The Threat of Love

'Oh, yes, I can,' said Gil with a mocking little smile.

Caro mutinously set her mouth and dug her heels in like a mule, backing towards the car. He still held on to her waist, and she couldn't help registering that his fingers almost touched in the middle because his hands were long and her waist small. She felt a strange flutter of pleasure, conscious of the warmth of his hands pressing in upon her body. It was a possessive hold, a dominating one, and she wanted to yield to it.

'You are an infuriating woman,' Gil observed, eyeing her as if he disliked her intensely, at which she was fiercely pleased because at least he wasn't ignoring her now, or treating her with drawling amusement.

'You're an infuriating man,' she retorted, and Gil laughed shortly.

'And you've always got an answer, haven't you?'

'If you mean I won't let you bully me and get away with it, then yes!' she said, very aware of the warm darkness around them, their isolation in the quiet street.

And then behind Caro the front door opened, a beam of yellow light cut the darkness on the driveway and no doubt illumined their figures by the Rolls. Caro stiffened, wondering if this was Lady Westbrook—or was it the Countess coming out to welcome Gil home, unaware that he was not alone? She had no time to turn her head to find out, because Gil bent suddenly and took her mouth in a hot, urgent kiss.

CHAPTER FIVE

Caro was so startled and taken aback that she didn't even have the strength of mind to push him away or slap his face, although afterwards she wished she had—not that Gil gave her the opportunity of doing anything.

He took her mouth ruthlessly; his hands manipulated her, as if she were a doll, pulled her towards him until their bodies touched, his fast-breathing chest rising and falling against her own, his thigh pushing intimately between hers. His mouth was torment and enchantment; she met the invasion helplessly, her eyes closing, plunging her into hot darkness where nothing mattered but the sweetness of that kiss, her lips parting weakly to kiss him back.

When Gil at last lifted his head again she was so feverish she shivered, still clinging to his shoulders in case her legs gave way and she fell at his feet, the way she had that first time they had ever met. She was angry, too, wanted to shout at him, hit him, because he was using her, somehow, kissing her deliberately as part of some plan—but what, and why? That was what puzzled her.

Then Gil turned towards the door, gave a rather overdone start of surprise and said blandly, 'Why, hello, Miranda! What are you doing here?'

Then Caro knew, of course. He had kissed her to annoy the Countess; perhaps they had quarrelled? Or he liked to make Miranda jealous? Whatever the reason, it had all been a game, with Caro used as a pawn, and her throat went tight with pain and resentment.

The slender blonde gave him an over-brilliant smile, as shiny as the diamonds she wore around her throat and on her ears. From her expression, Gil had achieved his aim: Miranda was furious. 'I've been trying to get you on the phone, Gil darling, but you weren't at your office, or your home, so I rang your grandmother's house and she very sweetly invited me to dinner. She said you were coming, and we've been waiting for you for ages. Your grandmother is quite cross with you for being so late.' She didn't seem to have noticed he was not alone; Caro could have been invisible for all the notice the Countess took of her.

Caro wasn't hanging around to be humiliated or cold-shouldered; she turned blindly to start walking home; it was only a short distance round the corner, after all. She only took one step before Gil's arm caught her waist and drew her close again.

'Miranda, I don't think you've met Caroline Ramsgate, have you?' he drawled. 'Caroline, this is the Countess of Jurby.'

The two young women regarded each other as if from opposite ends of the earth. Neither smiled or moved.

Gil Martell looked amused; Caro could have kicked him. Lightly, he said, 'I'm sure my grandmother has mentioned that Caroline's father may be taking over Westbrooks.'

Miranda's perfectly pencilled brows arched. 'Oh, she's that man's daughter, is she? I see.' Her voice held oceans of meaning and Caro hated her smile. 'Well, we must be terribly nice to her, mustn't we?'

'Caro is having dinner too,' Gil said and Miranda's smile hardened.

'Your grandmother didn't mention that.'

Caro opened her mouth to say she was not having dinner, she was going home, but Gil forestalled her, steering her firmly towards the open front door where they were met by the short, stout woman whom Caro had met on her first visit.

'Oh, hello, Susan,' Gil said casually. 'You remembe

r Caro, don't you? She was here to dinner last week, with her father. I've invited her again—what have you got for us?'

'Oh, dear,' Susan said, biting her lip and looking flustered. 'Nothing special, I'm afraid—just melon and Parma ham, followed by chicken casserole, and then coffee mousse... Really, Gil, I don't know if there will be enough...'

'Sounds delicious,' he said in his ruthless way, throwing her a charming but insistent smile Caro recognised all too well. So he was like that with everyone, not just with her, was he? That ought to make her feel better, but it didn't. 'And I'm sure it will easily stretch to feed five, especially as I'm certain Caro is on a diet.' He gave the maddening smile to Caro. 'Aren't you, Caro? Women usually are. I've never known a woman yet who wasn't, at one time or another.'

Miranda eyed Caro's figure, so much more rounded and richly curved than her own, with a smiling disdain meant for Caro to see, which, of course, she did, angrily flushing.

'Well, of course, I'm sure your grandmother will be delighted to see Miss Ramsgate again, but.. .if you're sure you don't mind a small portion, Miss Ramsgate...but the mousse is very small,' Susan bleated unhappily, torn between courtesy and truth.

Gil soon disposed of that argument. T shall have cheese, not the mousse, so you can give my share of that to Caro. Now, off you go, Susan, and set a place for her, will you?'

Lady Westbrook's companion-housekeeper vanished to obey without another word, used, no doubt, to being given such arrogant commands, and Gil propelled Caro through the hall and into the drawing-room she remembered all too clearly, her eyes rapidly flickering round the high-ceilinged room with its tapestry-upholstered Victorian furniture and faded, richly coloured carpets. Lady Westbrook was seated beside a fire which had been lit, although spring had now begun. She stared across the room at Caro in startled surprise, and Caro gave her a shy, uncertain smile, lost for words.