The Devil at Archangel (27 page)

shared this very bed with Eulalie. It was this kind of realisation that

would have to be her safeguard, she told herself, biting savagely at

her lip. She didn't want to be just another woman in Devlin's life,

taken and discarded as the whim seized him.

In spite of her disturbed thoughts, she found her physical fatigue was

beginning to get the better of her, and she kept sinking into a light

doze, to wake with a thumping heart and dry mouth when a more than

ordinarily fierce gust hit the building. The rain was as heavy as ever,

but the lightning seemed to be lessening, and there was longer and

longer between each roll of thunder, making her think the storm

might be passing over.

She had almost lulled herself off to sleep with this consoling thought

when an almighty crash brought her bolt/upright, the answering

scream she could not control already on her lips.

Devlin came into the room. He looked tired and angry. 'For God's

sake,' he said irritably. 'It's only a bloody shutter.'

His eyes went over her, widening, and she realised, too late, what a

spectacle she must present. Hurriedly she scooped the covers up to

her throat.

'Thank you,' he said with too-elaborate courtesy. 'Things are quite

difficult enough without you flashing yourself at me like some tart

from a girlie magazine.'

She gasped and her face flamed. 'That's a lousy thing to say!'

'Well, I happen to feel lousy.'

'And -so do I,' she flared back at him. 'You said it yourself,

remember? I'm frightened, I'm hurt and I'm tired, but principally I'm

frightened. This may be just another storm to you, but it isn't to me.

Every time I close my eyes I'm afraid th& next time I open them there

won't be four walls round me. I didn't know that crash was just—a

bloody shutter. And if I hadn't screamed you wouldn't even have

come in here to see if I was all right.'

His lean body had gone very rigid. 'No, I wouldn't,' he said in a low

voice. 'You may look young, Christy, but you're surely woman

enough to know why I'm keeping away. Don't you know what it does

to me to know that you're in here, in, my bed, only a few feet away

from me?'

Her voice trembled. 'Oh, yes, I know. And it can't be any worse than

what the same knowledge does to me.'

His eyes narrowed unbelievingly for a moment, then he took a step

forward. His hands were already unfastening his shirt. 'I see,' he said

very softly. 'Well, in that case ...'

Christina closed her eyes and kept them resolutely shut even when the

bed beside her yielded to his weight. When he reached for her, his

hands were gentle.

'Oh, Christy,' there was a note of laughter in his husky voice, mingled

with an amazing tenderness, 'have you any idea how good—how

incredibly good—you feel?'

'So do you,' she managed out of a dry throat.

'So my touch isn't still abhorrent to you?' he questioned gravely, and

her eyes flew open, startled, to search his face. He laughed again,

deep in his throat, then bent to claim her mouth with passionate

possessiveness.

She clung to him unashamedly, responding with every fibre of her

being. No rain, no hurricane wind could compare with this storm of

desire Devlin could create in her— was creating in her. And yet, even

as she abandoned herself to the breathless languor that his caresses

were inducing, she sensed that something was amiss. The storm

seemed to be getting louder at every minute. The pounding of the rain

on the roof seemed almost to be in the room with them.

'Dear God in heaven!' Devlin lifted himself away from her and sat up,

listening intently. 'There's someone at the door.' He gave a muffled

groan. 'Surely there can't be more of Theo's bloody victims

demanding sanctuary?'

He threw himself out of bed and dragged on his jeans, fastening them

as he went out of the room.

Christina could hear it now properly, the desperate bang-ing on the

door. It didn't seem likely, but she supposed it could be just another

refugee from the storm.

Above the howl of the wind, she heard the door open and Devlin's

voice sounding surprised. And then she heard another voice she

recognised, speaking urgently. It was Clive Maynard.

Devlin strode back into the bedroom, picking up his shirt and

thrusting his arms into it.

'I have to go up to Archangel,' he said. 'Clive's come for me. There's

been an accident.'

'Is it Mrs Brandon?' Christina lifted herself on to her elbow and stared

at him. 'She was ill yesterday—a heart attack of some kind. Should I

come with you?'

He considered rapidly, then nodded. 'It might be best. I don't know

how long I'll be, and you'd only scare yourself into hysterics if you

were here for hours by yourself.' He went over to the clothes

cupboard and took out a light waterproof coat which he tossed on to

the bed. 'It'll swamp you, but it will have to do. Hurry!'

She obeyed him, her hands shaking. It was only when she was

enveloped in the folds of coat and coming out of the bedroom that she

remembered she had Clive Maynard to face. She coloured painfully

as she met his gaze, but he just said, 'Oh, hullo, Christina,' as if her

presence was entirely natural. She supposed it was not the first time

that he had come to summon Devlin and found him with a woman,

and bit her lip.

Devlin was standing by the door, rocking impatiently on his toes. He

took her arm, gripping it tightly. 'It's the track again, I'm afraid, honey

girl. Clive has the Range Rover waiting at the top. And don't look so

scared. The wind isn't nearly as bad as it was.'

But it was bad enough, she thought, as she scrambled up the track

again, bent and almost on all fours. She was gasping for breath when

she reached the top and the comparative shelter of the Range Rover.

She sat between Clive and Devlin in the front seat and Devlin drove.

'Where did it happen?' he flung at Clive across the top of her head.

Clive passed a hand wearily across his eyes. 'At the gates,' he

answered. 'They were fastened open, of course, but the wind must

have dislodged one of them and it blew across, just at that moment.

