Yesterday’s Scars
Carole Mortimer

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘IT’S all very mysterious, isn’t it?’ exclaimed Linda. ‘Rather exciting in a way.’

Hazel slammed her suitcase shut with a bang, disrupting all the clothes she had placed in there only minutes earlier after folding them neatly. ‘There’s nothing mysterious or exciting about it!’ she declared crossly. ‘I’ve been ordered home, that’s all.’

‘Yes, but what a home! I remember the photographs you showed us when you first came over here—it’s a fantastic place. How you could ever move over here and live in this tiny apartment,’ Linda indicated the two rooms that had been Hazel’s home for the past three years, ‘after living in that beautiful mansion, I just can’t imagine. I know I wouldn’t do it.’

‘You might if Rafe happened to own the mansion,’ Hazel said with a grimace, checking that she had all her luggage ready to leave for the airport.

Linda’s eyes became even dreamier. ‘Rafe Savage!’ she sighed. ‘There’s romance just in the name. How lucky you are to have such a romantic figure for a guardian!’

‘He isn’t my guardian! I’m nearly twenty-one, Linda, not two years old. Rafe just happens to have looked after me since I was ten. But he’s nothing but a bully,’ Hazel said fiercely. ‘He has no right to order me home as if I’m a schoolgirl!’

‘You don’t have to go, honey,’ Linda pointed out.

Hazel looked sceptical. Linda obviously didn’t know her cousin Rafe or she wouldn’t have made such a statement. When Rafe issued an order everyone jumped to obey, including Hazel—up to a point. ‘I have to go. He only allowed me to come to the States at all on condition that I returned after three years, just until my twenty-first birthday.’

Linda looked amazed. ‘Don’t you want to return home? It must be great living in a house like that. I bet this cousin of yours is something like the local lord of the manor, isn’t he?’

Hazel thought of Rafe’s arrogant bearing and the respect and loyalty with which the local people in his Cornwall home treated him. ‘Yes,’ she agreed slowly, ‘I suppose you could say that.’

‘You’ve never talked much about your family, Hazel, but we always knew you were a set apart from us. Besides your obviously being English that is.’ She leant back in the chair. ‘What made you come to the States?’

Hazel shrugged. ‘I wanted to leave Savage House and anywhere in England didn’t seem far enough away from the Savage influence. I’ve had a lovely time over here, Jonathan’s been perfect to work for. And everyone has been so friendly. I’ve really loved it here, and I don’t want to go home,’ she finished miserably.

Linda laughed. ‘I don’t think Jonathan being perfect to work for and everyone being friendly are the reasons you don’t want to leave. I think Jonathan’s son Josh may have something to do with that.’

‘Well …’ Hazel blushed prettily. ‘We were just starting to get to know each other. It isn’t long since Jonathan introduced us.’

Linda frowned. ‘Maybe it’s as well you’re leaving. He doesn’t improve on better acquaintance. I’ve never liked him. I’m sorry, Hazel, I know how charming he can be, but I’ve never gotten over the callous way he let Sandra down. They were engaged, you know.’

‘Yes, he told me.’

‘I bet he did—his side of it.’ Linda looked at her wrist-watch. ‘We’d better get you to the airport, it’s getting late.’

‘You really don’t like Josh, do you?’ Hazel frowned.

Linda shrugged. ‘As Jonathan’s nurse I’ve had longer than you to observe Josh. I’ve seen him in action plenty of times. Believe me, if he hadn’t been in Europe the last couple of years you’d have got to know a lot more about him too. That pleasant companion at your farewell dinner party isn’t his normal image. Oh, I don’t want to talk about him any more. You take away your pleasant memories of him and forget what I just said.’

Their goodbyes at the airport were hurried; Hazel’s thoughts were now firmly turned towards home. Three years was such a long time to be away from home; people changed—she herself had changed tremendously. At least, she hoped she had, or this time away had been a complete waste of time.

Her arrival in the States had been nothing like her departure of just now. Then Rafe had accompanied her, seen her safely settled before returning to his estate in Cornwall, the acres of land he owned and lorded it over. The head of the family, Rafe managed and dominated every member of his household with a firmness that only Hazel had ever seemed to resent to the point of argument. That had been a lot of the trouble between them, the way she had always fired his temper.

She doubted it would be any different now. Their arguments had been almost unbearable before she had left, in fact that had been part of the reason she had wanted to go to America. And surprisingly Rafe had offered no resistance. In fact, it had been he who made all the enquiries for her job, and on finally being accepted he had accompanied her on the flight and stayed a few days to make sure she was going to be happy there.

And she hadn’t see him for three years, three long peaceful years. Would he have changed? She remembered him as being tall, very tall, and dark, with the dark skin colouring and thick black hair of his ancestors. The Savajes had originated from Spain, moving to England hundreds of years ago, their name soon refined to the more acceptable Savage.

Rafe wasn’t even really her cousin, her father having married Rafe’s true cousin when Hazel was only two years old. Her first memory of this tall arrogant man had been at the age of five, when he was already a grown man of twenty-three, and she had fallen and cut herself, sobbing bitterly for her father. Rafe had laughed at her tears, saying she was a big girl now and big girls didn’t cry over silly little things like cuts. From that moment on she had begun to hate him.

And now her time in America was over and she was returning to Savage House, a large house overlooking the sea that pounded on the rocky beach far below them. She felt nervous about meeting Rafe again, so nervous that by the time the plane landed she was pale and apprehensive. And her journey wasn’t over yet.

She had cabled a couple of days ahead to say when she would be arriving, but having received no reply she had no idea if she was going to be met. She certainly hoped so; she didn’t relish the idea of getting to Savage House on her own. The grounds surrounding the house were private, with a man on the gate to stop any intruders, and no one was allowed in without Rafe’s explicit permission. How humiliating to arrive there and not be allowed in! It would be the sort of humiliation Rafe would enjoy witnessing.

She knew her fears to be groundless when she saw James waiting for her in the airport lounge. Dear kind James, the chauffeur who had been with the Savage family every since she could remember, his wife Sara being the cook and housekeeper.

Hazel hugged him, huge tears of emotion welling up and threatening to overspill. ‘Oh, James, it’s lovely to see you!’

He held her away from him. ‘Why, Miss Hazel, I wouldn’t have recognised you, you’re so grown up.’

She laughed. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment, James, thank you.’ She licked her lips nervously. ‘Rafe hasn’t come with you, then?’

The middle-aged man frowned. ‘He would have come himself normally, you know that. But since he was hurt he doesn’t go out much.’ His face brightened. ‘But it should be different now you’re home again. Mr Savage has certainly missed you.’

