The Innocent's One-Night Confession: The Innocent's One-Night Confession / Hired to Wear the Sheikh's Ring
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‘Let us go back to the first time you ran away from me,’ Zandor went on. ‘When I woke up to find you gone without a word—then or later.’
He paused. ‘What the hell did I do to warrant that?
Because I really need to know.’
Her throat was dry. ‘I suppose your usual conquests hang around begging for more. Let’s just say I turned out to be the exception to the rule.’
He said harshly, ‘And that’s a cheap retort which insults us both.’
‘We had a one night stand.’ It was her turn to shrug, struggling to keep her voice casual. ‘No big deal.’
‘Again, I don’t agree.’ His voice took on a purr of intimacy. ‘Shall I go through my reasons?’
‘No!’ In spite of herself, the negation seemed to explode from her and she hastily tempered it with, ‘Thank you.’ She spread her hands. ‘It—it was all a long time ago.’
‘To me, it still seems like yesterday.’
‘Then that’s your problem.’ She swallowed. ‘Why can’t you let the past stay exactly that instead of raking over old mistakes?’
She added defensively, ‘After all, it’s not going to make the slightest difference—to either of us.’
He was silent for a long moment, his expression unreadable. He said, ‘Then let us turn our attention to the future and allow me to offer you a word of warning.’ He paused. ‘You and Gerard?’ He shook his head. ‘It’s never going to happen. You would be well advised to walk away.’
The obvious and truthful response was ‘I couldn’t agree more,’ she thought, stiffening. But that was her decision, not his. And, anyway, what right did he have to interfere—either to warn or advise?
She said coolly, ‘My relationship with Gerard is a private matter for us alone.’
‘Not any longer,’ he said, his mouth twisting. ‘And certainly not in this family. They invented the words “public domain”.’
‘Then let me tell you they’ve all been very kind and—welcoming.’
‘Does that “all” include Aunt Meg and Aunt Caroline?’ He raised an ironic eyebrow. ‘Or my grandmother, for that matter?’
Her hesitation was fractional. ‘She’s been—charming.’
‘Why not? She has bundles of it when she chooses. She sometimes even uses it on me. But that makes no difference to her long-term plans for Gerard, which do not, my lovely one, include you, I can promise you.’
‘Please don’t call me that,’ she said tautly. ‘And Gerard’s future is his own to decide and he may consider I have a role to play in it.’
‘Then why isn’t he here with you now, finding some quiet, sheltered place and getting you out of your clothes?’
As she stared at him, shocked, he added, ‘Or is that not yet part of the agenda?’
Alanna threw back her head. She said chokingly, ‘How—how dare you? That’s none of your business.’
‘But it’s very much my concern.’ Zandor’s voice slowed to a drawl. ‘Having initiated you into the pleasures of physical passion, my sweet, I wouldn’t wish you to feel—short-changed in any way.’
Alanna pressed her hands to her burning face. ‘I don’t,’ she said defiantly. ‘In any way.’
Which, she told herself, was no more than the truth—if not in the way he expected.
She added, ‘I trust you don’t want details.’
He was unfazed. ‘Thank you but I think I prefer my memories.’
He let that sink in. Sting.
‘So Niamh is charming and Gerard attentive,’ he went on musingly. ‘But don’t let that fool you. If you’re also thinking long term, Gerard can’t afford to get married.’
‘You’re his employer,’ she flashed. ‘Perhaps you should pay him more.’
‘Perhaps I would,’ he said, ‘if I was more convinced about his commitment to Bazaar Vert.’
He paused. ‘However, his present salary already allows him a very pleasant flat in Chiswick, his car, and an expensive boat currently moored at Chichester, plus his New Year skiing trips, and his summer vacations in the Caribbean, as I’m sure you’re fully aware,’ he added silkily. ‘All of which hardly puts him on the breadline.’
Alanna bit her lip. ‘And as he’s also aware, I’m not exactly on the breadline myself,’ she mentioned crisply.
‘No, you work in publishing, for a company called Hawkseye,’ he said slowly. ‘And not as an assistant in a bookshop as I once thought.’
‘Does it matter? They’re both perfectly respectable occupations.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘But unless you’ve also won millions in the Euro lottery, neither of them equips you financially to be the wife of the heir to Whitestone Abbey.’
He continued drily, ‘Unless, of course, you’re prepared to take on Niamh and convince him he needs that particular destiny like a hole in the head.
