Cover “Marius, why have you come back like this?” About the Author What others have said about Sara Craven: Title Page CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN CHAPTER TWELVE CHAPTER THIRTEEN Endpage Copyright

“Marius, why have you come back like this?”

His mouth curled in the smile she’d always hated. The smile that mocked without amusement. That did not reach the wariness of his eyes.

He said softly, “Because I received an invitation. An offer I couldn’t refuse.”

“But what do you want?” Lydie’s voice almost cracked in desperation.

“Ah.” Marius was silent for a moment.

“That, I think, remains to be seen.” His gaze met hers in a challenge, like a blow.

“Maybe I’ve come back for you.”

SARA CRAVEN was born in South Devon, England, and grew up surrounded by books, in a house by the sea. After leaving grammar school, she worked as a local journalist, covering everything from flower shows to murders. She started writing for Harlequin Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from writing, her passions include films, music, cooking and eating in good restaurants. She now lives in Somerset.

What others have said about Sara Craven:

TOWER OF SHADOWS:

“Ms. Craven does a magnificent job with this daring story of an obsessive love that destroys all it touches....”

—Romantic Times

THUNDER ON THE REEF:

“Sara Craven plays a powerful game of cat and mouse with readers in this fascinating web of deception, mystery and passion....”

—Romantic Times

DARK APOLLO:

“Sara Craven’s latest effort sizzles with sensual tension and dialogue.”

—Romantic Times

Deceived

Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CHAPTER ONE

LYDIE went up the stairs to the gallery two at a time, the plastic dress carrier bumping against her legs as she ran.

As she pushed open the door, Nell, her partner, turned with an interrogative smile from the ceramics display she was dusting. ‘Well?’

Lydie flourished the pastel-striped carrier. ‘Mission accomplished.’

‘And at the eleventh hour by the sound of it.’ Nell paused. ‘Your mother’s telephoned three times in the past hour, each call more agitated than the last.’

‘Austin’s birthday party always affects her like this.’ Lydie wrinkled her nose. ‘I expect the caterers have brought the wrong-shaped canapes.’

‘Actually, it sounded rather more serious than that,’ said Nell. ‘She was in such a state, she actually forgot to snub me. Maybe you’d better ring her.’

Lydie shook her head. ‘The crisis can wait till I get home, by which time it will probably be over,’ she said drily. ‘Sometimes Mama finds the role of Mrs Austin Benedict rather cramping, so when the chance of injecting some extra drama comes along she plays it for all she’s worth’

‘Well, you know her better than I do,’ Nell said lightly. She nodded at the carrier. ‘Going to show me your costume for tonight’s mammoth production?’

Lydie hesitated. ‘I’ve got an even better idea. Change your mind and come to the party as my guest,’ she urged.

Nell shook her head. ‘Can’t be done, love.’

‘But how the hell are you and Jon going to make up your quarrel if you don’t see each other?’ Lydie demanded on a note of exasperation.

‘We haven’t quarrelled,’ Nell said patiently. ‘We’ve just put our engagement on hold while Jon decides what to do with his life.’

‘In other words, he’s to give up his job at Benco Mill.’ Lydie’s face sobered. ‘I don’t know if that’s possible, Nell.’

‘I think it has to be,’ Nell said gently. She was a tall girl with a serene face and brown hair gathered into a thick plait. ‘He’s an artist, Lydie. He doesn’t belong at Benco and you know it.’

Lydie bit her lip. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I know it. But you don’t realise the pressure he’s under...’

‘Oh, but I do,’ Nell said quietly. ‘None better. But Jon’s got to decide whether to fight it or let himself be dragged into some dead-end future where he’ll never be happy or fulfilled.’ Her smile was small and wintry. ‘And if he settles for that he’s not the man for me.’

There was an unhappy silence.

In the eighteen months since they’d started the gallery together Lydie had realised more and more the quiet strength of will which existed behind Nell’s laid-back manner. She’d been delighted when she and Jon had begun seeing each other. Jon had dated a lot of girls in his time, none of them seriously. Now, for the first time, Lydie had seen her brother’s fickle attention focused and concentrated, watched him mature and grow as never before under Nell’s calm tutelage.

Not that it had been roses all the way, she admitted wryly. Nell was gifted and hard-working, and between the pair of them the gallery was managing to pay its way, but her friend had neither the money nor the social background to make her a suitable wife for Debra Benedict’s son. As her mother had made clear from their first meeting.

‘That dreadful girl, wandering around like some kind of hippy,’ had been her icy verdict. ‘If you had to start a business at all, Lydie, couldn’t you have found someone at least presentable as your partner?’

‘Nell asked me to go into the gallery with her, not the other way round,’ Lydie had reminded her levelly.

‘It’s all the fault of that art college,’ Mrs Benedict had gone on fretfully. ‘I knew it was a mistake to let you go there.’

It was probably true, Lydie acknowledged ruefully. Jon should have been the one to receive the formal art training, and she should have taken the degree in business studies to which he’d been harnessed. Except that there would have been no job for her at the mill at the end of it. And, at the time, she’d snatched at art training as she would have at anything that took her away from Greystones Park and its memories.

Her stepfather, Austin Benedict, was an old-fashioned man, patriarchal and autocratic where his business was concerned. No matter what legislation might have been passed in the last twenty years, no woman had ever held an executive position at Benco. And Lydie, it had been made clear, was certainly not going to be the first.

The gallery he saw as an indulgence, something to amuse her until she married. It hadn’t been easy to convince him that for Nell and herself it was an investment—something they were determined to make into a commercial success.

‘I need to justify my existence,’ she’d tried to explain.

‘You’re my stepdaughter.’ He’d glared at her from under his heavy brows. ‘Round here, that’s justification enough.’

Lydie’s mother, Debra Hatton, had reached a crossroads in her acting career when she’d met Austin Benedict. She’d never been in the top flight, in spite of her sultry beauty and distinctive husky voice. She’d been offered only minor film roles, and her theatre career had been on the lightweight side too. She’d had more success with television, landing a role as a neurotic vamp in an early-evening soap, but the meaty parts she’d coveted were being offered more and more to younger women.

She’d been touring in a successful West End comedy when she’d been invited to open a fête in aid of the church restoration fund at Austin Benedict’s home, Greystones Park.

She’d accepted reluctantly for the sake of the fee—a woman with two teenage children couldn’t afford to be too choosy—but it had turned out to be the wisest decision of her life.

Austin, a childless widower for some years, had never shown the slightest disposition to marry again. But Debra Hatton’s wide eyes and slightly ravaged looks had produced a devastating effect on him.

And Debra, looking round at the middle-class solidity of Greystones Park, had seen an end to the struggle and the constant pretence, a finish to the humiliation of having to move out of the limelight and settle for supporting roles, playing women of her own age, or even older. Because to Austin, she’d realised, she would always be the leading lady.

But she didn’t brook rivals lightly, Lydie thought ruefully, especially where her beloved Jon was concerned. He was the apple of her eye, the centre of her universe, and probably not even a wealthy heiress would have fulfilled her expectations where he was concerned.

And Nell, in her handmade silver jewellery and Indian cotton skirts, didn’t even reach first base.

Now Lydie said soberly, ‘Nell—he’s terribly miserable without you.’

Nell shook her head again. ‘No, his basic unhappiness goes far deeper than that,’ she said. ‘His whole life is out of kilter. He’s a square peg in a round hole, trying all the time to be something he’s not—live up to standards he wasn’t responsible for setting. And he knows he’s the heir apparent too,’ she added grimly. ‘And it’s crucifying him.’

