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The interior of the Jaguar smelt deliciously of leather upholstery mixed with a faint tang of some expensively masculine cologne.
Joanna sniffed delicately, grimacing a little as she extracted the towel from the bag, which was lying next to his squash racket on the rear seat. The towel, and the rest of the gear in the bag, was unused, so he must be on his way to the country club, but if so what was he doing on the high road, when there were other, more direct routes?
In spite of the towel’s pristine condition, it was still his property, and she was deeply reluctant to use so personal an item. The idea of having to be beholden to him in any way affronted and revolted her. But she couldn’t escape the fact that water was dripping dismally from her hair on to her face, and, after a brief internal tussle, she unfolded the towel and began to blot away the worst of the moisture.
With any luck, he would be the one to catch pneumonia, she thought, glaring through the windscreen at him as he worked. And, as if aware of her scrutiny, Cal Blackstone looked round from his task, and waved.
With a snort of temper Joanna tossed the towel back into the bag and leaned back, savouring the undeniable comfort of her seat. Her father had driven a Jaguar when she was a small child, she remembered, and she’d always loved riding in it. She began to examine the dashboard and internal fittings, trying to remember what they’d been like in her father’s day.
She’d been sitting with her father in the back of the Jaguar the first time she’d seen Cal Blackstone, she remembered with a shiver of pure distaste.
With regrettable promptitude, he appeared at the side of the car. ‘Your wheel is duly changed, madam. Don’t forget to have your damaged tyre mended.’
‘I’m quite capable of working that out for myself,’ she snapped.
‘Of course.’ He got into the driver’s seat, and gave her a long look. His eyes were grey, she found herself noticing for the first time. Grey eyes, hard as steel, and cold as the skies above them. ‘Please don’t overwhelm me with gratitude.’
Joanna flushed at the sarcasm in his tone. ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly. ‘It was—fortunate that you were passing.’
‘I often use this road,’ he returned. ‘I like the view of the Northwaite valley from up here.’
‘If you can see it today, you must have X-ray vision.’
‘I don’t need to see it,’ he said softly. ‘I know what’s there by heart. I’ve always known.’ He pointed out into the mist and cloud. ‘Away to your right is the country club. As you come down the valley, there are the chimneys of the Blackstone engineering works. They’re generally what people notice first, just as my grandfather intended when he built the place. Then there’s the Mill, relegated to second place these days, I’m afraid.’ He paused for a moment as if expecting some response, some denial, and when there was none he continued, ‘And finally, down to the left, well away from the pollution of the workers’ houses in Northwaite, tucked away as if it’s trying to hide, is Chalfont House.’
When he smiled, his teeth were very white. A predator’s smile, Joanna thought, and her heart began to thump suddenly, harshly. ‘Everything I own,’ he said. ‘And everything I intend to own before I’ve finished. Including you, Joanna Chalfont, you beautiful, hostile little bitch.’
For a moment she sat gaping at him, hardly able to credit what she’d just heard. Then,
‘How dare you?’ She could barely squeeze the words out of the frightening, painful tightness in her throat.
Cal Blackstone threw back his head and laughed. ‘Said to the manner born,’ he mocked. ‘The well-born young lady rebuking the upstart pleb. It’s wonderful what they teach you at those fancy Harrogate schools!’
‘I think you must be insane,’ said Joanna, fumbling for the handle of the door. ‘I refuse to listen to any more of this.’
‘You don’t have to.’ He was infuriatingly at his ease. ‘I want you, and I’m going to have you. There’s nothing more to be said.’
‘Well, you couldn’t be more wrong!’ Joanna flung at him. She was trembling all over, fighting to keep her voice steady. ‘I have a few things to say myself, and the first is that I wouldn’t have you, Callum Blackstone, if you came gift-wrapped.’
He was still smiling. ‘And what do you know about it?’ he asked softly. ‘What do you know about anything, Miss Chalfont, except pride and your own version of the past?’ He shook his head slowly, his gaze locked with hers. ‘It’s time you began to think of the future, so let’s start your thoughts in the right direction.’
The car door refused to budge under her frantic fingers. It was clearly linked to some central locking system outside her control, trapping her there alone with him.
Shrinking into the corner of her seat, Joanna saw Cal Blackstone reach for her, felt her shoulders grasped without gentleness, and her whole body drawn inexorably forward towards him. The smile had been wiped from his face, and his grey eyes glittered with something far removed from amusement. Something she barely understood, but, strangely, feared just the same.