‘To do that, you’d need to be either very brave or very reckless. And while you certainly don’t lack the second trait, you may not come off unscathed again. Not a third time.’
‘A third?’
‘Why, yes,’ he said. ‘The first was the night at my hotel when you let the taxi I’d ordered leave without you.’ He added unsmilingly, ‘Or had you forgotten that small but important detail?’
The silence stretched between them as Alanna tried to think of something to say. And failed.
As if she had spoken, Zandor nodded. ‘What I need to know is—why? Or are you going to use the champagne as your excuse again?’
The words bit at her. She made herself meet his gaze. ‘No—although I’ve never drunk very much alcohol.’
Perhaps because I’ve seen where it can lead...
She went on, ‘Perhaps I was simply—curious. I’d come to realise I was something of an anomaly in this day and age and maybe I wanted to—know what I was missing.’
‘And, on a whim, chose me for this daring experiment?’ His voice was harsh. ‘Please don’t expect me to be grateful.’
‘I don’t.’ She stumbled on. ‘I—I soon realised I’d committed a terrible—an unforgivable error. That it was the last thing I wanted to happen. I—I couldn’t face you—afterwards—so I—left.’
His eyes were as bleak as winter. ‘It didn’t occur to you to tell me much earlier—maybe when it started—that you’d changed your mind? That you wanted it all to stop?’
‘Oh, sure,’ she said bitterly. ‘And you’ve have accepted that. Patted me on the head and said “That’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” I read about cases like that all the time in the papers.’
‘Of course,’ he said, with equal bitterness. ‘And it was somehow simpler to include me with all the brainless louts who won’t take no for an answer.’
She swallowed. ‘Zan...’
‘No,’ he said almost violently. ‘You don’t call me that. Not now. Not ever again.’
‘I don’t understand...’
‘You don’t have to. Just believe that it’s—safer.’ Shaken, Alanna watched him draw a deep breath. Regain his control.
When he spoke again, his tone was dry. ‘After all, you might make another mistake and use it in front of Gerard. Make him—wonder just how well-acquainted we really are.’ He paused. ‘Unless, that is, you’ve already told him.’
‘No,’ she said, still on edge. ‘Why would I want to admit that I’m damaged goods?’
She saw his mouth tighten and braced herself. But all he said was, ‘Why indeed?’
He became brisk. ‘Now it’s time you went back to the abbey before my grandmother thinks of any other little tasks to keep Gerard occupied and out of reach for the rest of the day.
‘If you turn right by those boulders, you’ll find an easy track that will take you almost straight to the stables—unless you decide on another gallop.’
He unhitched Dolly and led her over.
‘But don’t hope for too much,’ he went on as Alanna mounted and settled herself in the saddle, trying not to wince. ‘Whether you’re damaged goods or pure as the driven snow, it makes no difference. He’s still not for you.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’ll decide that for myself.’
‘Which,’ he said softly, ‘could be another terrible mistake. You seem prone to them.’
He untied his own horse and swung himself lithely into the saddle.
She said sharply, ‘I can find my own way. You don’t need to accompany me.’
‘I wouldn’t dream of it,’ he returned. ‘I’m merely going to retrieve the expensive hat you abandoned earlier.’ He paused. ‘Unless, of course, you want to give my grandmother additional ammunition.’
He gave her a mocking salute and rode off.
She watched him go, then slowly turned Dolly for home, grateful that the mare seemed happy to resume her usual staid pace.
But even more thankful, she thought, that Zandor would never know the truth.
And felt the tears she dared not shed burn like acid in her throat.
CHAPTER FIVE
THE RETURN TO the abbey was more of an amble than a ride. Dolly clearly would have known the way blindfold and Alanna, struggling to subdue her inner turmoil, was content, even grateful, to let the mare take charge, and allow her to think.
The important—the only—thing was, had Zandor believed her? Had their previous encounter now been dealt with and laid to rest?
And as she reviewed endlessly everything that had been said, she could start to believe that it had. That it was finally finished. And for that she had to be thankful.
She was recalled to the present by Dolly’s soft whicker as the roofs of the stables came into view, reminding her that she had other problems to attend to.
It seemed her resolve to proceed with caution in her relationship with Gerard had been the right one. Certainly if she’d been allowing herself to fall in love with him, she’d now be devastated.
