His Blackmail Marriage Bargain Read online

  ‘Stop it, Yorke,’ she said coolly. ‘This wasn’t part of our bargain. I appreciate that it might offend your male ego to know that I’m indifferent to you.’

  ‘Are you?’

  He moved so quickly that she didn’t have time to react. One moment the width of the room was between them, the next the muscled wall of his chest was crushing her breasts as his arms imprisoned her. She bent backwards instinctively, twisting sideways to try and free herself, but his arm was jammed against her spine and as his eyes darkened smokily she realised that her struggles were exciting him. She wasn’t nineteen any longer and she knew quite well what the sudden hardening of his thighs presaged.

  ‘Let me go, Yorke,’ she demanded huskily.

  ‘All that ice, but how deep is it?’ he drawled. ‘You can’t hide underneath it for ever, Autumn. One day someone’s really going to apply the heat and it’s all going to melt away.’

  She was trembling now, her body filled with a familiar excitement, but she fought it down. She was indifferent to Yorke now. Her mind and body seemed to have separated into two complete entities, her body unmistakably aroused by Yorke’s proximity while her mind cringed in terror, flooding her with memories of past humiliations.

  Yorke’s hold relaxed as though he sensed victory and before he could stop her she twisted out of his arms.

  ‘Coward,’ he taunted softly. ‘I was right, wasn’t I? The ice is barely skin deep.’

  ‘Stop goading me, Yorke,’ she warned him tiredly. ‘This mock reconciliation isn’t totally for my benefit. You stand to gain too, I know what you’re trying to do, but I’m no longer vulnerable to sexual intimidation.’

  She watched the colour creep under his skin in an angry tide. ‘You responded,’ he insisted, watching her closely. ‘I felt it.’

  ‘With fear, not desire. Do you think I could ever forget the lessons you taught me?’ Her voice bitter, she continued huskily, ‘We’re human beings, not animals, and we have the gift—and the curse—of thought and feeling. My body might remember you with pleasure, but my mind remembers you only with fear and revulsion.’

  ‘Well, in that case, this won’t make a ha’pennyworth of difference, will it?’ Yorke gritted, reaching for her, his hot breath filling her mouth as he ground the tender flesh of her lips back against her teeth in a kiss so brutally punishing that she reeled under it.

  Fear and terror mingled inside her, her hands clawing at his chest as she fought to be free, her cool hauteur dissolving under his ruthless assault.

  When he released her his chest was rising and falling hurriedly, his face pale in the electric light, but Autumn was beyond noticing. Panic glazed her eyes, her arms crossed protectively across her breasts as she backed away from him.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ he muttered savagely. ‘You provoked me and I lost my temper, but I haven’t sunk to rape, although you always had the knack of driving me pretty close to it.’

  The injustice of his attack made her go white.

  ‘That’s a vile thing to say!’ His words had touched chords she had forgotten existed, awakening old memories of Aunt Emma saying reprovingly that only a certain type of woman incited men to mistreat them. Sickness welled up inside her. Was she that sort of woman? The sort who enjoyed a man’s violence? She retched emptily at the thought, then staggered out of the room and found her way blindly to her room.

  Thoughts that had lain imprisoned behind the high wall she had erected poured through her defences like molten lava, until she groaned in tormented protest.

  Yorke! He was responsible for this. She should never have agreed to this charade. Exhausted and yet too strung up to sleep, she stood by the window, drinking in the clean country air. Down below her in the garden she saw the shadows stir, the faint glow of Yorke’s cigar making her withdraw quickly.

  Half of her longed to run, terrified by the implications of tonight’s confrontation, and yet another part of her urged her to remain, warning her that until she had overcome the emotions Yorke aroused in her she would never be free.

  CHAPTER SIX

  SHE was in the garden when she saw Yorke emerging from the house. He was not alone, and she chided herself for the sense of relief that information brought. The man with him was in his late fifties, his glance admiring as he extended his hand to Autumn.

  ‘Sir Giles, my wife Autumn. Autumn darling, let me introduce you to Sir Giles Barlow, and of course his extremely beautiful daughter, Annette,’ he added with a teasing smile for the young girl at his side.