She sighed. ‘Oh, why hasn’t your stepfather got some convenient male relative to take over from him?’

Lydie looked at the floor. ‘He did have once,’ she said slowly. ‘A nephew.’

Nell stared at her. ‘A nephew?’ she repeated, her voice sharp with disbelief. ‘I’ve never heard him mentioned before.’

‘Nor will you. At least, not at Greystones.’ Lydie found that she was sinking her teeth into her lower lip. She released the painful pressure and tried to speak lightly. ‘He’s the skeleton in the family cupboard, the black sheep of the family. He—left nearly five years ago and hasn’t been heard of since.’

‘You mean he walked out?’

‘Not exactly. There was the most terrible row, and Austin, who’d brought him up ever since his parents died, ordered him out of the house—told him never to darken his door again—the whole bit.’

‘What was the row about?’

‘The usual sordid mess.’ She could still taste blood from her savaged lip. ‘He’d got one of the mill girls pregnant, apparently. I—I was still away at school when it all happened. And the subject was forbidden ground ever after.’

‘And you just accepted that?’ Nell’s gaze was searching. ‘I don’t believe it. You couldn’t.’

‘I didn’t really have a choice,’ Lydie defended herself. ‘Austin had his first heart attack immediately afterwards, and all the blame for that was put on his quarrel with—with Marius.’

I said his name, she thought, and waited for the pain to strike as it always had when she so much as thought about him. As it still did, she recognised in anguish, her fingers tightening round the handle of the carrier until the knuckles turned white. Five years on, and the wound was still deep—unhealed.

‘You’ll never mention him again—do you hear?’ She could still hear her mother’s voice, angry, almost strident. ‘Those are Austin’s orders and they’ll be obeyed. And think yourself lucky, you little fool, that you’re not in the same boat as his other teenage tart.’

‘So, he just vanished—never to be heard of again?’ Nell’s voice brought her, wincing, back to the present. ‘I find that totally incredible—and rather disturbing.’

‘It works both ways, of course,’ Lydie said tonelessly. ‘Marius has never tried to get in touch either—with any of us. He must have accepted that what he did was unforgivable, at least in Austin’s eyes.’

‘Or maybe he was just glad to get out from under the Benedict thumb,’ Nell retorted, her soft voice grim. ‘I wish Jon felt the same.’

She paused. ‘Who was the girl?’

‘Her name was never actually mentioned,’ Lydie acknowledged with difficulty.

‘But weren’t you curious?

‘Yes—naturally.’ And devastated, betrayed, heartbroken. ‘But she disappeared at the same time, presumably with Marius. No one was allowed to ask any questions.’

But you didn’t want to ask, a sly voice in her head reminded her. Because the questions were hurtful enough in themselves. The answers might have destroyed you.

‘Well, it seems extraordinary to me.’ Nell gave a quick sigh, then pointed to the bag. ‘Now let me have a look at the creation. Rub my nose in what I’ll be missing tonight. We may as well close early,’ she added. ‘It doesn’t look as if we’re going to be overwhelmed by a last-minute rush.’

There was a mirror in Nell’s studio at the rear of the gallery. Lydie gently withdrew the dress from its layers of tissue paper, letting the folds of cream silk slide through her fingers.

Her hands were trembling a little. She’d broken the unwritten law by speaking Marius’s name and opened up a real can of worms. Nell’s innate sense of justice had been outraged, and in so many ways she was quite right.

Yet at the time, for Austin’s sake, there’d seemed no choice but to tacitly accept the curtain of silence which had been drawn over the whole affair. He’d had bypass surgery after that first massive attack and, they’d been warned, he had to be kept free from stress.

They owed him too much to take unnecessary risks. That was indisputable.

She even owed him this dress, she thought wryly as she shook it out.

Yet, in spite of Debra Benedict’s pleas to him to slow down, he still went to the mill every day. Nor did he appear to agree with his wife’s view that he should shift more executive responsibility onto Jon’s shoulders.

‘I’ve set the lad on, and promoted him over better men, my dear,’ he’d told her. ‘You’ll have to settle for that for the time being.’

Debra had seized on his closing words, conveniently ignoring what had gone before, convincing herself that the Benco world was just waiting to be Jon’s oyster. She hadn’t been able to persuade Austin to adopt both children in the early days of her marriage, but that was no reason why her husband shouldn’t leave his company and the estate to his stepson. Especially now that there was no one else.

It was an obsession with her, Lydie thought wearily, holding the dress against herself and turning to study her reflection in the mirror.

Forget the past, she told herself. Think about the dress and the party—and about Hugh, who’s probably going to ask you to marry him. Concentrate on that—and the pain will go away. It always has done—eventually. It must now.

Her eyes felt bruised. The cream silk, with its deep square neckline and filmy bell sleeves, looked incongruous against her workaday blue shirt and jeans.

It was almost like a wedding dress, except for the barbaric splash of embroidery across the front of the full skirt—the band of stylised flowers and trailing leaves in gold thread adding a voluptuous element to the purity of the plain silk. A hint, even, of danger.

The neckline was several centimetres short of bridal demureness too, Lydie thought critically. She wouldn’t be able to wear a bra. But what Austin didn’t know wouldn’t grieve him.

All cream and gold, she thought. ‘Like a madonna lily.’

The words flicked out of the past like the bite of a whip, flaying her senses, making the breath catch in her throat.

Don’t look back, she thought feverishly. Don’t let yourself remember. It isn’t safe. Not now—not ever...

She held the skirt out slightly, watching the effect with detachment.

Hugh, of course, would love it.

She conjured up his image in her mind with determination. Tall and even fairer than she was, with an easy smile, Hugh Wingate had been in the army, serving in the Falklands and latterly in the Gulf War. On his father’s death he’d resigned his commission and come home to look after the family estates. Debra had decided at once that the seventeenth-century Wingate Hall would make a perfect background for Lydie and had spent the previous year trying to bring it about.

Jon, Lydie thought drily, was not the only victim of their mother’s manipulative tactics.

But although Hugh had been more than co-operative Lydie had maintained a certain reserve, even though she enjoyed his company and shared a lot of his interests. Many successful marriages, she knew, had been based on far less.

But she wasn’t in love with Hugh and she knew it. His kisses, while agreeable, left her only faintly stirred, and she’d had not the slightest difficulty in resisting his urging her to carry their relationship to a more intimate level. If and when they became officially engaged, the pressure, she supposed, would increase, and she would have to surrender herself.

But maybe that was what she needed, she thought broodingly. Perhaps the only way to erase the past, and the pain, was to commit herself to another relationship. To begin her life as a woman all over again.

She stared at herself. It could be that she was never to know again the same wild intensity of feeling she’d experienced five years ago; that what she felt for Hugh was as good as it was going to get. Well, so be it. Hugh would never feel short-changed anyway, she vowed inwardly. She would make sure of that.

Security, she thought—that’s what matters above all. She could remember only too clearly the various cheap flats, the uncertainty of school holidays, the terrifying fluctuation of finances which had marked their childhood, could understand why Debra, her career in decline, her spectacular looks beginning to fade, had grabbed with both hands at the florid Edwardian comfort of Greystones and Austin’s unstinting devotion.

If Hugh proposed tonight as her mother was sure he intended, then she’d accept. Turn Austin’s birthday into a double celebration.

She turned away from the mirror and waltzed out into the gallery, the dress held against her.

‘I’ll have my hair up tonight,’ she announced. ‘But you’ll have to imagine the rest of it.’

She checked, her hand flying to her mouth in sudden embarrassment. She hadn’t heard him arrive but there was a last-minute customer just the same.

