Fire Under Snow (9 page)

The conversation, severely hampered by Noel's mood, never lifted, and it was hard going all the way.

She was fuming. Because Jamie had turned out to be so weak, Sir William thought she was a bad judge of character, a risk to herself. She realized now that she had asked Sir William to come back to meet Noel not merely for reasons of convention, but also as a piece of self- indulgence. Foolish of her, as things had turned out, but she had actually wanted to prove to Sir William that she was capable of knowing a man of charm and stability. Noel's manner was charmless. She was seeing a side of him tonight that she had never seen before. He wasn't making up for Jamie; he was underlining the fact that she had no insight about people and attracted the worst possible types.

Pulses were beating painfully in her head. Disappointment and tension had a drying, strangling effect on her throat. And if she had to persevere with the smile on her lips for very much longer, it would crack.

It came as an infinite relief to hear Sir William say, “And now I really must go. I'm glad to have met you, Britton.” Turning to Lorraine, he said, “Convey my warmest regards to your delightful aunt.”

“I will, Sir William. Aunt Leonora will be pleased you remembered her.”

Taking her hand in his, Sir William bent over it and said softly, for her ears alone, “I meant every word I said earlier. I'll be in touch.” His lips graced her hand with a kiss. He straightened and turned on his heel, threading his way through the tables in search of his own.

She switched her eyes to look at Noel. Tense with anger, she fully expected that by this time he would be having second thoughts about his appalling rudeness, and she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of apologizing to her before she'd told him exactly what she thought of him.

He forestalled her outburst. His eyes were gray points of steel, impaling her, piercing her to the marrow. Through gritted teeth, he said, “Don't ever do that to me again. I will not tolerate such treatment. When I take a lady out I do not expect her to desert me for some silver-tongued Lothario. Kissing your hand! Fawning over you!”

She was almost too stunned to take in what he was saying. She had to digest the words slowly, and then a look of incredulity came to her face.

“You must be out of your mind if you think Sir William's interest in me is anything but professional. I'm just an ex-patient to him. A case on his files.”

“I notice you said ex-patient. Does that make it ethical? Don't belittle my intelligence by looking at me as though I am insulting your integrity. You're not so naive that you don't know when a man fancies you.”

“Fancies me? Sir William?”

“Yes, your precious Sir William.”

“That is an ugly and utterly preposterous speculation to make.”

“Hardly a speculation. Lust overlaid every look he sidled your way.”

She gasped in desolation. “There was nothing sneaky or lecherous about the way he looked at me. I'll never forgive you for saying such a thing. For spoiling a very special relationship for me, or trying to, because I won't let your warped mind make any difference. When I was in a desperate way, when my reason as well as my life hung on a thread, Sir William proved himself to be my friend, and you don't know how scarce friends were at the time. He didn't just give me back my looks; he gave me my will to live. I owe him my life.”

“Don't think he doesn't know that, or that he won't use it to extract suitable payment. If he hasn't already started dropping the odd hint, he'll soon be pointing out ways for you to express your gratitude.”

“I hope you are not suggesting what I think you are. You are so wrong, Noel.”

“Am I?” His left eyebrow quirked and held that position.

Damn the man. He could say more with his speaking eyebrow – convey more sarcasm – than a whole string of carefully thought-out words could express. “You are wrong,” she repeated miserably. “It's not like that.”

“Are you telling me that when he took you outside he didn't make a pass at you?”

“That's exactly what I am telling you.”

“Then who smudged your lipstick? Do you still insist that he didn't kiss you?”

“No ... yes ... he was comforting me. It was innocent. And anyway,” she said, letting fly as her temper surged out of control, “whether it was or not is none of your business. It has nothing to do with you.”

“It has everything to do with me. You are with me, and that makes it my business.” His fingers fastened so fiercely around her wrist that she wondered why it didn't break, yet she closed her mind to the pain. Excruciating though it was, she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was hurting her.

