Sweet Bondage (10 page)

They were not by themselves. Gemma was beginning to wonder if she'd been quite wise to tell Maxwell off in front of his employees. She bit her lip and waited in trepidation to see how she was going to be punished.

In the heavy silence that came down like a blanket of condemnation she worked it out in her mind that Maxwell was deliberately refraining from speaking in order to unnerve her. What was more, he was succeeding. It needed very little to tip the balance of her control, which was on the slide anyway. She must not let him disconcert her, make her fall still deeper into disgrace. Too much injustice had been done to her as it was. She didn't know how she was going to manage it, but she must not let him reduce her to tears.

Just when she thought her nerves couldn't stand it a moment longer he spoke, delivering an icy command that was as sharp as a rap across the knuckles. ‘Get off that boat and up to the house. I'll talk to you later.'

Gemma
was in no hurry to get off the boat The small strip of water that separated them offered at least an illusion of protection. Ashamed of that small flash of cowardice, feeling that she had taken about as much as she could stand, she threw the last remnants of caution to the wind. She would not submit to his domination.

‘No!' Defiance flamed in her eyes and on her cheeks. ‘I will not be sent away like this. I am the innocent party. Andy jumped on me! I didn't offer him the kind of inducement you're suggesting. If you hadn't come along just when you did I cringe to think what would have happened. But it certainly would not have been at my invitation.'

She was not the only one astounded by her temerity. Once again there was a breath-held silence with Andy listening avidly and Angus making an awkward pretense of interest in the rope mooring the boat, the anxiety on his kind face spelling out all too clearly to her that her previous fear was justified and that no one defied Maxwell Ross and got away with it.

The dark olive eyes stared icily into hers for a long moment and then he repeated the command. ‘Get off that boat and up to the house.'

He put his hand out to help her ashore. She glared at it resentfully, all motion held in check by impotent anger. Fearing the consequences of continuing to defy him, she
took
the only option open to her. She put out her hand, accepted his assistance, and then walked toward the house, her back stiff with mortification that in the end she'd had to submit to his mastery.

5

She had backed down, but in all fairness, what else could she have done? In fairness to Angus, whose embarrassment had shown a possible leaning to her, but set against this were his years of loyalty to his employer, which were too strong to be ignored. To keep up the confrontation would have increased his discomfort. And in fairness to herself, because in his quietly cold, enviably controlled way, Maxwell had looked determined enough to remove her from the boat by physical force if necessary, and she had suffered all the indignity she could take for one day without that. A lifetime's indignity had taken place in the space of an hour.

She let herself into the house by the back door. She sat at the kitchen table, her head in her hands. She hated all men. She especially hated Maxwell for taking Andy's word against hers and she really, if stupidly, hadn't expected that. She hated Andy for daring to touch her. Perhaps all he had intended was a kiss and a
grab
and it wouldn't have gone any further, but she couldn't be sure. He had touched her and she felt soiled because of it. There was a dull, sick feeling in her stomach and she knew it would be a long time before she could forget the horror of being trapped in his arms.

She was still sitting there when Maxwell came in. She straightened up, expelling her breath in a long, shuddering sigh as she cast him a wary look.

The bruised eyes in the haunted little face received no compassion; his expression reviled her for all the things he thought she was, for what he believed she had done to his brother and to a lesser degree for leading Andy on.

She flattened her hands against her head, trying to contain the disarray of her hair, wishing she'd thought to tidy it instead of wallowing in confusion and despair. It was bad enough to be regarded as a tramp; she didn't have to look the part.

She wished now that she'd made herself scarce before he came in, gone upstairs to her bedroom or busied herself with some household chore. Anything not to have to talk about what had happened. She was too vulnerable and too near the tears that must not be shed at all costs.

There were menace and purpose in his every step as he crossed the room. Towering above her, he lifted her face with one curved forefinger. ‘I hope you are satisfied.'

