HELEN BROOKS - Web Of Darkness

‘As you wish.’ He pressed a tiny gold button at the side of the fireplace and within seconds the little maid had popped her head round the door.

Didn’t he ever do anything himself? Janie thought cynically as she watched him giving orders to the small girl. Buttons for this, orders here and there, everyone jumping to attention. Her face was cryptic as he glanced back to her and the piercing gaze had swept over her features before she could school them into a more acceptable mask.

‘So much hate in one small package.’ His voice was deep and soft and, for some reason, tiny flickers of fire shivered down her spine as he walked over to her, lifting a lock of silky black hair and rubbing it in his fingers as he looked hard into her dark brown eyes. ‘It’s very bad for you, you know,’ he said mockingly, his eyes glittering coldly.

‘So you said before.’ She flicked her head away sharply. ‘Did I understand that you’ve asked for the car to take me home? I’m quite capable of phoning for a taxi.’

‘I think you’re quite capable of anything.’ There was a note in his voice she couldn’t quite place, but it made the goose-bumps rise all over her body. ‘However, I would prefer to take you home myself, having brought you here in the first place.’

‘You’re coming too?’ Her voice was frankly dismayed and a glimmer of a smile touched the frosty face for a fleeting moment.

‘I was only saying the other day to a colleague that it would be a pleasant change to meet a girl whose head wasn’t turned by the Steel name,’ he said sardonically as he moved back to his place in front of the fire. ‘I forgot that little law that says we should be careful what we ask for in case we get it.’

She eyed him without speaking—there was nothing she could say after all—and within sixty seconds June had returned to announce that the car was waiting at the main entrance.

As they left the beautifully warm house and stepped into the cold night, the wind blew against Janie’s face with tiny chips of sleet in its arctic depths and, once in the car, she drew her coat off the seat where it was lying with her handbag and pulled it round herself gratefully.

‘Cold?’ He had seated himself opposite her, like before, the blue eyes watchful.

‘A little.’ She glanced out of the dark window quickly and searched for something impersonal to say. ‘Where are we?’

‘Middlesex,’ he said coldly. ‘The Mother of London, near enough to make travelling easy and yet still retaining country lanes with working farms and thatched cottages that would grace any village in Yorkshire.’

‘You’re a country boy at heart?’ she asked cynically as she pulled the coat still closer round her shape.

‘You find that hard to believe?’ he said expressionlessly. ‘You have me set in the North Circular Road with its attendant miles of buildings and Tube stations and so on? Or maybe in the heart of London, the West End or Chelsea?’

‘I would say the latter would suit you better.’ She made no attempt to soften her words. ‘I should think the only interest you would display in villages and suchlike is in their market value.’

‘That is what you would say, is it?’ The blue eyes were diamond-hard. ‘It is a pity that such attractiveness goes hand in hand with such ignorance.’

‘How dare you?’ She reared up like a small black kitten when confronted by a sleek, full-grown panther.

‘How dare I?’ His voice was deceptively mild in comparison to the steel-hard set of his jaw. ‘Your terminology is all wrong, Miss Gordon. It is I who should be asking you that. You know nothing about me, nothing at all, beyond the rather vague notion that I was responsible for causing your father some grief——’

‘Vague?’ Her voice was so shrill, he winced slightly before continuing as though she hadn’t spoken.

‘And you continue to be obnoxious at every turn, refusing to listen to common sense and altogether behaving in a manner more suited to an infant than a grown woman of…?’ She held his glance, her mouth obstinately shut. ‘Twenty-three, twenty-four?’ he persisted with inflexible tenacity.

‘Twenty-four, not that it’s any of your business,’ she returned sharply, ‘and what about your behaviour anyway?’

‘My behaviour?’ He lifted dark eyebrows with such haughtiness that Janie could have hit him—again. ‘As far as I recall, I merely gave you a lift in my car when you were coatless and hatless, so to speak, and provided you with an adequate meal. That constitutes a felony in your book?’

‘I don’t mean that,’ she said angrily, her rage flooding her system with such warmth that the coat was quite unnecessary. ‘I mean when you——’ She stopped abruptly. ‘When you manhandled me,’ she finished tightly.

‘ I manhandled you ?’ The amazed outrage was genuine. ‘My head is still ringing from the contact with your hand, young lady; when the hell did I manhandle you?’

‘In your drawing-room,’ she said flatly, ‘when you kissed me.’

‘Ah…’ The word was full of meaning and her head snapped up to find the dark face was surveying her with mocking intentness. ‘Now you are going to try and tell me you didn’t enjoy it?’

‘No, I didn’t!’ She glared at him, almost inco-herent with temper. ‘It was sickening, absolutely sickening. I’ve never been treated like that in my life.’

‘Really?’ He settled further back in his seat, crossing his arms across his chest as the piercing eyes narrowed into blue slits of light and she realised, quite suddenly, that he was playing with her, like a sleek black cat with a tiny mouse. ‘The male population in general is sensible enough to have nothing to do with you? There’s hope for the universe yet.’

‘I don’t mean I’ve never been kissed,’ she said furiously, ‘and you know it. I mean——’ She broke off. What did she mean? ‘To be forced——’

‘Oh, come, come.’ He actually had the nerve to smile. ‘Maybe for the first moment or two, but after that?’ The hard male face was maddeningly cool. ‘I was there, remember.’

‘You’re a pig,’ she said weakly, ‘and I’m not discussing this with you. In fact I’m not discussing anything with you.’ She shut her eyes determinedly, drawing the coat more tightly round her shoulders.

‘I’m glad I was there,’ the deep voice said reflectively after a long minute had passed in silence. ‘I, at least, found the experience most…rewarding.’ She didn’t open her eyes and several miles flashed by before he spoke again. ‘I’d appreciate some indication of where we are going?’

‘Oh, you can drop me anywhere.’ She opened her eyes quickly and glanced out of the car window into the steady downpour that had materialised outside. Cocooned in the luxurious interior of the Bentley, the world outside seemed a million miles away.

‘Well, you are consistent, I’ll give you that,’ he said coldly. ‘That comment matches the rest of the rubbish you’ve spoken all night. Have you noticed it’s throwing everything down out there and you are in a thin wool dress and coat that wouldn’t last a minute? Now, an address, please.’

‘Aberdeen Gardens,’ she said after a long pause.

‘And the number?’

‘Sixty-two.’ Aberdeen Gardens was two streets away from where her flat was situated, but she didn’t want him to know where she lived. She hadn’t worked out why yet, she just knew with deep conviction that the less he knew about her the better. He was a threat, a definite threat to her peace of mind, and not just because of past history. She was used to dealing with all sorts of men in her job as Joe Flanders’ personal secretary and could keep the most obstreperous individuals at bay with a few well-chosen, crushing remarks or careful diplomacy, but this man…She glanced at him again in the dim light from the passing street-lamps, contemplating the hard square jaw and lethal body. This man was a whole new ball game.