Not, she reminded herself hastily, that Zandor’s warnings were necessarily valid. The strange dynamics of the Harrington clan alone might well have caused him to adopt his own agenda.
On the other hand, she could see that the abbey clearly needed an injection of seriously hard cash, which she, the daughter of a country solicitor, would never be able to provide, even if she’d felt so inclined.
Because the abbey, she suspected, could well be a bottomless pit.
She was also realising that she’d probably totally misinterpreted Joanne’s comments about potential clashes over money during the weekend. Because the family history she’d subsequently heard indicated that it would not be Zandor—the gipsy, the outsider—asking his grandmother for financial help, as she’d assumed, but quite the other way round.
Not, she thought, a happy state of affairs.
However, from a purely selfish point of view, no business of hers. And something else she could soon put behind her altogether.
But at least this interlude with Gerard had been enjoyable enough to bring her permanently out of her self-imposed seclusion. In future, she’d be as much of a social animal as even Susie could wish.
And one day she might find herself involved in a real relationship. Something to hope for, anyway, she thought, sternly stifling the odd pang twisting inside her.
* * *
She was in Dolly’s stall, removing her saddle, when Jacko appeared.
‘You’d best leave that to me, and get yourself up to the house,’ he said gruffly. ‘The Missus is asking for you.’
Well, the Missus could wait, Alanna decided, relinquishing Dolly reluctantly, at least until she’d soothed in a hot bath the last of the aches and pains from being summarily dumped on the common, and put on some clothes free of mud and grass stains.
She let herself into the house by the side entrance and was just crossing the hall to the stairs when she was intercepted by the housekeeper, Mrs Jackson.
‘Oh, you’re back, Miss Beckett. That’s good. Mrs Harrington has been waiting for you to join her for coffee in the library.’
A note in her voice told Alanna unequivocally that this was not a suggestion but a command that she would do well to obey.
Reluctantly, she followed Mrs Jackson to the unexpected and unwanted rendezvous.
It wasn’t a large room, and the oak shelving that covered three of its walls from floor to ceiling, filled with leather bound tomes that Alanna could bet were never opened from one year to the next, made it seem smaller and darker, making her glad she wasn’t claustrophobic.
The fourth wall was occupied by an ornate fireplace, its grate, at this time of year, filled with an attractive arrangement of dried flowers.
Two high-backed leather armchairs, a coffee table between them, confronted each other on either side of the hearth, and Niamh Harrington, predictably, Alanna thought sourly, was seated in the one facing the door.
Since breakfast, she’d changed into a silk caftan in sapphire blue, embroidered with butterflies.
‘So here you are at last!’ she exclaimed. ‘I was becoming anxious, dear girl, when I found Jacko had come back without you. The common can be treacherous in parts,’ she added, shaking her head gravely.
Treacherous, plus bloody dangerous and unexpectedly disturbing, Alanna supplied silently as she sat down, still with a certain care.
‘So, how did you like Dolly?’ Mrs Harrington went on. ‘A bit quiet now, I dare say, bless her. But come out with me tomorrow, and I’ll put you on Caradoc.
‘My brother-in-law in Ireland bought him as a stallion, but he nearly wrecked the horse box, kicked out his stall and attacked his girl groom, as well as fighting with the other horses, so Patrick had him gelded and offered him to me as a point to pointer for Gerard.
‘But he was still a wild one, and I’d just decided to sell him on when Gerard’s cousin took a fancy to him. Came down here at weekends to work with him until Caradoc would come when he whistled.
‘Turned him into a lovely smooth ride with the manners of a saint, would you believe? But then,’ she added, shrugging, ‘gypsies always seem to have a way with horses. It’s in their genes, I dare say.’
It was the overt contempt in her voice that told Alanna that it was Zandor’s own grandmother who would never intend ‘gypsy’ to be a compliment—or even a joke. And how vile was that?
Mrs Harrington sent Alanna another bright smile. ‘So we’ll go out in the morning and see what you make of the darling boy.’
The smile was transferred seamlessly to the housekeeper, entering with a tray. ‘Set the coffee down here, Mrs Jackson dear, and we’ll serve ourselves.’
She picked up the heavy silver pot. ‘I’d guess cream but no sugar. Am I right?’
Alanna, whose mind’s eye had been suddenly filled with a sunlit image of a man riding a powerful bay as if they were fused into one, like some ancient Greek centaur, dragged herself back to reality with a start. ‘Actually, I take it black.’
