Just for a Night (3 page)

‘Not since I was eighteen.'

‘What happened to you at eighteen?'

‘I left home to go to teacher's college. I didn't think my new flatmates would indulge my peculiarities like my mother did. Since then, any conversations with my secret side take place in my head.'

He slanted a thoughtful glance across at her. ‘And how often do these conversations take place?'

‘Not that often nowadays.' But she had an awful feeling they were about to pick up frequency.

‘Do you tell anyone about them?'

‘Lord, no!'

‘Not even your fiancé?'

Marina hesitated a fraction.

‘That
is
an engagement ring on your finger, isn't it?'

‘Yes.' Marina had pretty well decided on the flight over that she'd blown the incident before leaving home way out of proportion, that of course she loved Shane and wanted to marry him. But her responses to the man standing before her had shaken that conviction anew. How could she possibly be in love with Shane and feel attracted to the earl of Winterborne?

It's possible because this is not love,
pointed out her pragmatic side.
It's just…attraction. He's a very attractive man.

Marina found comfort in that thought. Yes, of course. Any woman would find this man attractive. He was the stuff female fantasies were made of. Handsome. Rich. Enigmatic. I'm not being disloyal to my feelings for Shane. I'm just being normal.

‘No,' she answered levelly, after scooping in and letting out a steadying breath. ‘I definitely don't tell Shane about them. He thinks I'm a very sensible, level-headed girl.'

That disturbing demi-smile surfaced again. ‘And you're not?'

‘I do try to be.' But I don't always succeed, she thought ruefully.

‘When is your wedding?'

‘In three weeks.'

‘Three weeks!' He sounded shocked. And almost disbelieving. ‘You've come all this way…and your wedding is only three weeks away?'

‘I would have come,' she said truthfully, ‘even if
the wedding had been tomorrow. My mother died of cancer. I could not have lived with myself if I had not come. And now that I have…I can't tell you how much I'm looking forward to doing this for your Rebecca. As soon as it can be arranged, actually. Tomorrow if you like. You did say the sooner the better in your letter, didn't you?'

He stopped and stared at her, then began shaking his head. ‘You are one special lady, Miss Marina Spencer. One
very
special lady. Tomorrow would be marvellous. But I thought you'd be too tired.'

‘What's tired in the scheme of things? I can rest afterwards.'

‘And you will, too. As soon as you can leave the hospital, I'll take you down to Winterborne Hall, where you can relax for a few days before flying home. It's out in the country and quite beautiful at this time of year.'

‘But…' A host of terrible thoughts rushed into her head which had nothing to do with relaxing. Marina tried to think of these new fantasies as just normal, but their explicit nature was very perturbing. ‘No, I'm sorry. I really can't accept. For one thing I should be getting home to Shane. Besides, I… I wouldn't like to impose on Lady Winterborne like that.'

He simply
had
to have a wife, a man such as this. Please God, let him have a wife, Marina prayed. I would never think thoughts like this about a married man. I know I wouldn't.

‘There
is
no Lady Winterborne,' he informed her coolly, and something inside her fluttered uncontrol
lably. ‘But there are a dozen guest bedrooms just dying to be used. And plenty of staff to see to your every whim. What's a few days?' he added temptingly, his eyes searching hers. ‘Your fiancé surely won't expect you to jump on a plane straight out of hospital?'

‘I…I guess not. But I wouldn't like to put you to—'

‘I insist,' he broke in brusquely. ‘I will not take no for an answer.'

Marina swallowed. It was the wrong thing for him to say to her at that moment in time.

An image filled her mind, of her lying on a magnificent four-poster bed in one of those undoubtedly huge and plushly elegant guest bedrooms…

It was night, but there were candles casting an intimate glow through the room. Her red hair was spread out against a mountain of pillows, gleaming gold against pristine white. Her nightgown was virginal white as well, but made of satin and lace, and it hid little. She was reading when he came into the room, dressed in a rich purple robe. His penetrating blue eyes clashed with her own startled green ones. He walked arrogantly to the edge of the bed and shrugged out of the robe. He was naked. He climbed onto the bed and pulled the curtains so the world was shut out and darkness enveloped them. The book was taken from her suddenly trembling fingers. She felt a hand sliding around her neck, and her mouth being slowly lifted.

‘I will not take no for an answer,' he whispered against her lips…

Marina's glazed eyes slowly cleared to find the
main star of her shockingly life-like fantasy staring at her with unconcealed concern.

