The Forbidden Innocent (7 page)

She pulled her sweater down over her aching breasts. ‘What… what do you think you’re doing?’ she stumbled.

With an effort he sucked air back into his lungs and an unbearable frustration coated his words with bitterness. ‘Oh, come on—Ashley. A little less of the outraged innocence,’ he bit out. ‘That kiss has been weeks in the making—you know that and I know that. And please don’t pretend you didn’t want it as much as I did. It’s bad enough to be thwarted in a situation like this—but hypocrisy would make it simply intolerable.’

Shame washed over her. Ashley opened her mouth to protest—to fling his unjust accusations back at him—but how could she do that, when deep down she knew that he spoke nothing but the truth? This
had
been weeks in the making—if she was honest enough to admit to all the little glances and side-glances they’d exchanged. That feeling of excitement and frustration whenever he was around. And she couldn’t deny that she
had
wanted it—maybe she was just taken aback by how much he seemed to want her, too.

She was confused and bewildered, and Ashley’s instinct to escape overrode everything. Her cheeks burning with shame, she turned her back on him and ran—her footsteps slipping and sliding in the soft mud as she gathered pace.

‘Ashley!’

She heard his angry roar from behind her but she
paid it no attention and carried on running, her breath coming in hot, painful gasps as she fled towards the house.

Once inside, she pulled off her muddy shoes and rushed upstairs to her room, staring at herself in the mirror in disbelief as she saw her unbuttoned coat and the rumpled sweater and remembered Jack’s hand straying inside it and touching her there.

Briefly, she closed her eyes and swallowed as she recalled that brief burst of pleasure as his fingers had closed over her breast. And that disbelieving sense of joy as he had kissed her so passionately.

Yet the image in the mirror mocked her with its flushed cheeks and the normally neat hair tumbling down around her face. And if that kiss had made Jack into someone she didn’t really recognise—couldn’t the same be said about her? Was that wide-eyed creature really her?

Her thoughts spinning, she tried to put it into perspective. She was wary of men, yes—but she wasn’t a prude. She knew that sex was part of life and long ago she had decided that she was going to hold out for love, if such a thing existed. She’d seen too many people sell themselves short—and the truth was that she’d never felt even a flicker of interest in a man before. Not before Jack. And then suddenly along had come this great big flame of desire which now threatened to engulf her.

But it was wrong on so many levels. Jack was her boss and he was an aristocrat. And things like that mattered. Rich and eligible landowners didn’t form serious
relationships with teenage girls who’d spent their life in the care system. Not unless they had traffic-stopping good looks and legs up to their armpits. They might want to take them to
bed
—to have a bit of a fling with them—but that was as far as it went. This was her
job
she was putting into jeopardy—a job she needed far too much to risk losing.

But you liked it, didn’t you? You liked it a lot. For all your supposed high moral stance about men—you capitulated pretty quickly. Maybe you’re more like your mother than you thought you were.

Her fingers shaking, she pinned her hair back and shook her head at her own flushed reflection. No! She was nothing
like
her mother.

And then to her horror she heard a knock on the door and knew it could only be one person.

‘Ashley?’

She heard the dark note underpinning his voice and froze.

‘Ashley, answer me! I know you’re in there. Are you going to open the damned door?’

Her heart thundering, she stared at the dark oak barrier which lay between them. ‘And if I don’t?’

‘Then you’ll make me very angry indeed.’

Angrier than he already sounded? she wondered. But what choice did she have other than to open it? She could hardly barricade herself in there like some sort of cowering princess in a tower. She was going to have to come out and face him
some
time. Cautiously, she pulled open the door to find him standing there, his
black eyes spitting out a series of conflicting messages. Anger, yes—and irritation, certainly. But she wasn’t a fool—and only a fool would have denied the desire which still smouldered at their smoky depths.

He studied her. ‘So why the dramatics? Why the hell did you run off like that?’

‘Isn’t it obvious?’

‘Not really, no. Was it such a terrible thing which happened, Ashley? Do I repulse you so much that it made your flesh crawl?’

She blushed as she stared down at the ground—unwilling to meet the accusation in his eyes, terrified that he would see the naked longing in hers. ‘You know you don’t,’ she answered quietly.

‘Yes, I do know.’ Frustration heated his blood, swamping all the guilt which coursed through his veins. And it took every ounce of self-possession he knew not to take her into his arms and kiss away that pious expression on her face. ‘So what made you run away like that?’ he questioned again. ‘Were you afraid that I was going to have my wicked way with you out there on the hilltop, whether you liked it or not?’

Steadily, she lifted her eyes. ‘It was wrong, Jack. You know it was wrong. We both do.’