Hazel doubted that very much, but didn’t argue with him. Something else he had said held her attention much more. ‘You say Rafe has been hurt?’ she asked sharply. ‘What do you mean by hurt?’

James stashed her suitcase in the boot of the Mercedes, just one of the cars kept for the use of the members of the Savage family. She supposed she could be considered part of the family, although she had never considered herself as such. Rafe had a much more sturdy Range Rover for transporting himself about the estate.

James looked at her sharply now, his surprise unhidden. ‘Why, he was hurt in the accident, Miss Hazel. Hurt quite badly too. Of course he won’t admit to the pain he has, but you can see it in his eyes. You’ll probably notice it more than we do, having been away so long.’

Hazel frowned her puzzlement. ‘I don’t understand all this, James. Are you telling me that Rafe has been involved in an accident?’

James halted in the process of opening the car door for her. ‘You mean you don’t know? Didn’t Miss Celia write and tell you?’

She shook her head. ‘What should she have told me, James? Tell me what’s happened to Rafe!’

He shook his head. ‘I would have thought someone would have told you,’ he muttered to himself.

‘Tell me, James!’ she pleaded.

He sighed. ‘Mr Savage was on the launch. No one realised, least of all him, that there was a leak in the petrol tank. One lit match and the whole thing went up. You know how Mr Savage likes to smoke those cheroots of his, it was inevitable it would happen as soon as he went on board. Luckily he was thrown clear, but the left side of his face was badly burnt and he had a crushed bone in his left hip that’s left him with rather a nasty limp at times.’

Hazel paled at this information. Rafe maimed and scarred! Oh, it didn’t bear thinking about. She and Rafe might have argued constantly, but she had never been able to deny that he was a fine specimen of manhood—at least, he had been! ‘Oh God!’ she groaned. She felt physically sick. ‘When—when did it happen, James?’

‘About a year ago now. Mr Savage——’

‘A year ago?’ she burst out. ‘But I—I——No one told me!’

James closed her car door behind her and climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘That’s very odd, Miss Hazel, because I’m sure that when he was so ill Mr Savage asked for you. Miss Celia promised him she’d write to you.’ He began to look uncomfortable, as if realising he had said too much. ‘I suppose she must have decided it was better not to worry you.’

‘Yes,’ she agreed hollowly.

Celia! A viper in paradise was a good description of Rafe’s sister. Celia of the laughing, teasing, spiteful blue eyes, long black lustrous hair, and a perfect petite figure; she managed the Savage household with the arrogance of all the Savage women before her. And she deliberately hadn’t told Hazel of Rafe’s accident, Hazel felt sure of that.

There had never been any love lost between them and on the death of Rafe’s mother Hazel had known she couldn’t stay at Savage House any longer. Celia had married at twenty but was widowed two years later when her husband was killed in a car accident, and so she had moved back with her mother and brother. Four years ago Mrs Savage had died, Hazel’s only ally as far as she was concerned, and Celia had taken over.

But she had never believed Celia would go to the extreme of keeping something of such importance concerning Rafe away from her, she had never believed she would go that far.

At twenty-seven, twelve years Rafe’s junior, Celia was one of the most beautiful women Hazel had ever seen, and she was surprised that she had never remarried. But why should she feel it necessary when she had the privileged position of running the Savage household? As Celia was only six years Hazel’s senior the two girls were of an age where it should have been possible for them to have been friends. But there had always only ever been antipathy between them.

Celia had always resented the fact that Rafe had taken over Hazel’s care on the death of her parents, declaring vehemently to anyone who cared to listen that Hazel wasn’t a true Savage, that she didn’t belong at Savage House. And Hazel supposed she was right, but where else could a ten-year-old child go?

‘I suppose you’re right,’ she agreed more strongly with James. ‘But I’ll be glad to get home.’ And strangely enough she meant it. Ever since the chauffeur had told her of the accident she could think only of Rafe, of what seeing him again would mean to her. He had always been so masculinely handsome, so male, and now that maleness had been marred.

She couldn’t wait to reach the house, leaving James to bring in her luggage from the car as she ran inside to see Rafe. Celia strolled casually out of the small salon at her entrance, looking coolly beautiful as usual.

‘Is Rafe home?’ Hazel asked breathlessly.

Celia gave a mocking smile. ‘Thank you, Hazel, I’m very well,’ she said dryly.

‘Oh—oh, yes.’ Hazel blushed. ‘Is Rafe home?’

Celia ran her tongue thoughtfully over her heavily painted lips. ‘Well, he hasn’t made a point of staying home to greet you, if that’s what you mean. This isn’t a case of the return of the prodigal, you know. Rafe is out on the estate like he is any other day.’

‘Oh.’ Hazel couldn’t hide her disappointment from this woman, much as she would have liked to. Nothing had changed at Savage House, it seemed, still the same hate from Celia and indifference from Rafe. She had never known which was the worse to bear.

Celia looked bored. ‘Your usual room has been prepared for your stay. Have James take your things upstairs. I’ll be out for the rest of the afternoon, so please yourself what you do. Just don’t go bothering Rafe when he comes in.’

Hazel held herself stiffly. ‘I had no intention of doing so, Celia.’ She halted the other woman as she made a move to leave. ‘Why didn’t you tell me about Rafe’s accident?’

‘Tell you what, Hazel? That he’s maimed and no longer the man of your girlhood dreams, but a scarred embittered man who doesn’t want to be bothered by your stupid adoration? Rafe saw no reason to ask for your return,’ Celia added cruelly. ‘He didn’t want you fussing around him in an effort to show him how devoted you are. You aren’t wanted here, Hazel.’

Hazel tried not to flinch at the harshness of Celia’s words. In her three years’ absence she had forgotten just how barbed Celia’s words could be, but she was being reminded very forcefully. ‘I’m going to my room,’ she said stiffly.

Celia wrenched open the door. ‘The guest-room,’ she corrected.

Hazel swallowed hard. ‘The guest-room,’ she agreed dully.

She went slowly up to her room. Celia’s resentment seemed to have grown in her absence, not lessened. The room she referred to as the guest-room had been Hazel’s room for the past eleven years. But what hurt Hazel the most was Rafe’s callousness in not even being here to greet her.

The view from the window was magnificent, the sea pounding against the shoreline, and to the far left a forest of tall green trees. It was among these trees that Hazel, at the great age of fourteen, had built herself a low rambling one-story shack. Rafe had helped, of course, but it had always been her own private place. She had spent a lot of time there during the summer months. Trathen, the name of the village, had only fifty families, excluding the Savages. Each household maintained its own portion of land, but the Savages dominated the area, Savage House standing high up on the cliffs, dominating the whole of the landscape.

