Stormspell (24 page)

Dominic replaced the receiver with controlled impatience, and then remained where he was for several minutes just staring at the instrument. Bitterness. resentment, anger—he felt all of those things, and art almost insane desire to get in his car and drive to Wellington Mews, and force his way into her aunt's house.

'What time are you leaving, sir?' Shannon's entry had gone unnoticed, and now Dominic looked up at the manservant sourly.

'What?'

'I said—what time are you—'

'I don't know,' Dominic interrupted him, proving that he had registered what Shannon had said, getting up from the sofa and pacing moodily about the floor. He glanced again at his watch. 'I should have left five minutes ago, does that answer your question?' he demanded arrogantly, and the little Irishman gave an involuntary shrug of his shoulders.

'Sure and I only asked,' he murmured, making for the door, but this time Dominic halted him.

'I did as you suggested.' he said unpleasantly. 'I phoned Miss Jason. I just hope you're satisfied now.'

Shannon hesitated. 'Wasn't the young lady at home?'

'Oh. yes. The young lady was at home,' declared Dominic dourly. 'Unfortunately, she didn't want to speak to me.'

'No!' Shannon sounded surprised. 'Ah, well, perhaps it's just as well.'

'What do you mean?' Dominic glared at him. and the Irishman shifted uncomfortably.

'I don't think Miss Symonds would approve of you making overtures to another member of the opposite sex,' he opined sagely, and Dominic felt a rising sense of frustration.

'Don't you?' he enquired, the sarcasm evident in his voice. 'Well, it's a little late to tell me that now.'

Shannon shrugged. 'Why? You said the young lady didn't speak to you. There's no harm done.'

'Isn't there?' Dominic didn't bother to correct him. and with a cursory inclination of his head he strode out of the apartment.

Behind the wheel of the Porsche, he felt his nerves tightening again. The last thing he needed now was a dose of Gerald Symonds' political dogma. The man might have been useful to his father in the past, but Dominic had no desire to get involved in party politics, and without really considering the consequences of what he was about to do, he turned into the Marylebone Road.

Wellington Mews was easier to find, now that he knew the way, but he parked the Porsche outside the narrow entry, and walked the last few yards to the door. The knocker was brass and highly polished, and the sound it made echoed round the enclosed yard long after he had let it fall. It had an ominous ring, and it momentarily daunted the determination that had brought him here. What was he doing? he asked himself impatiently, then stiffened as the door was opened.

An elderly woman waited inside, and he guessed this must be the individual he had spoken to earlier. Stepping into the light shed by the carriage lamps, he forced a faint smile to his lips, and then, at her enquiring stare, said: 'My name is Crown, Dominic Crown. I'd like to speak to Miss Pascal.'

'Miss Pascal is not at home this evening, sir,' the woman replied, in the carefully modulated tones he remembered. 'If you would like to leave a message .'

Dominic inwardly cursed. Then, coming to a decision, he said: 'Miss Jason—I believe she is at home. May I speak with her instead?'

Now, the housekeeper—for she was surely too old | to be anything less—looked doubtful. 'I'm not sure that Miss Jason is expecting any callers, sir,' she said dubiously. 'I think she may have gone to bed.'

'At half past seven?' Dominic observed sceptically. isn't that a little early?'

The woman looked uncertain. 'Does Miss Jason know you, sir?'

Dominic sighed. 'Yes.'

'Then perhaps you'd better come inside, while I find out if she can see you,' remarked the housekeeper consideringly, and Dominic hesitated only fractionally before stepping into the house.

The hall was warm and mellow, its illumination coming from a cut-glass chandelier at the foot of the stairs. Seasoned panelling, a russet and gold carpet underfoot, delicate prints of a bygone era—it was evident that Davina Pascal was a woman of substance, and Dominic looked about him in frank appraisal as the housekeeper ascended the curving staircase.

He had approached a daguerreotype of an old Model T Ford, and was examining it in detail, when he heard hurried footsteps on the stairs. He glanced round, half surprised that the elderly housekeeper should be able to move so swiftly, and then felt a sudden jolt at the sight of the girl, who had halted, nervously, on the curve of the staircase. In a simple but evidently expensive dress of some soft woollen material, its cowl collar framing her determined little chin, and her hair bound securely round her head in a coronet of braids, she looked far older, and infinitely more sophisticated, and he knew a sudden pang for the innocent adolescent she had been. Even her eyes seemed to hint at a new experience, and his opinion of himself reached a new, and all-time, low.