She had awakened a fiend. His reaction was ... what? She shook her head as though trying to understand his motives. She had believed that he was in a foul mood because he'd missed Toni Carr's performance, because his attempt to arrange a meeting with the singer had met with no success. His violent manner suggested something deeper. She looked down at her wrist, still bound by his possessive fury. That was the word she was seeking. Possessive. His reaction was possessive.

It was because of the bond she shared with Sir William, the esteem and affection they felt for one another. Noel did not understand. How could he? He knew she had suffered burns in a fire. She hadn't told him the depth of her suffering. He didn't see Sir William through her eyes.

He looked at him and saw a rival. Noel was ... could he be ... jealous?

She didn't know which stunned her most, the fact that he saw Sir William as a serious contender or that he cared enough to mind.

She sat back suddenly and her anger left her. He said, as though unable to let the subject drop, “Your precious Sir William was eating you with his eyes.”

Her quick wit replied for her so that she did not have to take her mind too far from the absorbing realization she had come to. “That's better than slaughtering me with his eyebrows. I've lost my appetite,” she said, pushing the menu away.

His eyebrows expressed amusement at the reference to them; her reluctance to eat met a brick-wall opposition. “You'll eat. Make your choice,” he said menacingly.

He had misunderstood her words. It was not temper that had stolen her appetite but surprise at his caring. Jealousy was never commendable; but if he cared, she could forgive him worse faults than that. If he cared enough she could forgive him anything. If he cared ...

How did one know? She should have left well enough alone. Further thought was destructive. Was his heart affected, or his pride?

“Decide,” he said, stabbing the menu with a blunt finger. “Or I'll decide for you.”

“I won't be talked to in this dictatorial manner. I am not a child.”

“Only when it suits you.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“You know when to draw back behind maidenly virtue. I'm wondering which face you put on for your fawning friend.”

Her short-lived happiness deserted her. Noel had obviously convinced himself that Sir William was out to seduce her. He didn't care about her – only the conquest. He couldn't bear to think that another man might succeed where he had failed.

“I refuse to stay here to be insulted.” Although she was quaking inside, no one would have guessed from her sharply raised chin and her bright, challenging eyes. “I'm going home. I don't expect you to take me. I'll call a taxi.”

“You would, too! If I let you. After spending half the evening smooching on the dance floor with another man and going outside with him and doing goodness knows what – although I doubt if goodness had anything to do with it – you'd walk out and leave me. I'm not going to let you. You'll stay, you'll eat, you'll dance with me – to my tune. Your conduct has attracted too much attention as it is.”

If she had needed further proof, there it was. He didn't care about her. All he cared about was his pride. He wasn't going to have people say about him, “Did you see that blonde walk out on Noel Britton?”

She was more shattered for having held the belief, even for so short a time, that he might care about her. It had been wishful thinking on her part. Instead of pandering to the endless ache inside her that had grasped at the smallest indication that he might return her feelings, she should have remembered the way he held her in his arms earlier in the evening. There had been no burning love in his ardor, no tender commitment for the future. There had been wrath in his kiss where gentleness should have been. It all went back to the fact that she had been foolish enough to wait for him in the privacy of his suite. She should have known what he would make of that. He hadn't forgiven her for – how had he worded it? – drawing back behind maidenly virtue. She hadn't got off lightly at all, as she had imagined, but had only been granted a temporary respite. Whatever he set his sights on he pursued with relentless tenacity and ruthless determination. Not knowing when to give up was the secret of his success. He wanted her; he wouldn't rest in his efforts until he got her.

She dragged up eyelids that felt heavy enough to have been embedded in cement and looked at Noel's strong, egotistical, handsome face and wondered how she was going to protect herself. Strangely enough, not from him – from herself.

Her own feelings would destroy her. Knowing where she stood with him didn't change a thing. She was like her mother. The fire under the snow burned for just one man. So help her, for him.

“I'll skip the appetizer and have tarragon chicken, then profiteroles,” she said, banishing the tremble in her lower lip and managing a reasonably composed voice.