‘What is it? Are you not feeling well?'

Marina felt decidedly shaky, for such was the power of her imaginings.

‘I…I
was
feeling a little faint there for a moment. But I'm all right now.' She scooped in a deep breath and did her best to still her wildly hammering heart.

‘You had me worried. I thought I might have to carry
you
as well as the suitcase.'

For a split second Marina contemplated organising a faint.

‘Do you think you can make it outside?' he asked, worry on his handsome face. ‘It's not far.'

‘Yes, of course,' she said briskly, disgusted with herself for this ongoing and quite uncharacteristic weakness. She had to get a hold of herself and her head once and for all. This would just not do!

‘Lead on, My Lord,' she said firmly. ‘I'll follow.'

He frowned. ‘I thought you were going to call me James.'

‘I know, but somehow it doesn't feel right.'

He looked slightly annoyed. ‘Surely I'm not that intimidating?'

‘Well, actually, yes, you are, Lord Winterborne.'

In more ways than one.

‘But I would
prefer
you to call me James.'

‘Sorry, Your Lordship. No can do.' This unfortunate attraction might be one-sided, but Marina still felt it only sensible to keep him at a distance. Calling him James was just too intimate for her peace of mind.

His glare fell just short of scowl. ‘You really have a mind of your own, don't you?'

‘Well, why not?' she said in a challenging tone. ‘Don't English women?'

He laughed, but didn't answer her, she noted. After one last shake of his head, he stalked on ahead with her suitcase, leaving her to follow as she'd said she would.

I
T WAS
raining outside—a light drizzle more like a mist than real rain. And it was freezing, by Marina's standards. After all, it was supposedly summer over here, unlike the actually warmer winter she'd left behind in Sydney. Of course it was still very early in the morning. Just going on six. The plane had landed in the dark, not long after five.

Still…

Marina thought of the clothes she'd brought and wondered if they'd do.

‘Don't worry,' Lord Winterborne said when she glanced up at the sky. ‘We have good heating inside. August can be like this. Very unpredictable. It will probably be fine and warm tomorrow. Ahh, here's William with the car.'

A large and stately-looking dark green saloon pulled into the kerb with a properly uniformed chauffeur behind the wheel. He looked about fifty, with a full, florid face and a few too many pounds around his stomach.

‘Don't get out, William,' his employer called out, on opening the back door. ‘Just hand me the keys and I'll put the luggage in the boot. This is Marina, by the way, all the way from Sydney, Australia.'

‘How do you do, miss?' the chauffeur said, lifting
his cap in greeting as she climbed in and settled in the most comfy brown leather seat.

They exchanged a smile in the rear-vision mirror. ‘His Lordship was over the moon when he found out you were coming, miss. It's ever so good of you to do what you're doing.'

‘That's nice of you to say so, but I'm only doing what anybody would do, under the circumstances.'

‘I wouldn't say that. I wouldn't say that at all.'

‘What wouldn't you say, William?' the man himself asked, on joining them and handing back the keys.

‘That not everyone would do what this pretty lady is doing for Rebecca. Or come this far to do it.'

‘You're quite right. I wholeheartedly agree with you. Straight to the apartment, William.'

‘Very good, My Lord.'

His Lordship stayed well over on his side of the roomy back seat, Marina noted, which was a relief. There was something about being confined in a car with him which was even more disturbing than ogling him from behind, or conjuring up erotic little scenarios in her head. Their enclosed closeness meant she could not only see him. She could smell him.

No matter how often Shane showered he still smelt slightly of sweat and horses. This man smelt of something very expensive. An exotic, spicy scent which teased the nostrils and made you think of crisp clean air and pines covered in snow, of cool white sheets and freshly washed bodies and…

Oh, my God, I'm doing it again!

Marina wrenched her mind back from the abyss, turning her head away from the inspiration of her erotic thoughts and that damned cologne he was wearing. She stared out at the suburban London street and the rows of identical houses, and tried to pull herself together.

‘You mentioned your mother died of cancer…'

Darn it, he was speaking to her. She would have to turn her head back and look at him.

She did so. Slowly. Nonchalantly. ‘Yes, that's right,' she said, and their eyes met. He really did have riveting eyes, she thought. The blue was as intense as their expression.

‘Was it leukaemia?' he asked.

‘No. She died from skin cancer. A couple of months back. Melanoma. It took her fairly quickly after it was diagnosed. Though it's never quick enough, is it?' she added, her heart contracting at the thought of her mother's suffering.