There was a man’s tall figure standing beside Nell near the cash desk.

God, she thought with vexation, snatching the dress away as if it were stinging her and throwing it over her arm. What an idiot I must look.

Flushing deeply, she said, ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t realise anyone else was here.’

‘Don’t apologise.’ The deep voice was husky with amusement. ‘I wouldn’t have missed the performance for the world.’

Poised for retreat, Lydie felt instead as if she’d suddenly been turned to stone. She felt her lips parting in a silent gasp, her green eyes widening endlessly as he moved without haste towards her.

The overhead light shining directly on him showed thick, faintly curling dark hair and a lean, tanned face, against which his grey eyes were as cold and hard as a winter sky.

‘Cream and gold,’ Marius Benedict said softly. ‘Just like a madonna lily.’ And he smiled at her.

All the breath seemed to catch in her throat. Then she moved, swiftly, clumsily, her hand swinging up in front of her as if to ward him off. And a bowl with a vivid blue glaze went smashing to the floor.

‘Oh, no,’ Lydie wailed, and knelt to pick up the pieces.

‘Careful you don’t cut your hand.’ Nell rushed over to her. ‘And keep your dress off the floor. It’ll mark.’

‘I’m afraid I startled her,’ the deep voice said. ‘You must let me pay for the damage.’

‘These things happen.’ Nell was philosophical. She gave Lydie a swift hug. ‘You pop off home. I’ll clear up.’

‘All right,’ Lydie managed. She got stiffly to her feet, not convinced that her legs would support her.

‘Let me help.’ He walked forward, his hand reaching for her arm.

Lydie recoiled. ‘I can manage.’ Her voice sounded breathless—like a stranger’s.

He halted, his brows lifting. ‘Then can I at least offer you a lift?’

She swallowed. ‘Thank you, but I have my own car.’

‘Of course you have,’ he said softly. ‘How stupid of me. Then I’ll just—see you later.’

She could feel his eyes following her as she walked the endless distance back to the studio. She dragged the heavy curtain over the doorway with a rattle of protesting rings, wishing with all her heart that it were a door she could close—and lock. Then she stood, motionless, among the familiar scents of oil paints and turpentine, feeling like an alien in some strange and dangerous country. Her mouth was bone-dry, her heart pounding like a sledgehammer.

Marius, she thought. Marius back in Thornshaugh after five years of silence. It couldn’t be happening.

Only a few minutes ago she’d broken the taboo and said his name. And now here he was, as if she’d conjured him like a spirit from some vast and echoing limbo.

Speak of the devil, they said, and he’s bound to appear.

With feverish hands she bundled the dress back into its tissue wrapping. ‘Madonna lily’. The words throbbed in her head. She could never wear it now. Never even wanted to see it again,

There’d be something else in her wardrobe—the little black number she’d bought to have dinner with Hugh last week. She could dress that up, somehow. Her mind ran in feverish circles, trying to focus on trivialities and shut out the clamour in her brain.

What—what in the name of God could Marius be doing back here? Thornshaugh was barred to him, so what could he possibly hope to gain by simply—turning up like this?

Unless, of course, it wasn’t that simple at all.

Suddenly, it hurt to breathe.

‘See you later,’ he’d said. Not ‘see you around’. That could have real significance.

She glimpsed herself in the mirror again, and paused. She looked like death. Her face was white and her eyes twice their normal size.

What had he seen? she wondered suddenly. How had she changed? She’d shed every last trace of never very evident puppy fat a long time ago, and her fair hair had been skilfully highlighted, but apart from that there wasn’t much to separate her from the naive, trusting seventeen-year-old he’d betrayed and left behind.

He looked older than his thirty years, she thought, striving for objectivity. The lines beside his mouth seemed to be slashed deeper, but not, she decided, with laughter. His hair was overlong for Thornshaugh tastes. But then, that had always been a bone of contention with Austin...

She cut the memories right there, grabbing up her shoulder bag and turning to the door. Then the curtain was thrust back and Nell came in.

‘It’s all right, he’s gone,’ she said drily. ‘So that’s the prodigal nephew.’

Lydie ran her tongue over her dry lips. ‘What the hell’s he doing here?’

‘Buying that expensive stoneware plate we thought we’d never sell—apparently for a birthday present.’ Nell let that sink in. ‘You obviously weren’t expecting to see him.’

Lydie said hoarsely, ‘Never in this world.’

Nell grinned. ‘Your stepfather’s birthday seems to be turning into a surprise party.’

‘It can’t be true,’ Lydie said, half to herself. ‘There’s been no sign—no word for five whole years. Austin can’t be expecting him—surely he’d have said something to prepare us—warn us...?’

‘You’d think so,’ Nell agreed. ‘But communication doesn’t seem to be a Benedict strong point. Maybe Austin’s just ordered a fatted calf as the centrepiece of the buffet, leaving people to draw their own conclusions.’ She examined a fleck on one of her nails. ‘So—what will your mother have to say—and Jon?’

Lydie swallowed. ‘I—don’t know. At least—Jon won’t mind. He and Marius got on, I think. And Jon was at university when the big row blew up. He—we were both stunned when we found out Marius had—just—gone like that,’ she added with difficulty.

‘At the very least,’ Nell commented caustically.

Lydie looked at the floor. ‘You can’t imagine what it was like,’ she said huskily. ‘Austin was in Intensive Care and Mother was having one fit of hysterics after another and blaming Marius for everything.’

And he did vanish, she thought, without a trace. Without one word of goodbye. With no excuse or explanation from that day to this.

‘So you just went with the flow.’ Nell was silent for a moment. ‘Well, he’s certainly prospered in his absence. As well as the plate, he insisted on paying for that bowl you broke—in cash. He was wearing a platinum watch too,’ she added, as if that settled the matter.

Lydie forced a wan smile. ‘Good.’

Nell gave her a questioning look, then shrugged. ‘Well, you’d better run along and join the celebrations—if that’s really the word I’m looking for.’

Maybe, Lydie thought grimly, I’ll just keep running.

She had a parking space in the yard behind the gallery building. She tossed the dress carrier into the rear of her Corsa, then slid into the driving seat. She crossed her arms limply on the steering wheel and bent forward, hiding her face against them.

For almost five long years she’d tried to forget—to put the whole agonising memory out of her mind. Now, it seemed, she had no choice but to remember—Marius.

CHAPTER TWO

‘MADONNA lily’.

The words echoed inside her skull like the beat of a hammer.

She had, of course, never expected to see him again.

At first she’d waited, hoping, praying, in spite of what he’d done, for some contact—some message. But the weeks had stretched into months and there had been only silence.

Marius had gone, leaving her behind, and nothing that had happened between them, nothing that had been said or done, had made the slightest difference to his decision.

That was what she’d slowly learned to live with during five endless years—that he hadn’t even cared enough to be faithful.

What a fool, she thought rawly. What a blind, trusting idiot.

She’d been eleven when they’d first met, a gawky, bewildered child trying to come to terms with the sudden overwhelming change in her circumstances.

One day she’d been an unhappy boarder in a second-rate school outside London, the next she’d been whisked up to the north of England in a Rolls-Royce driven by a gruff, grey-haired man who wore expensive suits and smoked cigars, and whom her mother had introduced as ‘Your new stepfather, darling. Austin—’ she’d turned to him, smiling brilliantly ‘—do you want Lydie to call you Daddy or Uncle?’

‘Neither.’ The fierce eyes had softened as they’d looked at the small, wan face. ‘You can call me Austin, lass. Most other people do.’

Greystones Park, seen for the first time under heavy skies and driving rain, had seemed oppressive—even threatening.

