Wild Enchantress Read online

  Catherine swung her feet to the tiles and stood up once more, unable to stand the disadvantage of remaining seated a moment longer. ‘Elizabeth doesn't,’ she pointed out pleasantly.

  ‘Elizabeth is my stepmother.'

  ‘And I'm your ward, guardian! Or had you forgotten?'

  ‘It would be impossible, wouldn't it?’ he demanded harshly, and her eyes fell before the penetration of his. ‘Now, for God's sake, I've got work to do!'

  Catherine lifted her head. ‘I'm not stopping you.'

  ‘Aren't you?’ His muttered words barely reached her, and the hand that reached out almost savagely and grasped a handful of her hair seemed motivated almost against his will. ‘Is this colour real or cultivated?'

  Catherine wet her upper lip with the tip of her tongue. ‘It's real,’ she managed, suddenly finding herself short of breath.

  His eyes moved over her face with searching intensity. ‘And how many men have asked that, I wonder?’ he mused contemptuously.

  ‘Not—not as many as you might think,’ she murmured, willing him to stop tormenting them both and pull her into his arms, close against that lean hard body…

  ‘No?’ He sounded unconvinced. ‘Well, whatever you are and whatever you've done, I want to paint you. Pagan motherhood! How does that appeal to you?'

  Her disappointment was a physical thing, and she felt almost sick with anti-climax. For a few moments she had forgotten everything but a disturbing need for contact between them, and it was difficult now to accept that his interest had been wholly detached.

  Playing for time, she said: ‘But you haven't told anyone, have you?'

  ‘No.’ He shook his head. ‘They'll find out soon enough, won't they?’ His features were cold. ‘Well? Will you take your clothes off for me?'

  Catherine stared at him, despising the way her traitorous emotions leapt at his words. She wondered what he would do if she did just that, at this moment! He thought he had everything under control, and she would love to destroy his complacency.

  But she couldn't do it, and knowing in advance what his reaction to her next words would be, she said softly: ‘You can take them off yourself, if you like.'

  He released her hair at once, stepping back away from her, his eyes glittering angrily. ‘No, thanks,’ he retorted. ‘That was not what I had in mind.'

  Catherine shrugged, and with great self-control, subsided on to the lounger again, pushing the dark glasses back on to her nose.

  ‘You have no shame, do you?’ he exploded, and for an instant her conscience warned her of the dangerous game she was playing. But she had gone too far now to draw back, and instead of answering him she made a little sound of lazy satisfaction as she stretched beneath the sun's rays. There was a moment's tension, when she could hear his hard breathing, and then the receding sound of his footsteps.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  FLOODLIT, the patio acquired an air of mystery it did not possess in daylight. Strings of coloured bulbs had been trailed along the sides of the pool, reflecting the curiously elongated brilliance in the clear water, and the shrubs and palm trees which surrounded the area took on an eerie beauty at night. There were blossoms which only opened their petals to the moon, and they shed their distinctive fragrance to mingle with more sophisticated perfumes in the velvety evening air.

  Dinner had been served at eight as usual for the Royals and a dozen of their guests, but several more couples had arrived later to join the party on the patio. Buffet tables had been set up at one side for anyone who was hungry, heavy with cold hams and salads, vol-au-vents and savouries, trifles, cheeses and wine, while Henry dispensed stronger drinks from an improvised bar near by. Loudspeakers had been set up earlier in the day, and music was now being diffused over the colourful scene, encouraging some of the younger members of the party to dance.

  It was the first big party Elizabeth had given since Catherine arrived on the island, and much different from the introductory dinner she had arranged almost a week ago now. Then, it had been merely a question of eating a meal and sharing a rather boring after-dinner conversation with Laura and her parents, Judge Ferris and his wife, and two young men who had obviously been invited to make up the numbers. This evening had proved to be a much less formal occasion, and the numbers involved had made conversations less personal.

  The week since her arrival seemed to have passed over amazingly quickly. In spite of the fact that she had seen next to nothing of Jared, time had not hung heavily on her hands. Jared was working, shut in his studio at the top of the house, where as yet Catherine had not been permitted to go. There had been no further talk of his painting her, indeed he avoided her whenever possible, and she doubted he approved of her friendship with his fiancée.

