Crescendo

'I can guess what she thought,' Marina said drily.

Diana had come because she hoped that Gideon would have grown tired of his marriage and might be prepared to resume his relationship with her. Past experience of his brief romances would have given her grounds for hoping. Poor Davina, Marina thought; it was painful to love without a hope of re­turn, and she was sure Diana loved him.

'Have you ever realised what you've done to her?' she asked him bitterly. 'She has feelings too, you know.'

His face was set and dark. 'She almost lost me the one thing I've ever cared about,' he said through his teeth. 'She just wouldn't accept that I didn't want her and because of that you almost died.' He stopped speaking, his throat moving in a convulsive swallow. 'I thought for a while you might die. I'd have killed her if I'd seen her!'

There was a silence. She could hear him breath­ing, the rough sound abrasive. The wind roared past the window and the latch clattered. Marina jumped, her nerves stretched to the point where every little noise could pierce her brain.

'It's only the wind,' Gideon said gently.

She drank some of her tea but it had grown cold and tasted flat and vile. Gideon watched her, his dark eyes intent. 'I thought until my head ached,' he said. 'Diana was a red herring, wasn't she? It wasn't Diana who split us up, it was me. I ruined what we could have had. If I hadn't been so obsessed with protecting myself I'd have realised what I was doing to you.'

She looked back at him, her breathing stilled, see­ing a change in his face, a look almost of humility which seemed odd on that hard, powerful mask of his.

'Did you love me?' h

e asked huskily.

She didn't reply, just stared at him.

'You did, didn't you?' He smiled oddly, wry self- contempt in the movement of his mouth. 'And I never stopped to think, to ask myself what was going on inside your head. I was too busy struggling with my own feelings to ask how you felt. I was so afraid of losing myself that I lost you.'

In the silence she heard the clock ticking and the wind lashing across the sea, the slow sift of the ash inside the stove.

'I suppose I knew you had to find me attractive,' Gideon muttered. 'You wouldn't have slept with me otherwise. But I wouldn't let myself ask you if you loved me because by asking that I would have ad­mitted the whole question of love, and that was the one thing I didn't dare to do.' He put out his hand .and caught hers, took it to his lips, staring at her. 'Do you still love me, Marina?'

'How can I?' she asked flatly. 'You've told me too much about yourself that makes you unlovable.' His hand tightened on her fingers in a wince. She went on quietly, 'You may love me now, or think you do, but in a year, two, you may decide you've stopped loving me, and then I would be another Diana to be kicked out of your life.'

'No,' he said. 'No. I've never cared for anyone but you. I wouldn't do that to you. I may have fought against loving you, but I've given in, Marina. I'll love you to the end of my life.'

'How can I believe that?' she asked angrily.

'You must,' he muttered.

She pulled her hand from his grip and stood up. Gideon got up, too, catching her arm.

'Don't go. Listen to me.'

'Why should I?'

Their eyes met and quarrelled violently, a dark pleading in his, a cold rejection in hers. Gideon moved closer and Marina glanced away from the magnetic pull of his lean body, the physical attrac­tion she knew very well she could still feel throb­bing away inside herself. It was a vital part of love, but it was only a part. There had to be a lot more than that if love was to survive. How did she know that Gideon felt any more than an urgent desire for her?

'I tried to start again,' he told her huskily. 'When I came down here this time it was because I was go­ing mad not seeing you. Grandie had asked me to stay away, but I couldn't.'

Her eyes angrily told him how selfish that had been and his grew hard with an admission of his realisation of it.

'But when I saw that you didn't remember me, I thought it would give me the chance to make things happen as they should have happened in the begin­ning. If I'd admitted I'd fallen in love with you right from the start, I'd have come down here to court you, to make you fall in love with me. I'd have married you and none of this would have happened.

I tried to reshape our lives. I wanted to love you and let you see it. I wanted to teach you to love me.'

And he had succeeded, of course. She had fallen in love with him all over again. The moment she saw him she had felt that tug of deep attraction. Her mind might not have known him, but her body had, and it had moved like a sleepwalker into his arms, wildly responsive to every touch, every kiss.

She looked away, her skin flushing deeply, and Gideon stared at her fixedly, piercing the defences she was trying to erect against the probe of his stare.

'Think about it, darling,' he whispered, watching her.

She lifted her head, her eyes flashing. "I can tell you now what I think. I think it would have been better for me if I'd never laid eyes on you. I think _ you've given me as much pain as any one human being can stand, and I don't want to see you again. I think that you should get out of my life and stay out!'