Jon wasn’t there—he was staying at his current school until he’d finished the examinations he was taking—and she felt totally isolated and friendless. Her mother and stepfather were too wrapped up in each other to spare her much attention, and she was left very much to the mercies of Mrs Arnthwaite, the housekeeper, who had not taken kindly to having a new mistress of the house foisted on her.

Mrs Arnthwaite knew better than to let her discontent show to her employer, and his new wife, but she let Lydie bear the brunt of it in numerous little unkindnesses.

Lydie was told curtly to ‘get out of the road’ so many times that she began to feel as if there wasn’t a corner in any of the numerous rooms where she could take refuge even for a moment.

So much so that, coming along the landing one day, she heard the housekeeper approaching and promptly shot through the nearest door, straight under the bed which stood conveniently handy.

Hidden by the valance in the dusty dark, she waited silently until, overwhelmed by loneliness, she cried herself to sleep.

When she woke up there was a light in the room and someone was moving around. She tried to keep still, because if it was Mrs Arnthwaite she’d be in more trouble. But the dust under the bed was tickling her nose, and eventually she gave vent to an uncontrollable sneeze.

Someone lifted the valance. A male voice said, ‘What the hell...?’ and Lydie was hauled out unceremoniously.

She sat on the carpet and looked up at him. He was very tall, was her first thought, with legs that seemed to go on for ever. She was used to good-looking men, but the dark face looking down at her was more striking than conventionally handsome. The lines of his mouth, cheekbones and jaw were sharply delineated and his nose was like a beak. More a tough guy, she thought, categorising him in the only way she knew, than a romantic lead.

She knew who it must be. Austin had spoken a lot about his nephew, Marius, who was away at Oxford working for his finals, but who’d be home on his first free weekend to meet his new aunt, and she could count on it.

And this, of course, was his room. Lydie had been told so when they had been shown round the first day. She’d also got the impression that it was some kind of holy ground. And now she’d been discovered trespassing there. She couldn’t begin to imagine what would happen to her.

But when she dared to look at him he didn’t seem all that angry. In fact, he seemed to be having trouble keeping his face straight.

‘What were you doing under there?’ he asked.

‘There was nowhere else to go,’ she said. ‘I—I fell asleep. I’m sorry.’

‘You will be when you get downstairs,’ he said drily. ‘You missed your tea and got put on report. Austin’s starting to talk about dragging the river for you.’

‘Are they very cross?’ she asked with apprehension.

‘More worried than angry. Come on; I’ll go down with you and you can make your peace.’ He helped her up, his eyes narrowing as he studied the grimy streaks of woe visible on her face. ‘We’d better clean you up first.’ He opened the door to his private bathroom and pushed her gently inside, standing over her while she washed her face and hands.

‘Here.’ He tossed her a towel. It smelled faintly of cologne—the same harsh, rather musky scent she’d noticed as he’d picked her up from the floor. It suited him far better than some of the more florid scents her mother’s leading men used, she thought, burying her face in the towel, breathing in luxuriously.

‘Thank you,’ she said politely as she handed it back. She looked up at him, letting her eyes widen and the corner of her mouth curve upwards slightly as she’d seen Debra do so many times. And saw his brows snap together.

‘You’re far too young for tricks like that.’ He tapped the tip of her nose with a finger, his mouth twisting. ‘One charmer in the family is quite enough to be going on with.’

It sounded almost like a joke, but she sensed that it wasn’t really meant to be funny. She found herself wondering with an intuition beyond her years whether Marius Benedict really welcomed his uncle’s marriage and the unlooked-for expansion of the family group.

Downstairs, Marius shrugged off the inevitable recriminations over her disappearance, saying easily that she’d made herself a secret den and fallen asleep in it.

‘A den?’ Debra repeated, as if the word needed translation. ‘But where?’

Watching him, Lydie saw that his cool smile didn’t reach his eyes. He said quite gently, ‘If I told you that, it wouldn’t be a secret any longer.’ Then he looked at Lydie and his smile warmed into a reassuring grin.

From that moment she’d been his slave.

Looking back over the years, Lydie could see wryly what a nuisance the unstinting adoration of a small girl must have been to him. But if he’d been irritated he’d never let it show, treating her generally with an amused if slightly distant kindness.

As she’d grown older, and more perceptive, she’d become aware of his reserve—that almost tangible barrier that divided him from the rest of the world. She’d wondered sometimes if his being an orphan had created it. After losing both parents he’d had no softening female influence in his life, unless you counted Mrs Arnthwaite, which Lydie privately thought was impossible.

And Debra’s invasion had made things worse, not better. Lydie had realised that quite early on. Sensed the underlying tensions, and her mother’s simmering, barely concealed resentment of the young man who’d been her husband’s main priority for so many years.

She came first with him now; that went without saying. Austin’s pride in her was enormous, and he indulged her to the hilt.

But that hadn’t been enough for Debra.

Because it should have been Jon next in line—Jon, the golden, the beautiful, the favoured child. Lydie hadn’t needed to be told this. She’d always existed in her brother’s shadow, but she loved him enough not to mind, admiring the good looks and talent he himself took so much for granted.

And yet Marius had been Austin’s heir, who would fill his shoes at Greystones and eventually take over the running of the mill. No alternative had been even considered—at least, not then.

It had not been all plain sailing between Austin and Marius either. Austin had taken the mill which his great-grandfather had founded and built it into an amazing success. The Benco Mill was Thornshaugh’s biggest employer, and the steadiest.

Marius, however, had wanted to move away from the autocratic, paternalistic style of management to greater worker participation. He’d fought too for the latest machinery and office systems to be installed. He’d introduced a private health scheme and ordered a complete overhaul of the firm’s social club, ensuring that it was a comfortable venue for the whole family.

There had invariably been furious arguments but they’d always been resolved. In spite of his protests that ‘what was good enough for my father should be good enough for anyone’ Austin had recognised that no business could stand still and had given ground, albeit grudgingly.

He’d even begun to talk of retirement ...

And then, not long after Austin’s sixtieth birthday party, there’d been that final, terminal, furiously bitter quarrel, and Marius had gone, as if into thin air, his room stripped of his clothes and belongings, his destination a mystery. It hadn’t even been known if he’d travelled alone.

And Austin, his normally ruddy complexion suddenly grey, had made it dogmatically clear that the matter would end there.

It had been a nine days’ wonder in Thornshaugh, only superseded by the shock of Austin’s sudden collapse. Life had become a chaos of ambulance sirens, doctors’ hushed voices and endless telephone calls of enquiry.

In the middle of it all, Lydie had tried to comfort her mother as she’d waited to be admitted to see her husband in Intensive Care.

Debra had turned on her. ‘This is his fault.’ Her voice had risen, cracking. ‘Your precious Marius. This is what he’s done. He’s a murderer. You dare mention him again...’

Lydie had never dared after that. Austin had been very ill and her worry over him had had to take precedence over her own grinding pain and bewilderment—her crying need to make sense of what had happened.

She drew a quivering sigh, and lifted her head from the steering wheel, gazing ahead of her with unseeing eyes.

‘Are y’all right, Miss Hatton?’ The security man appeared beside the car, peering curiously at her. ‘Only I was going to lock up the yard, like ’

‘Yes, Bernie.’ Lydie started her engine. ‘You do that.’ She backed up with extra care because she was shaking inside, and headed home.

Greystones Park was a hive of activity. The gardener was fastening up the last loop of fairy lights in the trees along the drive as Lydie passed, and there were caterers’ and florists’ vans everywhere.

She put the car away and slipped through the side-door and up to her room.