He must have been going at a hell of a lick—and he'd already had one

smash-up, by all accounts. He hit the gate head-on—wouldn't have

stood a chance. The phone's out of order, of course, but Louis has

gone for the doctor—not that there's anything he can do.'

'No,' Devlin said quietly, and Christina saw that his face was taut

under his tan.

She touched his arm timidly. 'What's happened? Is—is it Theo?'

'Yes,' he said, and was silent as the Range Rover turned off the road

towards the enormous wrought iron gates which marked the entrance

to Archangel. One of them was still half across, supporting the

tangled mass of metal which had once been a car. Christina stifled a

gasp as she saw it, and Clive put an arm round her shoulders and gave

her a comforting squeeze. 'Don't look,' he suggested gently.

All the lights were on in the house, and Madame Christophe stood at

the top of the steps as she had done when Christina first arrived there,

watching for them coming. But this time she came hurrying down,

her normally impassive face working. 'Ah, M'sieur Devlin.' She

clutched at him as he climbed out of the vehicle.
'Le pauvre petit!

Thank heaven you have come. Madame is distraught—beside

herself.'

'Yes.' He disengaged himself gently enough and put her from him.

'Where have they put him, Adele?'

In his room. I myself have done what was necessary. To think that I

should have to do such a thing ...' Her face puckered as if she was

going to burst into tears.

Devlin spoke sharply. 'There will have to be an inquest, of course.

That can't be avoided, even by my aunt. How did it happen, have you

any idea?'

She shrugged. 'He came home in a temper,' she said tonelessly. 'The

car was damaged and he spoke of an accident. Then he demanded

M'mselle.' Her eyes went past Devlin to where Christina stood by the

Range Rover. 'When he discovered she had not returned, he became

angry—violent. He said he knew where she had run to and he would

fetch her back by her hair. Madame tried to remonstrate with him, to

calm him—but he struck her and ran out to the car again. We heard

him go down the drive—there was something wrong with the engine

and he was shouting at the top of his voice—screaming curses. Then,

seconds later, we heard the crash. Louis and I both ran, but it was too

late.' She gave a long shuddering sigh. 'He was such a beautiful child.

I saw him born and he was truly—exquisite. And when the dark mood

was not on him, he could be very loving.'

He nodded. 'Go back to my aunt, Adele, and tell her I will be with her

presently.'

He watched her mount the steps and then came back with long strides

to the Range Rover. He took Christina in his arms and kissed her

mouth briefly and fiercely. He said, 'You see how things are here.

Don't stay at the house tonight. Clive and Lorna will put you up, and

I'll see you in the morning. I'd better warn you now, I intend to ask

you to marry me.' He lifted her hand to his lips and turned away.

Clive touched her arm. 'Come on, Christina. Lorna will be so thankful

to see you. She's been torturing herself ever since you left, thinking of

you caught in La Villette in this storm. This—happening, I'm afraid,

put everything else out of our minds, or we'd have sent out a search

party for you.'

'It's all right,' she Said. She lifted the hand Devlin had kissed and

cherished it against her cheek. 'I was quite safe.'

She watched Devlin stride up the steps, his dark figure outlined

against the light that streamed from the doorway. The wind had

lessened now. It was only a shadow of what it had been an hour

before. The rain too seemed to have spent itself and towards the sea

the sky even appeared to be clearing a little. The devil's breath had

blown, but only Theo had been the sufferer in the end. And she could

even think with pity of the sick white-haired woman who waited in

the great house with all her schemes in ruins about her. Devlin was

master of Archangel now.

As Devlin reached the doorway, Eulalie suddenly appeared from

within. Christina saw her head tilt as she looked up at him, her lips

moving passionately. She saw Devlin shake his head and step

forward, as if to pass her, and she saw Eulalie catch at his arm, her

other hand pressed against her abdomen in a gesture more eloquent

than any words could be. Devlin paused, then slowly, and it seemed

to the paralysed girl in the shadow of the Range Rover reluctantly, he

took her in his arms, cradling her dark head against his chest Christina

turned away. 'Shall we go?' she said mechanically.

Her eyes were burning as the vehicle turned out of the drive and

headed towards Clive's bungalow, but she did not cry. She thought

she had shed all her tears in Devlin's arms at the beach house. But she

must not think of Devlin's arms—or indeed of Devlin at all, and

especially she must not think of those few abrupt words which had

seemed so deliriously like a proposal of marriage. He owed her

nothing; He had not even seduced her, and he owed Eulalie

everything. She pressed her hand convulsively over her mouth to

stifle a sob and sensed Clive was looking at her.

She marshalled all her efforts to ask him, 'What will she do now?'

He understood immediately that she was referring to Marcelle

Brandon.'Go back to Martinique, I suppose. She has some relatives

there. She certainly won't want to stick round here and watch Devlin

starting to dismantle the mighty Brandon edifice. I imagine she'll stay

for the funeral, and then quietly vanish.' He gave her a sharp glance.

'Are you all right, Christina? You're awfully white. Not surprising, I

suppose, really, but do tell me if you're going to be sick. I can always

stop, you know ...'

She gave him a travesty of a smile. 'I'm fine, really. I— I'm sorry I

worried Lorna.'

There was silence between them until the bungalow was reached and

Lorna came out to greet them. Her brows rose slightly when she saw

what Christina was wearing, but she tactfully made no comment,

merely shepherding her to the spare room and bringing her cases to

her.

,She thanked Lorna, refused all offers of supper and a warm drink,

and when the door finally closed behind her hostess, fell across the

bed and lay like a stone.

She awoke the following morning to a blaze of sunlight, and lay for a

moment assimilating her surroundings and letting her memories of