Blackmailed by the Vengeful Tycoon Read online

  She doubted that Camilla loved David in the way that she would want to love any man with whom she shared her life, but then for all her prettiness and sex appeal, Emma had always considered that Camilla lacked her own intensity and depth of emotional need. Perhaps it was just as well, she reflected. The shallows of life were always much safer than the depths.

  ‘Be an angel and lay my underwear out for me will you,’ Camilla called on her way to the bathroom. ‘The hairdresser’s due at ten, and he’s bringing a girl with him to do my make-up… so I’d better have my shower now.’

  The underwear was new and delicately white. She and Camilla had bought it from an expensive shop just off Bond Street. It had been Emma’s trousseau present to her sister, but now, extracting it from its tissue wrappings, Emma could not repress a shudder of distaste, remembering the cream satin that had clung so lovingly to her skin.

  ‘I’ve got to go up to the house and help Mrs T.,’ she called as she passed the bathroom. ‘I’ll be back just as soon as I can…’

  ‘Emma don’t stay there too long… Uncle Ted should be arriving soon and you know he bores me to tears… and then there’s the flowers and…’

  Closing her ears to Camilla’s petulant voice Emma let herself out of the house. It was only a ten minute drive to the Manor and at this time of the morning she had the road to herself apart from the milkman who called out a cheery greeting to her. ‘Nice day for the wedding,’ he commented. ‘I’ve just been up at the Manor. Chaos it is…’

  Emma could well believe it. Despite her love of organising Mrs T. had a knack of turning order into chaos. The middle-aged cousin whom she employed as companion/social secretary was the person on whom the burden for most of the arrangements had fallen. Emma liked Laura Petts. Although quiet and self-effacing she was an intelligent, and, on occasions, witty person. How on earth she endured Mrs T.’s domineering manner, Emma had no idea.

  It was Laura who greeted her when she walked into the Manor, giving her a quiet smile.

  ‘All under control?’ Emma asked.

  ‘More or less. They put the marquee up last night and the caterers arrived on time. They’ve practically taken over the kitchen, and it looks as though the weather is going to be kind to us. How’s Camilla?’

  ‘Looking very bridal,’ Emma told her. ‘What can I do to help?’

  ‘You might go downstairs for me and check on how Mrs Berry’s getting on with breakfast. We’ve got nearly a dozen people staying here and what with the caterers and all the unaccustomed activity…’

  ‘I’ll go down now.’

  Mrs Berry looked flustered and cross when Emma walked into the kitchen. ‘Having all these folks to stay… as if I hadn’t got enough to do…’

  Having managed to soothe her down, Emma went back upstairs. The two small girls who were to be Camilla’s attendants were up and dressed. Both pretty blondes they would look delightful in the spotted voile dresses Camilla had chosen for them. Her own dress was a lavish Gone with the Wind confection trimmed with antique lace and matching ribbons. It had cost a fortune, but she looked like a dream in it.

  Having ascertained that there was nothing more she could do, and feeling that she had fulfilled any obligation she might have towards Mrs T., Emma was just on the point of leaving when the latter came hurrying downstairs. Tall and well built, there were times when she reminded Emma of a battleship under full steam.

  ‘Emma… you weren’t going were you?’

  ‘Everything seems to be under admirable control,’ Emma responded with a smile. ‘Laura is doing a sterling job isn’t she? I thought I’d better get back to check on Uncle Ted and father. You know what men can be like.’

  ‘Yes… yes of course…’ She frowned. ‘I really had hoped you could stay to check on the flowers for me… I told the florists exactly what was needed, but one can never rely entirely on these people.’

  ‘I’m sure everything will be fine,’ Emma soothed.

  ‘I do hope so. My poor head is aching already. There is just so much to do… Oh by the way my dear, your friend telephoned, and asked if it was all right if he came… I must say I was a little surprised, but of course, I agreed. He sounds quite charming…’

  Her friend? Who on earth was she talking about Emma wondered curiously. The only person she could think of was Robert. Her heart lifted. Had he perhaps had second thoughts; realised that there must be more to her leaving than he had first thought. It cheered her considerably that he had wanted to see her enough to ring Mrs T. and invite himself to the wedding. It was a curiously unRobert-like manoeuvre, and even though she knew it would be impossible for her to change her mind, she was still glad that he had apparently seen through her deception.

