HELEN BROOKS - Knight in Black Velvet

‘Not at all.’ He had settled back against the pillar of the four-poster bed, his arms crossed and his face devoid of all expression. ‘It means princess. You see, I was not being insulting.’

‘Well, that makes a change.’ She found she suddenly couldn’t control her tongue at all. The need to prove that she wasn’t completely stupid, that she could manage her own affairs very well, was goading her on. ‘I’m not quite the little innocent you seem to be making me out to be, you know,’ she said crossly. ‘I’ve had four years at a university doing an English degree for which I got a 2-1; that’s pretty good incidentally.’ He raised dark eyebrows but said nothing. ‘And I supported myself the whole time, working in the holidays to supplement my grant. I arranged my lodgings when necessary, I dealt with any financial problems, I have taken care of my life for the last few years.’

‘Why?’ The one word stopped her flow and she stared at him. ‘Why has it been necessary for you to do all that? Where are your parents, your family?’

‘My parents died when I was ten,’ she said flatly, ‘and I lived with my older brother and his wife and family till I left for university at eighteen. They haven’t much money, they couldn’t afford to support me; besides, Tom has health problems and they’ve got enough difficulties of their own without worrying about me.’

‘There is no other family?’ he asked quietly, his eyes watching her every expression.

‘Not really.’ She shrugged slender shoulders. ‘Besides, I like looking after myself. In spite of what you may be thinking, I usually do it quite well, too.’

‘Do you indeed?’ She had no idea of the ethereal, delicate picture she made lying on the large bed, her hair a shining mass of silver and her small, heart-shaped face pale against the dark orange of the silk shirt. Finely boned and small, she had always disliked her slimness and lack of height, but to the dark, bronzed man watching her so intently she was breathtakingly lovely. ‘And men?’ His voice was still cool but with a husky note now that made her stomach tremble. ‘Where have men fitted into this independent life?’

‘I’ve had boyfriends,’ she said defiantly as she raised herself to a sitting position against the mass of soft, deep blue pillows. ‘Quite a few, as it happens; in fact it was my last boyfriend who brought me to Spain in the first place.’

‘I see.’ He moved to her side again and bent to pick up the bag lying on the floor. ‘Then maybe I was mistaken in my opinion about you. Maybe you are a woman of the world, used to dealing with life and love in the modern fashion? Uncaring, hard; are you like that, little infanta?’

As he raised his head on a level with hers their eyes locked and as he slowly bent towards her with a smothered groan it was as though he was fighting something deep within himself, the turmoil he was feeling reflected in the darkness of his face.

Her heart began to pound and the blood raced madly through her veins in an agony of excitement. She had wanted this to happen from the first moment she had seen him, she realised with a little shock of horror, had wanted to know what the feel of his lips would be like.

He rested his hands either side of her slim shape as he took her mouth in a gentle, exploratory kiss that changed within seconds as he felt her mouth quiver beneath his. His lips became hard, demanding, and she felt her bones turn to water at the deeply searching invasion of his mouth. No other man had kissed her like this before! The thought burnt into her mind at the same moment as she shuddered against him, unable to resist the powerful desire that was sending shafts of pleasure trembling through her body.

As he felt her response he lowered himself on to the bed until he was lying above her, close enough for her to feel his evident arousal but without the full weight of his body resting against hers. She couldn’t believe that another human being was making her feel like this as frantic, hot excitement had her tumbling into another dimension. Before Sancho most of her dates had been nonentities with a relatively chaste embrace on the doorstep; in fact she knew she had gained something of a reputation for being an icy cool blonde. Sancho had made her feel different but even he hadn’t got past that certain something that had made her call a halt to his lovemaking before it got out of hand. She had known that one of the reasons he had suggested the Spanish trip was to overcome her resistance. But it hadn’t been necessary. Janie had had no such inhibitions.

The thought didn’t have the power to touch her at all; all her emotions, all her senses, were tied up in a whirlwind of touch and smell. She wasn’t aware of the bewildered note in her cry as his hands on her skin made her moan against the hard face but suddenly, abruptly, he had lifted himself from her and was standing away before walking across to the other side of the room.

‘Do you see now?’ His voice was deep and violent. ‘I was right, was I not? You have not yet made the transition into full awareness—you are a child after all’ The hard reality of his words hit her painfully as she stared into the glittering black eyes. He seemed angry, furiously angry, and she didn’t understand why. She hadn’t pushed him away, hadn’t told him to stop...’

‘I do not need a complication like you in my life,’ he said tightly. ‘I should never have brought you here. I should have left you back there, on the road.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ she whispered dazedly. ‘What have I done wrong?’ How could he be so hostile, so cold, when just a few minutes before ...?

‘You think you would enjoy a nice little flirtation in this safe little world in which you live?’ he asked grimly. ‘Is that what you think? But I am not one of your college friends with the time to court and woo you and persuade you into my bed. And there are others like me out there. Go home, Miss Lorne Wilson. Go back to where it is safe and controlled and ordinary before you find yourself hurt badly. You are a lamb among wolves here.’

The slam of the door reverberated round the room and she was still staring at it minutes later as she tried to take in what had happened. His words had lashed her but even as she thought about them she didn’t fully understand why he had been so enraged.

She hadn’t been the one to pull away, she hadn’t initiated the embraces in the first place, and it had been Francisco who had insisted she accompany him home despite her protests. She relaxed against the pillows after a long, taut moment, shutting her eyes as her head hammered with images and harsh, cruel words.

‘This is all unreal,’ she muttered dazedly as she settled deeper into the soft bed. He was unreal; this magnificent, larger than life house was unreal; she would wake up soon from this crazy dream and find herself curled up under a tree somewhere as she had done the last few days on the road. That was it, it was a dream, a strange and worrying and curiously thrilling dream... It was her last coherent thought before sleep overtook her.

CHAPTER THREE

THE tap on the door brought Lorne instantly awake and fully alert in a moment as though part of her mind had been keeping watch all the time. The room was dark, full of a rich, heavy dusk that carried the perfume of sweet-scented jasmine and verbena from the open window. Another gentle knock compelled her to answer and as Alfonso’s grey head appeared round the door she breathed a sigh of relief. She needed to compose herself and get her thoughts in order before she faced Francisco again.

‘Señor de Vega wishes me to inform you that dinner will be served in the main dining-room in half an hour,’ the elderly manservant said with formal politeness. ‘Benita or Teresa will come to take you downstairs and the señor thought these may be useful to you.’ He produced a pair of crutches like a magician from behind his back. It was clear from both his attitude and his unsmiling face that he heartily disapproved of this waif that his master had brought home, and as Lorne smiled her thanks the stiff façade didn’t crack by so much as a glimmer. ‘Half an hour, then, señorita.’ As the door shut, Lorne sank back on the bed again for a second before switching on the bedside lamp. At once the room was filled with a soft warm light and as she hobbled to the chair where Alfonso had propped the crutches her ankle reminded her that for the moment, at least, she was dependent on the harsh, cold master of this place for her every need.