Stranger from the Past & Proof of Their Sin Read online

  ‘See much of him, do you?’

  ‘Not really.’ Her abrupt answer caused him to pause and look at her, a tiny frown appearing between his eyebrows as they darkened with brotherly concern.

  ‘Syb,’ he began, but Claire leaned forward, touching his arm, asking him if the couple standing several feet away were, as she suspected, old friends of his parents who had been guests at their wedding.

  Had Claire intervened deliberately tactfully, deflecting his attention, or had her timely intervention simply been a fortunate accident?

  Telling herself that she was being too sensitive, that it was hardly likely that Claire knew how much of a fool she had once made of herself over Gareth, she turned to her parents, explaining to them that she was hoping to be able to make definite arrangements to take some time off and spend a week with them very soon.

  ‘Well, I think you should have some kind of break, darling,’ her mother told her worriedly. ‘You’ve lost weight, and you’re looking rather peaky.’

  ‘Thanks!’ Sybilla laughed.

  ‘You mustn’t overdo things. You work so hard.’ Her mother paused and gave a faint sigh, and Sybilla knew what she was thinking. Proud though she was of her business success, she would have liked her to settle down…to marry and have children.

  Well, she wasn’t against the state of marriage, and as for children…she was very fond of her brother’s two and enjoyed the time she spent with them. However, when it came to taking a more personal view of marriage…

  She doubted that she would ever want to let any man close enough to her emotionally to allow their relationship to develop to the point where marriage became a viable proposition.

  Lost in her own thoughts, she didn’t see Gareth approaching their table until he stopped beside it and exclaimed, ‘Mr and Mrs Gardner! How nice to see you both.’

  ‘Gareth! Tony said he’d been talking to you. I believe you’ve decided to move back here permanently. We were so sorry about your grandfather. Are you here on your own? Why don’t you join us?’

  Sybilla froze, wishing herself a thousand miles away. Why on earth hadn’t she thought of this possibility? Her mother was so open and friendly with everyone; she had known Gareth all the time he was growing up; Sybilla should have guessed that once she saw him she would want to catch up on all his news.

  Gareth, though, was bound to refuse her invitation.

  But, to her horror, instead she heard him saying easily, ‘Well, if you’re sure I shan’t be intruding…’

  ‘Of course not.’ As he sat down, her mother went on, ‘I don’t know if you’ve met Claire, Tony’s wife?’

  ‘No, I haven’t.’

  A small sharp pain speared Sybilla’s heart as she watched the way that Gareth smiled at her sister-in-law and saw her immediate feminine response to it. No woman could fail to respond to Gareth when he smiled in that fashion. His smile was so warm, so genuine, making it easy to respond to him, and yet there was nothing practised or deliberate about it.

  ‘I was just telling Sybilla that it’s time she had a break. She’s lost weight and now this cold…’

  Sybilla knew that her mother wasn’t deliberately drawing Gareth’s attention to her, but nevertheless she shrank back into her chair and avoided looking at him, willing him to realise that this enforced intimacy between them was none of her doing…that it was not at her instigation that he had joined her family.

  ‘She does look a little fine-boned,’ she heard Gareth agreeing equably, tactfully responding to the maternal concern without falling into the trap of implying that she looked either haggard or unwell, Sybilla noticed cynically.

  ‘But then, she’s always had that very feminine air of fragility about her, hasn’t she? I wasn’t surprised when Gramps left her the Dresden. He once told me in a moment of weakness that whenever he looked at the more delicate of the shepherdesses they made him think of Sybilla, and I know what he meant.’

  Everyone had gone silent; her mother, Sybilla noticed, was looking faintly pink and bright-eyed, while Tony’s jaw had dropped.

  ‘Steady on, Gareth,’ he expostulated. ‘Are we talking about the same Syb that I remember… the one who broke both her arms climbing trees or, rather, falling out of them…the one who fell into the fish pond at the Cedars so often that Dad swore she was going to grow fins?’

