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  'And having done so was taking a shower?' Lindsay's eyebrows rose, her irrepressible sense of fun bringing a smile to her lips, but Lucas didn't respond with a smile of his own. Instead his eyes changed from charcoal to black, smouldering darkly into her own before he turned on his heel and left her room.

  CHAPTER THREE

  For a long time after Lucas had gone, Lindsay simply stood, staring out of her bedroom window. Gwendolin and Lucas were divorced; it seemed almost impossible to believe. Almost as impossible as believing that Gwen had been the one to stray . . . to take a lover . . . no, lovers, if Lucas was to be believed. But why? She had never liked the older woman, but she had recognised her fiercely intense desire for Lucas.

  Frowning slightly Lindsay withdrew from the window, suddenly becoming aware of the chilly breeze and the thinness of her robe. As she walked towards the wardrobe, the mirror on the dressing table threw back her reflection and she grimaced faintly. The thin robe clung silkily to her skin, outlining the full curves of her breasts, following the indentation of her waist and then the narrow out-thrust of her hips. Disturbed by her own inner awareness of her sexuality she dressed hurriedly. Lucas had not proved over- receptive to the news of her engagement; in fact he had been almost brutal in his mockery of it. Her chin tilted proudly. Yes, it was true in some respects that without her father's money Jeremy would not want to marry her, but that was not something she did not already know. What did Lucas want her to do? she wondered wrathfully. Fall in love with someone totally unsuitable just so that he could have the pleasure of pointing out her folly to her and reminding her of her father's wishes?

  Of course it was only natural that Lucas should be bitter and angry at Gwendolin's desertion, but why take it out on her? She would have plenty of opportunity to talk to him over dinner, she reminded herself, wishing again that Jeremy had been able to accompany her. If Lucas could see and talk to Jeremy himself he would realise the rightness of her decision. Perhaps there was no excitement or deeply intense emotion in her relationship with Jeremy, but there was liking and mutual respect that would build a good life together. Sexual chemistry was all very well in its way, but Lindsay wasn't sure if she would trust such volatile emotions. Startlingly, for the first time it struck her that the reason she might never have experienced intense physical desire was because she had deliberately programmed herself against doing so. She could remember quite vividly the feeling of self disgust and shame she had experienced when Gwendolin had accused her of wanting Lucas as a man and not as a brother. Her seventeen year old self had been shocked by the older woman's vitriolic claim and had instantly denied it, but she could not deny that Lucas was an extremely attractive man. Even just now, despite his bitter anger, she had sensed the magnetic pull of his personality; the heady, breathless sensation of no longer being quite in control of herself or her reactions.

  She was here to inform Lucas of her impending engagement, not to daydream about the past, she reminded herself severely, opening her wardrobe and surveying the clothes she had brought with

  her. She had come prepared for all contingencies, knowing Gwendolin's love of entertaining, but it seemed hardly appropriate to wear an evening dress simply to dine with Lucas. She frowned over a tweed skirt and toning silk shirt, dismissing them as not dressy enough and eventually decided on the soft lilac Jean Muir dress she had owned for several seasons and which remained a firm favourite, the excellence of the fabric and its cut ensuring that it was suitable for a whole host of occasions.

  The colour suited her, emphasising the delicacy of her pale English complexion, the long lean line of the dress with its swing of pleats from the hip, comfortable and yet at the same time subtly feminine. Brushing her hair thoroughly she secured it in a loose chignon, on impulse putting in her ears the pearl and diamond studs which had been Lucas' eighteenth birthday present to her. She wasn't wearing Jeremy's ring. He wanted to present it to her formally next weekend when they went to visit his parents but for some reason tonight she would have welcomed its presence on her finger. Why? Because she felt that wearing it might convince Lucas of the rightness of their engagement. She didn't need his permission to marry she reminded herself . . . Jeremy was everything her father had wanted for her in a husband. Sighing faintly she sprayed her wrists lightly with perfume and then remembering the housekeeper's absence, decided that if they were to eat dinner, she'd better go downstairs and see about preparing it.