  Laura was over most days. Catherine didn't fool herself that she came to see her, even though ostensibly this was her purpose. She always hoped to encounter Jared, but when she did not, she usually suggested she and Catherine entertained each other. They had swum and played a not-very-strenuous game of tennis on the Royal courts, and once Laura had driven her into Bridgetown. But the island capital had been uncomfortably hot for sightseeing, even though the heat could not alter its old world charm, and they had spent most of the time at the Careenage, the inner harbour, where Catherine was fascinated by the tall-masted schooners, and the picturesque uniforms of the harbour police.

  Elizabeth approved of their friendship, as well she might, Catherine had thought cynically. With herself keeping Laura away from her fiancé, Elizabeth had her stepson to herself.

  Now Catherine was sitting in the canopied shade of a garden hammock, swinging her legs and idly listening to John Dexter extolling the delights of sailing. It had been no surprise to discover he was one of the invited dinner guests, he had rung a couple of times through the week, but while his attentiveness was flattering his conversation bored her. Andy David, another of the young men she had met at the tennis club, had already ventured to ask her to dance, but she had refused him, guessing as she did so that John probably imagined that she preferred his company. But the truth was, she didn't feel like dancing right now. Sitting in the shadow of the canopy, she could observe without being observed, and her eyes lingered shamelessly on Jared.

  He seemed relaxed and at ease with these people who were his friends, and it was obvious that he was popular. Most of the young women present found an excuse to stand with him or speak with him, and Laura, hovering at his side, looked proud, and rather smug that she wore his ring on her finger. Elizabeth was never far away from her stepson's side. In a long coral-coloured chiffon gown, she quite eclipsed the muted shades of Laura's blue silk sheath, and from a distance Catherine had to concede that she did not look that much older than the other girl.

  Jared, who had just joined in a particularly strenuous beat session, had shed his dinner jacket for coolness. The fine white silk of his shirt clung to his back in places, and he had loosened his tie and unbuttoned the ruffled pleats below his collar. He was laughing at something someone had said, and watching him, Catherine felt a pain like a knife turn in her stomach. Why had he forced her to come here? she demanded silently, aware that by doing so he was gradually turning her normally balanced world upside down.

  ‘Would you like to dance?'

  John's casual invitation interrupted the painful course of her thoughts, and she nodded vigorously, needing to escape from where they were leading her. They left the hammock and walked slowly into the group of people already dancing near the french windows, and John drew her possessively into his arms.

  ‘Did I tell you I like your dress?’ he murmured, his cheek against hers, and she smiled.

  ‘Several times,’ she conceded, her eyes unwillingly seeking a certain pair of broad shoulders.

  ‘I mean it.’ John's hand in the small of her back tightened. ‘Not every girl could wear brown and get away with it.'

  Catherine suppressed a laugh. ‘It's not actually brown,’ she corrected him. ‘It's cinnamon. But thank you a
ll the same.'

  In truth, she had hesitated some time over wearing this particular gown with its caped, off-the-shoulder bodice, and softly moulded skirt because of the colour. But instead of looking drab, as she had thought it might, with her hair and the gently toning tan she was acquiring, it stood out among so many vivid colours with a subdued elegance.

  ‘I wanted to ask you—would you come sailing with me one day?’ John drew back to look into her face, and Catherine met his gaze thoughtfully.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, and as she did so, she encountered Jared's eyes upon her, dark and brooding in the muted light. He was dancing with Elizabeth to the slow, haunting strains of Michel Legrand's ‘What are you doing the rest of your life?’ and something in the music made Catherine do something she might never have dared to do otherwise.

  She turned out of John's arms, and tapping Elizabeth on the shoulder said: ‘Take pity on poor John, will you, Mrs Royal? He's absolutely dying to dance with you.’ And before any of them could offer a protest, she had interposed herself between Jared and his stepmother, and short of causing an unpleasant scene, there was nothing any of them could do. Her hands slid up Jared's shirt front to his shoulders, but with a tightening of his lips, he took hold of them with one of his, and holding her at arm's-length, he began to dance.

