Rooted in Dishonour Read online

  the anger she knew she should be feeling. But the feel of his hard taut body against hers sapped her energy, and it was a half-hearted protest. He felt so different from Willard, and made no attempt to hide the fact that he was fully aroused. He bent his head to her hair, burying his face in its thickness, lips parted, the heat of his breathing warming her scalp, and she made a final bid for sanity.

  'What about your hand?' she got out unsteadily. 'That ointment you've put on it is messing up my clothes ...'

  'I'll take care,' he assured her huskily, but she pulled back her head.

  'Let me go, Raoul,' she pleaded, but his only response was to seek the zip fastener of the cotton windcheater she was wearing, propelling it firmly downwards.

  'Don't be silly,' he breathed into her ear as she struggled to free herself, his teeth catching the lobe and tug- ging gently. 'You don't really want me to.'

  'I—I do,' she insisted, but without much conviction, and in an effort to destroy his mood, she blurted: 'I thought you—preferred dark women, with—with thinner bodies—'

  'Did I say so?' he murmured, his thumb parting her lips, and when he bestowed a warm kiss at the corner of her mouth, Beth felt a yielding weakness attacking her lower limbs. But she fought against it.

  'I—I shall tell Willard...' she threatened. The final resort, but he was unimpressed.

  Instead, he looked down at the lace outline of her bra he had exposed, and bending his head kissed the hollow between her breasts. Then he said softly: 'Is this front fastening, or do I have to tear it off?'

  Beth looked up at him despairingly, but there was no compassion in his eyes, only desire, and her limbs trembled. 'You can't do this,' she breathed, though her fingers already fumbled for the centre catch, and his eyes darkened.

  'Why not?' he asked huskily, pushing her hand aside, and as the bra opened his hard fingers closed over the rose-tipped fullness.

  Beth opened her mouth to protest again, but no sound came. Instead, his mouth covered hers, silencing her objections and her conscience. His tongue traced the outline of her lips before he plundered the sensitised sweetness within, and Beth's senses spun beneath the demanding ecstasy of his touch. Darkness, full of the feel of him, made coherent thought impossible, and the dizzying weakness spread throughout her body. She was aware of him parting his legs to hold her nearer and her own body betraying her to arch itself against him, wanting to know every throbbing muscle and sinew. Reason vanished, and in its place was a treacherous craving to be closer still, to feel the hard length of his body without the offending barrier of their clothes.

  Almost instinctively, her fingers found the buttons of his shirt, tugging them apart and shuddering with delight at the intimate feel of his hair-roughened chest against her breasts. But her hand baulked at the buckle of his belt although her fingers lingered timidly at his waist.

  'God, Beth!' he groaned, capturing her fingers and pressing them against him for a moment. Then, with a determined effort, he pushed her away, and put the width of the room between them.

  The cool draught of the breeze that came through the open door fanned her overheated skin. It created a coolness of thought as well as feeling, and horror replaced the lethargy which had held her in its thrall. Hardly capable of believing what had happened, she sought with trembling fingers for the two halves of her bra and gave a sobbing cry of frustration when her shaking hands refused to obey her.

  Raoul, who had moved to stand with his back to her, staring out to sea across the width of the verandah, heard the sound she made and turned. Immediately she turned too, presenting her back to him, but he came across to her, swinging her about and causing her to look up at him through angry tears.

  'Let me do it,' he exclaimed, brushing her protest aside, and finding the shreds of lace secured the catch with expert fingers. 'There you are,' he mocked, capturing the ends of the windcheater and clipping them together. And as the zip ran smoothly upward: 'All present and correct.'

  'You're very experienced,' she choked bitterly, and he shrugged, thrusting his hands into the pockets of his pants.

  'You're not.' He was laconic.

  Beth's face flamed. 'You make it sound almost an offence!' she exclaimed coldly, and his eyes moved to rest almost tangibly on her mouth.

  'It is,' he said, and she gasped. 'I wanted you,' he added flatly. 'We could have had a good time.' He moved his shoulders dismissingly. 'But I wouldn't do that to Willie.'

  'No?' Beth was shocked into retaliation. 'Why not? You've done everything else!'