  In the event there wasn't a good deal of preparation necessary. The housekeeper had left everything ready in the fridge, and all Lindsay was

  required to do was to heat it up in the oven. She was a good cook who enjoyed exercising her skill. When she was married to Jeremy she felt sure she would have plenty of opportunity to do so. He would not want her to work; he had already told her that much and when, as was eventually planned, he took over the running of the estate from his father, she would have plenty to occupy her time. Until then she would be expected to occupy herself preparing clever little dinner parties for Jeremy's friends and clients, shopping . . . gossiping . . . having children. It was the accepted mode of wifely behaviour amongst Jeremy's set.

  It seemed silly when there was just the two of them for them to dine formally in the vastness of the dining room, so instead Lindsay placed cutlery and glasses on the much smaller table of the little breakfast room just off the kitchen. She had always liked this room which caught the early mornin g sun and although Gwen had completely altered the decor and furnishings, standing by the window observing the view she had observed so often as a child, brought back a stream of half- submerged memories.

  'Wondering how you can get your own way?'

  She hadn't heard Lucas come in, and she turned tense ly at the sound of his voice, instantly aware of clean male scent of him . . . of the fact that his hair was st ill faintly damp from his shower, and that his body, beneath its civilised sheath of sophisticated clothes, moved with all the predatory grace of the hunter.

  'No . . . as a matter of fact, I was remembering how I fell in the lake the year I was twelve, and how you fis hed me out.'

  It was no less than the truth, and just for a moment his mouth softened slightly and she was almost able to persuade herself that he was once again the old Lucas whom she had loved so much ... and who, she had once thought, loved her in return.

  'Yes . . . You don't know how close you came to being walloped. You'd been expressly forbidden to ride your bike along the lake path.'

  The bike in question—a brand new two wheeler had been a birthday present and she had desperately wanted to try it out. It had been raining heavily for several days though and the lakeside path had been dangerously muddy. She had known all this, but still she had defied Lucas' suggestion that she wait to try the bike until he could go with her. She had paid for her defiance with a thorough soaking and a bad fright .. . Lucas had been furious . . . she remembered grimacing faintly, and she could well remember sensing how angry he was with her. But he had taught her to ride ... and then she had known instinctively that beneath the anger there was a deep vein of caring. Where had it all gone?

  'Dinner's ready,' she told him, forcing herself back to the present. 'If you sit down I'll go and get it for you.'

  'Buttering me up, Lindsay?' he asked un pleasantly, and then as though sensing her lack of comprehension he added drily. 'I'm not used to being waited on these days. Dinner is normally u meal I manage to grab somewhere between 'phone calls. No doubt in the ordered household you intend to run after your marriage, things will be

  very different. Why are you marrying him, Lindsay?'

  He sounded so derisive that she almost lost her own temper. 'Because I want to.' She held his gaze levelly, and then asked softly, 'What do you expect me to say Lucas? Because we're madly in love with one another? I can't pretend to emotions I don't feel, but I can honestly say that I don't trust that sort of sexual fascination ... it dies ... and I don't believe it to be a good foundation for an enduring marriage. . .'
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  'And you of course, have a vast wealth of experience,' he mocked her suddenly savage in the way he looked and sounded. His fingers closed painfully round her wrist as he yanked her round so that the light from the window fell sharply across her pale face. 'Just how often have you experienced sexual desire to be able to talk so knowledgeably about it Lindsay? How often have you been savaged by the sharp teeth of frustration ... How often have you lain alone in bed at night, burning u p with the need for another human being.'

  His savagery took her by surprise, and it was several seconds before she realised he had misinterpreted her remarks as a criticism of his motives in marrying Gwen. For some reason it hurt her to th ink of him hurting . . . wanting the wife who no longer, apparently wanted him. Almost instincti lively she lifted her hand to his face, offering the ag e-old gesture of comfort and compassion, but h e jerked back before she could touch hi m, rage burning in the blackness of his eyes.

  'For God's sa ke let's eat,' he said thickly, 'or is starvation another of the ploys you intend to use against me, Lindsay?'