As she opened the door, Debra Benedict wheeled round from the window. ‘Where have you been?’ Her voice was accusing. She was wearing a black silk kimono sprinkled with flowers and was puffing nervously at a cigarette. ‘Didn’t that girl give you my message? Dear God, Lydie, have you the least idea what’s happened?’

‘Yes.’ Lydie paused warily. ‘I know. Marius has turned up.’

‘You know? You mean he’s been in touch with you—you were aware of what was planned?’ Debra’s voice lifted in furious incredulity.

‘Of course not. He came into the gallery just before we closed,’ Lydie said flatly. ‘I thought I was seeing things.’

Debra’s laugh held a hint of hysteria. ‘Unfortunately, my dear, he’s all too bloody real.’

‘Does Austin know yet?’

Debra drew unevenly on her cigarette. ‘Know? It’s all his doing. He’s invited him here—to his birthday party—without a single word to me—to anyone.’ This time her laugh was angry. ‘Simply told me this afternoon there’d be an extra guest. Just as if my opinion, my feelings didn’t count. God knows how long he’s been hatching this,’ she added venomously.

‘But isn’t it for the best?’ Lydie ventured. ‘He’s Austin’s only relative after all.’

‘Don’t be a fool.’ Debra glared at her. ‘You think I’m going to go along with all this absurd “forgive and forget” routine? Start mouthing cliches about blood being thicker than water?’ She almost spat the words. ‘Let him walk back in here and—cheat Jon out of everything he’s worked for—slaving in that damned mill? Like hell I will. Austin must be going senile.’

‘That,’ Lydie told her levelly, ‘is a shameful remark.’

‘Don’t you dare preach at me.’ Debra lit another cigarette from the stub of the last one. ‘You don’t know what’s at stake here.’

‘Maybe I do at that.’ Lydie went over to the wardrobe and retrieved the black dress and the black court shoes with the spiky heels which went with it. ‘Jon may welcome Marius’s return. Have you considered that?’

‘No.’ Debra dismissed the possibility with contempt. ‘He knows exactly which side his bread is buttered. If Marius gets a foothold at Benco, Jon’s going to end up in some menial position or out of a job altogether.’

And Nell would be delighted, Lydie thought drily as she selected a fragile black teddy together with a suspender belt and stockings from her lingerie drawer and tossed them onto the bed. Although she’d probably prefer Jon to make the decision on his own behalf rather than be squeezed out, she mentally amended.

‘And what about me?’ Debra went on restively. ‘Next thing I know that beastly lawyer will be up here again, droning on about suitable provision and annuities. I’ll end my days in some ghastly private hotel on the south coast, watching the price of my shares with all the other widows, having to think twice about everything I spend. Just like the old days.’

Her mouth was trembling, her eyes almost blank.

Selfish she might be, mercenary she certainly was, but all the same Lydie felt a flicker of compassion for her. Mrs Benedict, chatelaine of Greystones Park, was the best part Debra had ever been offered, and she’d played it magnificently to a small but devoted audience.

But if anything happened to Austin the curtain would come down for her mother too. Unless Jon, not Marius, was confirmed as Austin’s heir...

She tried to make her tone light. ‘Don’t write Austin off so soon. He’s a tough old stick. He’ll probably outlive the lot of us.’

She paused. ‘And you don’t know yet—none of us do-exactly what this reconciliation means. It’s been five years, after all. Marius has another life now—maybe—other commitments.’ The words made her throat ache. A child, certainly, she thought. Maybe a wife too.

Aloud she went on, ‘He may not want to come back to Thornshaugh on a permanent basis.’

‘Don’t be a fool.’ Debra tossed her cigarette through the open window into the dusk-shaded shrubbery below. ‘Of course he does. Wouldn’t you?’

Lydie shook her head. ‘I’ve no idea what Marius thinks—or wants.’ Although I thought I knew once, God help me, she added silently.

Her mother’s mouth tightened to a slit. ‘Austin’s made him cancel his hotel reservation and move back here. Actually into his old room, if you please.’ She drove her clenched fist into the palm of her other hand. ‘I just cannot believe this is really happening. It’s like a nightmare. Austin was always so adamant—so totally determined. I thought we were rid of Marius for good.’

Lydie, winced inwardly. ‘He hasn’t given you a reason—any kind of explanation?’

‘His exact words were, “I’ve made a decision.”’ Debra’s laugh was metallic. ‘And Austin’s decisions, however arbitrary, are to be accepted without question.’

The only person who’d ever argued with him was Marius himself, Lydie thought.

She glanced at her watch. ‘I don’t think the situation will be helped by our being late for dinner,’ she said quietly. ‘I’m going to run my bath.’

‘My God, you’re cool,’ Debra said acidly. ‘Don’t you think it won’t affect you if Marius moves back and takes over. We’re all going to feel the draught, my lady.’

And with that she was gone.

Oh, it would affect her, Lydie thought drily a few minutes later as she tried to relax in the warm water, but certainly not in the way her mother thought.

Although there could be a problem over the gallery. Thornshaugh, with its steep, cobbled streets and well-preserved buildings left over from the Industrial Revolution, was attractive enough to form part of the itinerary of tourists drawn to Yorkshire’s West Riding by the Brontë Parsonage at Haworth or the Curry Trail at Bradford.

The gallery was situated on the first floor of a former Benco warehouse, sharing the premises with a popular boutique at ground level, a home bakery and various workshops occupied by woodcarvers, candlemakers and hand weavers.

They sold mainly paintings, prints and pottery by local artists and craftsmen, including Nell herself. And, although Lydie and Nell had refused to sell souvenirs, they’d made sure they stocked the kind of small, unusual but inexpensive items which tourists would want as mementoes or gifts, and these went like hot cakes.

When the bank had looked down its nose and talked about the recession, Lydie had turned instead to her stepfather for the initial loan to finance the enterprise. And, to Debra’s thinly veiled chagrin, he’d agreed to put up the money.

The gallery was managing to keep its head above water mainly because Lydie didn’t draw a full salary yet. Not that she needed to, because she lived at Greystones and Austin insisted on making her an allowance, firmly steamrollering over her objections.

Another of his decisions, Lydie thought ruefully. But she compromised by spending as frugally as possible, although the dress still abandoned in its carrier in the back of her car had been an exception to that self-imposed rule. And perhaps she’d be able to return it anyway.

Now she found herself wishing that she’d stuck to her guns, managed on whatever pittance she could have drawn from the company.

She dried herself and put on her underwear, drawing the stockings slowly over her smooth legs, remembering another time five years ago when she’d dressed for Austin’s birthday party with her heart performing strange, shaky somersaults inside.

She’d been allowed home from school specially, and had spent every penny she’d saved on a new dress that time too.

The one she’d wanted then had also been black—with spangles, she thought; sleek as a second skin. Black was the colour of sophistication; she’d wanted to show Marius that she wasn’t a child any longer but a woman, ready—eager for love.

Her hand faltered slightly with the blusher she was applying.

But the boutique owner had tactfully steered her away from that and into a much simpler model in jade-green, almost the same colour as her eyes.

Now she paid minute attention to them with shadow and liner, accentuating their shape and lustre, according the same attention to detail to the colour she painted onto her mouth. Tonight the mask had to be perfect. Impenetrable.

Five years ago, her face had been highlighted by an inner brilliance, with little need for cosmetics. The tiny bodice with its shoestring straps had flattered the sweet flare of her breasts, and the short, full skirt had swirled enticingly. She’d held it out in both hands and turned slowly in front of the mirror, imagining herself dancing in Marius’s arms. Seeing the smile in his eyes when she told him she loved him. Hearing the tenderness in his voice when he told her he felt the same...