“Sounds all right. I'm a soup, steak, cheese and biscuits man myself.”

He ordered two bottles of wine: a deep golden sauterne to complement her chicken, a full- bodied claret for himself.

She realized there was some justification for his annoyance. Now that she was cooler she admitted to herself that he had spoken the truth when he said her conduct was attracting too much attention. Even when her anger was in full spate she had tried – admittedly not very successfully – to keep her voice low, aware that they were in a public place and receiving more than their share of notice. Still, she was not really the one responsible for the undue attention they were receiving. If Noel hadn't been so well known, if they'd just been any man and a girl out on a date, the quarrel would have been smiled upon as a lovers' tiff.

Noel wouldn't forget the embarrassment she had caused him or easily forgive her for it. She regretted her part of it and could see his point and, also, where she had gone wrong. No escort likes his companion of the evening to go off with another man. Dancing with Sir William might have been barely permissible; to go outside with him was not. Someone was certain to have observed them, as Noel was all too well aware. Little wonder that he was annoyed with her.

She did not blame herself for being joyful at seeing Sir William again after so much time, but when he had asked if he could join her, she ought to have had the subtlety to explain that she didn't think it was such a good idea but that she would be delighted to meet him at any other time he suggested.

Oh, for discretion and hindsight! Because she had lacked both, Noel had retaliated with accusations and slurs that were too hurtful to be ignored. They had called for immediate repudiation. She'd had to tell him he was wrong about Sir William.

Biting hard on her lips, she said in contrition, “I really am sorry, Noel. I stand by what I've said, but I agree that it should not have been said right here. I'm sorry I let the situation get out of hand. I should have put Sir William off and arranged to meet him at some other time. I share your distaste of making a spectacle of myself in public.”

A nerve jumped in his cheek, a violent involuntary contraction that matched his savage expression. He shrugged in a way that suggested he was giving himself a mental shake, and almost immediately his eyes glazed over with indifference. “Forget it. Let's say we both got a bit carried away.”

In self-protection her eyes dropped to her plate. The words were conciliatory, but his delivery of them slapped her down. If she had been needled by his anger, she was insulted by the indifference, the disinterest, that had replaced it.

She concentrated on her food. The chicken in its delectable sauce was unequaled in taste. It was uncomplimentary to the chef to eat such exquisite fare with such dogged determination.

They had ordered late. They were among the last to eat, and by the time they reached the coffee stage the restaurant was beginning to acquire an empty look, although the group was still playing for anyone who was -inclined to dance. The couples on the floor were dancing in traditional ballroom style. Lorraine was more used to the improvisation of disco dancing, although she liked to watch couples who could dance well, particularly when they did the deliciously lighthearted Latin-American dances such as the samba and the cha-cha. She regretted the fact that she had never had the opportunity of mastering the steps herself. That being so, she hoped Noel would forget his threat to make her dance with him, though she had to admit her feelings on the subject were complex. She both dreaded, and was filled with an insane longing, to go into his arms.

Had her face revealed more than it should? There was an odd smile on his mouth – a smile? a sneer? – as his gray eyes rested on her in open contemplation. Steel is hard and gray is cold, and his steel-gray eyes were both hard and cold, yet they left her in no doubt of what he was contemplating. His glance never left her face, and still it stroked every inch of her body into sensuous response.

“I'll have that dance now,” he said.

He came around to her side of the table. She rose to her feet, knowing it was wiser to accept his dictum. Any protest would be brushed aside. He walked behind her; his hands fitted to either side of her waist as he propelled her forward. On reaching the space of floor set apart for dancing, he turned her fully into his arms. She was oblivious to the beat of the music; she could not hear it above the beat of her own heart. He regarded her with those narrowed, metallic eyes and, even though he held her in correct ballroom position, it never occurred to her that her feet should be in motion until his foot moved forward, forcing hers back in automatic retreat.