  Tony’s indignant comments had broken the silence that had followed Gareth’s extraordinary remark; everyone was laughing…everyone apart from Gareth and herself, Sybilla noticed. He was looking at her in a way that was making her heart beat double its usual rate and her breath lock tightly in her throat. Was that really how he saw her: as fragile and delicate as a piece of Dresden china? But no…it couldn’t be. If he had, he would never—

  ‘How come you’re here on your own?’ Tony was asking Gareth curiously. ‘I heard that you arrived in town accompanied by a stunning female.’

  ‘Lois Friedman, an attorney who works for my American employers. My contract with them was up for renewal and she came over with me to try to give me a helping hand in sorting out any complications that might have arisen from Gramps’s will from the American legal side of things. The transfer of any assets over there, that sort of thing.

  ‘Once I’d made the decision not to return but to stay on here there was nothing to keep her here. She flew back to Boston the other day.’

  Nothing to keep her here. That was the understatement of the year, Sybilla reflected acidly. From the way she had seen Lois clinging possessively and determinedly to Gareth’s arm that morning in the car park, the woman had thought she had a very good reason for being with him.

  Had she been sitting with anyone other than her own family, Sybilla would have found some excuse to get up and leave, but how could she?

  If only Gareth would make some excuse and leave, but he seemed perfectly content to stay where he was, exchanging reminiscences with her parents, telling them about his plans for the future of the business, turning to her far too frequently to draw her into the conversation…but she stubbornly stayed aloof, answering his questions monosyllabically, even though she knew her behaviour was drawing surprised and concerned glances from the rest of the family.

  It was only when it was announced that the buffet meal was now ready that she felt able to give a small sigh of relief, but this relief quickly turned to anxiety when Gareth turned to her mother and asked, ‘Would you mind if I ate with you? I seem to have lost touch with so many people while I’ve been away.’

  ‘Of course you must stay with us, Gareth.’ Her mother beamed. ‘I expect you and Sybilla must have a lot to catch up on. Such a shame that, whenever you came home, Sybilla was away,’ she continued innocently.

  ‘Yes, a very great shame,’ Gareth agreed.

  Sybilla couldn’t look at him. He must have realised long ago that she, armed with advance information of his visits from his grandfather, had deliberately made arrangements to be out of town herself when he came home. Not out of pique, but out of a desire to reinforce to him that he need have no fears that she would ever, ever again embarrass him and humiliate herself in the way she had done the summer she was fifteen.

  ‘Never mind,’ her mother was saying cosily. ‘Now that you’re home for good there’ll be plenty of time for you to catch up on each other’s news.’

  ‘Plenty,’ Gareth agreed urbanely, and Sybilla wondered if she was the only one to notice the sardonic look he gave her as he turned his head and murmured quietly to her, ‘plenty of time, but, it seems, very little opportunity.’

  * * *

  Sybilla assumed that the buffet meal was up to the club’s usual high standard, but what little she could manage to eat tasted of absolutely nothing at all. Her lack of appetite must be due to the medication she had taken and her still very sore throat, she consoled herself as she pushed her food round her plate. It couldn’t possibly have anything to do with Gareth’s presence at their table, and, contrary to what he had said to her mother, it seemed to her th
at people remembered him very well indeed, to judge from the number who came up to their table to talk with him.

  She was glad that her family had decided to leave early because, she acknowledged, medication or not, she was beginning to feel distinctly unwell.

  The toasts were drunk, the speeches given, the cake cut, all through which she had to endure Gareth’s presence at her side, his suit-covered arm constantly rubbing against her body as he raised his glass or clapped the speech-makers.

  When the men had gone up to the buffet to fill everyone’s plates, on their return Gareth had taken Tony’s seat next to her, although she felt confusingly sure that somehow or other the chair was now far closer to her own than it had been when her brother had been occupying it.