Hazel loved the summers here. With her blonde hair she could be expected to burn easily, but she didn’t have the fair skin that would have been normal with her hair colouring. Her skin was olive brown, during the summer months tanning to a deep walnut brown. She was a strange mixture altogether, blonde hair, olive skin, and deep brown eyes, and no one had yet worked out where the latter two derived from.

The blonde hair she had acquired from the mother she had never seen, her life being the price she had paid for her long-awaited child. But as both her parents had blue eyes and fair skins Hazel’s own strange combination could only be put down to one of her ancestors. She could almost have looked like a Savage if it weren’t for this fair hair of hers, both the surviving Savages having raven-black hair.

She smiled at James as he brought in her luggage, standing up to hug his wife Sara as she came into the room with him. ‘Why, Sara,’ she stood back, grinning widely, ‘I do believe you’re more rounded than ever!’

The cook-housekeeper smiled back at her, a good advertisement for her own cooking. ‘And I do believe you’re skinnier than ever!’ The two of them grinned at each other affectionately, their difference in weight having always been a standing joke between them.

Sara was the fat jolly cook of storybooks and Hazel was so slender she appeared wraithlike. And it was true, she was slimmer. Her pay as a doctor’s secretary had been quite high, but then so had the cost of living. Rafe had insisted on paying her a monthly allowance, but she had been determined never to use any of it. She wanted to be like any other working girl, and if that included being broke most of the time then that was what she would be.

And she had been most of the time, not even having enough money to feed herself properly. But this way she had felt like part of the crowd, had forgotten her guardian-cousin was a very rich man, rich enough to buy her anything she had ever wanted. But over the years she had wanted little, not wanting to feed Celia’s unwarranted jealousy any more than was absolutely necessary.

It seemed strange that Rafe wasn’t here to meet her. He must have known of her arrival time, otherwise he couldn’t have sent James to meet her at the airport. So where was he? Out on the estate, Celia had said. But surely he could have spared five minutes just to say hello. There would have been hell to pay if she had acted in the same casual way where he was concerned. And in truth she didn’t like to admit how much his reticence hurt her.

She showered and changed into one of the thin cotton dresses she had bought for her return home. None of the clothes she had had for the summer in Cornwall three years previously seemed to fit her anywhere, for where she had lost weight in most places, her figure seemed to have filled out in others. Some of her colourful tee-shirts looked positively indecent, they were so tight.

She chose to wear a pure white dress, her olive skin and fair hair showing to advantage against its stark colour, leaving her legs bare and donning white rope sandals.

Her hair she brushed until it shone, brushing it up high and securing it with a white ribbon high on the top of her head, leaving her smooth swan-like neck bare and free to the gentle caress of the breeze. America could be extremely hot, but she knew that Cornwall, during the summer months, could sometimes be almost as hot and humid.

The front doors stood open when she came down the stairs and as there didn’t seem to be anyone about to tell of her departure she left the house and went out into the blazing sunshine. She would go down to the cabin, and hope that the memories there wouldn’t be too painful.

The track down to the sea was steep and often dangerous, its rocky steps cracked and crumbling in places. Her movements down the pathway were hurried and shifty; she had been warned time and time again by Rafe not to go this way but take the longer safer path around the back of the house. But Rafe wasn’t here to see her right now and it was quicker this way.

She had forgotten how much she loved this place, loved the sea, the sand, and the sunshine. She took off her sandals, digging her feet into the warm sand and loving its soft caressing feel. She paddled at the water’s edge, alone and yet not alone. It was impossible to feel that way in this paradise; the beauty surrounding her was the only company she needed.

She wished now that she had thought to bring her bikini down to the beach with her. It was no good being able to admire the beauty here and not be able to participate. She had bathed alone here from time to time, this also against Rafe’s instructions, the tides here being dangerous to the lone swimmer. She had mainly done this when Rafe was away on business, but she daren’t do it today, not when he could turn up at any time.

The cabin was getting old now and in a way she dreaded going inside. While the summers could be very hot here the winters could be equally cold, and the damp and rain could have destroyed her tiny haven during her absence. Also she didn’t know what memories awaited her there.

She turned the handle of the door tentatively, the door never locked as there was nothing here to steal. It was only a one-room cabin, containing a bed, some rush matting, and primitive cooking arrangements. Rafe had occasionally let her stay in the cabin for a couple of days and during that time she had fended for herself.

She opened her eyes to what she felt sure must be destruction and found the cabin exactly as she remembered it. Nothing had changed, and nothing had been destroyed. She walked around the room, picking up tiny mementoes of her childhood, amazed at the good condition of everything. Perhaps the cabin had been protected, situated among the trees as it was. She could think of no other explanation.

The picture of Rafe and herself stood on the rickety table beside the bed, a picture of happier times together. She sat down on the mattress, the photograph in her hand. She had just beaten Rafe at a game of tennis, her first victory over him, and they had persuaded a friend to take a photograph of her elation.

She looked at the photograph now, dog-eared from much perusal. Rafe had his arm thrown casually about her shoulders and she was laughing up happily into his smiling features. She had been fourteen at the time and the harmony between them hadn’t lasted for much longer after that.

Sighing, she replaced the photograph on the table, anxious to escape now. She hadn’t reacted quite as violently to this place as she had imagined, but nevertheless she had had enough of the past and its memories for her. No doubt the cabin would eventually become her refuge once again, but for the moment she just wanted to get out of here.

School should just about be finished and Trisha, the girl who taught half the sixty pupils registered there from the village and the surrounding area, had been quite a good friend of Hazel’s before leaving for college two years before Hazel herself had left the district.

Having lived here all her life, Trisha had returned a few months ago when the vacancy had come up, preferring to teach the children of her friends and so be able to move back in with her own family. The day should be over now as far as school was concerned and Trisha would probably be preparing the schoolroom for tomorrow’s classes.

The school was a low rambling building situated about a mile away from Savage House; the children’s ages ranged from five to nine. After this they would be sent to the bigger school in the town ten miles away, but more often than not they would be sent away to boarding-school, a lot of them never returning to the isolation to be found here.

The area just didn’t provide enough work for all of them, or the entertainment for that matter. There was a small country club, with all the usual sporting facilities, and a dance held every Saturday, but certainly nothing like the sophisticated forms of entertainment to be found in the towns. And so the population in this part of Cornwall remained about the same, varying between three and four hundred, and that was the way Rafe liked it.

Rafe! No matter what Hazel started out thinking about it always came back to her arrogant guardian. And he was still that—just. The conditions of her father’s will had left her to Rafe’s guardianship until she was twenty-one, even though the age of consent was eighteen. But in a week’s time she would be twenty-one, and able to be her own boss and not ordered about as if she was still a child.

