Savage Obsession

She had run, but not far enough or fast enough, and he had caught up with her like Nemesis. And she was going to have to listen now, and not betray a thing.

If he knew how long she had loved him, how passionately, he would feel sorry for her. And that she could not, would not stand. The humiliation would be the final, deadly straw. Far better, for both of them, if he continued to believe that theirs had been a loveless marriage, on both sides, and that she had decided that that type of sterile re­lationship was no longer enough.

It was silent in the square, stone-flagged hall and he stood in the open doorway behind her, blocking out the sun, and his voice was ice as he remarked, 'Just the two of you, is it? You and the celebrated author? Quite an idyllic set-up.'

'As you say.' Her voice was brittle, hard. It had to be, because to deny what he was obviously thinking would be to reveal a tiny chink in her armour. No need to tell him that she slept in the annexe, as had her predecessor, had her own small private sitting-room with a tiny bathroom above, built into the roof, and only came into the main house to work, to take her meals. No need to let him know that, loving him, no other man really existed for her.

'Come through to the sitting-room,' she invited, her level tone belying the sickening race of her heartbeats. 'William's still in bed, but I'm sure he won't mind, in the circumstances.'

She went to move away, towards the door next to the study, but her wrist was caught in a grip of steel and his mouth was a bitter line as he snapped, hauling her against the hard, lean length of his body, 'Had a hard night, did he?'

'We both did!' Being so close, feeling his vital body warmth, the hard thrust of perfectly honed muscle and bone beneath the casual jeans and sweatshirt, was bitter-sweet torment and her taunt was in direct response, a defence mechanism she had no control over, and she put defiance into her eyes, to hide the anguish, meeting his, seeing the involuntary jerk of a muscle at the side of his jaw, feeling a tiny stab of triumph because he, after all, could be jealous.

But the triumph was hollow, short-lived. She was still his wife and, as such, his property. He had wedded and bedded her, and her body, for three short months, had carried his child. And then he had never made love to her again because, knowing the odds on her ever conceiving again were im­possibly long, there had been no point. Yet, even so, he still regarded her as his possession; his mas­culine ego would snarl at the thought of her going to bed with any other man.

Her throat clogged with misery, she tried to drag herself away, but his grip merely tightened and his voice was thick as he stated, 'Beth, we have to talk. Don't you see that?' And for an insane moment she almost believed he cared, that there was still something left of their marriage, that something could be salvaged from the ruins. Slowly, she looked up at him from between her long dark lashes, felt a betraying tremor run through his body, and heard William say from the head of the stairs,

'Is everything all right, Beth?' His voice was roughly aggressive because it wasn't every day he came across a total stranger manhandling his secretary.

So the moment was over, and she must have im­agined that jealousy, and had to put it down to wishful thinking because Charles, when he answered for her, sounded almost bored, com­pletely urbane, totally in control.

'Perfectly all right, Templeton. I was passing and decided to drop in on my wife.'

'Oh. I see.' He sounded wary, coming down the stairs slowly, and Beth sighed.

When she had first arrived she had told her em­ployer that she was separated from her husband. A broken marriage was nothing unusual these days. And he had accepted that, and if he had jumped to the conclusion that the separation was of long duration, and amicable, she hadn't put him right.

She had been feeling too raw to go into any de­tails. And now he probably imagined that he would come down each morning to find an irate husband on his doorstep.

That kind of complication she could do without! And if she wanted to keep her job she would have to convince him otherwise.

'Beth, would you ask Mariette to bring coffee to the study—you'll join us, Savage?' William faced the younger, much taller man, his expression faintly belligerent. He had obviously showered recently and changed into lightweight fawn trousers and a crisp white shirt, looking far more alert after his sleep, younger, tougher.

'Thank you.' Charles dipped his dark head, the tone of his voice almost contemptuous, his mouth grim, and Beth slipped away, the palms of her hands slicked with perspiration.

The two men were acting like adversaries, circling each other, ready to fight to the death for their ter­ritorial rights. She couldn't understand it. She might still be married to Charles but that state of affairs wouldn't last long because he wanted to be rid of her. And although William might be annoyed be­cause his work

ing routine was being disrupted by an unwelcome visitor, he must know that it was a one-off, wouldn't happen again.

She would have to make that very clear as soon as Charles left. She needed this job and had every intention of keeping it, intending, once she had proved herself capable and reliable, to ask if he would employ her on a permanent footing.

Mariette wasn't in the kitchen so Beth made the coffee herself, glad of the respite. Seeing Charles again, so soon, had been a shock and she needed time to brace herself to act as if she didn't really care when he asked her for a divorce.

But she couldn't make the simple task last all morning and when she carried the tray into the study she was no nearer gaining total control over her emotions than she had been when Charles had appeared out of the blue, bundling her into his car.

And the atmosphere inside the small, book-lined room did nothing to help her equilibrium. William was behind his desk, his eyes glowering, and Charles was pacing the floor, like a caged tiger trying to break out.

'How long are you staying in the area?' William questioned abruptly.

Charles, his narrowed eyes watching every move Beth made as she poured coffee, answered silkily, 'As long as I need to,' his steely grey eyes hard­ening as she handed him his cup. 'Making yourself indispensable to yet another man?'

Although fiery colour washed her face Beth's body went icy cold. That had been a direct ref­erence to the fact that, for six months before he had come out with his astonishing proposal of marriage, she had worked as a temporary housekeeper-cum-social-hostess at South Park.

Beth remembered, as if it were yesterday, the morning when Charles had walked into the Helpline Agency. Mrs Penny, he'd explained, had fallen and broken her hip and it would be months before she would be fit for work again. And everyone knew that, not long before, Zanna had walked out of his life, leaving him bereft. Her heart had ached for him, because she had known what it was like to love hopelessly. But at least Charles had known a spell of intense happiness with the woman everyone knew he was obsessed by.

'I need a miracle—a Jill of all trades,' he'd con­fessed, his austere features softening in a smile which looked rarely used these days. 'Someone to act as temporary housekeeper, occasional secretary and sometime hostess when I entertain business colleagues for working weekends. It would be for some months, certainly until Mrs Penny is fit to return. But by then I should have got something sorted out regarding the other duties.'

To this day, Beth didn't know just what madness had prompted her to offer. Heaven knew, she and Allie had been busy enough with administering the rapidly expanding agency, and her secret love for Charles Savage, that hopeless thing that had re­fused to die the death or go away, would merely be fanned into a raging conflagration if she were foolish enough to spend so much time with him.