Mrs Harrington tutted. ‘Ah, now, too much caffeine is bad for the system, so I’m told.’
‘I’ve heard the same thing,’ Alanna agreed, taking the cup her hostess handed her. ‘But I still prefer it that way.’
She hesitated. ‘And tomorrow we’ll be going back to London right after breakfast, so, sadly, I’ll have to miss out on another ride. But thank you for asking me.’ And produced a smile of her own. ‘Next time perhaps.’
‘Well, there’s always that,’ Mrs Harrington agreed tranquilly. ‘However, I’m afraid, my dear, that I have to disappoint you. Gerard, being the heir, has a number of responsibilities down here at Whitestone, especially now I’m not as young as I was, and we have tenants who’ll be wanting to see him tomorrow.’
She nodded. ‘I imagine that could take up most of the day, and then we’ll need to discuss everything, so he may well be spending the night. And I’m sure you need to get back to your busy life and your career in the big city.’
She sighed. ‘Ah, girls today have the best of it. Great jobs and their independence. My own family took it for granted I’d stay at home until I was married, and that’s what I did until the blessed day when Gerard’s grandfather came to claim me.
‘It will be so different for you, dear girl. You can enjoy your freedom.’
She paused, then went on more briskly, ‘But my Diana and her husband are leaving before lunch, so I’m sure they’ll be glad to give you a lift. I’ll ask them, shall I? Or you could speak to Joanne. I’ve noticed the pair of you hitting it off.’
I bet you have, thought Alanna, sipping her coffee with a fair assumption of composure. So that’s how it’s done. Nothing as crude as ‘Never darken my doors again.’
Just the subtle dagger between the ribs. And if I cared, I’d now be bleeding all over this Persian rug.
As it is, what’s twisting the knife is having to accept that Zandor was right. But at least I’ll never have to say so. Or not to him, anyway.
Knowing I’ll definitely never have to meet him again is actually one of the few advantages of the situation.
However, if Mrs H. thinks I’m going to leave in a huff right here and now, she’ll be disappointed. I intend to stick to my guns and depart with dignity.
Aloud, she said calmly, ‘Please don’t trouble yourself, Mrs Harrington. I can make my own arrangements.’
Or Gerard certainly can, she decided, stonily. I think he owes me that. Because I’m not going round begging for a lift as if I’m a Victorian servant turned off without a character.
Besides, he must know his grandmother’s plans for his future, so what on earth prompted him to invite me in the first place?
Therefore, I’m going to have some advice for him too. Grow a backbone before it’s too late.
Then, swiftly reverting to the theme of dignified departure, she smilingly accepted another ‘absolutely delicious’ cup of coffee.
Which proved to be a mistake.
‘I believe your father is a lawyer,’ Niamh Harrington remarked as she handed back Alanna’s cup. ‘One of the great professions, I always think. My cousin’s son is Dermot Connor-Smith, QC who’s made a great name for himself at the criminal bar. I expect your father knows him well.’
‘I doubt they’ve ever met,’ Alanna returned composedly after another fortifying sip. ‘My father isn’t a barrister, and he doesn’t work in London.’
‘Not in London?’ Mrs Harrington’s brows rose. ‘Isn’t that a strange choice?’
‘Not at all. He’s a partner specialising in probate and family law at a firm based in a small market town called Silworth.’ Alanna paused. ‘Perhaps you’ve heard of it?’
Mrs Harrington appeared to consider. ‘It doesn’t spring to mind. And he finds enough to occupy him there?’
Alanna smiled. ‘Oh, yes. He’s always busy.’
‘And your mother. Does she also have a job?’
‘She does part-time work in a charity shop for the homeless, but she’s also very involved with the local Women’s Institute, and both she and Dad are keen gardeners.’
And so the inquisition continued, demonstrating to Alanna with needle-sharp accuracy just how provincial her background would seem to the Harringtons of Whitestone Abbey.
By the time the meeting drew to its close and she was graciously released—‘I think some of the others are playing croquet on the lawn, my dear. I’m sure you’d be most welcome to join them...’—Alanna’s blood was close to boiling.
Whatever she’d resolved privately, it was still not pleasant to be dismissed in such a cavalier fashion. Treated as if she didn’t matter, she thought as she stormed upstairs. As if, God help her, she’d somehow been tried and found wanting.
As for croquet, she thought savagely, watch out, world, and Niamh Harrington in particular, if she got her hands on a mallet any time soon.
