re Rachel’s. Once again her eyes were drawn to James’s profile: he was an exceedingly physically attractive male, there was no doubt about that, but unlike most of her sex she found his masculine perfection repellent rather than attractive.
‘Taking an inventory?’
He had turned to smile mockingly at her. Furiously determined to prove to him that her scrutiny of him had no personal basis, Jenna retorted tightly, ‘No one could ever question that Deveril blood runs in your veins.’
Incredibly his face went white, his fingers tensing on the steering-wheel. ‘Just what in hell do you mean by that?’ he demanded harshly, stunning her with the intensity of his anger. She had thought him a man without an Achilles’ heel and yet, incredibly, it seemed she was wrong. She had no idea why he should be so bitterly resentful of his Deveril blood, but it excited her to know that he was not as invulnerable as she had supposed.
She managed a light shrug, longing to probe into the reason for his furious response but knowing that this was not the time.
‘The portrait on the stairs,’ she told him simply. ‘Surely you must have seen the resemblance?’
Amazingly, his anger was gone, leaving in its place a lazy amusement. ‘Ah yes…the family black sheep. My revered ancestor…Yes, there is a similarity. Apparently it crops up in every so many generations,’ he added carelessly, ‘but I’m afraid I have to tell you that he was no Deveril.’
Jenna stared at him. ‘But of course he was…you said yourself…’
‘I know what I said, but what I didn’t tell you was that it was rumoured at the time and later confirmed by his mother on her deathbed that he was not her husband’s child, but her lover’s. Hence the reason his supposed “father” was so eager to get rid of him. Hence also the reason why he had no compunction about taking his wife’s family name, I suspect,’ James added musingly. ‘I have in my possession his granddaughter’s diary; the whole story is written down there. It wasn’t exactly an uncommon occurrence, in those days!’
So James wasn’t a Deveril! Jenna’s head was whirling. All of a sudden she remembered her vivid dream and her seducer’s shocking revelation that he was not his father’s son, merely his mother’s. But she had believed that to be just the imaginings of her dream…She abruptly brought herself back to the present. Why, she wondered, had James been so furious when she had commented on his Deveril blood? And why, when his connection with the family was so vague, was he so determined to possess the old Hall?
In view of his recent disclosures she felt that the latter question was one she could quite reasonably put to him.
He looked at her briefly before replying, his mouth grim. ‘Let us just say that I do have my reasons—more valid and justifiable than yours, I suspect,’ he added, his glance flicking dispassionately over her half-averted face.
In other words, he wasn’t going to tell her, Jenna thought wryly. Well, it was scarcely any of her business, but she was still curious to know. You know what curiosity did to the cat, she reminded herself, and James Allingham did not strike her as a man who would deal lightly with anyone trying to pry into his personal life.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JAMES didn’t speak again until he turned off the main road and into a private entrance leading to an underground car park. Sensing her tension he said easily, ‘I thought you might care to look over the sketches and other documents while the layout of the Hall is still fresh in your mind.’
It was true that she did want to see the papers—after all, wasn’t that the whole purpose in agreeing to allow him to accompany her today? Stop being so stupid, she told herself, as he stopped the car. All right, so he had kissed her once, in anger, as a form of punishment and not an expression of desire. It was hardly likely to happen again. Despite the taunts she had thrown at him, she knew quite well that James was not a man who would ever need to go short of feminine companionship—and certainly never to the extent that he would need to force himself on any woman. She might not like him herself, might even have to admit to a faint trace of fear of him, but that didn’t totally obliterate her common sense, which told her quite plainly that James was no Charles Deveril.
‘Stiff?’
He got out of the car and opened her door for her, leaning across her to release her seat-belt. The gesture was no more than common politeness on his part, she suspected, because he performed the small service easily and quickly, but she was all too conscious of the bulk and maleness of him as he leaned across her, his body blocking out both light and air. She could see the conformation of the muscles in his arms as he released the seat-belt catch, and the beginnings of his beard along his jaw.
As he moved away from her his arm brushed against her breasts. Instantly she recoiled, her pupils dilating in shocked recognition of the unexpected contact.
‘Are you all right?’ He was frowning as he put out a hand to help her from the car. No doubt he wasn’t used to her sex withdrawing from his touch, Jenna thought acidly, ignoring his hand and determinedly stepping past him.
‘I’m fine.’ She gave him a brilliant, but totally false, smile as he locked the car and led the way to a small private lift.
The atmosphere inside it to Jenna was almost claustrophobic. She hated the enforced intimacy of having to be so close to him, and it brought back all the old nighttime terrors she had suffered after Rachel’s death.
Often in those early days she had dreamed of her sister…dreamed she heard her screams and cries for help, but that in going to her aid was attacked herself, smothering in a blanket of fear and revulsion as Charles Deveril turned from Rachel to her. Over the years those dreams had faded, but they had left their scars, and now, enclosed in the small space with James, Jenna was vividly reminded of them.
She could feel the tension building up inside her, and for one crazy moment was tempted to throw herself at the closed door and hammer it open. As she fought to get control of herself the lift stopped and the doors opened. She gulped in air, her body bathed in perspiration.
‘Are you okay?’
There was concern and puzzlement in James’s eyes as he touched her elbow. ‘You almost look as though you’re about to faint.’
‘I’m fine,’ she managed a tight smile, spoiling her impression of total control as she jerked nervously away from him. ‘I just don’t like lifts,’ she lied.
His apartment surprised her. As she followed him inside the drawing-room and saw the elegant shape of the windows, she realised it was in one of the Regency terraces fronting on to the park. Beyond the window she could see a wrought-iron balcony, and, more surprising still, the drawing-room was furnished with the comfortable shabbiness that spoke of a home rather than the living quarters of a bachelor.
A richly hued nineteenth-century Persian carpet covered the floor and Jenna bent instinctively to touch the silky fibres. Bookcases flanked an ornate marble fireplace. She studied the room slowly, admiring the elegant, inlaid-marquetry Regency card table. The room was quite sparsely furnished, but all the pieces apart from the huge leather chesterfield were antiques.
When she eventually remembered the purpose of her visit she turned and looked at her host, and found that he was studying her with raised eyebrows.