Lydie stood up abruptly, reaching for the black dress, and zipped herself into it, smoothing it over her hips. Black, she thought; the colour of mourning. For the death of faith and innocence. The ending of a girl’s dream.

She took a long look at herself. Her hair was drawn up into a sleek topknot, with only a few random tendrils softening the line around the nape of her neck and her ears. She had disguised the real shadows around her eyes and painted on a smile. Who could ask for anything more? she wondered with irony.

She opened the door and stepped into the passage just as Marius emerged from his own room a few yards away. Lydie kept a hand behind her, holding the handle of her bedroom door, feeling the hard metal bite into her flesh, letting one pain combat another as she absorbed the bitter familiarity of him in a dinner jacket and black tie. Formal evening clothes had always suited him, accentuating the width of his shoulders and the leanness of his hips.

That other night, long ago, she’d watched, breathless with a new, secret excitement, as he’d walked towards her, wanting only to run to him, to feel his arms closing around her.

Now her mouth was dry and she felt deadly cold as she recognised the distance that hurt and betrayal had imposed between them.

‘Good evening, Madonna Lily.’ His brows lifted as his glance examined her. ‘Or should I call you Black Orchid tonight?’

‘Neither.’

‘No?’ He affected a sigh. ‘Yet there was a time...’

‘A time long past.’ She managed to control the faint tremor in her voice.

‘How strange,’ he said slowly, ‘that you should think so, when to me it feels like yesterday.’

Lydie lifted her chin. She said rawly, ‘Marius—for God’s sake—what are you doing here? Why have you come back like this?’

His mouth curled in the smile she’d always hated. The smile that mocked without amusement. That did not reach the wariness in his eyes.

He said softly, ‘Because I received an invitation. An offer I couldn’t refuse.’

‘But what do you want?’ Her voice almost cracked in desperation.

‘Ah.’ Marius was silent for a moment. ‘That, I think, remains to be seen, Madonna Lily.’ His gaze met hers in a challenge like a blow. ‘Maybe I’ve come back for you’

Her head went back with shock, and she felt her mouth frame the word no. Then she turned and headed blindly for the stairs, the jeer of his laughter following her like a shadow.

CHAPTER THREE

LYDIE didn’t wait to see if Marius was following. She headed straight for the drawing room, hesitating momentarily at the door while she dragged together the rags of her composure.

Did he really think that he could walk back into this house—back into her life—as if the past five silent years meant nothing? As if he’d never been away?

She’d been young then, and vulnerable. But now she had her future planned, her emotions under control. And Marius had no part in her life. That was the only certainty in a reeling world.

The sooner I’m out of this house, she thought grimly, the better.

She pushed open the door and went into the room.

Jon was there alone, decanter in hand.

‘His, doll.’ His smile was forced. ‘Welcome to the family reunion, and you’re more than welcome, believe me.’ He squinted at the measure of whisky he’d just poured into his glass. ‘I wonder what other grisly surprises are in store for us?’

Lydie. said with constraint, ‘I thought you liked Marius.’

‘Like the rest of us, I suspect I never knew him.’ He sounded reflective as he poured her usual dry sherry. ‘Although that’s an omission we’ll all have ample opportunity to repair from now on.’ He handed her her glass then drank some whisky. ‘Our mama is fit to be tied, of course.’

Lydie nodded. ‘I’ve seen her.’ She paused. ‘I think she’s overreacting.’

‘Or just overacting.’ Jon reached for the decanter again. ‘But you can’t blame her for being shocked. For once she looked at her hand and failed to find Austin twined round her little finger. That makes him unpredictable, and therefore dangerous.’

Lydie twisted the stern of the crystal glass in her fingers. She said, ‘She’s always blamed Marius—the quarrel—for Austin’s heart attack.’

Jon laughed derisively. ‘That’s only part of it. She and Marius were at odds from the start, ever since she started treating her marriage like a pools win.’ He waved his glass around. ‘This house, for starters. She had it completely done over—got rid of all the family stuff that had been here for generations. Marius, apparently, found this clean sweep slightly insensitive.’

‘I didn’t realise that,’ Lydie said slowly. ‘I knew there’d been changes, of course.’

‘You were too young to see what was going on. Apparently the business was having problems at the time but Mama was oblivious. And she resented the fact that Marius couldn’t also be brought to heel with a flutter of her eyelashes. Plus he was tactless enough to let her see he thought she’d exceeded her sell-by date.’

Lydie bit her lip. ‘Yes, I understood that at least.’

‘So, when Austin finally cancelled the blank cheque and made her an allowance instead, she blamed Marius.’ Jon held his glass up to the light, admiring the rich amber of the whisky. ‘Although I’d guess it was pressure from the accountants and the bank. However besotted Austin was, he wasn’t going to let her bankrupt him.’

He shook his head. ‘But with Marius banished to outer darkness Mama must have thought the gravy train would eventually be running on the old track again. Hence her distress at his return.’

‘But you’re not happy about it either.’

‘Are you?’ He gave her a searching look. ‘I recall you had it pretty bad for him at one time.’

Lydie moved an evasive shoulder. ‘An adolescent crush.’ She didn’t look at him. ‘Maybe I’ve come back for you.’ The words seemed to hammer in her brain, threatening her. ‘Water under the bridge,’ she threw defiantly at the sudden shiver whispering down her spine.

‘I hope for your sake that’s true. I can’t imagine that his wilderness years will have softened his attitude towards our side of the family.’

‘What about you?’

Jon’s lips tightened. ‘I’ve put in five years’ hard graft at that bloody mill. I don’t want someone else to have my place in the sun while I’m relegated to the sidelines—or worse,’ he added grimly.

Lydie put down her untouched glass. ‘You don’t think this would be a good time to make a complete break?’

He shot her an angry look. ‘You’ve been letting Nell brainwash you, darling. I’m staying where I am and fighting my corner. And you should do the same. Because if anything happens to Austin Marius will have us out of here before the coffin lid’s screwed down.’

Lydie found herself wincing at his crudeness. She said, half to herself, ‘I wonder where he’s been—all this time?’

‘Not letting the grass grow under his feet, that’s for sure. You should see the car he’s driving these days.’ He paused. ‘As a matter of interest, you didn’t persuade Nell to change her mind and come tonight?’

His tone was elaborately casual, and Lydie softened in spite of herself. ‘No, but I did try.’

‘Never mind,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘I’ll have to rely on Chivas Regal for company instead.’

The door opened and Debra Benedict came in. She was wearing a silver dress and there were amethysts around her throat and in her ears. She checked, looking round her.

‘Where are they?’ she asked sharply.

‘Presumably in the study, having another round of peace talks.’ Jon waved the decanter at her. ‘Drinkies?’

‘No, thank you, and you’ve had quite enough as well.’ Debra gave him a warning frown. ‘Don’t play into that man’s hands by getting drunk tonight, for heaven’s sake.’ She paused. ‘I’ll get Mrs Arnthwaite to announce dinner now.’

‘Thus killing numerous birds with one stone.’ Jon put the decanter down. ‘OK, Mama, I surrender.’

But I don’t, Lydie thought, lifting her chin. I can’t. I’m going to fight—and go on fighting. Because, whatever happens, I can’t let him anywhere near me again. I dare not.

Austin Benedict looked relaxed as he took his seat at the head of the table. Marius, seating himself opposite Lydie, appeared merely inscrutable.

‘Well, this is pleasant,’ Austin remarked, unfolding his napkin. ‘The calm before the storm. How many people are coming to this shindig afterwards, Deb?’