As she had expected, Trisha was sitting at her desk at the head of the room, marking the exercise books of the day. Hazel crept quietly into the room, hoping to surprise her friend. She hadn’t written telling Trisha of her return; the whole thing had been arranged in such a hurry there hadn’t been the time to do so even if she had wanted to.

‘Hi!’ she cried happily.

Trisha looked up, startled. Her face lit up as she recognised Hazel, throwing down her pen to rush over and hug her. ‘Oh, Hazel!’ She held her at arm’s length, her blue eyes mirroring her excitement. ‘When did you get back?’

‘Just now.’ Hazel’s smile was warm with happiness. ‘Literally. I only took time out to shower and change before coming over to see you.’ And visit the cabin, but she didn’t want to talk about that!

‘I’m flattered,’ her friend grinned. ‘Goodness, I’ve missed you!’

‘And I you. Your letters have been very welcome, though. I was so pleased for you when you passed all your exams. How does it feel to be teaching in the school you yourself went to?’

‘A bit strange at first. But I’m enjoying it,’ Trisha enthused. ‘You know I told you the authorities are trying to close the school down? Well, Rafe’s been really fantastic about it He’s persuaded them to keep it open for at least another year or so.’

‘That is a breakthrough.’

Hazel knew that the authorities were trying to close some of the smaller schools, believing them to be a waste of money. But she also knew that Rafe believed that the children should be kept in the area for as long as possible, and obviously he had managed to persuade the people concerned to his way of thinking, even if it was temporarily. She knew Rafe well enough to know that it would become a permanent thing.

‘Mm,’ Trisha gathered up the marked books, ‘Rafe’s been very helpful.’

‘And Celia?’

Trisha’s face darkened. ‘Celia is—Celia.’ She said the last with a shrug.

‘Sorry,’ Hazel grimaced. ‘That was a bit unfair. You’ll have to excuse me, but I’ve just left her.’

‘I see. It was terrible about Rafe, though, wasn’t it?’ Trisha effectively changed the subject. Celia’s resentment towards her brother’s young ward was public knowledge among the local people, and it was something that Hazel and Trisha had often discussed together, usually when Hazel had run from Savage House in tears after one of her slanging matches with Celia. ‘It’s quite a shock when you first look at him.’

‘Yes,’ Hazel agreed huskily. She wasn’t going to admit that she hadn’t even seen him yet.

Trisha shuddered. ‘I can still remember the first time I saw him when I came back. God, he was a mess, Hazel. His face! At first I thought it had ruined his good looks, but I don’t know, now that the scarring has faded slightly I think it may have added to them. He was always a handsome devil, but now—wow!’

Hazel didn’t see how a scarred face and limp could add to a man’s attraction, but she didn’t argue with Trisha. To do that she would have to admit that she didn’t even know the full extent of Rafe’s injuries, that she hadn’t even known he had been injured until this morning.

She still didn’t know how Celia could have kept such a thing from her. Rafe could have died and she wouldn’t have known until it was too late. She shuddered at the thought. And Rafe had been burnt. She didn’t need to be told how horrific burns could be—or how painful. Rafe’s smooth brown skin, scarred and disfigured … She couldn’t bear it.

‘I would have come home myself if I’d been asked,’ she said coolly. ‘I—I didn’t realise just how seriously ill he was.’

‘Perhaps it’s as well that you didn’t. Mummy says Celia was acting like Lady Bountiful while he was ill in bed, ordering the estate workers about as well as the household staff. Half the people were threatening to down tools by the time Rafe was back at the reins.’

‘Someone should have told him what was going on.’

Trisha began to wipe the blackboard clean. ‘Impossible. To see Rafe you had to go through Celia, and she wouldn’t let you anywhere near him if she knew what you wanted to see him about. They all tried, but were told politely but firmly that the boss wasn’t to be disturbed.’

‘And I thought they’d all deserted me,’ drawled a deep lazy voice from behind them.

Trisha’s face flushed with dismay as she looked guiltily at the man standing a few feet behind Hazel. ‘Rafe!’ she exclaimed.

‘That’s right. I thought I might find you here, Hazel,’ he spoke to her rigid back. ‘Aren’t you going to turn around and say hello?’ His voice hardened.

Hazel had tensed as soon as she heard his voice, his deep drawl unmistakable. Rafe was standing just a few feet behind her, tall, attractive, arrogant Rafe. Yes, he was standing just behind her—and she couldn’t move! Her legs felt frozen to the spot and she just couldn’t move!

How could she face him again, remembering everything that had passed between them? She hadn’t seen him for three years, he would be a stranger to her now, a tall scarred stranger who had taunted and cajoled her for most of her twenty-one years.

But she had to face him, had to show him, as well as herself, that she wasn’t afraid of him. He would be a complete stranger to her now, but she had never understood him that well. He was too deep for her unsophisticated mind, too sensual for her unawakened innocence to take in. But three years had passed since their last meeting, three long years during which she had grown up.

Yes, she had to face him now, if only to prove to herself that she could do it.

CHAPTER TWO

SHE stiffened her shoulders, turning slowly, her gaze going straight to that scarred face still strangely dominated by taunting blue eyes. A deep scar ran from temple to jawbone on the left side of that dark compelling face, a scar dangerously close to the eye, although that appeared uninjured. Besides, James hadn’t mentioned an eye injury. The scar continued down the firm column of Rafe’s throat until it was obscured by the navy sweat-shirt he wore.

The scar gave him a rakish appearance. And while she realised it must have been very painful at the time, Hazel agreed with. Trisha, it did add to his attraction. He looked more devilish than ever. And women have always been attracted by that which offers a challenge.

He was leaner than she remembered, his thick black hair worn longer, well over his collar, although it suited his dark arrogance. Those deep blue eyes still mocked and scorned, the cynical twist to those firm lips was more pronounced.

He stood facing her, legs apart, arms folded in front of his muscular chest, challenge in every muscle and sinew of his powerful body. Hazel felt herself stiffen under that challenging gaze. So it was to be a fight as before! Well, she wasn’t quite the inexperienced teenager she had been before her stay in America.

‘Hello, Rafe,’ she said obediently, time enough to show him her newly acquired confidence at a later date.

His mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile, the scarring even more pronounced. ‘Not a very affectionate greeting after three years’ absence. Can’t you do better than that, Hazel?’

‘What do you want me to do?’ she snapped angrily, her poise momentarily forgotten. ‘Get down and grovel at your feet?’

He laughed outright at her outburst, a deep throaty sound that she found attractive even against her will. ‘Still the little hell-cat,’ he drawled softly, moving forward with long easy strides, moving with all the stealthy grace of a jungle cat.