‘And your father? How is he coping?'

‘My father died when I was just a baby. A horse he was breaking in threw him into a fence. Snapped his neck. That's why I have no brothers or sisters.'

‘Your poor mother.'

‘Oh, Mum coped. Mum always coped. She was very strong. Very brave.'

‘Her daughter takes after her.'

Marina shook her head. ‘I wish I did. But let's not talk about me. I want you to tell me about Rebecca and her background.'

‘What would you like to know?'

‘Oh…everything, I guess.' She was very curious about the child, plus how she came to have such a young great-uncle.

‘It's only a half-hour drive to Mayfair at this time of day,' he said a touch ruefully. ‘I doubt I can fit the Winterborne saga into such a short space of time. But I'll try. Though I'll keep it down to the relevant details and leave whatever family skeletons I can in the closet. I want you to think well of us.'

‘I already think well of you,' she said, before she could bite the words back.

But it was true. Aside from the unfortunate physical attraction, she
did
think well of him. This was no selfish man sitting across from her. A selfish man would not have personally taken himself in to Heathrow airport at five in the morning. A selfish man would not have given a hoot if his chauffeur had arthritis. A selfish man would not love a little girl as he obviously loved his great-niece.

His smile was ironic. ‘You don't really know me, Marina.'

She shrugged. ‘A man is known by his actions.'

He nodded slowly up and down. ‘I'll try to remember that. Now where was I? Oh, yes. Rebecca…'

Marina soon realised she could listen to the Earl of Winterborne talk all day. He had a wonderfully rich voice. And perfect vowels. She would never have imagined perfect vowels could fascinate her, but they did. The whole man fascinated her, if she was truthful. As did his story…

It turned out that James had not been born to be
the earl of Winterborne. That honour had gone to his brother, Laurence, who was an amazing twenty years his elder.

This Laurence had apparently been a bit of a wild one, given to gambling and living the high life. Unfortunately, his father, the Earl, had dropped dead of a coronary soon after his elder son turned twenty-one, so Laurence had inherited the title at a young age.

Admittedly, Laurence had startled everyone by marrying almost immediately, but any hope that marriage would settle him down and make him face the responsibilities associated with his title, plus running the family estate, had soon evaporated—mostly due to his choice of wife.

Joy was the youngest daughter in a family of four daughters, all of them renowned for their wildly ambitious and social-climbing natures. With the high-flying Joy by his side, Laurence's life had been even more flamboyant and extravagant than ever. They'd gambled together, travelled abroad, skied, shopped and partied. They'd hardly ever been at Winterborne Hall, which was a relief to Laurence's mother, who was still grieving for her husband while trying to bring up a young son at the age of forty-five.

The birth of a daughter, Estelle, two years after their wedding, had done nothing to change the jet-setting lifestyle of Lord and Lady Winterborne. They'd merely installed their new-born baby at Winterborne Hall with a nanny and taken off again.

Because of their closeness in age, Estelle had been more like a little sister to James than a niece, and
although he and his mother had done their best to fill the gaps of love in the child's life Estelle had grown up feeling neglected and abandoned by her parents. She'd always imagined it would have been different if she'd been a boy, and heir to the title, but James doubted it. His brother didn't give a fig about what happened to the title after he was gone.

Estelle had eventually left home and begun taking drugs, then, after her parents cut off her allowance, had paid for her habit through selling herself on the streets.

By this time James had been at university, at Cambridge, and Estelle would occasionally contact him when she was desperate for money. He would try to talk some sense into her but to no avail. It had only been when she'd fallen pregnant a few years later—father unknown—that he was able to talk her into going home.

She had, and, with her grandmother's help, had stayed drug-free till she'd given birth to her daughter, Rebecca. Less than a month later, however, she had died of an overdose of heroin. She was twenty-five—two years younger than her uncle James.

Rebecca's grandparents, who'd still been leading self-indulgent lives, had been no more interested in their granddaughter's well-being than they had in their own daughter's. A nanny had been hired and that was that. Unfortunately, when Rebecca was only one year old, her great-grandmother had passed away, and, with James leading his own life in London by then,
little Rebecca had seemed doomed to grow up even more lonely and neglected than her own mother.

Fate had stepped in, however, when her grandparents were killed on the ski-slopes of Switzerland during an avalanche two years back, making James the new Earl of Winterborne. He'd taken over the reins at Winterborne Hall, plus the guardianship of his then five-year-old great-niece, and had just brought some real love and happiness into the poor tot's life when she'd been diagnosed with leukaemia.

