafe nodded, 'I was coming to him. Did Tom tell you? He came downstairs.'

  'Yes.'

  Rafe sighed. 'Lucy threatened him, do you know that? She actually threatened him with a nursing home!'

  'But you wouldn't allow that.'

  'No.' Rafe closed his eyes for a moment. 'Although we both knew how ruthless Lucy could be.' He sighed. 'That's what I wanted to tell you. I think—my father may have started the fire deliberately.'

  'Oh, no, Rafe, he wouldn't do that!'

  'He may have done.'

  'With his grandson, as he thought, asleep in bed? No.' Catherine shook her head. 'Thomas told me—sometimes he smoked in bed.'

  'An accident, you mean?' Rafe frowned. 'It could have been, I suppose. But—oh, God! Who could tell what was in his mind? I only know that the fire started in or around the area of his apartments. I tried to get to him but I couldn't.' His eyes darkened with remembered horror. 'The bed—the bed was ablaze from end to end.'

  'Rafe, Rafe…' Now it was she who comforted him. 'Forget it! Forget it! Oh, not your father—I know you'll never do that. But there was nothing you could do, remember that. Do you think he would want you to blame yourself? You must know he wouldn't.'

  Rafe's faint smile was a reassurance. 'I guess I'm just—confused. Whatever—Penwyth's gone, and with it, everything it stood for. All I'm left with is the land, acres of it, but hardly the estate my father offered my mother. Nevertheless, it—and myself—are yours, if you want us. And Tom, of course, but that goes without saying.'

  'Rafe…' Catherine turned to him fully, resting her arms on his shoulders, linking her fingers behind his head. 'How—how can you say this? Lucy—'

  'Lucy and I are through,' declared Rafe huskily. 'You know that. I'd never have let her send Tom back to St Matthew's, whatever she did. I don't know why he hates it so much, but he does, and so far as I'm concerned, that's enough.'

  Catherine gazed at him with her heart in her eyes. Later, some time, they would talk about Thomas, and she would tell him what the boy had told her. But for the present, it was enough that they were together, more than enough…

  With a groan of satisfaction, Rafe slid his hands round her waist, arching her against him, his lips teasing hers until the urgent demands of his own overcame his restraint.

  'Will—will Lucy give you a divorce?' Catherine breathed, when his mouth moved to caress her ear, and he propped on one elbow beside her, stroking her lips with his forefinger.

  'I think so,' he conceded. 'After the last twenty-four hours, I don't think we have anything more to say to one another, and without Penwyth, I'm of little use to her. With the money I get from the sale of Penwyn, I intend to build a modest house in the grounds, and we should just about manage to break even.' He grinned. 'I always wanted to take up farming seriously. Do you think your uncle would give me some advice?'

  Catherine smiled. 'I think he might.'

  'Good.' Rafe's fingers slid possessively over her breast, and then were abruptly withdrawn. 'Come on,' he said huskily, getting up. 'If we stay here any longer, Tom will begin to wonder what's going on.'

  Catherine sat up, buttoning her shirt. 'Do you think— that is—will he mind? About me, I mean?'

  Rafe pulled her to her feet. 'Stop fishing for compliments! You know how Tom feels about you.'

  'But Lucy… how could she not want to see him?' Catherine couldn't forget that.

  'She never wanted to see him,' replied Rafe simply, bestowing a final kiss on her parted lips. 'Can you wonder that he ran away? Or where he ran to…'

  It was the most wonderful Christmas that Catherine had ever spent. There was just Rafe, Thomas and herself at the cottage, a real family for the first time in Thomas's young life, with a Christmas tree and a Christmas stocking, and the awesome beauty of the carol service at the chapel. It no longer mattered what anyone said about them. Lucy had agreed to give Rafe a divorce, and in a few short months they would be married. The plans for the new house Rafe was building had already been drawn up, but it would be months before it was ready, and until then the cottage was their home.

  Catherine had kept her job, and she delivered Thomas at school on her way to the boutique in the mornings, while Rafe conducted the business of the estate from her uncle's study at Penwyn. Despite his misgivings, the insurance for Penwyth had been paid, although what with death duties and Lucy claiming most of the remainder as her share of the estate there was little left. But there was enough left over to pay for the honeymoon. Of which, Rafe said, his father would have approved.

  It was like a dream come true for Catherine, and when she awakened each morning to find Rafe beside her, she sometimes had to pinch herself to convince herself that it was real. Of course, her mother didn't approve of their temporary arrangements, but as soon as Rafe's decree was made absolute, they were married in the chapel at Penwyth, to Thomas's unbounded delight. He was to stay at Penwyn while they were away, sleeping in the bedroom where his stepmother had slept as a child. He was quite excited about it. He had never known what it was to have aunts and uncles and cousins who actually welcomed him into their homes, and Gillian's baby was a great attraction.

  For Catherine, waking on their first morning at the hotel in Paris, there was a curious satisfaction in knowing she was actually Mrs Glyndower at last. Rafe never used his title, and the simple designation suited her. She was his wife, and that was enough.

  Becoming aware of his eyes upon her, she flushed becomingly, arousing a chuckle of amusement from her husband. 'The blushing bride,' he mocked tenderly. 'After everything, you can still be embarrassed. I like that. It's very feminine.'

  Catherine burrowed close to him. 'Oh, Rafe, you've made me so happy!

  Rafe's fingers slid through her hair. 'It's good being alone together at last,' he mused lazily. 'Shall we spend the whole day in bed, or shall we stir ourselves later and have dinner downstairs?'

  Catherine giggled, pressing her balled fist into his midriff. 'You know I want to go sightseeing. I must see the Louvre, and Notre-Dame, and I must do some shopping in the Faubourg St-Honore.'

  'Oh, lord!' Rafe closed his eyes in mock despair. 'This is our honeymoon, you know. We can go shopping at any time.'

  Catherine wrinkled her nose at him. 'And you know we're leaving for Provence the day after tomorrow. We'll have plenty of time there to laze and—and other things.'

  Rafe rolled over, imprisoning her beneath him. 'We'll never have enough time,' he said huskily, but there was satisfaction in the words. 'My wife!' He held her face between his two hands and bent his mouth to hers. 'I love you. How can I have lived so long without you?' He stroked the silky hair back from her forehead. 'Do you think you can handle two adoring males?'

  'Easily,' whispered Catherine eagerly, and did her best to prove it.

 

 

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