  'What have I done?' He shook his head, a faint smile twisting his lips now. 'You have no idea what I wanted to do.'

  'I do know what sex entails,' she retorted coldly. 'You're not talking to a schoolgirl.'

  'And I'm not talking about sex,' he replied softly. 'I'm talking about making love. And there's a world of difference between the two, as you'll discover when you marry your rich fiance.'

  'I'm sure I shall. Willard loves me. He respects me. And that's something you'd know nothing about.'

  'Respect!' His laughter was insulting. 'Is that all Willard has for you? I wonder how much satisfaction you'll get from his respect!'

  Beth caught her breath. 'That's a foul thing to say!'

  He shrugged. 'I can't make up my mind about you. Either you're a very clever actress, or you're pitifully innocent. Whichever, I feel sorry for you.'

  'I don't need your pity—'

  'You may. I'd advise you not to let Barbara know exactly how—inexperienced you are.'

  'At least Barbara's honest. She doesn't hide her real feelings!' Beth declared unsteadily, and his eyes darkened. x

  'Would you rather I was honest?' he taunted harshly. 'Would you rather I went to Willie and told him his fiancee gets under my skin, stirs my senses— arouses me?'

  Beth was still staring at him, open-mouthed, suddenly aware of the fine control he had been exercising, when someone came whistling in at the back door of the house, and Raoul's eyes narrowed sardonically.

  'Tomas,' he said dispassionately. 'What a mercy you have all your clothes on.'

  Beth wished she could think of something equally stinging to respond, and then the black man she had seen on the verandah the day she arrived appeared in the hall doorway.

  'I didn't know you—oh, pardon me!'

  He halted as he saw they had a visitor, but Raoul walked towards him. 'No sweat, Tomas,' he said. 'Miss Rivers is just leaving. I'm driving her back to the house.'

  'Yes, sir.' Tomas nodded politely towards Beth, acknowledging the casual introduction, and she forced a smile. Then he saw Raoul's hand, and the black pupils of his eyes dilated. 'What you been doing?' he cried, horrified.

  Raoul cast a mocking look in Beth's direction. 'I've been getting my fingers burned,' he drawled, but only she was aware of the metaphor. 'Miss Rivers, are you ready?'

  CHAPTER SIX

  BETH dressed for lunch with an intense feeling of unease. It had not been allayed by the anonymity of her arrival back at the house, for even though Willard had not been there to witness her return with Raoul she knew that sooner or later he would have to know, if only to explain why she was back when apparently Barbara was not. She did not know this for certain, of course, but somehow she guessed that Barbara would not put in an appearance just yet. The girl might have regretted the impulse which had caused her to abandon her father's fiancee miles from any identifiable landmark, and even now be searching for her in an agony of anxiety, but Beth found this supposition highly improbable.

  Her own situation caused her far more problems. The journey here from Raoul's bungalow, a distance of perhaps a quarter of a mile, had been accomplished in an ominous silence, and her brain had swung emotively from angry resentment at Raoul's cool .audacity to the awful acknowledgment of her own duplicity. From the moment he had taken her into his arms, from the moment she had felt the swelling aggression of his body, she had sensed an unwilling response inside her, a desire—although she refused to admit it
—to meet his thrusting masculinity halfway. Strange, terrible thoughts had plagued her mind. Thoughts of Willard's body, thin and flaccid, of Mike Compton's wet lips and hot hands. Raoul was lean, but hard and muscular, and it was his lips that burned her mouth while his hands were cool on her overheated flesh. She guessed he was experienced —she was not the first woman he had wanted to make love to. But perhaps she was the first he had denied himself. Thank God he had, she thought fervently, dabbing perfume at her wrists and behind her ears. How could she have faced Willard otherwise? He would never have known, a small voice taunted mockingly, and she smoothed damp palms down over the seams of her lemon yellow sundress. But I would, she answered herself silently, appalled at the direction of her thoughts. What was wrong with her? she demanded of her treacherous conscience. What was happening to her that she could even think of such a thing? She had heard of people being infected by island fever, but was this what they meant? Did it mean this weakening of her morality? An awakening of some latent sensuality within herself? To her relief her mirror reflected her features as before, but behind the mask she knew something had changed. It frightened her, and with a final flick of the brush at a wayward strand of silk which had escaped the severe knot she had deliberately secured, she left the room.