Her existence over the last couple of years had consisted of nothing but doing the rounds of specialists, stays in hospitals, chemotherapy and sheer misery.

‘So you can see,' Rebecca's amazingly young great-uncle finished up, ‘she's been having a real rough time of it.'

‘It goes like that sometimes, doesn't it?' Marina commiserated. ‘It doesn't rain but it pours.'

Just then the rainclouds parted and a ray of sunshine pierced the passenger window, landing in Marina's eyes. She blinked, then laughed softly. ‘I hope that sun's a good omen. I think it might be, you know. I mean…what were the chances of finding a near-perfect match with Rebecca? One in a million?'

She turned her head towards her co-passenger, and caught him staring at her with those intense blue eyes of his. ‘I would say that just about describes you,' he said in a serious tone.

Marina's heart flipped over at the compliment. Her laugh felt strained. ‘What a flatterer you are, My Lord. You'll turn my head if you don't watch it.'

He said nothing, and she found his silence even more unnerving than his penetrating gaze. What was he thinking? Feeling? Was it merely curiosity about her which made him stare so? Surely the attraction couldn't be mutual, could it?

She swallowed, and struggled to think of something to say.
Anything.

‘Are…are we far from Mayfair?' she asked, even when she already knew the answer. They were skirting a large park, possibly Hyde Park, and the streets were heavy with traffic even at this early hour. Some time back the rows of suburban houses had given way to impressive old buildings, mostly made of a greyish stone. Not a glass and concrete skyscraper in sight anywhere.

‘Not far,' he said. ‘I take it you haven't been to London before?'

‘Actually, I have. A couple of years back. Came on a shoestring and did what touristy things I could afford. Saw the changing of the Guard at Buckingham Palace, and Madame Tussaud's and the Tower of London, not to mention all the museums and galleries. The free ones, that is,' she laughed.

‘Did you go to the theatre?'

‘Heavens, no. Too expensive.'

‘I'll take you, if you like.'

She shot him a sharp look, but there was nothing in his face which suggested anything but politeness.

‘Oh, I…er…I don't think I'll really have the time, do you? Not if I'm to go down to Winterborne Hall as well.'

His eyebrows lifted in surprise. ‘You mean you'll actually come?'

‘I…well…you said you wouldn't take no for an answer.'

His laugh did not sound particularly happy for some reason. ‘But I never for one moment thought you'd succumb to that kind of male pressure.'

What a provocative expression, she thought. Succumb to male pressure. It conjured up the image of an attempted seduction and an almost unwilling surrender.

Marina could not help staring into his face again, for some hint of his feelings towards her. But there was nothing to go on. He had a habit of holding his facial features in that stiffly autocratic fashion which bespoke things like ancestral pride and honour and arrogance, but nothing of any personal emotion. If he was attracted to her on any physical level, his body language did not show it.

While some deep feminine instinct rang a warning that perhaps it was not wise to go down to Winterborne Hall, suddenly wild horses would not have kept her away. She wanted to see his ancestral home, wanted to see him in it, wanted to sleep in one of those dozen bedrooms—if only to spend the night fantasising over the Lord and Master of Winterborne Hall.

‘It's not a matter of succumbing to male pressure,' she said firmly, ‘but deciding for myself that I would really like to see Rebecca's home. Still, I can only spare a couple of days. I really need to be getting back
to
my
home as soon as possible.' Back to the real world, she told herself ruefully. And away from this fantasy one, complete with fantasy man.

‘You must be missing your fiancé,' he said. ‘What was his name again?'

‘Shane.'

‘What does he do for a living?'

‘He helped my mother run her riding and dressage school. He's quite marvellous with horses.'

‘I see. But what is he doing now that your mother has passed on?'

‘Just the same. It would be a shame to let all my mother's work go to rack and ruin. She built up a good business with plenty of clients. And her horses are simply the best.'

‘But that's not what
you
do, is it?'

Marina was startled by his intuitive comment. ‘Why do you say that?'

‘Your hands, for one thing. It's also obvious you don't spend much time in the sun.'

She stared down at her soft, pale hands, which were resting lightly in her lap. She was unnerved by the sharpness of his observations. What else had he noted about her? Could he look into her mind as well, see all those appalling thoughts she'd been having about him?

Her fingers linked together and pressed down hard. ‘You're quite right,' she said a little stiffly. ‘I'm a teacher.'