She said, on a little sob, ‘No—ah—no,’ then his mouth was on hers and all further protest was stifled.
Nothing in her limited experience had prepared her for Cal’s kiss and nothing could have done. He held her ruthlessly, crushing her soft breasts against the hard muscular wall of his chest, twining his hand in her still-damp hair to hold her still, while his lips plundered hers, relentlessly, hungrily—and endlessly.
She couldn’t breathe. The scent of his skin filled her nostrils with a sudden and desperate familiarity. Tiny coloured lights danced frenetically behind her closed lids. She felt physically overpowered, totally at his mercy. She thought she might be going to faint, and with the thought came a surge of anger, and contempt for her own weakness.
He muttered against her lips, ‘Open your mouth,’ and in a flash she saw her salvation. Pliantly she obeyed. She felt his sigh of satisfaction, was aware of his clasp slackening slightly so that he could turn her in his arms, to hold her more easily against his body, and as he relaxed she bit him hard, sinking her teeth into his lower lip.
Cal jerked his head away, swearing, lifting a hand almost unbelievingly to his bleeding mouth.
‘You little shrew!’
‘Try explaining that to your latest woman!’ Joanna flung at him. ‘And, from now on, keep your distance from me.’
He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the blood. To her fury he was grinning again.
‘Not now I’ve had a taste of delights to come, sweetheart.’
‘You’ll get nothing more from me as long as you live! You might have been able to take advantage of the situation today, but I’ll make sure it never happens again.’
‘Ah, but it will,’ he said softly. ‘I may have lost the first skirmish, Joanna, but the war’s only just beginning. And, I warn you, nothing but your complete surrender will do.’
She drew a swift, blazing breath, glaring at him. ‘You’re nothing but an animal, Cal Blackstone!’
He held out the bloodstained handkerchief, staring grimly back at her. ‘Then I’ve certainly picked the right mate.’
‘You’ve picked nothing and no one. From now on, keep out of my way!’ She turned to wrestle with the door-handle, and to her chagrin it worked instantly.
‘Our paths were made to cross.’ His voice followed her as she stumbled out of the car. ‘If you didn’t know it before, you know it now. So drive carefully, my hot-tempered vixen. When I finally get to unwrap my gift, I want it to be perfect.’
She got to her car somehow, and sat, shaking, in the driving seat, waiting until the Jaguar slid past, and was swallowed up in the mist and rain.
She put up a cautious finger and touched the swollen contours of her mouth. Her lips felt bruised, but the greatest wound she’d suffered was humiliation.
She stared at the grey-soaked landscape, and thought, I’m afraid of him.
Now, in the drawing-room of Chalfont House, Joanna found the same words rising to her lips. I’m afraid of him.
She shook herself irritably. That was what came of letting herself remember—relive things best banished from her mind for good. But oh, God, it had been so real. She could swear she’d almost felt the pressure of Cal’s mouth ravaging hers once more, tasted his blood …
Two years ago she had escaped him, but at what a price. She couldn’t run away again. This time she had to stand her ground and fight him. She squared her shoulders, glancing up again at her grandfather’s portrait.
‘The war’s on again, Grandpa,’ she said. ‘And this time I mean to win—for all our sakes.’
She had to. Because surrender on Cal Blackstone’s terms was unthinkable.
CHAPTER TWO
THE MIST SWIRLED thickly above the high road. Joanna was lost in the depths of it, the damp tendrils wreathing about her, stifling her, confining her so that her limbs felt heavy and incapable of movement.
Yet she had to move—to run, because somewhere in the fog Cal Blackstone was waiting, his predator’s hands reaching to stop her—to take her. She took one sluggish step, then another—and screamed aloud as a hand closed purposefully on her shoulder.
‘Why, Miss Joanna, whatever’s the matter with you?’
Perspiring, Joanna opened her eyes and found Nanny, comforting as the daylight pouring through the window, standing at her bedside with a cup of tea.
She managed a weak smile. ‘Sorry, Nan, I must have been dreaming. Did I startle you?’
‘It looks more as if you startled yourself, lass.’ Nanny scrutinised her austerely. ‘You’re white as a sheet! Drink your tea while it’s hot.’
A cup of tea, Joanna thought. Nanny’s panacea for all ills from a headache to bereavement. She sat up, punching her tumbled pillows into shape. ‘You’re spoiling me.’