He was standing directly in front of her now, looking down at her through narrowed considering eyes, the jagged discoloured skin on the left side of his face clearly visible to her. ‘I think a kiss might be more in keeping with our relationship, don’t you?’

Hazel wrenched herself away from the mesmerising effect of the warmth of his body, drawn to him by the masculine smell of a hard day’s toil and the long cheroots that he smoked constantly. She had been wrong before, nothing had changed! Rafe still disturbed her with the emotions he evoked in her soft traitorous body that wanted to be crushed against him, everything else forgotten.

She had thought herself over this stupid infatuation she had always had for Rafe, that Josh and men like him who had existed in her life during the last three years had wiped out these childish fantasies. But they hadn’t! One look at Rafe as he stood there, so self-confident, so arrogant, so basically male, told her that everything was as it had been before. Except perhaps that Rafe seemed more withdrawn from her than ever, more distant somehow—if that were humanly possible.

‘We don’t have a relationship,’ she answered tautly.

Both of them had forgotten Trisha, which was perhaps as well. She had quietly escaped out of the schoolroom at the first opportunity, feeling an unwanted third.

Rafe nodded. ‘Maybe we don’t.’ One long hand moved up to run the fingers lightly over his scarred cheek. ‘Not a pleasant sight, am I?’

It was a statement, not a question, and Hazel’s eyes darkened. ‘I would never have thought you a man to be full of self-pity,’ she flung at him.

He smiled at her, a smile completely without humour. ‘Oh, I’m not, not now anyway. Don’t try any of your amateur psychoanalysis on me, little Hazel Stanford$$ keep that sort of rubbish for the people who really need it. I’ve grown quite used to looking at a monster every morning in the mirror when I shave.’

She looked down the length of his strong body. ‘I thought you had a limp too?’

‘Oh, I do, when I’m tired,’ he confirmed mockingly. ‘All I need is the hump on my back and I could standin for the Hunchback of Notre Dame.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous! You’re certainly not ugly.’ Far from it!

‘Like I said, Hazel, save that sort of thing for the people who need it—or who actually believe it. I don’t. Now, I think we’ve talked that subject out, let’s talk about something less personal to me. Is your visit to be a short one?’

She licked her suddenly dry lips. ‘That depends on you, doesn’t it?’

Rafe shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘In just over a week’s time I can neither make you stay nor make you leave.’ He grimaced at their surroundings. ‘Let’s get out of here—I never did like school as a child.’

‘I can believe that. You’re exactly the type I would expect to have played truant.’

‘I did most days. I always enjoyed swimming in the cove to sitting at a desk all day.’

‘And yet you want to keep this school open.’ Hazel walked at his side back towards the house, the long safe way round this time.

‘You’ve found out a bit in the short time you’ve been back,’ he commented. ‘I want to keep the kids in this area for as long as possible. It’s for their own good in the long run.’

‘Oh, I agree with you, although I’m not sure some of them would.’

He turned to face her. ‘It’s important that some of them learn to love the beauty and naturalness of this area. And they can’t do that living away in the towns. If only a few of them learn to appreciate it that’s enough for me. I won’t be here for ever. If I should die tomorrow do you think Celia would keep the Savage estate and run it as it is now?’ He shook his head. ‘I know she wouldn’t. She’d sell out to one of the holiday organisations that have been after this land for years. I like to think there would be enough of the local people to fight such a move.’

‘You really think Celia would do such a thing?’ Her horror showed in her face.

‘I’m sure of it. I’m not blind to her faults, I never have been. Left to her the estate would be sold as quickly as possible. But I don’t intend dying just yet—not to please anyone.’ He gave her a sideways glance.

‘Rafe!’ Hazel was genuinely shocked. ‘I’ve never ever wished you dead. How could you think such a thing?’

Again he shrugged. ‘I had no word from you after the accident. It’s a natural assumption to make.’

‘But you didn’t send for me.’

‘Of course I damn well didn’t!’ He wrenched her round to face him. ‘I was in the intensive care unit of the local hospital for over a month, delirious most of the time. I didn’t realise you were waiting for a personal invitation!’ he finished in disgust.

‘But I wasn’t. I——’

‘Wasn’t Celia’s letter enough?’ he asked bitterly. ‘God, I know we’ve had our differences in the past, but I had no idea you disliked me to that extreme.’

‘But I——’

‘You what?’ he demanded. ‘Were busy? Your job was too important to you to risk losing it? Oh, I know all that, Hazel, I know all that. I’ve had plenty of time to think out your reasons. It’s amazing the amount of thinking you can do in a hospital bed, especially with most of your body strapped up in bandages. But when you can’t move thinking is about all you can do. I thought of you a lot, Hazel, about how much you must be enjoying yourself to not even have the common decency to enquire how I was. Ignore it and it will go away was your idea, wasn’t it?’ He touched his scarred cheek. ‘Well, this isn’t so easy to ignore.’

‘None of that’s true, Rafe,’ she cried desperately. ‘That isn’t the way it happened at all.’

‘How it happened doesn’t matter any more. None of the reasons come out in your favour. I just hope that once you’re twenty-one and can claim your inheritance you will kindly remove yourself from my sight.’ He gave her one last scathing look before walking away with long easy strides, the navy sweat-shirt clinging to his back in the heat of the day.

Hazel stared after him with tear-filled eyes. She wanted to stop him, tell him it wasn’t her fault, that Celia hadn’t sent her any letter. But it was no good, he would never believe her. It would be Celia’s word against hers, and Celia had a head start, three years to be exact.

Her feet took her automatically to the people she always ran to when troubled—the Marstons. Trisha’s family had always accepted her into their midst without enquiring what upset it was that had caused her to escape this time. Only two people could so upset her, Celia was one and Rafe the other, and it was best not to question too deeply; the enmity in the Savage household not a matter for general discussion.

Sylvia Marston looked up from the magazine she had been perusing, her face lighting up with pleasure as she saw the identity of her visitor. As a child Hazel had spent so much time here that it had been almost like having a second daughter, and at times she had wished she had a son Hazel could marry to make that possible. But she and Max had only been allowed the one child, leaving them love enough for an orphaned ten-year-old girl.

She stood up now, moving forward to hug this golden-haired child, for that surely was what she still was, even though she had lived alone the last three years. ‘Hazel!’ Sylvia studied her intently. Still the same trusting brown eyes that could glow with laughter or darken with pain, usually the latter in her last few months before leaving England for America. ‘Trisha said you were back, but that you were at the school talking to Rafe.’

Hazel shrugged. ‘I was. He’s gone back to the house. At least, I presume that’s where he’s gone.’

‘I see.’

Hazel smiled wanly. ‘You always did, didn’t you? Oh, Aunt Sylvia, it’s started again already!’ She slumped down on to the sofa.