  The few yards to Willard's door were covered in seconds and after a moment's hesitation she went in. He was sitting at the bureau near the open windows writing as she entered, but on hearing her he rose to his feet and came to meet her. But for once his features did not immediately brighten at the sight of her, and she felt a

  twinge of anxiety as he surveyed her unsmilingly.

  Unable to meet his eyes, Beth looked beyond him to the bureau and said quickly: 'I hope you're not working. Taking advantage of my absence!'

  The teasing note in her voice did much to restore her confidence, but when she looked up at him she saw he was not amused. 'Where have you been?' he demanded, and now she saw he really was quite angry.

  'Where have I—but you know where I've beenl' she protested.

  'I know you went out with Barbara. You didn't return with her.'

  Beth's eyes went beyond him then, to the open window. Of course. Willard's apartments, like hers, overlooked the front of the house. He must have seen her return in the Landrover—with Raoul.

  'I—no.' To her dismay her cheeks began to burn. 'We—we went riding. I got—lost.'

  'With Raoul Valerian'

  'No!' Beth couldn't understand why he should be so furious. 'I—we—that is, Barbara and I—rode into the hills. We—stopped to rest. When we set away again, I—Barbara must have thought I was following her, but I lost my way.'

  'And that was when you conveniently met my overseer?' he ground out harshly, and she swallowed convulsively.

  'Not conveniently, no,' she denied, realising that what she had thought was anger was in fact jealousy; he was eaten up with it. 'I came to—to a village. A school, actually. Mr Valerian was there, visiting with the teacher.'

  'A school!' Willard's mouth thinned, and noticing the way his nostrils were flaring, she realised this confrontation was not doing any good to his physical condition. 'You went into the school?'

  'Yes, yes.' Beth's professional training overcame her trepidation. 'Willard, don't upset yourself like this. What- ever is the matter? You surely don't think I arranged to —to meet Raoul Valerian!'

  Her own mendacity horrified her, even while it had the desired effect on Willard. The coolness of her protest seemed to bring him to his senses and with a weary shake of his head he sank down weakly on to the side of the bed.

  Reaching for her hands, he buried his face in their palms, seemingly unsuspicious of their revealing moist- ness. 'Oh, Beth,' he groaned in a muffled voice, 'forgive me. Forgive me! I'm just a selfish old fool, undeserving of your love or affection. But when I saw you getting out of Valerian's Landrover...' He sniffed and lifted his head, looking up at her with appealing eyes. 'I'm sorry, my dear. I'm sorry.'

  'It's all right.' Beth had never felt so much like a Judas in her life. 'Please, Willard, don't distress yourself. It was my fault—I should have come to see you as soon as I got back, told you what had happened.'

  Willard did not contradict her, squeezing her hands together between his own. Then, clearing his throat, he said: 'You say—you went into the school. Did you meet its—er—headmistress?'

  'Mrs Signy, yes.' Beth caught her lower lip between her teeth. 'She—she and Mr Valerian seem to know one another very well.'

  'Yes, they do.' Willard's voice was surprisingly harsh suddenly. 'What did Raoul tell you about her?'

  'What did he tell me?' Beth was confused. 'I—what do you mean?'

  Willard shifted impatiently. 'It doesn't matter.' He returned to the matter in hand. 'And he brought you home? In the Landrover?'

  'Yes,' Beth nodded. 'He—he said he would arrange to have the mare brought back to the stables.'

  'And Barbara? What about her?'

  That was more difficult. 'I—I don't know where she is.'

  'You mean she's lost, too?' Willard was fast recovering his composure, and there was a trace of irony in his voice now.

  'I shouldn't think so.' Beth saw no point in lying abbut that. 'She knows the island so much better than I do.'

  'Yes, she does.' Willard rose to his feet. 'Too well to— lose somebody. Unless that was what she intended.'

