Deception (7 page)

She drove fast, the
thought of Logan Murray being alone in the house and ill troubling her. She
might never come to like the man, not after the way he had treated her during
the night, to say nothing of his curtness this morning, but she would hate to
think she couldn't feel normal human pity. Martha might sound as if she
worshipped the ground Mr Logan walked on, but she didn't seem very keen to do
much to help him. If he was unconscious again he might easily have fallen out
of bed?

Logan. Logan Murray!
Suddenly it came to Thea that this must be the same Logan Murray who had
obligingly stood by her years ago while she had had her photograph taken. Why
it hadn't really registered until now she couldn't think. It must have been
because of the more startling things she had been listening to regarding his
wife. Ruefully she supposed that the long years and an ill-fated marriage
must have changed him. The vague remembrance she had of him as a youth, gentle
and kind, didn't somehow fit in with the man he was today, ruthlessly hard and
dangerously masculine.

Would—could an unhappy
marriage alone so harden a man? Martha had insinuated that the marriage hadn't
been happy, and certainly Logan's own remarks would back this
up, but surely Jamie was living evidence that
Logan Murray
and his wife hadn't always been so estranged? She wondered
how long his wife had been dead, how she had died. She couldn't have been so
very old.

Other things puzzled
Thea as she drove carefully through the ford again before putting on speed for
the remaining distance to the house. Martha had spoken of a brother's widow,
which must mean that Logan had lost a brother as well. And what of his parents?
When she and her mother had left Drumlarig they had both been alive.

Thea sighed as she
drew up too quickly outside the front door, impatient of her own feelings. What
had happened at Drumlarig since she had lived here years ago was
none of her business, and she was uneasily
convinced that it
wouldn't improve
her relationship with Logan Murray if
she were to try and make it so!

Remembering
that the doctor would need room to park his car, she parked her own vehicle
nearer the end of the
house. After she had jumped out something
made her glance
up at the window above her. To her
astonishment she
thought she saw Murray standing there
looking down on
her, but when she blinked with dismay and
looked up again he was gone. If he had ever been there. Yet she could have
sworn
she hadn't just imagined she had seen him.

Without
going near the kitchen, she rushed straight up
stairs.
She had been right to worry. His fever must have
returned. He must
be delirious and wandering about his
room this time. She was
so anxious she forgot all about her
resolve to try and make
herself look older before he saw
her again. As she neared
his room she did wonder why
she should feel such a sense of
anxious urgency, but de
cided it must be because she had no
wish to spend any
longer than necessary nursing him.

Bursting
into his bedroom, her hair flying, colour wildly
tinting her
breathless young face, she also forgot she was supposed to represent the cool
efficiency of the nursing profession. 'Mr Murray!' she cried, her voice raised
in dis
approval even as she opened his door. Then, starded, she
stopped
short. He was in bed, not wandering about the
room, lying
quiedy, although she knew with him this could
be a . It was his
expression that told her he was
far from pleased about something.

'Miss
Andrews?'

Before
he could attack her, as he was so obviously about
to,
for entering his room in such an impetuous fashion, she
beat
him to it. 'You've been out of bed?' She had thought
she
might have been mistaken, now she wasn't so sure.

His
voice was curt, leaving her very aware of his rising
anger.
'I won't have you speaking to me like that, girl, and
I
must repeat what I said earlier. If you want to work for
me then I ask the
questions.'

More from a sense of frustration than any real desire to
annoy
him, she retorted quickly, 'We're not living in the Dark Ages, Mr Murray! At
least, I didn't think so until I
came here! I'm quite
aware that you probably intend send
ing me packing as soon as
you're well again, but while I'm
looking after you, I
think I have the right to know why
you've been out of bed.'
      
—

The
glitter in his eyes was almost brilliant. 'You have no
rights
at all, Miss Andrews, when it comes to me. Neither you nor any other woman,
remember that. I left this bed
simply to test the strength of my
legs and to see who was
coming up the road too fast. I might have
known it was
you! In future, if you can't drive with more
care, don't take
any vehicle of mine out again.'

Sullenly,
Thea stared at him, thinking he was full of
arrogant ingratitude.
'Don't you understand it was because
of you I was hurrying?
Which should prove I do have a
sense of responsibility.' Making a
greater effort to ignore
his ever curling lips, she asked politely,
'And how did you
feel when you were out of bed?'

'Bloody
awful,' he confessed, with tight-lipped im
patience, 'but I can't afford to lie
here.'

Thea's
eyes fell away from his quickly. Perhaps there
were things she
couldn't afford to indulge in either. Did he
have to look like
some proud Highland chief tan, even when
shirtless and in need of
a shave? Shivering, she recalled
the feeling of that
rough, cleft chin against her soft flesh,
the fkm insistence of the
mouth above it. Ill though he was, the rate he was making her heart beat was
far from com
fortable. It was imperative that by the time
he was up and
about she should have her emotions well
under control. Something she might only achieve if she stopped thinking
how she had felt when
he had kissed her.

Meeting
the glinting irritation in Murray's eyes, she said
sharply,
'You can't expect to feel up to much after what
you've had. Or are
still having,' she finished, with Hi-
concealed relish. She
wasn't going to reassure him by say
ing she thought he seemed
much better, nor would she sin
by telling him he looked worse. He
was too full of ingrati
tude and conceit of himself. After
all she had done for him
she had barely received a word of thanks!

