Savage Obsession

She swooped, almost toppling over in her panic, her fingers scrabbling for the protective covering she hadn't, in her blind anger, realised she'd lost, dragging it up in front of her, colour scalding her face.

And when her stormy eyes at last locked with his she was sure she could detect the cruel light of amusement in the stony depths, and he said, slowly and very deliberately, 'That's one thing straight. Something we can begin to work on tomorrow.' Then turned on his heels. And although she couldn't make sense of what he had said she could swear she could hear his silent, derisive laughter ringing inside her head as he went swiftly down the stairs.

As soon as he'd gone she made a determined effort to pull herself together and began to hurry. She wouldn't put it past him to come back up, and having him walk in on her while she was in the shower was something she could do without.

Thankfully, he'd left the lamp he'd carried up­stairs and as she put it down carefully on a marble-topped washstand in the tiny bathroom she re­flected that he might also decide to share her bed. The thought made her go cold.

They hadn't shared a bed since her miscarriage and if he decided he wouldn't be able to sleep on the small, hard-looking sofa downstairs and took it into his head to join her she didn't know what she would do.

Throw him out? Physically, she was no match for him and if he'd made up his mind there would be nothing she could do or say to make him change it. And if she tried to leave him to it, sleep on the uncomfortable sofa herself, he would be angry and she knew what could happen then.

It was anger, nothing less, that had

sparked off his arrogant male desire that afternoon in the forest… And her control was still too fragile to be relied on…

He hadn't been near her. Which shouldn't have surprised her, given his track record during the latter part of their marriage. But it did, she thought, struggling into a sitting position, her knees up to her chin, the duvet huddled around her.

Or was it disappointment? asked a snide little voice from deep inside her. But she pushed the notion away, quickly. No, of course not. If he'd joined her in bed she'd been planning on feigning sleep but knew that if he so much as touched her—even accidentally—she would have jumped like a scalded cat or melted straight into his arms. Either way, the ending would have been the same.

And although having him make love to her would be nothing short of ecstasy it would also be a massive stumbling-block where her resolve to get on with her life without him, never looking back, was concerned.

Besides, on his part, it would only be animal lust. He didn't love her, never had. He'd never stopped loving Zanna. So, it would be lust, allied to his desire to stamp her in his own mind as a tramp, always willing, whatever the occasion, whoever the man!

She was quite sure now that he was intent on making her out to be the guilty party, finding all the evidence he could to point to that—hence the lovemaking on the first occasion he'd tracked her down. She could be turned on by anyone—the first man she'd come into contact with after leaving, the man who happened to be her employer—even the husband she'd asked for a divorce only had to touch her to get her half crazed with desire, begging for more!

Oh, yes, she thought sourly, running her fingers through her rumpled hair, she knew he intended making her out to be a shameless tramp, the guilty party in the break-up of their marriage. And, what was more, she knew why!

The Savage family had been at South Park for generations, owning most of the land, most of the property, for miles around. They were looked up to, almost revered as good landlords, local squires noted for their compassion and concern, interested in the lives and problems of the village and sur­rounding scattered farm population.

Reciprocally, the community returned that interest, and with a vengeance! Nothing the Savage family did escaped the notice of at least one vil­lager, who would then proceed to pass it on to everyone willing to listen. And most were more than willing, although her father had once grunted, 'Gossip may be a normal human failing, but this time it's going too far. I pity the poor devil, having to lead his life in the full glare of public scrutiny and mindless tittle-tattle—he's having a hard enough time, without knowing that every last move he makes is avidly discussed on every doorstep.'

And even now she could still hear her mother's patient reply. 'The gossip isn't malicious. People are sorry for him—especially now that James is working abroad. Poor Charles has simply gone in on himself, shutting himself away in that great empty house, brooding. He was obsessed by that Zanna Hall, everyone knew it. And now she's left him. People say she refused point-blank to marry him and tie herself down.'

'"People say"!' her father had repeated scathingly. 'They might well say, but how much do they actually know?'

'You'd be surprised.' Her mother had quietly continued with her knitting. 'Anyway, you can't hide something as obvious as an all-out obsession. Everyone said no good would come of it. And it hasn't, has it?'

No, no good had come of it, Beth reflected sourly. And Charles would be perfectly well aware how tongues would wag—with utter disgust this time—if the gossips were to get hold of the infor­mation that he'd thrown little Beth Garner-that-was, the respected local GP's daughter, out on her neck to make room for Zanna Hall and their ready-made family. Which was why he would move heaven and earth to make himself seem the injured party! He wouldn't want to lose his standing with the local population, many of whom were his tenants, she decided cynically.

And he seemed to be sleeping late, she thought, swinging her legs over the side of the high, old-fashioned bed. Though how he could do that, on the small, uncomfortable sofa, she hadn't the least idea. But she was utterly thankful that there was no sound of him moving around when, as her feet touched the floor, the familiar morning nausea hit her.

She only just made it to the bathroom in time and emerged ten minutes later, grey-faced, to pull on a pair of well-worn jeans and an emerald-green cotton blouse. After a glass of water and a slice of dry toast she would be fine. Ready to face what the day had in store. That it would be nothing pleasant, she knew full well. But, somehow, she would handle it.

At least Charles hadn't surfaced to witness her violent bout of morning sickness, she consoled herself as she picked her way downstairs. She had no intention of telling him about the child they had conceived. It would smack of emotional blackmail.

If he preferred Zanna, and of course he did, then she wasn't going to use their unborn child as leverage to make him stay with her. The thought of tying him to her, knowing he was in love with someone else, made her feel ill. Besides, he already had a child, a son to carry his name, given him by the woman he had never stopped loving, a son who would soon legitimately bear his name.

It was something she had already accepted and the sooner this day was over and she was free to get on with the rest of her life, the better it would be. And the very first thing to do was to tackle Charles head-on, tell him she knew what he was up to, what he was trying to prove.

And then, she thought, she would tell him to go to hell! Because maybe, just maybe, she was at last beginning to get some sense! How could she possibly love a man who could do that to her? And when they came face to face she would tell him pre­cisely how despicable he was, not worth a mo­ment's thought. And by saying it out loud she might make it the truth.

But easier said than done. A thorough search of the tiny cottage—which didn't take longer than a couple of minutes—told her he wasn't around. And his car had gone.

As she stood in the centre of the clearing, the mud now rapidly drying out in the morning sun, her green eyes clouded with exasperation. Where the hell was he?

And half an hour later she was still asking the same question, but more with anxiety now because surely he wouldn't have gone to the trouble to bring her here, only to disappear into thin air himself?

A sudden thought sent relief spurting through her and she dived for the small fridge, pulling it open then closing it slowly, something more than dis­appointment making her shoulders slump.