  The service was being conducted at one o’clock and by twelve Emma was beginning to wonder if she was ever going to be ready on time. The yellow silk suit she was wearing was hanging upstairs in her room, but she was still no nearer getting into it than she had been at ten. Uncle Ted, as she had suspected, had arrived in his brown suit, and it had taken a considerable degree of cajoling to get him into the morning suit she had hired. Once in it, he presented a surprisingly dapper figure, his silver hair gleaming.

  A step on the stairs warned her that the hairdresser and his assistant were on the point of departing. A large bouquet of red roses had arrived from David and Emma took them up to her sister, finding her sitting in front of her mirror pouting dangerously.

  ‘My hair looks awful,’ she cried out when Emma walked in. ‘And just look at the mess that frightful girl’s made of my make-up.’

  ‘You look stunning,’ Emma told her, studying her immaculate hairstyle and make-up, ‘and look David’s sent you these…’

  The red roses got little more than a cursory glare. ‘What about Uncle Ted, did you manage…’

  ‘He looks every inch the elegant gentleman,’ Emma assured her. ‘How would you like a glass of champagne?’

  Without waiting for Camilla’s response she went downstairs to open the bottle she had bought purposely for the occasion. Knowing Camilla as she did, she had decided that a couple of glasses would do wonders to relax her highly-strung nerves, and although Camilla pulled a face, by the time she was ready to get into her dress, she was considerably more at ease.

  Emma was now dressed herself. Her yellow silk suit with its straight skirt and blouson jacket was a perfect foil for her chestnut hair, which unlike Camilla’s had had to be content with its normal shampoo and blow dry. But then who was going to be looking at her? Emma mocked herself.

  Camilla looked like a fairy princess in her dress, there was no doubt about that.

  It was a view that was reinforced by the soft sounds of appreciation filling the church when Camilla walked down the aisle on her cousin’s arm. Emma was sitting at the front, taking the place that would have been their mother’s. Because she had had to be at the church early she had not been able to spot Robert—for all she knew he might only be intending to attend the reception. What was she getting so excited about she chided herself; nothing could change her decision. When, she wondered, would Drake Harwood publish her photographs? She shuddered deeply, suddenly cold.

  At last the service was over and everyone was getting into cars for the journey to the Manor. Emma was driving her father and Uncle Ted. As she drove out into the road her eye was caught by a wickedly scarlet Ferrari parked just outside the church, and her heart thudded.

  Oh stop being ridiculous, she chided herself. Of course it wouldn’t be Drake Harwood’s… what on earth would he be doing at Camilla’s wedding? They barely knew one another. No it probably belonged to one of David’s jet-setting ex-school friends.

  They were among the first to arrive and having assured herself that Uncle Ted would be on hand to participate in the formal receiving line Emma wandered into the house, glancing appreciatively at the wedding presents which were set out in the drawing room. It was cool and quiet inside away from the mělée of guests arriving but she could not stay
here for ever.

  Sighing Emma went back outside, dazzled momentarily by the strong sunlight.

  ‘Emma my dear, where have you been hiding…?’

  There was no escape from Mrs T. Emma reflected, walking across the lawn in obedience to the commanding tone. ‘My dear your friend here has been waiting for you for the last ten minutes.’

  Robert? Emma screwed her eyes up against the harsh dazzle of the sun, all the colour leaving her face as she found herself meeting the implaccable gaze of Drake Harwood.

  ‘Emma, darling…’

  Quite how she came to be in his arms, Emma wasn’t sure, but what she did know was that his arms constricted her body like a steel vice, making sure there was no escape. His breath, clean and fresh, brought goosebumps up under her skin, her lips parting in instant protest as she tensed her body furiously against him.