Sylvia sat down beside her, placing a consoling arm about her shoulders. ‘Give it time, child, give Rafe time.’

Hazel’s eyes swam with tears. ‘Time is something I don’t have too much of where Rafe is concerned. He’s given me a week to get out of his life once and for all,’ she explained at Sylvia’s questioning look.

‘He’s what!’ Sylvia was astounded. There had always been a certain tension between Rafe and his ward, the occasional argument over trivial matters—but never open conflict. That seemed to be left to the female member of the Savage family. Poor Celia, hating a girl who could have been a good friend if allowed to be. She shook her head. ‘I’m sure you must have misunderstood him. Rafe’s your guardian, he can’t just dismiss you out of his life.’

‘He already has. And his guardianship ends in a week’s time. He said I could stay until then.’

‘But why ask you to leave at all? I don’t understand this.’ Sylvia looked sharply at Hazel. ‘Does Celia have anything to do with it? Has she been up to her tricks again?’

‘I’m afraid so.’ Hazel went on to explain Celia’s omission concerning Rafe’s accident.

Sylvia rose angrily to her feet. ‘That woman is a monster! She deserves a good hiding for the trouble she causes. How could she do such a thing!’

‘I keep asking myself the same question, and the answer isn’t pleasant. She hates me, Aunt Sylvia. She really hates me!’

Sylvia smiled gently. ‘It isn’t you personally she hates, Hazel, anyone would have done at the time. You arrived here at a time when Celia wanted and demanded that all male attention should belong to her. At sixteen she felt herself to be the most beautiful woman in the world, and she wanted everyone else to think so too, including Rafe. But he had all his spare time wrapped up in you, attention she felt she deserved.’

‘But Rafe is her brother!’

‘Even more reason for him to cosset and spoil her, for him to realise his cygnet has grown into a swan. But at the time, and rightly so, he believed you needed that extra-gentle care, the extra love he had to give. And so it was you and not Celia who received the attention of Rafe Savage. She longed to show everyone how her big strong fearless brother loved her, how he thought her beautiful. But you arrived, a little waiflike creature with eyes too big for your face and an awful lot of love you wanted to give someone. Celia felt very excluded, rejected even, and she’s gone on disliking you for it all these years.’

‘I didn’t realise … I never asked for Rafe’s care, you know.’

Sylvia laughed softly. ‘You didn’t need to. He only had to look at you to know you needed a lot of undemanding love. And he gave it to you.’

Trisha came bursting into the room, changed now into a green suntop that complemented her shoulder-length straight blonde hair and matched her twinkling green eyes. She wore white shorts and plimsolls with her top and was obviously just on her way out. ‘I thought I heard voices,’ she grinned. ‘Fancy a game of tennis, Hazel?’

‘I don’t think so,’ Hazel replied uncertainly, at the moment her mind too full of the recent revelations about Celia.

‘Oh well,’ Trisha sat down in the chair opposite them. ‘I’ll go another time.’

Now Hazel felt guilty. It wasn’t fair to inflict her problems on this happy family. They must have been relieved at the three-year break, she thought wryly. ‘Okay,’ she gave in. ‘Why not? I could probably use the exercise.’

The club couldn’t be called large by any standards, but it had all the usual activities, a pool, half a dozen tennis courts, a squash room, and of course, the bar.

Two or three of the tennis courts were already in use when they arrived, the youngsters already there old acquaintances who wasted no time in coming over to say hello. Some of the parents of these people worked on Rafe’s estate, although they always treated Hazel with the same casualness of their other acquaintances—for which she felt grateful.

There were a couple of male faces she didn’t recognise, but Trisha soon named them as the Logan brothers, Mark and Carl, staying in the village with the Delaneys. Both tall and fair and good-looking, they could almost have passed for twins, and Hazel guessed there must only be a year or two’s difference in their ages.

‘Are you going to play tennis?’ Mark asked Trisha.

She nodded enthusiastically, hurrying through the introductions. She had had her eye on Mark Logan for the last few days now and this was the first opportunity she had had to actually speak to him. He was the most attractive-looking man she had seen around here for ages, not counting Rafe of course; no one quite measured up to Rafe Savage, and she supposed no one ever would. Most of the girls in the area were half in love with Rafe and given the least encouragement would go to him on any terms he cared to make. But no encouragement was ever forthcoming.

Carl Logan smiled at Hazel. ‘Would you like to challenge them for three sets?’

Hazel laughed. ‘I’m not sure if I’m up to three sets. I haven’t played for some time, but I’m willing to try if you are. I just hope you’re a good player,’ she added teasingly.

It appeared that he was, the two of them taking the first and third sets, although not without a lengthy battle. The four of them just about collapsed into the loungers next to the pool, sipping thirstily at the iced lime juice they had ordered.

‘Your tennis is excellent.’ Carl watched her over the rim of his tall glass, his blue eyes clear and uncomplicated. He was a refreshing change after the trauma of her other meetings today.

She grinned at him. ‘I’m a little rusty,’ she corrected him. ‘If you weren’t such a good player we would have lost, miserably.’

Mark watched them with amused eyes. ‘When the two of you have quite finished complimenting each other on that purely lucky victory,’ he said tongue in cheek, ‘I suggest we all make arrangements to go to the dance together tomorrow evening.’

‘That would be lovely,’ answered Trisha excitedly. ‘Wouldn’t it, Hazel?’

Hazel looked from one to the other of them, not really sure if she should make arrangements like that without consulting Rafe first. He hadn’t always attended these weekly dances, although when he had he had always expected her to accompany him. But that had been before his accident. Anyway, hadn’t he more or less told her to keep out of his way for the duration of her stay here?

She nodded her head. ‘Yes, lovely,’ she agreed.

It was obvious that Trisha wholeheartedly approved of the idea anyway. She could talk of little else but Mark Logan on the way back to the Marston home. The Logan brothers were certainly an attractive pair, but in a way they reminded Hazel too much of Josh and the men like him she had met during her stay in America.

Maybe Josh could have meant more to her; she didn’t know, and hadn’t had the time to find out. But she had heard the rumours about him like everyone else, it hadn’t taken Linda to tell her that Josh had let his fiancée down only two weeks before the wedding. She had already heard about that and it hadn’t endeared him to her. But when she had met him she had found him charming and very attractive.

She had been a little more sorry to leave him when she left America than any of her other male friends there, but since arriving in Cornwall she could think only of Rafe. She had the feeling that Carl Logan could become a friend if she would let him, but she wasn’t sure if she wanted that.

‘Coming in for dinner?’ Trisha invited.