  ‘Oh, Jared!’ she exclaimed, aware that other eyes were watching them, and after a moment's hesitation, he freed her, allowing them to dance normally. But there was still too much distance between them, and she moved closer, fighting his efforts to thwart her.

  ‘You amaze me, you really do!’ he muttered, but there was a hoarse note in his voice which had not been there before, and his breath was warm against her temple.

  Taking advantage of his weakening, she pressed herself against him, and with a groan, his arms slid right round her, holding her with all the strength and power she had known him capable of. They moved languidly in time with the music, a sensual, sexual experience, and Catherine's sleeves fell back as her arms encircled his neck. She wished the music would go on for ever, that she could always feel the stirring hardness of his body arousing hers to a deeper awareness of her own femininity. She didn't care in those moments who was watching them or what interpretation might be put on her behaviour, and somehow she didn't think Jared cared too much either.

  Eventually, the tempo of the music changed, but instead of letting her go as she had expected, he swung her into the faster rhythm, sending her spinning away from him, and then catching her hand as she turned and bringing her close against him again. It was as exhilarating as the previous music had been seductive, and Catherine's lips parted as her breathing quickened, laughing into his intent face and bringing a reluctant glimmer of admiration to his eyes. Several of the other guests began to clap their hands in time to the beat, willing to watch what was obviously to be an exhibition, and out of the corner of her eye Catherine could see Elizabeth and John joining the group surrounding them.

  But for once Jared was indifferent to onlookers. He was good, she had known that when she watched him earlier, but even she was surprised at the ease with which he matched his step to hers, revealing a mastery of the rhythm which hinted at a darker strain in his ancestry. Catherine was breathless when the music finally ended, and collapsed against her partner after one final dizzying spin. Jared's arms came round to support her automatically, but then Laura was at his side, determined to be the first to congratulate them, and he was forced to let Catherine go.

  ‘That was super, darling!’ she exclaimed, immediately reducing what had been a violent emotional experience to mediocrity, and Catherine turned frustratedly away from them, ignoring the words of admiration that rang in her ears from all sides. She wanted to escape, to get away from these people, but John Dexter was beside her, and his reactions were anything but congratulatory.

  ‘What the hell do you mean by unloading me on to Jared's old lady?’ he demanded, grasping her arm, and holding up her head, she faced him defiantly.

  ‘Did I do that?'

  ‘You know you did.’ John raked an angry hand through his hair. ‘What is it with you? Jared's Laura's property, or didn't you know?'

  Catherine moved out of earshot of the group surrounding Jared. ‘And what am I supposed to have done, for heaven's sake?’ she exclaimed impatiently.

  ‘Don't give me that!’ John's jaw clenched and unclenched. ‘You know what you did as well as I do.'

  ‘We danced, that was all. Danced!'

  ‘Danced!’ John's echo of the word was a growl.

  ‘I can think of other descriptions.'

  ‘And what gives you the right to question what I do?’ she asked peremptorily.

  John kicked moodily at the bole of a nearby palm. ‘Nothing,’ he said reluctantly. ‘Nothing, except that I—well, I don't want to see you get hurt, Catherine.'

  Catherine stared at him disbelievingly. ‘I'm not that green, John.'

  ‘Well, all right. I was jealous,’ he muttered, and the humour in the situation brought a faint smile to her lips.

  ‘I don't somehow think you'd get much sympathy from Elizabeth if she knew you'd called her Jared's old lady,’ she murmured with some amusement, and saw his teeth glinting in the shadows.

  ‘No,’ he conceded wryly. ‘You could be right.'

  ‘So…’ Catherine indicated that the music had started again. ‘Do you want to dance some more?'

  John regarded her steadily. ‘With you?'

  ‘Yes. With me.’ Catherine glanced round. ‘Before—before Jared's old lady comes looking for me.’ She paused, and he drew her into his arms on the dancing area. ‘Was she—very annoyed?'