  ‘Sweetheart, you look entrancing.’ He said the words loud enough for the half dozen or so people standing close by to hear, and they numbered among them the photographer from the local newspaper who was covering the event for them, Emma noticed tensely as she tried to fight off an overwhelming feeling of disbelief. This could not be happening. She could not be here in Drake Harwood’s arms, her palms pressed flat against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

  ‘Kiss me…’ He made the command against her lips, the words soundless.

  Rage and rejection mingled hotly in Emma’s eyes as she tried to force him away, but the moment she opened her mouth to demand that he release her it was captured by his.

  His lips were warm and firm, skilled in the way they moved over hers, leaving tiny tremors of pleasure feathering over her skin. Hardly able to believe her response to him, Emma shivered in reaction. Of course she had not responded to him… but her mouth tingled from his kiss as he released her, and his eyes mocked her as she cringed away.

  ‘Emma my dear, what a dark horse you are…’ Mrs T. sounded both chagrined and excited. ‘Why on earth didn’t you tell us.’

  Tell them what Emma thought numbly? What on earth had Drake Harwood said to her? Certainly he couldn’t have revealed the fact that she had posed naked for his magazine… there was far too much awe in Mrs T’s voice for that.

  ‘Emma didn’t want to steal her sister’s limelight… did you my pet?’

  The hard grip on her arm warned her against rebellion, the smooth voice coating an intent resolve revealed to her by the cold gleam in dark green eyes.

  ‘Emma?’ That was Camilla’s voice sharp with anxiety and anger. ‘What’s going on?’

  ‘I…’

  ‘Emma was just about to tell me off for letting the cat out of the bag about our engagement,’ Drake Harwood intervened smoothly. ‘Weren’t you darling?’

  She simply did not know what to say. She felt as though she had strayed into a make-believe world where nothing made sense. What on earth was Drake Harwood talking about? What was the purpose of his ridiculous announcement? She couldn’t understand any of it. She opened her mouth to contradict his statement and then fell silent as he said softly to the hovering photographer. ‘I hope you’ve taken some of Emma… she’s most photogenic. I have some quite spectacular shots of her, haven’t I darling?’

  He was threatening her damn him, reminding her of the hold he had over her. She could just imagine Mrs T’s face if he were to reveal now just what those photographs were and how he intended to use them.

  She could see Camilla looking anxiously from Drake to herself. She came towards them, a fixed smile on her face, David at her side. Before Emma could intervene Drake was speaking, smiling pleasantly as he greeted her sister. ‘Hello Camilla. What a beautiful bride you make, and this of course, must be…’

  ‘David.’ Camilla supplied in a tight, bitter voice. The glance she darted at Emma spoke volumes, and Emma was tempted to tell her that Drake’s presence was none of her doing.

  Emma could see that David was frowning slightly as he looked at Camilla. David possessed a deeply jealous streak which rarely surfaced, but when it did…

  Camilla too had seen the look. ‘I met Drake the last time I was in London, darling.’ She was babbling tensely, and Emma had the uneasy sensation that David was none too pleased by this disclosure.

  ‘Yes, it is thanks to your wife that I got to know Emma,’ Drake intervened. If she hadn’t known him better she might almost have thought he was deliberately trying to reassure David, Emma thought cynically, but Drake Harwood had not struck her as a man who would put himself out for another human being unless he stood to gain something from doing so.

  ‘Come on darling, I want to thank Uncle Ted for standing in for Daddy.’ Camilla tugged tensely at David’s arm, and he allowed himself to be led away.

  Before she could take Drake to task Mrs T. bore down on them, beaming fulsomely, and Emma groaned inwardly, knowing it would be quite some time before they could escape.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  AS Emma had suspected it was a good fifteen minutes before Mrs T. left, but the moment she could, she steered Drake out of earshot of the other guests and rounded on him, her eyes blazing as she demanded fiercely, ‘And just what was all that about?’

  ‘All what?’

  He was laughing at her, damn him. Mentally grinding her teeth and trying to hold on to her temper, Emma said quietly, ‘You know exactly what I mean, so don’t pretend you don’t… I’m talking about the way you are giving the impression that you and I are…’ she struggled for words.