  After supper the band started to play dance music. Ignoring the increasing soreness of her throat and the aching in her joints, Sybilla danced with her godfather, her father and her brother, and then inevitably came the moment she had been dreading when, out of good manners, Gareth had no option other than to ask her to dance.

  And she, of course, had no option other than to accept, with her family looking on.

  Shakily she made her way on to the now crowded and dimly lit dance-floor and then turned to face Gareth, her eyes bright with defiance, a hectic flush burning her face.

  So far she had managed to avoid coming into any kind of physical contact with him, withdrawing from him the moment his arm brushed hers at the table, making sure she took the drink he was handing her from him without having to touch his fingers, but now, as he took her in his arms, her physical reaction to him was so strong that her whole body actually shook with the force of it.

  ‘You’re trembling,’ he told her, frowning down at her.

  ‘I’m shivering, actually,’ she fibbed.

  ‘In here?’

  The derision in his voice increased her defensiveness.

  ‘I do happen to have a cold—remember?’

  Instantly his attitude changed. He stood still on the dance-floor and to her shock reached out and placed his cool fingers against her hot forehead, exclaiming frowningly, ‘You’re running a temperature. By rights you shouldn’t be here.’

  ‘I’ve got a cold, not bubonic plague,’ she taunted acidly, ‘but if you’re afraid of catching it from me then I suggest—’

  ‘So that’s what this is all about. Tell me something, Sybilla: why is it that you’re so afraid? Every time I come anywhere near you, you back off from me.’

  ‘And you find that surprising? What am I supposed to do? Throw myself into your arms and—?’ She stopped abruptly, her face hot, chewing miserably on her bottom lip.

  ‘Hardly.’

  Sybilla told herself that it was only her own fault if the harsh, clipped denial held an obvious distaste for her suggestion. After all, what had she expected? She knew already what he felt about her.

  Tears burned her throat and the backs of her eyes. It must be her cold that was making her feel so emotionally vulnerable, she told herself desperately.

  The band was playing a slow romantic number; couples were drifting round the floor held close in one another’s arms. Once, the thought of dancing with Gareth in such circumstances would have dazzled her with the promise of the unimaginable delight of being held in his arms, close to his body, and yet, now that the fantasy was a reality, she was doing all she could to hold herself as far away from him as possible without letting either Gareth himself or anyone else become aware of her rigid tension.

  And yet what, after all, was there to fear—that if she relaxed her guard and allowed him to hold her closer he would somehow be able to divine her real feelings, that he would register the furious beat of her heart, know her body’s aroused aching for him, feel as she did herself the fluid softness threatening to invade her muscles?

  But how could he really know any of these things? Her body’s secrets were her own and could not possibly be guessed at by anyone else, at least not with the double protection of their clothes to come between them.

  Her face started to burn with anger and guilt as she recognised the wanton direction of her own thoughts, the images with which they were subtly trying to undermine her determination to refuse to allow her love for Gareth any kind of expression.

  Bitterly she closed her eyes, wanting to blot out his face, but, behind the darkness of her shuttered lids, her imagination tormented her with the very thoughts she had been trying to deny, with images of the two of them together, his body sleek and powerfully male, his skin smooth and warm, his hands caressing her, tenderly at first, gently almost, and then with increasing passion, until—

  ‘Sybilla, are you all right?’

  The sharp question broke into her fantasy, shattering it. She opened her eyes and focused on Gareth’s face.

  ‘You aren’t going to faint are you…? For a moment—’

  ‘I’m fine,’ she lied shakily. ‘I just don’t—’

  ‘Want to dance with me. Yes, I do realise that,’ he interrupted her bitingly. ‘You have already made that more than clear. What the hell is it with you, Sybilla?’

  His anger broke through her protective defences, making her give him a bitter, scornful look.

  ‘Do you really need to ask?’ she challenged him. ‘How do you expect me to behave towards you, Gareth?’

  She realised suddenly that the band had stopped playing and that people were starting to leave the floor. Abruptly she pulled away from him, heading back to her parents.