  Annette ignored her, but the dazzling smile she gave Yorke spoke volumes, and Autumn wondered if Sir Giles was aware that his daughter had a crush on Yorke. She was dressed in tight-fitting velvet trousers tucked into toning leather boots, a thin white vest emphasising the firm thrust of her breasts, and although she was heavily made up, Autumn suspected that she couldn’t be much more than seventeen.

  That Annette was less than pleased to meet her, Autumn felt sure must be obvious to both men, and she thought she saw Sir Giles frown faintly as his daughter clung determinedly to Yorke’s arm, leaning provocatively against him so that her breast brushed his sleeve.

  ‘I’m delighted to hear that you and Yorke have mended your differences, my dear,’ he said to Autumn. ‘A man in Yorke’s position needs a wife, and more important, the right kind of wife.’

  A warning to Annette, or Yorke? Autumn wondered. As the two men talked she gathered that Sir Giles was a very prominent member of the Civil Service, and suspected that it was he who had warned Yorke about the possibility of the knighthood.

  Sir Giles broke off his conversation to give her an apologetic smile.

  ‘I’m sorry, my dear. You’ve only been back in this country a matter of days and already I’m depriving you of your husband. What I really came over for, Yorke, was to invite you both to meet Charles Phillips, the P.M.’s private secretary. He and I were at Eton together, and he’s staying with us for a few days. The P.M.’s very keen to get the views of prominent industrialists on this new bill they’re thinking of putting through. All strictly off the record at this point, of course…’

  In other words Charles Phillips had been sent to look Yorke over, Autumn reflected dryly.

  ‘You will come, won’t you, Yorke?’ Annette breathed huskily. ‘If you don’t it will be the most frightfully boring affair.’

  Intimating that Yorke’s presence would make up for any amount of boredom, Autumn thought to herself, wondering faintly if her growing dislike of Annette sprang from pure disapproval of her methods or envy of a girl who although half a dozen years her junior, managed to run rings round her when it came to the art of flirtation. What was the matter with her? she wondered irritably. Why should she care if Annette flirted with Yorke?

  ‘We shall both be delighted to come,’ Yorke replied smoothly, catching her off guard as his hand brushed against her bare arm, his fingers tightening warningly on her wrist as he dropped a light kiss on her forehead.

  ‘Daddy has promised to buy me a new dress,’ Annette announced loudly, her blue eyes cold and hard as she glared at Autumn. ‘I’ve seen one that’s exactly right—Bellville Sassoon. I don’t suppose you’ve heard of them,’ she said disparagingly to Autumn. ‘What will you be wearing?’

  ‘I don’t have the faintest idea,’ Autumn responded with a smile, and asked Sir Giles if he would care for a cup of coffee.

  ‘I thought you’d never ask,’ he admitted with a chuckle. ‘One of the many disadvantages of being a widower is that one has to rely on kind friends for decent meals. Annette isn’t exactly domesticated, are you, pet?’

  ‘Keep him away from Mrs Jacobs,’ Yorke warned Autumn, ‘otherwise he’ll steal her away from under our nose.’

  Yorke was careful to make sure that they walked back to the house together, his hand under her arm, in a parody of tender affection.

  When they had gone Autumn said coolly, ‘The invitation was so that we could be properly inspected, I take it?’

&nbs
p; ‘You’re quick,’ Yorke admitted. ‘We’re committed now, Autumn. There’s no going back.’

  ‘Then it’s up to you to make sure that I don’t want to, isn’t it? How formal will this do be?’

  ‘Fairly. All the County set will be there. Not worried, are you?’

  ‘Not at all.’ She had told Yorke that she didn’t need any clothes, but mentally reviewing her wardrobe she was forced to admit that she had nothing to compete with the proposed Bellville Sassoon.

  ‘It’s a pity it’s such short notice. I could have bought a new dress,’ she began, surprised when Yorke shrugged carelessly,

  ‘That’s no problem. I’ll run you to London this afternoon if you like. I could do with calling at the office. There are some papers I need and Beth can get them ready to bring down on Friday.’