‘Well, make the most of it. It won’t happen so soon again,’ Nanny said severely. ‘And I’ve a message from Mr Simon.’
‘Let me guess.’ Joanna looked up at the ceiling. ‘He’s won a million pounds on the football pools and all our problems are solved.’
Nanny snorted. ‘Since when has Mr Simon done the pools?’ she demanded. ‘I’m to tell you that Mrs Chalfont was taken badly in the night, and he’s gone with her to the nursing home.’
‘You mean Fiona’s started labour?’ Joanna sat bolt upright. ‘But the baby’s not due for another couple of months. Oh, that’s awful!’
‘Don’t waste your sympathy,’ Nanny advised tartly. ‘That baby won’t be born until the right time, take my word for it. Madam’s got indigestion, as I told her.’ She snorted. ‘What can she expect—sending Mr Simon into Northwaite at all hours for that tandoori chicken stuff?’
‘Oh, is that all?’ Joanna relaxed.
‘Anyway, Mr Simon said to tell you if he’s not back in time for the meeting this afternoon, you’ve to hold the fort. He said you’d understand.’
Joanna choked on a mouthful of tea. ‘He said what?’
‘You’re not deaf. And don’t spill that tea on your quilt.’
‘But he can’t do this,’ Joanna said, half to herself. ‘He’s got to be back here in time—he’s got to …’ She looked up beseechingly at Nanny. ‘The nursing home—they’ll send Fiona home straight away if it’s just indigestion, won’t they?’
Nanny sniffed. ‘The lord only knows. She might have discovered a few more symptoms by the time the doctor comes round. Madam’s not averse to a few days in bed being waited on.’
Nanny could never be described as the young Mrs Chalfont’s greatest fan, but Joanna had to admit she spoke with a certain amount of justice. Once in the luxury of the nursing home, with attentive nurses answering her every bell, Fiona might well be reluctant to return to Chalfont House where people were more likely to tell her to pull herself together and stop making a fuss about nothing. And she would certainly insist on Simon dancing attendance on her.
‘After all,’ Fiona had often pouted to him, ‘it’s your fault I’m feeling so ghastly. It’s your baby.’
Joanna groaned inwardly. Her plan to put several miles between herself and Chalfont House prior to Cal Blackstone’s arrival was now plainly inoperable.
I could always ask him to postpone his visit, she thought, but dismissed the idea almost as soon as it had formed. The last thing she wanted, after all, was Cal Blackstone to guess her deep reluctance to face him. And at a wider, less personal level, any attempt to put him off might be unwise at this juncture.
If Simon doesn’t come back in time, I’ll talk to him myself, she decided grimly. And I’ll let him know that though he may have conned Si into thinking he’s Mister Nice Guy, he’s got a fight on his hands with me.
‘Why, Miss Jo, you look really fierce. Whatever are you thinking about?’ queried Nanny.
‘Getting up.’ Joanna swallowed the rest of her tea, and threw back the duvet. ‘I think I’ll have breakfast with my father.’ She paused. ‘How is he today?’
‘He’s taking an interest in the cricket, according to Gresham.’ Nanny’s face was expressionless. ‘Reckons they should bring back Len Hutton as England captain.’
Joanna sighed. ‘Maybe they should at that.’ She shot a glance at the older woman. ‘Nanny, we’re having a—visitor this afternoon, and I’d prefer if Dad knew nothing about it. I don’t want him to be upset, especially if he’s not—thinking too clearly.’ She put on her robe and knotted the sash.
Nanny nodded. ‘Gresham won’t say owt, and I can stop Mrs Thursgood nattering. But am I to know who’s expected?’
Joanna hesitated. ‘It’s Callum Blackstone.’
‘A Blackstone crossing this doorstep?’ Nanny gasped. ‘I never thought I’d live to see the day!’
‘Neither did I.’ Joanna bit her lip. ‘Believe me, Nanny, if I had a choice, I wouldn’t let him within a mile of the place. But it’s out of my hands.’
Nanny shook her head. ‘Then you’ll have to make the best of it, lass. Like the old saying, “Needs must when the devil drives.”’
And that, Joanna thought wryly, as she made her way to the bathroom, seemed to sum the situation up with total accuracy.
Shrouded by the curtains at the long upstairs landing window, she watched him arrive. He was punctual, she noted without surprise. The Jaguar car he parked in front of the house—staking his claim at once, she thought bitterly—was the latest model. Nothing else had changed. He looked no older, no greyer, no heavier as he stood on the gravel below her, his gaze raking the blank windows as though he sensed her presence, and sought her.