  ‘Darling, are you sure you’re all right?’ her mother asked anxiously as she sat down. ‘You look so flushed. Are you sure it isn’t the flu?’

  ‘Stop fussing, Mum,’ Sybilla begged tiredly. ‘It’s a cold, that’s all.’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ her mother said doubtfully. ‘Tony was just saying that it’s about time for us to leave.’

  ‘I think I’ll join you—’ Sybilla started to say, but her mother protested immediately.

  ‘Oh, no, darling, please don’t. I feel bad enough that we’re all having to leave so early, and Paul is your godfather. If you’re worried about being on your own I’m sure Gareth…’

  Sybilla felt her face burn with vexation and embarrassment. ‘No, I’m not worried about that. I’m sure Gareth has other people he wants to spend some time with.’

  She knew that Gareth was standing behind her and that he must have heard her mother’s comment, and the last thing she wanted was for him to feel that good manners dictated that he stay with her after the rest of her family had gone. If only she could leave with them. Her whole body felt as though it was on fire, every muscle, every joint aching feverishly. Her throat was so sore that she could barely swallow, and as for the pain in her head…

  ‘We’d better go and say our goodbyes. Now, you will ring us soon, won’t you, darling, to let us know just when you’re able to come over?’

  As she kissed her family goodbye Sybilla was acutely conscious of Gareth’s presence immediately behind her. She was as sensitive to it as though his body gave off an extra-special heat to which hers was acutely responsive. If only he would go away. But she was being too impatient; once her family had gone…

  ‘Would you like another drink?’

  His quiet mundane question caught her off guard. She turned round to look at him and then said acidly, ‘There’s no need to continue the pretence any longer, Gareth.’

  ‘And what pretence is that?’ he demanded as she started to turn away from him, taking hold of her wrist, forcing her to remain where she was.

  ‘The pretence that you actually want to spend time in my company,’ Sybilla threw at him, suddenly too weak and too miserable to control her feelings any longer.

  There was a pause during which Gareth searched her face, his glance penetrating and thorough.

  ‘And what makes you think it’s a pretence?’ he asked quietly, still watching her.

  Sybilla could feel the colour come and go under her skin. Angrily she wrenched herself out of his g
rasp.

  ‘You might enjoy playing these kind of games, Gareth,’ she told him wearily, ‘but I’m afraid I don’t. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I think it’s time I had a word with my godfather.’

  As she walked quickly away from him she prayed that he wouldn’t come after her. She had had just about as much as she could stand. She had no idea what was prompting his behaviour, whether it was some machiavellian desire to hurt and taunt her, or whether he was genuinely oblivious to her desire to keep as much distance between them as possible, but what she did know was that her self-control was wearing perilously thin.

  * * *

  She spent fifteen minutes or so chatting with her godfather and his wife and then excused herself, explaining that she wasn’t feeling very well and apologising for leaving so early.

  ‘That’s all right, Sybilla. You mother said it looked as though you were about to go down with this wretched flu,’ Rita said sympathetically.

  So much for her belief that she had convinced her mother that it was only a cold, Sybilla reflected ruefully.

  She hadn’t brought a coat with her, so there was nothing left for her to do other than head for the exit and slip quietly away.

  She was very proud of the way she managed to stop herself from pausing by the door and turning round to allow herself one last masochistic look at Gareth.

  All she had to do now was to get herself into her car, drive herself home and then thankfully get herself into bed. Wryly she admitted that in her present state she perhaps ought not to be driving, but it was too late to worry about that now. She had no alternative, had she?

  Five yards or so away from her parked car, she froze, instantly recognising the man leaning against the driver’s door, arms folded across his chest as he watched her approach.

  Gareth! What on earth was he doing by her car? How had he known she had left? Why?

  ‘Gareth,’ she protested weakly, putting a hand to her head, trying to clear her muzzy, confused thoughts.