Hazel shook her head regretfully. ‘I’d love to, but I suppose I’d better get back,’ she grimaced. ‘No doubt Celia would just love for me to absent myself from the dining table. Think of the trouble she could cause if I don’t turn up for dinner on my first evening home. Lord, I’d forgotten all about these intrigues! It’s just as if I’d never been away.’

‘Well, I for one am glad you’re back,’ Trisha squeezed her hand affectionately. ‘See you tomorrow.’

Hazel didn’t hurry back to Savage House, knowing that her welcome there would be no more enthusiastic than the one she had received earlier, from either member of the Savage family! Aunt Sylvia was right, she should tell Rafe that Celia hadn’t written to her, but somehow that would only be admitting his sister’s hatred of her, and at the moment she wasn’t even sure she was prepared to accept the extent of that herself, let alone convince Rafe it was so.

‘You’re back, then,’ was Celia’s curt greeting as she sneeringly watched Hazel take the stairs two at a time on her way up to her room. ‘Rafe isn’t to be disturbed at the moment,’ she added curtly.

‘I’ve already seen him,’ Hazel told her softly.

She knew Celia was surprised by this information by the widening of her mercenary blue eyes. ‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘Not very pleasant to look at any more, is he, Hazel?’ she taunted.

Hazel shrugged, Rafe’s appearance had been a shock when she had first seen him again, but shocks were quickly overcome and familiarity soon took their place. In a couple of days she would have forgotten he had ever looked any other way. And in just over a week’s time she would have left here for good.

‘I’ve seen worse,’ she replied carelessly.

‘Perhaps you have,’ Celia sneered. ‘But not on someone who means as much to you as Rafe does.’

Hazel flushed, looking sharply at the other woman. ‘What do you mean?’ she demanded tautly.

Celia gave her a pitying smile. ‘Rafe and I often laughed together over the fact that you imagined yourself in love with him before you left here three years ago. It was quite amusing to watch your constant playing for his attention.’

‘You’re lying!’ Hazel’s face was bright red. ‘Rafe isn’t like that. And I’m certainly not in love with him!’

‘Perhaps not now, not now he looks like something out of a horror film, but you were once. How fickle you are, Hazel! A few scars and you’re no longer interested.’

‘If Rafe finds me such an embarrassment why did he ask me to come back here?’ Hazel demanded defiantly.

Celia gave a satisfied smile. ‘He didn’t,’ she answered smugly. ‘I sent that telegram asking you to come home.’

‘You did?’ Hazel’s look was scathing. ‘Slightly late, weren’t you?’

She watched as Celia coloured uncomfortably. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked coldly.

‘Only that Rafe expected you to send for me a year ago when his accident happened—in fact, he believes you to have done so. Now why should he think that, Celia? Could it possibly be because you told him you’d written to me when in fact you hadn’t? Could that be the answer?’ Hazel mused.

‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’ hissed the older woman. ‘Rafe didn’t need you then and he doesn’t need you now. You’re only here so that he can finally rid himself of the responsibility of the headstrong clinging child you’ve been in his life. After your birthday you won’t be welcome here at all.’

‘I already know that,’ Hazel returned softly. ‘But you didn’t need to bring me back to England to tell me that, a letter would have sufficed. America suited me very well, I could have done without this upheaval.’

‘That wouldn’t have done at all. You see, I know you, Hazel, you wouldn’t have believed it unless Rafe told you so himself. I gather he did tell you?’

‘Yes,’ came her reluctant reply.

Celia smiled cattily. ‘Then I hope you take his advice. You’ve been an intrusion in our lives far too long now, and the sooner you remove yourself the better.’

‘Don’t worry,’ Hazel told her angrily. ‘I don’t intend staying anywhere where I’m not wanted.’

‘Then why have you stayed in our lives this long? Surely you must have realised when Rafe took you to the States that that should have been the end of it. We thought we’d finally got rid of you.’ Celia gave a harsh laugh. ‘But oh no, you had other ideas about that. Every month you wrote to Rafe, short letters, but just enough to make sure he didn’t forget you. Why was that, Hazel? Haven’t you had enough out of us the last eleven years without coming back for more?’

‘You’re a bitch, Celia, nothing but a bitch!’ Tears gathered in Hazel’s huge brown eyes. ‘But don’t worry, I’ll get out of your hair quite soon.’ Oh, this woman hated her much more than she had ever realised! ‘Perhaps Rafe will let James take me back to the airport tomorrow. I no more have any wish to stay here when I’m so unwanted than you have to have me here.’

‘Rafe will insist you stay until after your birthday, so don’t make it any more difficult for us than it is already. Rafe can do without your having tantrums and demanding to leave. Just stay out of his way.’

‘I intend to!’

‘For God’s sake, you two!’ Without either of them realising it Rafe had opened the door to his study and was now glaring furiously at the pair of them, his face almost satanic with its deep scarring. Hazel looked at him guiltily. How much of their heated conversation had he heard? ‘Do you realise your voices are carrying all through the house! If you have to squabble and bitch at each other like a couple of children at least keep your voices down!’

Celia moved to her brother’s side; petite and beautiful, she smiled up at him. ‘We weren’t arguing, Rafe, merely talking loudly because Hazel is halfway up the stairs.’

His deep blue eyes raked mercilessly over both of them, a certain harshness to his face. ‘Don’t take me for a fool, Celia,’ he snapped abruptly. ‘Hazel’s only been back a few hours and already you’re at each other’s throats.’ He looked at Hazel and pushed his study door open further. ‘Come in here, I want to talk to you.’

‘Now?’

‘Right now.’ His tone brooked no argument.

Hazel trudged wearily down the stairs, Celia’s look of intense pleasure not escaping her notice as she passed the other woman. The study was just as she remembered it; wood-panelled walls, a huge mahogany desk, a couple of worn leather armchairs, scatter rugs on the polished floor, and well-worn books piled on the shelves along one wall, evidence of Rafe’s continual usage of them. She sat down in the chair facing the desk, her long shapely legs smooth and golden.

Rafe sat opposite her, the shirt he wore fitting tautly across his flat muscular stomach and wide powerful shoulders. His shirt was unbuttoned almost to his waist, the continuation of those disfiguring scars clearly visible. The jagged scar edge showed up whitely against his naturally dark skin and although Hazel longed to know the full extent of his injuries she knew he would not welcome her interest; his firm uncompromising mouth was evidence of that.

She looked at him with challenge in her eyes. ‘Well?’

His snapping eyes flashed her a warning. ‘Don’t take that attitude with me!’

‘Why not?’ she answered defiantly. ‘Is it only the prerogative of the Savages to be rude? If so, I apologise.’

Rafe sighed. ‘No, you don’t, we both know that. And must I remind you that you’re a Savage?’

‘Oh no, I’m not!’ she denied vehemently. ‘I’m a Stanford.’