  This time he drove himself—not the Rolls but a long low-slung sports model with leather bucket seats that moulded her body; the enclosed intimacy of the car was oddly disturbing.

  Yorke dropped her off in Bond Street, arrogantly holding up the traffic to lean across and hand her a cheque for a sum that made her eyes widen.

  ‘If it makes you feel any better try looking on it as a job, and the dress part of your uniform. It’s no more than I do for all my top executives.’

  Before she could argue he had slammed the door firmly and driven off.

  Autumn was determined not to touch his money, but as the afternoon slipped away and she found nothing that even remotely fulfilled her mental image of what she wanted, she was forced to capitulate.

  She found the dress in a shop tucked away in a small, exclusive part of Mayfair. It was a fantasy come to life, pale cream silk, at first glance demure, and at second subtly sensual.

  She tried it on, knowing instantly that it was ‘her’. The silk emphasised her tan, her skin gleamed softly beneath the full-length pin-tucked sleeves, the soft swell of her breasts barely revealed by the dropped square neckline.

  The fitted bodice emphasised her slender waist, the skirt fell in tiers of whispering silk, each tier bordered with cream satin ribbon. It ought to have looked fussy and too ‘little girlish’, but instead it was provocative. She bought it without even shuddering at the price.

  ‘Gina Fratini, and you can wear it for years,’ the saleswoman told her.

  As she was on the point of leaving another outfit caught her eye.

  ‘Ah,’ the woman smiled understandingly. ‘We don’t get many of these. They’re made specially to order, but the client for whom this was designed changed her mind. It’s a very small size.’

  ‘I’ll try it,’ Autumn said breathlessly.

  The outfit was stunning, with a visual impact far different from the tiered dress. In heavy cream silk, a tuxedo jacket curved sharply away from her waist which was hugged by skin-tight matching trousers, the side seams inserted with satin embroidery. There was a matching blouse, the whole outfit reminiscent of those worn by male flamenco dancers, and Autumn fell in love with it.

  It was by Anthony Price and cost the earth, but she knew that she would have sold her soul to possess it. When she emerged from the shop she was grinning with pleasure.

  She had offered to meet Yorke at his office, but he had surprised her again by suggesting that they had tea at Fortnum’s. No doubt with a knighthood at stake and not merely a marriage Yorke deemed it politic to keep her sweet.

  He was waiting for her, looking suavely handsome and slightly out of place amongst the befurred women.

  ‘Success?’ he asked lazily, looking at her packages.

  ‘Umm.’

  Already she was beginning to regret the tuxedo suit. It was outrageously sexy, and heaven only knew when she would wear it. It was the sort of outfit a woman only wore when she was with a man—or when she wanted to attract one.

  ‘Would you like to stay in London for dinner?’ Yorke asked her. ‘Or do you prefer to go home?’

  Home! Such a very evocative word, and yet she felt safer there with Yorke than she would in some intimate restaurant.

  ‘The house, I think,’ she said casually, deliberately avoiding his word. His lips twisted slightly.

  ‘What are you trying to tell me? That my house can never be home to you? For the next four months it is, and don’t you forget it. Which reminds me—do you feel up to holding a small cocktail party over Christmas?’

  She must have shown her surprise, because he smiled sardonically. ‘It will be expected of us. Our community is very close knit, and they’ll all be wanting to get a look at my errant wife.’

  ‘What did you tell them?’ she asked curiously, ‘About us being separated, I mean.’

  He shrugged dismissively.

  ‘Simply that we’d drifted apart; that my work had come between us. It’s a common enough situation. What did you expect me to say,’ he asked harshly, ‘that my wife had turned frigid on me and ran away rather than endure my unwanted presence in her bed?’

  ‘I’m sure the female half at least would never have believed you,’ Autumn said dryly, pushing away her plate with her cake uneaten.

  ‘A compliment? From you?’ His eyes gleamed and she froze instinctively, withdrawing behind the barriers of cool reserve.

  ‘Mrs Jacobs will be serving dinner at eight-thirty. We mustn’t be late.’