Although she knew she couldn’t be seen, Joanna felt herself shrink.
Oh, come on, she castigated herself. This is no way to start. After all, I know what he’s planning, so there must be some way I can stop him.
But, for the life of her, she couldn’t think of one.
As she heard the doorbell peal, she went on swift and silent feet back to her room, and waited for Mrs Thursgood to admit him.
She gave herself a long, critical look in the mirror. Her slim navy linen skirt, and the pure silk cream shirt she wore with it, looked neat and uncompromisingly businesslike. She’d drawn her hair severely back from her face and confined it at the nape of her neck with a wide navy ribbon.
She’d had plenty of time to prepare for this confrontation. Simon had phoned mid-morning to tell her that Fiona was being kept in for observation, at her own insistence.
‘She’s a bit fraught, Jo.’ He’d sounded thoroughly miserable. ‘Hit the roof when I suggested pushing off.’ He’d paused. ‘I feel an absolute worm about this. Do you think you can cope with Blackstone—feed him some story or other to keep him off for a while?’
‘I can try,’ she’d said wearily. ‘Cheer up, Si. I hope Fiona feels better soon.’
Now Mrs Thursgood was tapping at her door. ‘Your visitor’s come, madam. I’ve put him in’t drawing-room.’
Joanna counted to ten, breathing deeply, then walked sedately along the broad landing and down the stairs. She didn’t hesitate at the drawing-room door, but went straight in, closing it behind her.
He was standing on the rug in front of the empty fireplace, studying her grandfather’s portrait. At the sound of her entry, he turned, the grey eyes skimming over her, missing nothing.
‘Good afternoon, Mrs Bentham.’ The cool laconic voice grated on her. ‘A historic moment, wouldn’t you say?’
‘Hardly a giant step for mankind, Mr Blackstone,’ she returned with equal insouciance. ‘Perhaps you’d like to state your business.’
‘I’m sure your brother’s informed you of the changes that have taken place during your—period of mourning.’
Joanna shrugged. ‘I understand you now have a financial interest in the Craft Company.’
‘It’s more than that. As far as money’s concerned, I am the Craft Company.’ He glanced round. ‘May I sit down?’
‘If you wish.’ She pretended faintly surprised amusement. ‘Is this going to be a long interview? I do have other plans …’
‘Then cancel them,’ he said pleasantly, seating himself on the sofa. ‘I’d prefer your undivided attention.’ He leaned back, crossing his long legs. ‘I gather Simon will not be joining us.’
She hesitated. ‘His wife isn’t very well.’
‘I’m sorry to hear it.’ He didn’t sound even slightly regretful. ‘She must take after her mother. She’s thoroughly enjoyed very poor health for years. Apparently medical science is baffled.’
He’d captured the lady’s martyred tones with wicked accuracy. To her annoyance, Joanna discovered an unwilling giggle welling up inside her, and hastily turned it into a cough.
‘Can we get back to the business in hand, please?’ She took the armchair opposite to him. ‘I suppose you want to know when you’ll see some tangible return on your investment.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘I’m prepared to bide my time on that. There are other far more pressing matters between Simon and myself.’ He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and extracted a small sheaf of papers, held together by an elastic band. He tossed them on to the low oak coffee-table between them. ‘Do you know what these are?’
Her brows snapped together. ‘How could I?’
‘Then I suggest you take a look.’
Reluctantly she reached for the papers, and removed the band. As she studied them, her frown deepened.
‘I don’t understand.’
‘You’re not a fool, Joanna,’ he said quietly. ‘You know as well as I do that those are IOUs, and that the signature on them is Simon’s. They’re gambling debts that he ran up at the country club.’
Her mouth was dry suddenly. She’d been doing addition sums in her head as she riffled through them, and the total she’d reached was horrifying, and still incomplete.
She said, ‘Gambling? But Si doesn’t gamble.’
‘He certainly doesn’t gamble well. He’s lost consistently at poker, blackjack and roulette. He’s exceeded the house limit for credit more than once as well, and used my name to get more. I’ve had to bar him from the gaming-rooms.’ He saw the colour drain from her face, and smiled sardonically. ‘I presume this is news to you.’
She said thickly, ‘You know it is.’
‘Then I may as well add that he’s in hock to a bookie in Leeds for several thousand.’