‘Only by name; your temperament is purely Savage.’

She gave a reluctant smile. ‘Fiery, huh?’

‘Exactly,’ he drawled with a grin.

In that moment he was the old Rafe, never loving and kind, but often gentle with her. And in that moment she remembered how patient he could be with her as a child. She smiled at him tearfully. ‘Oh, Rafe, I’ve missed you!’

His eyebrows rose at the emotion in her voice. ‘You could always have come back, no one stopped you. This is still your home.’

She shook her head. ‘You never wrote to me, Rafe, just a card at birthdays and Christmas.’

‘And you wrote often, I know.’ He sat back. ‘Did you enjoy America?’

‘Some of it—no, most of it. It was fun.’

‘And boy-friends? Anyone upset by your return here?’

She thought momentarily of Josh, and then dismissed him. He had probably already replaced her, he certainly wasn’t the constant type, and they had only been dating a few weeks. ‘No one,’ she replied clearly. ‘Now that I’m back here I may as well see if I can get a job in London. I can’t see any point in going back to America, Jonathan has already employed my replacement.’

‘Then why not get a job locally? You could continue to live here then.’

Her eyes were wide. ‘You—you told me to leave,’ she said breathlessly.

‘So? When did you ever do what I told you?’

Hazel gave a rueful grin. ‘Most of the time. I found it easier to do so.’

‘So you’re going to leave here?’ he persisted.

‘I thought that was what you wanted.’ She looked puzzled. ‘You said so earlier.’

‘I know that, but perhaps I was being a little hasty. You have as much right here as anyone. It was your home for eight years. Besides, I could do with your help,’ Rafe added ruefully.

‘You could?’

‘I could. I’ve never liked all the paperwork running this estate entails. You could stay here and deal with that.’

‘But Celia said——’ Hazel broke off. What she had been about to say sounded too much like telling tales. She shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Rafe shook his head. ‘The two of you have never got on. I could never understand it.’

Neither had Hazel until a few hours ago when Sylvia Marston had explained Celia’s reasoning. ‘Just a clash of characters. It happens. It isn’t important.’

He frowned. ‘It is if your shouting can be heard all over the house,’ his voice hardened.

‘Look, Rafe,’ said Hazel, ‘if you want me to go to London I will, but I’m not staying here on sufferance. I have some of that Savage pride you possess in abundance.’

‘I’ve noticed.’ His mouth twisted with humour. ‘Stay until after your birthday anyway. And think over what I’ve suggested.’

‘I will.’

‘Perhaps Celia could arrange a small dinner party for you here tomorrow evening,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘A sort of welcome home party, just a few close friends. I’ll suggest it to her.’

‘Oh, not tomorrow,’ Hazel said hurriedly. ‘I—I already have arrangements made for tomorrow,’ she admitted with guilt, although why she should feel that way she had no idea.

Not by the flicker of an eyelid did he show surprise. ‘You’ve been to the club this afternoon?’

She nodded. ‘With Trisha. We had a game of tennis.’

‘So you’re going to the dance tomorrow evening?’

‘Yes. We—um—we met Mark and Carl and they invited us to join them for the evening. It seemed like a good idea at the time,’ she finished lamely.

Rafe ran his fingertips absently down the livid scar edge on the side of his face. ‘You don’t have to explain your movements to me.’ He rose to his feet, leaner than she remembered but just as powerful. ‘The dinner party can be arranged for another night. Now if you’ll excuse me I think I’ll shower and change for dinner.’

Hazel accepted his words for the dismissal they were, going up to her room. Dinner had always been a formal affair in the Savage household and she wanted to dress with more than her usual care for her first night at home with Rafe and Celia. Celia had found fault with enough to do with her for one day without giving her cause to criticise her choice of clothing too.

The dress she chose was an emerald green chiffon and floated down to her ankles in a cloud, adding a honey-gold colour to her blonde hair and giving luminous depth to her golden-brown eyes.

‘I see your taste in clothing has improved,’ Celia remarked bitchily as she came into the lounge for a sherry before dinner. ‘You seemed to live in denims the last time you were here.’

‘Not for dinner,’ Hazel replied vaguely, unable to take her eyes off Rafe as he stood watching them with enigmatic eyes. He looked so attractive, dressed very formally in black trousers and a white dinner jacket, that it made her heart beat faster just to look at him.

‘The velvet pants you wore were almost as bad. So masculine,’ Celia wrinkled her nose delicately.

Rafe gave a wry laugh. ‘Hardly, on Hazel. She’s too shapely to ever look anything but completely feminine.’

‘Really?’ His sister arched one carefully plucked eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t aware that you’d looked at her that closely.’

He gave her a cold look. ‘Well, now you know I have.’

‘I see.’ Celia bit her lip before looking at Hazel. ‘When do you intend leaving?’

‘Celia!’ Rafe’s glass slammed down on the drinks cabinet. ‘You’re being rude,’ he said darkly.

‘It’s all right, Rafe,’ Hazel began. ‘I——’

Celia’s blue eyes glared her dislike. ‘I don’t need any help from you! I’m perfectly capable of making my own explanations—when I think them necessary.’

‘I think one’s due now,’ Rafe said tightly. ‘Your rudeness is inexcusable.’

‘I don’t consider my question rude,’ she told him tightly. ‘I merely enquired when Hazel was leaving.’

Rafe was in the process of pouring himself another drink and so Hazel thought she had better make some effort to stand up for herself, hard as that was turning out to be against the dominant Savage family. Once again she felt herself to be overwhelmed by their forceful personalities.

Before she could utter a word Rafe was speaking again. ‘She isn’t leaving.’

His sister looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean? Why isn’t she?’

Hazel was wondering the same thing herself; she certainly hadn’t said she was going to stay on.

Rafe appeared unperturbed by Celia’s aggressive attitude. ‘She isn’t leaving because I’ve asked her to stay,’ he told her calmly.

Celia stiffened. ‘You’ve what?’

‘I’ve asked her to stay—and she’s accepted.’

Celia turned furiously on the still silent Hazel. ‘You little cat! You lying little bitch!’ Her mouth turned back in a sneer. ‘You told me you were leaving. It didn’t take you long to start wheedling around Rafe again. I suppose you’re paying for your keep with services rendered,’ she added insultingly.

Rafe’s mouth tightened, a certain whiteness about his lips. ‘You’ll apologise for that remark,’ he told her grimly.

She turned on her heel, marching purposefully towards the door. ‘I won’t apologise to that little—to her,’ she amended at Rafe’s threatening step in her direction. ‘And don’t worry, I’m not staying here to interrupt your first dinner together in three years. Perhaps you deserve her after all!’ With that she slammed out of the room.

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