  While she hesitated, Drake cut in smoothly, ‘Are more than just good friends?’ He smiled sardonically. ‘We can’t have the discussion you’re obviously itching to have here; we’ll discuss the whole thing over dinner tonight. I’ve booked us a table at the George… I’m staying there for the whole weekend.’

  His high-handedness robbed her of the breath to expostulate, and by the time she had regained it it was too late; her father was almost level with them, Uncle Ted in tow.

  ‘Ah Emma, there you are…’ he smiled his usual vague smile at her, ‘and this must be the young man Mrs T. has been telling me about.’

  As Drake shook the vicar’s extended hand, Emma was struck anew by the leashed virility of him; the sensation of male power, so intensely heightened by her father’s frailer more aesthetic appearance.

  ‘I believe you’re something of a name in financial circles,’ he added conversationally.

  The three men chatted for several minutes, and Emma was surprised to learn that Drake too had been up at Oxford, although not at her father’s college. When Uncle Ted started describing at length the bad luck he had had with his shares, Emma judged it was time for them to move away. She could sense her father’s quizzical speculation, and knew that he was wondering why Drake had never been brought into any of their conversations.

  The vicar was a liberal, if somewhat vague, father, always inclined to take a distant and global view of any given situation and there was no earthly reason why, if Emma had genuinely been as involved with Drake as he was pretending, she would not have mentioned him to her parent.

  The afternoon seemed to drag on interminably; Emma could scarcely touch her food, delicious though she was sure it was. The several glasses of champagne she consumed helped to steady her over-wrought nerves but they couldn’t stop her from fuming inwardly every time she thought of Drake’s high-handed behaviour. How dare he come down here and interfere with her life. What did he want from her anyway?

  After the reception she had to go back to the house with Camilla to help her change. The moment the bedroom door closed behind them her sister turned on her, her pretty face flushed and angry as she demanded. ‘What is he doing here? Emma how could you invite him. You know…’

  ‘Just a minute, I didn’t invite him, Mrs T. did. Somehow he managed to convince her that he and I are… “good friends”.’ Emma gritted her teeth over the last two words. ‘I had no idea that he was going to turn up here, and I still don’t know why he did…’

  She did
n’t know, but she suspected it must have something to do with the fact that she had not accepted the television job. Initially she had expected a reaction from him but when weeks had gone by without one, she had decided that he had accepted that there was nothing he could do.

  ‘David wanted to know where I’d met him. I’m sure he suspects something,’ Camilla told her fretfully. ‘Why did he have to come down here?’

  ‘If you told David the truth it would save us both a lot of problems,’ Emma responded astringently. ‘Honestly Camilla, you’re storing up a lot of trouble for yourself by not doing so. If I were you…’

  ‘But you’re not are you,’ Camilla snapped. ‘I suppose you couldn’t resist encouraging him. After all it’s not every day you get to meet a man like Drake Harwood. Well I’m warning you Em… he changes his girls like most men change their underwear, and you’ll have some pretty stiff competition. I can’t think what he sees in you,’ she added tactlessly, ‘he normally goes for the glamorous type; model girls, actresses…’ Her expression changed as she stared into the mirror, a preening, self-satisfied look that Emma was familiar with, chasing the petulance out of her face. ‘Of course… why didn’t I think of it before … I expect he’s just using you as an excuse to see me.’

  ‘On your wedding day?’ Emma asked drily, suddenly and for no reason that she could think of, so angry with her sister that she wanted to slap her. ‘Come on Camilla…’

  ‘You’re just jealous.’ Camilla whirled round to face her, two angry spots of colour burning in her cheeks. ‘You’ve always been jealous of me… that’s why you want me to tell David, so that it will make trouble between us. Well I’m telling you now Emma, that a man like Drake Harwood wouldn’t look twice at you, if you weren’t my sister. He wants me all right. I’m sure of it, and he’s come down here today to let me know it. He doesn’t want to get married, everyone knows that, and I expect he thinks that now that I’m married…’

  ‘The two of you can indulge in an affair without anyone being the wiser… You might have a pretty face Camilla,’ she told her sister shortly, ‘but you’ve got an empty brain and a cold heart. I don’t envy you… I feel sorry for you.’