  His cynicism both hurt and angered her, but as she served their meal, Lindsay reminded herself that he too had been hurt; that losing Gwen was obviously the reason behind his behaviour. It was strange in a way for, although he had married her, in the past Lindsay had never witnessed any intimacy or emotion between them that could have led her to expect his present grief. In fact had anyone asked her she would have said that of the two of them Gwendolin was the one who cared the most. Patently she had been wrong, but then she had been wrong about Lucas so many times already that should hardly surprise her.

  Dinner was an almost silent meal. Lucas seemed morose, sunk in his own thoughts. He checked every attempt she made to introduce the subject of her engagement. Perhaps it was crass of her to want to discuss it now when he had just told her of his own divorce, but Jeremy was a man who once his plans were made, hated any change being made in them. If she had returned to London with the subject of her engagement undiscussed, Jeremy would no doubt have felt obliged to put off the official announcement to his parents and family which was planned for next weekend.

  She tried to explain a little of this to Lucas, but all he did was to grimace bitterly and enquire with heavy sarcasm. 'If that's the case, how come he isn't here seeking my permission to pay his addresses to you.'

  His sarcasm was the last straw. Lindsay could feel temper igniting inside her and although she fought against it, it overpowered her. Pushing aside her half-eaten meal she stood up, her skin pink with angry colour, her eyes glowing hot gold as she stared across the table at Lucas.

  'Perhaps because you are not my guardian and nor do I need your permission to marry,' she threw at him angrily.

  'But you do need my approval to your choice of prospective husband before you can inherit under the terms of your father's will,' Lucas pointed out to her with maddening accuracy. His mouth twisted slightly as he added, 'And don't tell me, as I know you're dying to, that he'll marry you, fortune or not, because we both know it isn't true, don't we, Lindsay? For God's sake why don't you find yourself a man who doesn't give a damn about your lather's money; who wants you for yourself and is satisfied with you alone? Or are you frightened that such a man doesn't exist.' He too was standing now, towering over her as he placed his hands on the table, gripping the polished wood, anger, bitterness and something else turning his grey eyes smoky charcoal as he watched the effect his words were having on her. 'Is that why you're so keen to be an obedient daughter and do what daddy wanted Lindsay? Is it because you feel so damned inadequate . . . because . . .' He had closed the distance between them and was shaking her now . . . quite hard. Lindsay could feel the savage imprint of his fingers against the fragile bones of her shoulders; just as she could feel the rage he was suppressing. It wasn't fair. . . why should he take his bitterness and linger out on her . . . why should he be able to say such cruel things to her.

  'Is that it Lindsay?' he demanded thickly, holding her eyes with his own. 'Is it. ..?'

  The fierce savagery in his voice, broke the spell his touch had sealed her in. Anger rose up inside her, destroying all her old inhibitions. Her voice was thick with tears, her vision of him blurring as shamingly they stormed her eyes. 'No damn you it isn't . ..' she raised her hand initially to brush them away, but the look of sardonic comprehension informing his eyes made her change her mind, and acting on an impulse she had never experienced before she lashed out at him, more shocked herself than he was by the livid imprint her palm left along his lean cheek, and the thick silence that followed the delivery of her impulsive blow.

  Lucas released her immediately, his mouth curling mockingly as he saw the way she flinched back.

  He shook his head and said softly, 'Oh no Lindsay, I'm not going to hit you back much as you might deserve it.' A humourless smile curled his mouth. 'If I were you, right now I'd not be worrying too much about what I'd done, but I would be wondering why? Was it because you couldn't endure to hear the truth? And it is the truth Lindsay . . . Have you and . . . Jeremy ever made love?'

  The sudden change in his line of questioning stunned her momentarily and then pride came to her rescue. Forcing a light, cool laugh she said quietly. 'Really Lucas ... is that any of your business?'

  'Perhaps not,' he agreed, 'but you'll tell me anyway, won't you?'

  He was doing it again . . . almost mesmerising her with the intense concentration of his attention, forcing her to weaken and give way to him, but she was not going to do so. Turning away from him she walked to the door, facing him only once she was there. 'I'm going to my room, Lucas,' she told him quietly. 'I can see no profit to either of us in continuing our present discussion. Tomorrow morning I'll go home . ..'