Mrs Benedict cleared her throat. ‘Over two hundred—if they all turn up.’

‘Oh, they’ll come.’ He nodded. ‘Even the ones who never intended to. Word soon gets round this valley, and they’ll all be here to see for themselves.’ He transferred his attention to Lydie. ‘That’s a sombre colour for a party, lass. This is a celebration, not a wake, and don’t you forget it.’

The warning note was unmistakable. So was the bottle of Krug, cooling on ice on the sideboard. Lydie felt Marius’s ironic gaze seek hers across the table and faint colour rose in her face.

Austin addressed himself to the company at large. ‘We present a united front tonight,’ he said abruptly. ‘What happened five years ago is no one’s business but our own. I want that clear.’ He swept the table with a fierce gaze. ‘No recriminations or prying into what’s over. We can’t call time back to alter things, so we look to the future. Right?’

‘As the future’s been mentioned,’ Jon said softly, ‘may I ask what office I’ll be occupying on Monday? When I left today I was sales director, but things seem to be changing so fast suddenly...’

Lydie swore under her breath. That’s not the way to handle it, you fool, she castigated him silently.

It was Marius who answered, his tone even. ‘You’ll have the same job. But I’d like a departmental report for the last six months on my desk by mid-week.’

‘Certainly.’ Jon sketched a parody of a salute. ‘And what desk precisely is that?’

‘The managing director’s,’ said Austin. ‘I’m continuing as chairman only from now on. The board’s been informed.’

Lydie stole a look at her mother. All the natural colour had faded from her face, leaving two harsh streaks of blusher high on her cheekbones. For a moment Lydie tensed, thinking that Debra was going to explode, then, with a palpable effort, her mother reached out and rang the small handbell for Mrs Arnthwaite to bring in the soup.

It was, Lydie thought, the worst dinner she’d ever sat through. Even the glory of the champagne couldn’t lift her spirits. As she pushed the food round her plate, she felt as if she was drowning in undercurrents, suffocated by the silence of her mother and brother.

Marius chatted equably to his uncle on safely neutral topics—Yorkshire’s performance in the county cricket championship, enquiries about former friends and acquaintances—but Lydie wasn’t fooled.

Across the expanse of crystal, silverware and flowers-Austin’s favourite white roses arranged in a bowl—she could feel his awareness of her, like the touch of his hand on her naked skin. She was conscious of his gaze resting on her, as if willing her to lift her eyes and return his scrutiny.

Don’t look at him, she adjured herself frantically. Pretend the chair is still empty.

Her heart was hammering violently. She wanted to get to her feet, sweep away the flowers and every other artificial barrier and scream at him, Who was she? Where is she now? If you had her, why did you take me? Was she better in bed than I was? All the teeming questions that had plagued her like a recurring fever, and which she could never ask, of course.

Water under the bridge, she’d told Jon, and it had to be true. They weren’t the same people any more. She was no longer a trusting child, driven beyond reason by her first love. She’d grown up fast in a school of anguished and bitter betrayal. She was old enough and wise enough now to recognise danger when she saw it, and take avoiding action.

And, whatever Marius had been before, their previous confrontation warned her that he was a hazard now, not merely to herself but to all of them.

She risked a covert glance at him from under her lashes and found him watching her quite openly, the firm lips twisting in a mixture of mockery and triumph as their eyes met—clashed.

You see? he seemed to be telling her. I won in the end. All I had to do was wait.

And that, Lydie thought furiously, waving away the Peaches Cardinal that Mrs Arnthwaite was offering, was my first mistake tonight. My first—and my last.

Guests began arriving for the party an hour later. An enormous marquee had been erected on the rear lawn, with a floor laid for dancing, and the small band was already tuning up. The buffet had been set out in the conservatory, which also housed one of the bars.

It was the usual gargantuan spread—like an orgy scene from an old Hollywood epic, Lydie thought wryly, viewing the rich dark ribs of beef and the golden-brown turkeys jostling for position next to honey-roast hams and poached salmon glazed in aspic and cucumber. And that was quite apart from the mousses, pates, vol-au-vents and vast array of salads.

No one had ever actually fallen in the swimming pool and drowned from overeating but there could always be a first time.

Her mouth ached from smiling, and she dodged and evaded so many questions about Marius’s sudden reappearance that she felt like a heavyweight champion’s sparring partner.

Hugh Wingate was among the first to arrive. Guilt sent her hurtling into his arms as she realised she hadn’t given him a single thought up to that moment.

‘I’d have been here even sooner if I’d known that was going to be my reception,’ he told her throatily. He paused. ‘I hear Austin’s had a surprise present.’

Lydie forced a smile. ‘It’s tonight’s sole topic of conversation—quite naturally, I suppose.’

‘Maybe we can give them something else to chatter about.’

He was going to propose to her. For a moment her mind went blank with relief. It was the lifeline she needed. It was safety—sanity in a reeling world.

But was it what she really wanted? asked a small, tormenting voice in her head.

I’ll worry about that later, she thought, and turned to greet some more arrivals.

Austin’s birthday parties traditionally began with a waltz, preceded by a few words of welcome. This year, thought Lydie, you could have heard a pin drop. She glanced at Jon, her brows snapping together. In spite of their mother’s admonitions, he was clearly halfway to being plastered already.

She kicked him discreetly. ‘Give it a rest, can’t you?’

He shrugged, some of the contents of his glass slopping onto his dinner jacket. ‘Why worry? The contest’s over, and I came a poor second.’

Lydie bit her lip. ‘Well, make sure you don’t get stripped of the silver medal too.’

Austin cleared his throat. ‘It’s wonderful to see so many friends here tonight. I’m past the age when birthdays are something to celebrate, so tonight’s party is to welcome my nephew back amongst us all. Apart from my personal pleasure at having him home where he belongs, from next week our customers will have a new managing director to deal with.’ He let the rustle of interest and speculation subside, then added, ‘Now let’s enjoy ourselves.’

Like drawing a line at the bottom of a balance sheet; Lydie thought. And it would be a brave soul who’d dare question the accounts after that.

She watched him step down onto the floor, holding out a hand to his wife. Amid a ripple of applause they opened the dancing. Other couples followed, and Lydie turned to look for Hugh, only to find her way blocked by Marius.

Her throat closed up in sudden panic.

His voice was politely formal. ‘May I have the honour?’

Without waiting for her answer he drew her into his arms and onto the floor.

‘Austin’s orders.’ His lips grazed her ear, sending an unwelcome tremor of response quivering through her. ‘In the interest of family unity.’

She said frostily, ‘Of course.’

‘And my own inclination,’ he added, a thread of amusement in his voice. He swung her effortlessly round.

‘I suppose I could say—just like old times.’

‘No,’ she said deliberately and distinctly. ‘You could not.’

‘And they say absence makes the heart grow fonder,’ he mocked.

‘Then they, whoever they are, should think again,’ Lydie said shortly.

Absence tears you apart and leaves you to bleed, she thought. Absence makes you cry into your pillow at night and stumble round like a zombie during the day. Absence destroys.

‘I get the impression that, left to you, the red carpet would have remained unrolled,’ the softly taunting voice went on.

She hunched a shoulder. ‘What do you expect?’

‘Very little.’ He paused. ‘This reconciliation was not actually my idea.’

That jolted her, and she let it show, her eyes lifting to his in sudden startled query.

‘No? Then how did Austin manage to find you?’

‘I haven’t asked him,’ Marius drawled. ‘I imagine he’s been keeping tabs on me all along, though I doubt whether he’d admit it.’

‘And you wouldn’t have returned otherwise?’