  ‘She hid it well,’ he answered, grinning. ‘Or maybe she really did want to dance with me.'

  Catherine laughed softly. Suddenly John was a much nicer person, and she realised that his trouble was that none of the girls he had dated had robbed him so successfully of his conceit.

  Across the patio, Jared was standing with Laura and her parents, and Catherine forced herself not to watch them. She wondered what they were saying, whether they, like Laura, had ignored the deeper implications of what had happened on the dance floor. Because Catherine could not. Whatever she had told John, she knew that things could never be quite the same between her and Jared, although this was not necessarily a good thing. John was right, after all. He was not her property. So why couldn't she believe that he was Laura's?

  She sighed, and John said: ‘Now what is it?’ in anxious tones, but she just shook her head, and her smile reassured him.

  She didn't see Elizabeth again to speak to until the last of their guests was leaving. It was after two o'clock, and a feeling of dejection had replaced her earlier euphoria. She longed to go to bed, to seek the silent darkness beneath the sheets, and submerge herself in the fantasy world of oblivion. Jared had departed over an hour ago to take Laura home, and when the last car disappeared down the drive, she and Elizabeth were alone.

  Out on the patio, two of the servants who had been asked to work late were busily collecting glasses, loading uneaten food on to trays, and tossing soiled napkins into the waste bin. By morning, nothing would remain of the night's festivities, and Catherine could see a certain similarity between this tangible chaos and her intangible emotions.

  In the hall, Elizabeth surveyed her stepson's charge coldly, tilting back her head and adopting an arrogance that any member of royalty might have envied. ‘I realise this is neither the time nor the place to bring this up,’ she said, and Catherine wondered why people felt the need to say such a thing when they obviously intended going ahead anyway, ‘but I have to tell you that your behaviour this evening disgusted me, Catherine.'

  ‘I'm sorry.'

  Catherine didn't pretend not to understand what she meant, and Elizabeth was mildly disconcerted. ‘Are you?’ A handful of seconds ticked away. ‘I can't altogether believe that. What you did, you did—deliberately, calculatedly, knowing how you would hurt Laura by your actions—'


  ‘That's not true!'

  ‘What's not true? Of course you hurt—'

  ‘I didn't mean that,’ Catherine broke in quietly. ‘That part about it being deliberate and calculating—it wasn't. It was reckless, if you like—impulsive, maybe. But that's all.'

  ‘Really? And how do you think Jared felt? Among all his friends? A guest in this house behaving in such a—a crude and—wanton way!'

  ‘Now wait a minute—'

  ‘No, you wait a minute, Catherine. I don't know what kind of society you were brought up in in England, but here we have a different code of values.'

  ‘Do you?'

  ‘Yes.’ Elizabeth's lips curled. ‘We don't throw ourselves at a man who so obviously finds our presence an unnecessary encumbrance!'

  ‘An unnecessary encumbrance!’ Catherine echoed the words on a gasp. ‘You can't honestly believe that!'

  Elizabeth's brow creased. ‘What do you mean?'

  Catherine's cheeks were pale but determined. ‘What do you think I mean?’ She tilted her head. ‘You can't believe that Jared didn't enjoy it!'

  ‘What the hell is going on here?’ Jared's voice grated harshly in the sudden stillness. They had been so intent on their arguing that they had not heard the sound of his car returning, but now he stood regarding them angrily, his white dinner jacket draped carelessly over one shoulder, dark trousers moulding the taut muscles of his thighs. ‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Are you aware that your voices must be audible clear to the ocean? For God's sake, if you must bitch at one another, do it somewhere less public!'

  Elizabeth gathered the folds of her gown about her. ‘I was merely pointing out the unsuitability of Catherine's behaviour this evening, Jared,’ she said, with dignity. ‘Any—bitching—that was going on was not at my instigation.'

  ‘I should have thought the only person liable to be offended by our behaviour this evening was Laura,’ Jared retorted coldly.

  ‘Oh, Laura!'

  Elizabeth's tone was scornful, and Jared's expression hardened. ‘Yes, Laura,’ he repeated steadily. ‘At no time have I appointed you my keeper, Liz!'