‘Satisfied?'

‘I fired Andy. That's what you wanted, isn't it?'

Her spirits soared, putting the glow back in her eyes. ‘No, it isn't what I wanted. I'm not that vindictive. I just wanted you to believe me. I'm not gloating because you've forced Andy to leave; I'm just happy that you believe me.'

The cynicism on his face dashed her hopes. ‘What put that into your head?' His eyes drilled into hers. ‘You asked for what you got. Andy's a mere boy, used to uncomplicated, straight-dealing girls. He was out of his league with you. I'm sure you're capable of distracting a much stronger character from the dull path of duty, so what chance did he have? You'd go to any man's head.'

The pressure of his finger on her chin increased, as if he was working some vengeance out of his system. The way he'd said, ‘You'd go to any man's head,' gave her the strangest feeling that this touched him personally and had nothing to do with either his brother or Andy. She didn't think he'd meant to say that. He had spoken his thoughts out loud. Did she go to his head? Was he having difficulty keeping his own emotions in check? It didn't seem possible for her to be so electrically aware of him as a man and for him to feel nothing in return. It was more probable that he was generating some of the heat, that the intense current was flowing from one to
the
other, a two-way thing. Even now, as her mind ran to fervent conjecture, the sensual pressure of his touch on her chin was sending abrasive shock waves, shafts of fire, through her entire system.

His hand dropped away with shattering, telling abruptness. Thumb and forefinger were rubbed agitatedly together, as if he was trying to rid the intensity of feeling that was burning there. The tension was such that she thought if it didn't ease, if the atmosphere between them didn't find a more relaxing level, something would snap, like a tautly held piece of elastic that just needed one final twist to fragment

‘If you think I'm to blame for the way Andy acted,' she said gruffly, her voice gaining more composure as she went on, ‘why did you fire him?'

‘He had whisky on his breath. On his own time, providing it doesn't interfere with his work the next day, he can drink himself insensible for all I care. I won't have him drinking on my time.'

Was that the only reason? she wondered. ‘Isn't dismissal harsh treatment for a drinking offense?'

‘If it were the first time, perhaps. It wasn't. I've had to reprimand him about this twice before. I warned him that if it happened again I would send him packing.'

‘I see.'

‘Don't tell me you're regretting your part?'

‘My
part!' she said in rising indignation. ‘I'll tell you what my part amounts to. If I hadn't skipped out of the house with the intention of trying to take the boat you wouldn't have followed and I don't suppose you would have had cause to talk to Andy and you wouldn't have known that he'd been drinking.'

‘You could be right about that.'

‘I'm glad I'm right about something. It makes a change. As far as Andy is concerned, in one way I'm sorry he's got the sack because I don't like to hear of anyone losing their livelihood, and especially not because of me.'

‘Don't burden your conscience on that score. You'll observe that I'm giving you the benefit of the doubt and assuming that somewhere in that self-centered and conniving little head of yours there is a conscience. Andy got the push because he took a dram too many. If it hadn't happened today it would have happened at some later date.'

‘Don't get me wrong. I feel as though it's through me, even though I'm no way to blame, but I'm certainly not sorry that I won't have to see him again. I wish I'd never got involved.'

She was aware of the disdain in his eyes and hated him for it.

‘You should regard this as a lesson, then. In the future, only seduce men who can take it.'

‘That's the most preposterous, unfounded accusation you've thrown at me yet. I did not seduce Andy. I asked him if he would take me
over
to the mainland. He strung me along that he might, and then he made a grab for me. Something like that couldn't happen to you, more's the pity, and you don't seem to possess the compassion to know that it isn't a very pleasant experience.'

‘Come on. Andy wouldn't have dared to lay a finger on you if you hadn't made an offer.'

‘Believe what you want. You always do. When I said I wished I'd never got involved I didn't mean just over this. I meant right from the beginning.'

‘I imagine that Ian does, too.'