‘I’d been ordered never to darken his door again. It was up to him to make the first move. I wasn’t going to beg.’

No, she thought. That had the authentic Benedict ring about it. And he’d come back for Austin, not for her. The thought stirred in her mind, causing a stab of pain, and was instantly stifled.

‘I’m surprised you agreed at all.’

‘On balance I had too much to lose.’ He added almost casually, ‘And some scores to settle.’

Lydie missed a step. ‘I—see.’

‘Not yet, perhaps,’ Marius said easily, steadying her. ‘But it’s early days.’

Her heart lurched in fright. That, again, was almost a threat, she thought, swallowing. But why? She’d done nothing—except fall in love—with the wrong man—at the wrong time. He was the one who’d broken the rules—and her heart ...

She was too close to him suddenly, his arm like a band of steel around her, the heat of his hard body warming the chill of her flesh, as if the layers of clothes between them had ceased to exist.

She said unevenly, ‘People are changing partners now. You should dance with Mrs Mottram, our MP’s wife. She’s over there in the red dress.’

‘How singularly inappropriate.’ He made no attempt to release her. ‘Let Jon do the honours—if he can tear himself away from the whisky for long enough.’

Damn him for noticing, she thought raggedly. And damn my idiot of a brother for providing him with an easy target.

She tried for nonchalance. ‘He’s had a trying day.’

‘The first of many, I suspect,’ he came back with equal smoothness.

Lydie bit her lip. ‘Leave Jon alone,’ she said. ‘He’s not up to your weight.’

‘How charmingly protective,’ Marius said softly. ‘But that’s what divides the human family from the animal kingdom. In the wild the weakest member of the pack is left for the predators.’

‘With you, no doubt, as king of the jungle.’

The grey eyes glittered down at her. ‘I’ll settle for nothing less—Madonna Lily.’

All the breath seemed to catch in her throat. ‘I told you—don’t call me that.’

‘No?’ His voice was like silk. ‘But it brings back so many delightful memories.’

‘Not,’ she said stonily, ‘to me.’

‘Then I’ll have to jog your memory.’

For a searing second Lydie was pinned against him, her breasts crushed against the firm wall of his chest, his leg thrusting between hers in blatant eroticism as the last chords of the waltz died away. His breath fanned her cheek. His mouth grazed her ear. The unforgotten scent of his skin seemed to fill her senses.

Blood rushed into her face. ‘Let go of me.’ Her voice shook. ‘How dare you ... ?’

He let her pull away, but retained hold of her hand as he escorted her from the floor, pausing to lift it to his lips in a mocking parody of a graceful courtesy, turning her fingers in his at the last moment so that his mouth stung her soft palm instead, swiftly and sensuously. Lethally.

He said quite gently, ‘So you do remember after all.’ And walked away.

She’d expected to find herself the embarrassed cynosure of dozens of pairs of avid eyes, but the only person who seemed to have registered what was going on was her mother.

Debra was staring at her, her brows drawn together, her teeth gnawing at her bottom lip. Then the music started again and she moved off with Hugh, laughing, chatting with apparent animation, hostess mask back in place.

Jon appeared at Lydie’s side. ‘What an enjoyable evening.’ His speech was slightly slurred. ‘All quiet on the united front.’

‘Oh, shut up.’ Lydie smiled through gritted teeth.

‘Come and dance with me while you can still stand.’

‘Is this permitted in the Th-Thornshaugh book of etiquette?’ he asked plaintively. ‘Brother and sister cavorting?’

‘You’d better start reading survival manuals instead,’ Lydie muttered. ‘We all had.’

‘Depends how badly you want to survive.’ Jon peered round the marquee. ‘I saw yet another old friend earlier putting on a brave face. Remember Nadine Winton?’

‘Vividly,’ Lydie said with a snap. ‘I thought she was married and living in Surrey now.’

‘Divorced, apparently, and back with the spoils of war, if the emeralds she’s wearing are anything to go by.’ He paused. ‘Wasn’t she walking out with Marius once upon a time?’

‘Very much so,’ Lydie agreed levelly.

‘Maybe he can be persuaded to have another crack at her. Take his mind off his work. Give me time to sort out a few things.’

‘Oh, God.’ Lydie’s heart sank. ‘What sort of things?’

Jon shrugged. ‘A few minor cock-ups. Nothing serious.’

‘I hope not.’ She touched the tip of her tongue to her lips. ‘Jon, he’s gunning for you already—’

‘May I cut in?’ enquired the jovial voice of the rural dean, and Lydie forced a smiling acquiescence.

And after that the party developed into a medley of faces and a blur of voices and laughter to which she made herself respond.

At one point, through the throng, she saw Marius dancing with the former Nadine Winton, a lusciously curved brunette.

Dear God, she thought, I used to be so jealous of her.

She watched Nadine smile up at him, sliding her hands up to his shoulders, the matching bracelets on her tanned wrists winking green fire, and realised, as pain stabbed through her, that nothing had changed. That seeing Marius with another woman still had the power to rip her apart.

Oh, dear God, no, it can’t be true, she thought desperately. Then, more forcefully, I won’t allow it to be true.

Hugh found her during the supper interval. ‘I haven’t been able to get near you all night,’ he grumbled good-naturedly.

‘Proves it’s a good party.’ She slid her arm through his, drawing it against her breast. My lifeline, she thought, her emotions churning. My saviour.

‘Can I have your attention, everyone?’ Debra was up on the bandstand, projecting charm. They say all good things come in threes. So far tonight we’ve had my husband’s birthday—and Marius’s homecoming. Now I understand there’s going to be an announcement which will bring me—’ her face was misty ‘—the greatest personal happiness.’ She turned, reaching out both hands, all radiant spontaneity. ‘Hugh, my dear, and Lydie, darling child, would you come up here?’

Lydie seemed to be staring at her mother’s silver-clad figure down the wrong end of a telescope. She blinked, trying to get her into focus, to control her whirling thoughts.

‘You don’t mind, do you, sweetheart?’ Hugh was whispering urgently. ‘This was her idea, actually. I’d planned something a bit more private.’

Lydie found herself being propelled forward towards the bandstand.

Hugh was going to propose to her, she thought, dry-mouthed, in front of all these people. There’d be no going back after this. But why should she want to go back anyway? She’d be safe with Hugh.... And safety—a refuge—was what she wanted—needed above all else.

She saw Jon smiling at her, lifting a wavering glass, his face conveying a blurred irony. And Austin, beside him, clutching a forbidden cigar, his face oddly set.

. Saw Marius, standing as if he’d been chipped out of stone from the nearby moors, his eyes grey ice. Saw, as everyone else seemed to recede into some hazy distance, his lips move. Heard the silent words above the laughter and approving applause.

‘Madonna Lily.’

She tore her hand free from Hugh’s. Her voice was hoarse. ‘I—I can’t, you see.’ She stared up at him wildly, willing him to understand. ‘I thought I could—I wanted to Please—please believe that...’

Her voice cracked, and she turned and ran, the stunned onlookers parting like the Red Sea, back to the uncertain peace of the house.

CHAPTER FOUR

THE party had been over for hours. From the window-seat in her room Lydie had heard the goodnights being called and watched the headlights departing. Now the house was quiet and in darkness.

She couldn’t go to bed. She was too restless—too on edge. She’d started to undress, then abandoned the idea, throwing a robe over her teddy instead.

She’d half expected an irate visit from her mother, but presumably Debra had decided that it was too late for confrontations and was saving herself for a major scene in the morning.

Lydie shivered slightly. She’d brought it on herself. There were no excuses she could proffer, no apologies she could make.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.