  In the car she sat at his side in silence. The constant effort of holding him at a distance was exhausting her, stretching her nerves to breaking point—and this was before the end of the first week! She would have to learn to live with it, she told herself tiredly, holding the thought of her ultimate freedom in front of her like a shield.

  The meal was just as superb as it had been the previous evening, and as she finished her raspberry soufflé Autumn sighed with pleasure.

  ‘How many people will we be inviting to this party?’ she asked Yorke. ‘If it’s going to be very large we might have to organise outside caterers.’

  ‘Fifty, perhaps sixty.’ He was watching her covertly and Autumn permitted herself a small smile. Working for Alan had taught her a great deal, and as she learned her self-confidence had increased. The thought of organising such a gathering held no fears for her now, and she wondered idly if Yorke was at all curious about what she had done and how she had lived since she left him.

  Why should he be? she asked herself. She had been an encumbrance he had been glad to be rid of, and yet how often during those early days had she come close to giving up and returning to him?

  She had been lucky in the sense that her past experience had made it relatively easy for her to get a job, but the hotel which had employed her had been nowhere near as friendly as the one in Yorkshire.

  She had realised very quickly that unless she wanted to be trapped in a dead-end, boring job she was going to have to work hard. The night-school classes had been a part of that hard work; those and the ruthless determination with which she had buried her old self and created the new.

  By careful scrimping she had managed to afford the fees for a brief grooming course at one of the top model agencies, but it had been worth every penny and she had emerged from it feeling armoured against the world. In the bustle of London people didn’t have time to excavate below the surface; they took you at face value, and valued you for what they saw there. Suppressing her cynical thoughts, she poured Yorke a cup of coffee, marvelling at the outwardly domestic picture they presented. During the brief year of their marriage Yorke had always retreated to his study the moment their meal was over.

  Mrs Jacobs had set a match to the apple logs filling the old-fashioned grate and their scent filled the graceful room.

  Yorke moved and she froze, the intimacy of the room triggering off sensations she had thought safely buried.

  ‘For God’s sake,’ he grated furiously, ‘I wasn’t going to touch you! You’d better not do that tomorrow evening or no one is going to be convinced that we’re happily reconciled.’

  ‘Perhaps some of them won’t want to be,’ Autumn retorted, thinking of Anne
tte and wondering how many other women would view her return with displeasure.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  In the firelight, Yorke’s eyes glinted angrily and for a moment fear shivered over her. She must never forget that no matter how civilised he might appear on the surface beneath it lurked still the man from whom she had fled in terror and pain.

  ‘It means that I don’t suppose Annette is the only female to wish that we hadn’t been “reconciled”.’

  ‘Jealous?’ The soft taunt fell between them.

  ‘Why should I be?’

  ‘Of course, you can’t feel anything through that ice, can you? Annette’s got sharp eyes,’ he said suddenly. ‘And I don’t want her suspecting anything.’

  ‘No, nothing must harm Sir Giles’ daughter must it? We can’t have you losing your precious knighthood. It was different when it was me—you didn’t give a damn about how much you hurt me.’

  ‘There’s a world of difference between the two of you,’ Yorke said contemptuously, his tone making the colour creep under her skin.

  In a voice that shook with rage she said bitterly,

  ‘Oh, do forgive me. For a moment I quite forgot my place. Of course there’s no comparison between us. A baronet’s daughter, and some nameless orphan…’

  ‘Don’t be so bloody silly,’ Yorke swore suddenly. ‘That wasn’t what I meant at all.’

  ‘Then what did you mean? Don’t tell me you aren’t aware of how Annette feels about you, and I doubt that Sir Giles would be very pleased if you were to seduce her…’

  ‘The way I seduced you?’ he finished silkily. ‘Is that what you were going to say? Your memory is at fault, my dear. Whatever there was between us—it was mutual! However, you’ve got a point,’ he admitted when she fell silent. Her outburst had shocked her. In all the time she had been away from him she had never lost her temper like that, and yet after only a few hours in his presence she was ready to explode with anger and resentment.