'What do you mean by coming here?' she exclaimed now, in a hushed voice. 'You have no right to be here. Please—go away!'

'Ruth—' He crossed the hall to the foot of the stairs, and stood looking up at her with a feeling of frustration. 'Ruth, for heaven's sake, I wanted to see you. I wanted to talk to you. Surely you knew, I had to make sure you're all right.'

'Well, as you can see, I am,' Ruth said huskily, glancing anxiously up the stairs behind her. 'Now, will you go? Aunt Davina is likely to come back at any time. I don't want her to find you here.'

'Why not?' Dominic wished she would come down the stairs. 'Oh, I see. You haven't told her about me yet. Never mind, she's bound to find out sooner ot later—'

'No!' Ruth's response was instinctive, and Dominic's mouth compressed.

'No?'

'There's no reason why Aunt Davina need be told. She—I—that's in the past. I don't even want to think about it.'

Dominic could feel his patience wearing thin, and endeavoured to control it. 'At least come down and speak to me,' he persisted flatly. 'I promise I won't embarrass you if your aunt appears. I'll tell her I'm selling tickets for one of my mother's charitable organisations.' He exhaled heavily. 'Don't make me have to come up and fetch you.'

Ruth was shocked. 'You wouldn't dare!'

'You know I would,' he told her politely, and with a helpless gesture, she gave in.

'You'd better come up,' she said tautly. 'The sitting room is on the first floor. If you'll follow me—'

Dominic did so, his eyes irresistibly drawn to the long slender legs, now sleekly encased in sheer silk. Following her. he was aware of the perfume she was wearing, and the faint trace of perspiration she exuded, as if the cool exterior she presented belied an inner conflict.

They crossed a wide landing, passing the figure of the elderly housekeeper, who had apparently been awaiting her mistress's instructions. Ruth bade her leave them, and as she went heavily down the stairs again, the girl led the way into a tastefully furnished drawing room. She stood back to allow him to walk into the centre of the room, evidently intending to leave the double doors open. But Dominic firmly took possession of the handles, and closed the gap deliberately before allowing her to speak.

Ruth stood on the hearth before the fireplace. There was a fire in the grate, whose warming glow highlighted the darkened corners of the moulded ceiling, but she was scarcely aware of it. She was obviously ill at ease, and nervous, and Dominic could not entirely deny his own coiling tension.

'So.' he said, coming towards her, 'you're a young lady of leisure at last. I'm glad. I've thought about you a lot since I got home.'

'Have you?' She sounded sceptical, and his lips tightened.

'Yes.' he insisted, halting a few feet from her and pushing his hands into the pockets of his dark blue velvet jacket. 'Believe it or not, I was worried about you. And I'm sorry to hear that your father is dead. Do you want to talk about it?'

'I don't want to talk about anything with you,' Ruth asserted shortly, holding up her head, and a feeling of exasperation gripped him.

'Why not?' he demanded. 'You used to enjoy talking to me.' He sighed, looking down at the polished toes of his boots. 'About what happened, Ruth—'

'Oh, please.' She half turned away from him then. 'Don't you think this is all a waste of time? What happened, happened. It was all my fault. I—I don't blame you for it.'

'Ruth!' Dominic's lean face darkened with sudden colour. 'Ruth, you've got to let me make amends—'

'How?' She turned to look at him then, and he moved his shoulders helplessly.

'I don't know.' He looked at her. 'Is there anything you need? Somewhere to live, somewhere of your own. Money—'

Ruth coloured now. 'As you can see, I'm quite well provided for. thank you.' she responded coldly. 'Aunt Davina has taken care of everything, and Martin gives me anything I need.'

'Martin?'Dominic's jaw hardened. 'Your cousin.'

'My adopted cousin,' she corrected him firmly. 'I think—I know Aunt Davina hopes that we—'

'You can't be serious!' Dominic overrode her now. his voice harsh and incredulous. 'You haven't known him above a couple of weeks! For God's sake. Ruth, don't be stampeded into a relationship you're neither prepared nor ready for!'

'As a matter of fact. I've known Martin and Aunt Davina for a lot longer then two weeks.' Ruth replied coolly. 'They flew out to the islands a few days after Daddy died. It was they who helped me to—to deal with everything.'