  'Without having my approval?' His voice taunted her, but she held on to her temper.

  'If you really intend to withhold your approval then I'll have to consult daddy's solicitor. He knows the terms of the will as well as you do yourself, and I'm sure he'll agree with me that in this case you're being unfair and unreasonable.'

  'Blackmail, Lindsay?' She watched the way his mouth twisted, dark bitterness invading his eyes. 'You must want him one hell of a lot. Perhaps I misjudged you and you do love him after all. Tell me honestly that you love and want him to the extent that life without him would be totally insupportable.'

  Just for a moment she was tempted to do just that, but the deep rooted inner honesty that had proved so troublesome to her as a teenager raised its head now and would not let her. 'I like and respect him,' she said calmly, 'and I believe that together we'll have a pleasant and rewarding life, but no, I don't love him as you're defining the word Lucas.'

  ll seemed impossible that that could actually be relief she saw flaring in his eyes—impossible indeed when they hardened cruelly and he taunted, You're a coward Lindsay . ..'

  Anger overwhelmed her again. 'And if I am,' she stormed back at him. 'Aren't you partially to blame? I haven't forgotten how eager you were to marry me off when my father died, Lucas . .. and don't tell me it was my welfare that motivated you . . . You simply wanted me off your hands and out of your life because you wanted to marry Gwen. You were eager enough then for me to comply with the terms of my father's will. Perhaps if I had met someone I could love as you define love, things might have been different,' she admitted honestly, 'but I have not done so ... In fact I don't believe I'm capable of experiencing that sort of love ...'

  She didn't think he was listening to her. He had turned to face the window and had his back to her and from the tension holding his body tensely rigid she suspected that her casual reference to his marriage had stirred up memories and anguish that were causing him so much pain that he was barely aware of her presence any longer. Quietly slipping from the room, as she headed upstairs she reflected on the maelstrom of emotions she seemed to have plunged into since her arrival. Lucas had obviously loved Gwendolin far more intensely than she had ever suspected. He was not a man who openly betrayed his emot
ions, at least not normally. She certainly had never seen him so angry or bitter before. An alien quiver of sensation ran through her body, and she halted suddenly up the stairs, remembering the cool hard feel of his skin beneath her palm; the response that had flashed momentarily in his eyes as she hit him, and the exhilerating dangerous sensation she had experienced as their mutual anger exploded. No man had ever provoked such feelings inside her before.

  More slowly this time she continued on her way upstairs, closing the door of her bedroom behind her. It was too early for her to go to bed yet, but she did not want to go back downstairs and risk further arguments with Lucas. Had she really meant it when she had threatened to go to the family solicitor . . .? Did she really want to marry Jeremy so much that she was prepared to defy Lucas to do so? It wasn't so much Jeremy, she admitted to herself, when she had thought about it . . . it was the fact that she knew Lucas was being both unreasonable and unfair. Jeremy was everything her father had wanted for her in a husband. She liked him . . . they understood one another, but Lucas was deliberately trying to foster doubts in her mind . . . Why?

  Restlessly she prowled round her room, her eye falling on her old bookcase. Her books were still in it, and she smiled slightly remembering the many hours of pleasure they had given her. Here was her first book of 'grown-up' poems. Lucas had given it to her on her thirteenth birthday. She extracted the slim leather bound volume from the case, opening it slowly. 'To Lindsay on her thirteenth birthday, from Lucas, with my love,' he had written inside. I low she had treasured those words. She hadn't shown the book to any of her friends she remembered a trifle wryly. It had been too precious for that. Her father had given her a new pony. She had kissed him enthusiastically she remembered, all the time conscious of Lucas' grey gaze upon her. She had kissed Sheila too . . . but when it had been Lucas' turn to be thanked for his gift, she had felt awkward and embarrassed. In the end h e had been the one to kiss her ... a brotherly peck on her cheek, but if she closed her eyes she could still remember the pounding excitement of her heart because his arms were round her, his body close to hers.