She flung open the door of her room and marched in, stopping herself just in time from slamming it behind her in case the sound echoed as far as the library and told Gerard’s grandmother that her knife had found its target.
Nor did she intend to permit herself to cry, although she knew tears were not far from the surface. She would not, she decided, grant Niamh Harrington that much of a victory either.
She stalked furiously into the bathroom and began to run water into the tub, adding a generous capful of gardenia bath oil, before stripping off her clothes and fastening her hair into a loose knot on top of her head with a small silver comb.
She slid down into the water, closing her eyes and resting her head against the small towelling pillow attached to the back of the bath, feeling the heat permeate through every inch of her chilled and shaking body. Relaxing gradually as she inhaled the fragrance of the gardenia and began to breathe softly and evenly again.
And there she remained, adding more hot water when necessary until she’d recovered a measure of calm, even managing to smile again as she thought what she’d have to tell Susie—strictly edited, naturally. Zandor Varga, if she mentioned him at all, would feature only as Gerard’s arrogant boss. Their previous acquaintance would still stay strictly taboo.
And one day, sooner rather than later, she would be able to erase his memory from her life altogether.
As the water drained, she dried herself slowly with one of the soft, fluffy bath towels provided, moisturised her skin with her Azalea body lotion, then wrapping herself, sarong-style, in another towel, she sauntered back into her bedroom, removing her comb and letting her hair tumble round her bare shoulders as she went.
‘Ah,’ Zandor said softly. ‘So there you are.’
He was standing by the bedroom door, leaning a casual shoulder against its frame.
Alanna started violently, dropping the comb and clutching at the towel, which had begun to slip.
She said hoarsely, ‘You. How dare you come in here? Get out at once.’
‘It didn’t require any particular daring.’ He shrugged. ‘I came to return some lost property.’
He pointed to the bed and, turning, Alanna saw the sweater she’d dropped in that headlong dash across the common draped neatly across the pillow.
Damnation, she thought, and lifted her chin. ‘Then you should have knocked.’
‘I did. You didn’t seem to be here. And the door was not locked.’ He paused. ‘Unlike last night.’
So it was you. She managed just in time to choke back the words.
Oh, God, she thought. Why didn’t I think of it this morning?
‘And you don’t need to thank me.’ He allowed his gaze to travel over her slowly and appreciatively. ‘I am already sufficiently rewarded, believe me.’
She felt her skin warm. ‘In that case, kindly leave.’ She spoke crisply. ‘I’d like to get dressed.’
‘Then do so,’ he drawled. ‘After all, watching you put your clothes back on again is one of the few things I haven’t yet enjoyed in your company.’
The breath caught in her throat. She said unevenly, ‘If you don’t get out now, I’ll scream the house down.’
His brows lifted mockingly. ‘Rather extreme action to take with someone you supposedly met only twenty-four hours ago,’ he commented. ‘How would you explain it?’
‘I wouldn’t have to,’ she said defiantly. ‘Your reputation with women apparently speaks for itself.’
‘No,’ he said softly. ‘But gossip certainly does. My Cousin Joanne has been busy.’
She said huskily, ‘Or perhaps she speaks from bitter experience.’
‘No.’ His tone was harsh. ‘She does not.’ He paused. ‘I admit I considered it at one time, but then I remembered I used to be fond of her.’
Alanna drew a ragged breath. ‘Whereas with me you didn’t even have that excuse.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘With you, my lovely one, I had no excuse at all. None.’
He straightened. Came away from the door.
Alanna shrank. ‘Keep your distance. Don’t dare to lay a hand on me.’
‘Now you are being absurd.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘It is barely an hour until lunch.’ He sent her a crooked smile. ‘Certainly not time for anything I might have in mind. As you may remember.’
‘You,’ she said unevenly, ‘can go to hell.’
He opened the door. Looked back at her. He said quietly, ‘“Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it.” I am sure you recognise the quotation.’
And went, closing the door behind him.
For a long moment, Alanna remained exactly where she was, staring at the solid wooden panels. Then she stumbled across the room and—belatedly—turned the key in the lock once again.
Better safe than sorry, she thought, and knew just how ridiculous that was. Because she certainly wouldn’t be safe until she left the abbey behind her for ever. And it was equally certain, she told herself, that her meeting with Zandor Varga was something she’d regret for the rest of her life.