She dropped the papers back on the table with an expression of distaste. ‘You’re very well informed.’
‘I find it pays to be.’
‘Yet it’s hardly ethical. Neither is your presence here this afternoon. These—debts should be a private matter between Simon and yourself, surely. You have no right to involve me.’
‘Sometimes private matters have a tiresome habit of becoming incredibly public.’ He seemed impervious to the ice in her tone. ‘And then you’d find yourself involved right up to the hilt, my dear Mrs Bentham. For instance, I could insist on having a spot audit made at the Craft Company.’
The words hung in the air between them, challenging her.
She swallowed. ‘And what would that prove, pray?’
‘Perhaps nothing. But I’m afraid—I’m very much afraid that there would be certain sums unaccounted for. Simon had to find his stake money from somewhere, after all.’
‘I don’t believe you. In fact, I don’t believe any of this.’ She flicked the IOUs with a contemptuous finger. ‘If Simon had known you were going to raise any of these matters this afternoon, he would have been here in person. He thought you were coming to discuss the Craft Company, and only that. Therefore he obviously has no guilty conscience …’
‘A true Chalfont! Your grandfather had no conscience either. It’s a pity Simon hasn’t inherited his strength as well.’
Joanna got to her feet. ‘I think you’d better leave.’
‘When I’m good and ready,’ he retorted, making no attempt to move. ‘Sit down, Joanna, and hear me out. Simon had good reason for failing to realise I was about to call in his markers.’
She didn’t want to hear any more. Her mind was reeling, blanking out with sheer incredulity. Simon gambling, she thought with horror. Losing thousands he didn’t possess and couldn’t repay. What in the world could possibly have started him on such a course to disaster?
As if, she thought, I didn’t know.
She lifted her head and stared at their enemy. Steadying her voice, she asked, ‘What good reason?’
‘I promised I’d give him time, so he assumed he was safe.’
‘And what made you change your mind?’
‘You did,’ he said softly. ‘You came home again, Joanna. And that altered everything.’
‘I fail to see why.’ Her tone was defiant, but alarm bells were sounding all over her nervous system.
He smiled at her. ‘Oh, no, beauty, you haven’t that poor a memory. You put yourself temporarily out of reach when you married Martin Bentham, but that’s all. And that’s over. You knew it the day of the poor bastard’s funeral. Was that why you fled to the States?’
She drew a sharp, painful breath. ‘How dare you?’
‘I dare quite easily,’ he said. ‘After all, I’ve waited longer for you than for anything else in my life, Joanna, and, frankly, I’m beginning to run out of patience.’
‘How unfortunate for you.’ She invested her voice with all the scorn she could muster. ‘But I’m afraid you’re destined to go on waiting for a very long time. For eternity, in fact.’
Cal shook his head. ‘No, sweetheart. You’re not thinking clearly.’ He pointed to the IOUs on the table between them. ‘As you so rightly said, these should have remained a private matter between Simon and myself. But in a war you use whatever weapons are available, if you want to win. And I intend nothing less than total victory.’
Joanna’s hands clenched into fists. ‘I’ll see you in hell—’
‘And we’ll both see your brother in the bankruptcy court,’ he interrupted harshly. ‘I’ll do it if I have to, Joanna, and there isn’t a soul in the world who would blame me. He’s behaved like a incompetent in his business life, and a reckless fool privately. He should be stopped sharply and permanently before he drags himself, and everyone involved with him, any deeper into the mire.’
He paused. ‘On the other hand, the threat of it may be enough to shock him to his senses, and impending fatherhood may keep him there.’
‘What do you care?’ she asked bitterly. ‘You helped push him into this mess. You’ve used him and manipulated him all along the line for your own disgusting purposes …’
His mouth twisted. ‘Have I? Then the more fool Simon for letting me, wouldn’t you say?’
‘He’s no match for you—he never was. He didn’t realise what he was getting into.’
Cal tutted. ‘You mean you didn’t try to warn him? How very remiss of you!’
‘Of course I tried,’ she said with angry weariness. ‘But he wouldn’t listen, and it was too late anyway. He’d already handed the Craft Company to you on a platter, the naïve, trusting idiot. He thought your offer of help meant that the feud between us was over.’
‘And so it will be soon,’ he said softly. ‘Every wrong righted, every debt paid in full. The wheel come full circle. A very satisfying state of affairs.’
‘You’re unbelievable!’ Her voice shook. ‘How can these old quarrels still matter after all this time?’