‘I've never met Ian.' She might as well not have spoken.

‘You bewitched him. If he hadn't fallen for those wide, melting eyes and that beguilingly pure and angelic little face he would have got round to marrying Fiona and he wouldn't be where he is now.'

‘Got round to marrying Fiona?' she said, jumping on that, her brow crinkling on the cold tone in which he spoke. ‘That sounds a negative approach to marriage. I might even risk a calculated guess that in considering it Ian would have been bending to family pressure.'

‘Fiona would have been a sensible match for Ian. She's sweet and affectionate, with a keen sense of loyalty and moral responsibility and she keeps her nose clean. Ian should have had his head examined for preferring a packet of
trouble
like you.'

‘Why bother about Ian?' she flashed at him. ‘Why be so altruistic as to let your brother pick this peach of a girl from under your nose? Why don't you marry her yourself?'

‘I could do worse.'

‘Huh! It wouldn't do for me. I can see it all so clearly. Your perfectly laundered socks would always be in matched pairs, your slippers warming by the fire, your favorite meals cooked to perfection, no hint of extravagance and little wifey falling into a faint if another man so much as looked at her. So tediously predictable.' She raked her hand through her hair, as if by doing so she could bring the words she was searching for out of her head. ‘Believe me, I'm not scoffing at those qualities in a marriage, just as long as they're not the reason for getting married in the first place.'

‘Interesting. What would your reason be for getting married?'

‘That's easily answered. Sense wouldn't come into it. I'd love him insensibly. And I'd consent to marry him only if I couldn't bear not to marry him. It wouldn't matter if our characters were poles apart if we were compatible in other areas. I'm not denying that it's nice when everything is comfy and a bonus when it's wrapped up in family approval, but sometimes it seems to me that a few obstacles along the way can forge a stronger partnership.
There
could be no danger that you had drifted into it because it makes a tidy arrangement.' For some reason not quite known to her, perhaps because she was vexed by his rock-solidness and inflexibility, she slid him a flirtatious look from under her lashes. ‘You wouldn't enter into marriage with Fiona, or anyone for that matter, to please your family. You'd marry to please one person only
—yourself.'
Her tongue rested on this last word with savage emphasis.

‘I would also please one other person—the fortunate girl I married. I would give pleasure as well as take it. The more I took, the more I would give.'

Furious with herself for being the one to introduce that sensuous note, she lashed out tautly. ‘Does everything have to come down to sex?'

‘Have I misunderstood something? I thought I was agreeing with you. Didn't you say that if the other areas were all right—and by ‘other areas' I took it that you meant sexual compatibility—things like friendship, shared interests and having temperaments that complement and don't clash weren't all that important?'

Had she really said that? Yes, she supposed she had. He had merely brought her words into sharper focus and given them more punch. She sighed. He was getting her confused. Moreover, it was not in her nature
to
maintain a quarrel and she felt she had been drawn into this one against her better judgment. She had been manipulated into saying what she had by his manner. It had taunted her to try to provoke a reaction in him and, instead, he had turned the tables on her by inviting her reckless comments. She always seemed to be in the unenviable position of backing down. Be damned with caution, and the consequences, too! This time she would not back down.

With a lift of her chin and a significant sparkle in her eye she said, ‘There are many kinds of love. The affinity you have for a parent, a brother, a sister or a favorite relative. The tender love you feel for a helpless creature, a child or an animal. The love you have for a work of art, a piece of sculpture or a painting, and for growing things, trees and flowers and all the beauty of the earth and sky. But most important of all, perhaps the reason for our existence, is the love that's strong enough for you to give yourself to one person in a marriage which you hope will last for the rest of your life. That's some love; it's got to be to match up to such a huge commitment. The most precious love of all and, because of its intimate nature, the most physical. That side's got to be all right, otherwise the whole structure will fall down. And if it is, if you feel that intensely about someone, how can love not follow?'