To
her alarm, he repeated her thoughts almost exactly. 'While you're busy counting
all the things you've done for
me, Miss Andrews, let me remind you,
yet again, that you
work for me. I might not have known about it
myself, but
you obviously had it all planned, from the
moment you set foot in my house. You wanted to be my housekeeper. This
being
the case, you must have realised what such a position
entailed.'

'You're
hateful!'

The
hard voice cut inexorably through her unconscious
protest.
'Enough, Miss Andrews! If this is to be your
opinion of me,
voiced or otherwise, every time I give an
order, then you may as
well pack your bags—or did Jamie
say a rucksack—and go. And at once!'

'Oh,
no!' Her eyes widening with a startled dismay,
Thea retreated in
abject cowardice. 'I'm sorry, Mr Murray.
I—I don't want to be sent away ...'

'Unless
you're prepared to change your ways you will
be,' he threatened
remorselessly. 'And, believe me, I've seen
too many so-called
housekeepers come and go to be unduly
disturbed at the
prospect of losing yet another.'

She
knew she had gone pale and her slight body shook
as she went
nearer the bed. Her hand went out imploringly
to touch his,
without fully realising what she was doing.
"I promise, Mr
Murray,' her fingers tightened urgently,
although she knew he
could never understand why she
wanted so desperately to stay here,
'I promise to do better.'

'As
you did earlier,' he retorted cynically, his gaze trans
ferring
to the hand which still clutched his arm. 'Is this a
promise of some future
bonus for me, if I'm prepared to overlook the obvious—ah—vagaries
of your temperament?'

Cheeks flushing
scarlet, Thea snatched her hand away, bitterly regretting her too impulsive
nature. In the last few weeks it had led her into plenty of trouble, surely she
had learnt her lesson? 'I'm sorry,' she stammered, 'I—I didn't realise
what I was doing.'

His regard was
suddenly closer, more personal, as if he idly contemplated turning her
impulsiveness to some future advantage. Then, apparently tiring of the
conversation, he said less curtly, 'I have no particular desire to throw you
back on to the roads at this time of year, but I won't warn you again. Did you
manage to get Jamie safely to school?'

'Oh yes.' Her anxiety
to placate him being stronger than
the
indignation she felt when he implied she was a homeless
vagabond, she
smiled faintly. 'He wasn't late, if that's what you're thinking.'

'It wasn't.'

Hastily, sensing Jamie
meant a lot to him even if he was raising him in the most Spartan manner, she
added, 'He's a nice little boy.' When Murray made no reply but continued
looking at her, she changed the subject briskly. 'Now, can I get you anything?'

'You can get me a
drink.'

'Whisky, you mean?'
When he nodded with mock patience, she protested, 'It won't be good for you,
I'm sure. Besides, the doctor's coming.'

She had called on the
doctor for Murray's own good, but her heart sank as she saw his expression.
'You asked Stewart to come here?'

'Jamie said he was
your doctor.'

Murray muttered
something under his breath that she didn't catch. 'The telephone's out of
order. You must have gone to his house. Never do that again, Miss Andrews!'

'I only saw his
daughter.'

Again Murray's mouth
compressed. 'Better and better,' he observed cynically. 'I take it she was
concerned?'

'Didn't you expect her
to be? Or is that a naive question?'

'I advised you to
watch your step, miss!'

'Yes, I know.' She
knew she had overstepped the mark. Hesitantly she dared, 'But you aren't very
encouraging, Mr Murray.'

His mouth twisted, but
not in a smile. 'Do you like your employers to be encouraging, Miss Andrews?'

Biting her lip with
mortification, she turned quickly to replenish the fire, while not having the
strength, she supposed, to follow up his cool taunts, he lapsed into
silence.

The logs went on and
tiere was a small pause until they caught hold, to crackle and spark against
the dark hole of a chimney. Pushing at one of them with the toe of her boot,
Thea was rewarded with a small burst of flame. The warmth was good on a cold
December morning and she held out her hands to it gratefully. She didn't see
Logan Murray noticing how the pale gold of her thick head of hair was reflected
in the flames, and the way in which her delicately pure profile was etched
against them.

As the silence grew so
did a twinge of guilt. Logan Murray was right, her attitude as a servant was
all wrong. She shouldn't be standing here, taking her ease before his fire, as
though she was the lady of the house with nothing better to do. Reluctantly she
returned to the bed. He had closed his eyes and his face was as grey as the
dawn. The dressing-gown he had demanded lay discarded. He had pulled a sheet
carelessly over the lower part of his body, but his broad shoulders and the top
of his dark chest were still bare.

'Are you ail right, Mr
Murray?' she felt like a parrot, being sure she had asked him this a dozen
times, without getting a proper answer.

She had guessed her
slightly breathless voice might annoy him, but not how much. Opening his green
eyes, he
stared straight into hers, so she
couldn't avoid seeing the
dislike in
his. 'Do you think I'd be lying here if I was?'

Ask
a silly question! But did he have to be so intolerant?
Every
time she showed concern did he have to snap her
head off?
Unhappily she shook her head, avoiding his
arrogant gaze. 'Haven't
you got a pyjama jacket, Mr
Murray? I mean, if the doctor's coming.'