  'Oh, Willard...' Beth was nearing the end of her tether. 'Please, can't we just forget about it? You know Barbara never wanted to go riding with me—'

  'That's just the point. But I wanted her to, and she should know better than to disobey me.'

  'Willard! Barbara's nearly thirty! You can't expect her to behave exactly as you want her to. Leave her alone. She'll come round. She'll have to, won't she, once we're married.'

  Willard's expression softened. 'Yes,' he said slowly, turning her to face him. 'Once we're married. That has a good ring, hasn't it? When shall we set the date?'

  Beth ignored the unreasoning panic that suddenly filled her. Dear God, it was too late now to wish she was more experienced, and yet after that encounter with Raoul, that was what she did wish. He had been more right than he knew when he chided her for her innocence. But somehow, the very practicality of her life until now had cushioned her against its emotional realities. It was his lovemaking which had made her aware of the intimacies she was expected to share with Willard, intimacies which until now she had comfortably adorned with the trappings of respect. But how much respect would Willard have for her in bed?

  'Beth...'

  She realised he was watching her, and forced a bright smile. 'I'm sorry,' she murmured hastily. 'I—I was just thinking—about our wedding.'

  'And?'

  'I—I think we should wait. A little longer anyway. I—I haven't been here long. I hardly know anyone—'

  'Well, that can be soon remedied.' Fortunately Willard seemed not to attach any significance to her hesitation. He nodded towards the bureau. 'I've been making a list of guests for the dinner party I intend to give to introduce you to our social life here. I suggest we make it two weeks from today. What do you think?'

  'Two weeks today...' Beth considered for a moment. 'So long as you feel—well enough.'

  The irritation she was coming to know so well when she used his illness as a brake on his activities tightened his lips. 'A dinner party isn't going to wear me out. And you can handle all the details. It will give you the opportunity to practise being mistress here.'

  'Oh, but Barbara—'

  'Barbara has forfeited her right to my consideration,' he declared coldly. 'When has she considered me since my return?'

  There was some truth in what he said, but Beth was anxious. Making an enemy of Barbara was not going to help the situation, and she found herself wondering again whether it was something about the island which caused people to act so much out of character-. In England, Willard had been so courteous and understanding. Now he was asserting a much less attr
active side of his nature, and she could only hope that once the strains on their relationship were removed by their marriage, he would become again the gentle man she had known.

  Barbara returned in the late afternoon. Beth was reading on her bed when she heard the Mini's engine accelerating up the drive and presently fading away again as it swung along the side of the house to the coach houses at the back which were used as garages. At once, a feeling of tenseness gripped her, a feeling which was not alleviated by the sound of Willard's door opening.

  Dropping her book, she slipped quickly off the bed, then halted abruptly when she realised she could not be seen like this. She had shed her clothes for a light cotton wrapper, and impatiently she tossed this aside as she reached for her shirt and jeans.

  By the time she was dressed, the landing outside her room was deserted, and she guessed Willard had gone downstairs to confront his daughter. Perhaps she shouldn't interfere, she thought uncertainly, hut then the demands of her profession took over, and she knew she could not allow Willard to risk another attack just because she was too cowardly to support him.

  She could hear their voices before she reached the bottom of the stairs. The sound seemed to be coming from a book-lined room which she knew Willard used as his study, and which led off the hall beyond the dining room. As Beth hurriedly crossed the hall, she could hear what Barbara was saying:

  'You don't honestly believe I'd take her out and abandon her, do you? Honestly, Papa, I'm not a fool! If that's what she said I did—well, I only hope she realises what she's doing. Oh, I admit, I didn't want to take her. But, after what you said...' The convincing sound of a sob came to Beth's outraged ears. 'About—making me leave here...' Another pause. 'You know it would break my heart. Would I risk that?'

  Beth waited with bated breath for Willard's reply, and her heart beat a little less unevenly as he said: 'I never said Beth accused you of abandoning her. That was my idea. And tears never washed with me, Barbara.'

  There was silence for a few moments, and Beth wondered unhappily what she would do if Barbara suddenly charged out of the room, straight into her! But although she raised her hand to tap at the panels of the door, Barbara's next words stayed her.