Dominic's eyes narrowed. 'You told me you had no relations.'

'I did believe that.' Ruth bent her head. 'It's what Daddy always told me. It was as much a surprise to me as anyone else.'

'So your father did tell you, before he died?'

'No.' Ruth shook her head now. 'No, as a matter of fact. Aunt Davina told me herself.' She paused. 'When—when Daddy died, the income he had had from Mummy's estate had to be transferred to me. As soon as Aunt Davina learned I was—alone, she made arrangements to fly out at once.'

'I see.'

Dominic couldn't help feeling Davina Pascal's intervention had been slightly out of character. She had known of the girl's existence for years without contacting her. yet as soon as her father was dead she immediately appeared to claim her niece. He frowned. Of course, he could be doing the woman a rank injustice. She must have known Curtis Jason before he left England, and no doubt she also realised he was unlikely to approve of his daughter associating with her mother's relatives. All the same, she could have written to the girl from time to time, if she felt any affection towards her. and not simply allowed her to grow up in ignorance of her rightful heritage.

'So you see everything has turned out perfectly,' Ruth was saying now. her voice still a little jerky, in spite of herself. 'You don't need to concern yourself on my behalf any more.' She paused, her darting glance evading his, and then added reluctantly: 'Your—your arm? It's properly healed now, I suppose. You—er—you don't seem to have any stiffness with it.'

'No.' Dominic moved the arm he had injured freely. 'No, it's as good as new. Thanks to you and your father—and Doctor Francis, of course.'

'Yes.' Ruth pressed her lips together. 'Good.'

'Good,' he echoed dryly, and exhaled rather heavily.

There was a silence after that, a pregnant cessation of sound, during which he could hear the uneven tenor of her breathing. She was trying hard to appear calm and casual, but he sensed the struggle she was having to sustain that composed facade. He wondered what she was really thinking, whether she really found his presence as objectionable as she professed—and why he was asking himself that question. with Barbara waiting impatiently for his arrival at Farleigh Terrace.

The remembrance of his fiancee made him suddenly aware of the time. He was already late for the dinner party, without an adequate excuse, and it was obvious he was wasting his time by remaining here. He had done what he came for. He had assured himself that Ruth was well and happy. He need no longer feel responsible for her.
But he did!

'Ruth—' he began helplessly, but this time she interrupted him.

'I think you'd better go,' she declared huskily. 'I—it—it was good of you to come,' she finished politely, and his stomach muscles tightened in a sudden wave of frustration.

'Ruth,' he muttered, pulling his hands out of his pockets and capturing her wrist between his fingers. 'Ruth, my telephone number is in the book. Promise me you'll ring if you need anything, anything at all.'

Ruth endeavoured to release herself from his grasp, but when she couldn't, she didn't struggle. Instead she looked up at him squarely, and said very clearly: 'Wouldn't your fiancee have some objections if I did?'

Dominic's senses stirred. He couldn't help it. She was so proud, so courageous, so utterly desirable in every way. He realised he had forgotten how lucid her eyes could be, how delicate the curve of her cheekbone, how soft and vulnerable her mouth. As he looked at her, all thoughts of Barbara faded from his mind, and he wondered how he had lived for almost eight weeks without her. His searching gaze recognised the moment when she became aware of the intensity of his regard, and his eyes lowered to the thrusting evidence of her arousal. Beneath the fine material of her gown, her hardening nipples were outlined in sensuous detail, and his body throbbed with an answering excitement.

She tried to free herself then, realising how dangerous the moment was, but Dominic would not let her go. Against her will she was impelled towards him, and his mouth sought hers with burning urgency. Her lips were pressed tightly together, forbidding his hungry assault, but anger hardened his resolve. She was not as indifferent as she would have him believe, he told himself fiercely, yet still she resisted his demands.

At last he drew back his head to look into her face, and
saw
her features contorted with indignation, her eyes brilliant with unshed tears. But she was determined he should not have that satisfaction, and he felt a sense of disappointment out of all proportion to the situation. She didn't say anything—or perhaps
couldn't,
was nearer the truth—but her feelings had never been clearer. What he saw in her eyes chilled his blood, and with a gesture of impatience he released her. raking tormented fingers through his hair to his scalp.