Jack shook his head. How dared she—
she
—tell him what was right and what was wrong? Yet the irony was that she was speaking the truth—it
was
wrong—though she didn’t have a clue why. And maybe he should listen to her. Turn his back and walk away while he still could—before he did something he might regret and brought
a whole pile of repercussions crashing down around him. Instinct told him to go while he still could and that instinct was strong—but the siren call of his body was even stronger. ‘Why was it wrong?’ he demanded.

‘Because… because I work for you. Because of who I am and who
you
are. We’re worlds apart. Or rather, I don’t come from your sort of world.’ Her voice quietened. ‘But you’re an intelligent man, Jack—and you certainly don’t need me to spell it out for you.’

His lips curved. ‘So you’re inhibited by old-fashioned ideas about social status, is that it? About your place in society and mine? Why, I’m disappointed in you, Ashley.’

‘Well, don’t be—it’s the truth, and you know it.’

‘Is it? Even if it was—I wasn’t proposing we spend a lifetime together,’ he added cuttingly. ‘I just thought we could enjoy something which we have both been wanting for some time.’

It was the best thing he could have said—even if it was also the most hurtful. Because it reinforced what Ashley already suspected. That to Jack, she was just a commodity. Like a bottle of wine or a new shirt—she was something which he would use, enjoy and then ultimately discard. And where would that leave her? Creeping away from here shamefaced when the job ended—with him probably feeling disgusted at himself, maybe even giving her a lukewarm reference as a consequence, and jeopardising future job prospects into the bargain.

‘Do you know why they say you should never mix
business and pleasure?’ she returned hotly, his arrogance giving her the strength to fight her corner. ‘Because it happens to be true.’ She drew a deep breath as she struggled to convince herself. ‘And it mustn’t happen again, Jack. It mustn’t. Do you understand?’

There was silence for a moment as he saw the determination written on her now-pale features and the exquisite irony of the situation didn’t escape him. Quiet little Ashley Jones who had been on fire in his arms was now primly telling him that it was a no-go. Did she think he was going to fight to change her mind? Sweep her into his arms and make her rethink? Well, in that case—she was going to be very disappointed.

His mouth tightened. ‘Very well, Ashley,’ he said, his voice low. ‘If that’s what you want, then that’s exactly what you’ll get.’ And, with a finality which took her breath away, he turned swiftly on his heel and walked away, leaving her staring at his retreating back as tears began to well in her eyes. Hotly, they pricked at her eyes as she sank down on the bed, burying her face in her hands and wondering how she could have let him go like that. Turned away the only man she had ever really wanted.

Because it was the right thing to do. The only thing to do. And if she was going to carry on working for him—then they had both better forget that it had ever happened.

It took a strange kind of courage to go and face him again, but Jack wasn’t in the study when she went downstairs. In fact, there was no sign of him anywhere in the
house—only a rather disconsolate-looking Casey sniffing around the place and looking as lost as he always did when his master wasn’t around. And when Christine arrived later that day, carrying a whole load of shopping and provisions, unusually, she didn’t ask where Jack was.

It was only when Ashley mentioned his name in a studiedly casual way that she received yet another shock.

‘Have you spoken to Mr Marchant?’ she asked the housekeeper.

Christine nodded as she slid a carton of orange juice into the fridge. ‘Yes, he rang me just before he went off to London,’ she answered.

Ashley’s heart missed a beat. ‘To London?’ she repeated—some stupid element of hurt pride not wanting to admit that she didn’t have a clue what the older woman was talking about.

‘Didn’t he tell you? No? Actually, I wondered when he’d be going down there again,’ confided Christine. ‘He hasn’t been for ages, which is very unusual—not since you started working here, come to think of it.’

With an effort, Ashley kept her face blank. Even more hurtful than the thought that he hadn’t bothered to tell her he was going was the realisation that Jack had a whole different life about which she knew precisely nothing.

But of course he did! What did she expect?
That he should be languishing here, isolated from the world, just waiting for someone like her to walk into his life?
He had money, connections and a faintly glamorous profession, which he didn’t even need to do because he was independently rich through his inheritance. Of
course
he had another life!

She tried to concentrate on his novel, which had now reached a nail-biting section involving some undercover work which was leading up towards a bloody ambush. But the work which she’d previously found so engrossing had lost something of its appeal and it wouldn’t take a genius to work out why.

She missed the dark force of Jack’s character as he sat working on the other side of the room. She missed the conversations they would have over their morning coffee. The way he would sometimes look up and the light from his dark eyes would pierce through her like a laser beam. And she missed feeling singled out by him—as if he thought she was somehow
special.
Mealtimes were dull without him and she felt like an imposter—as if she had no legitimate reason to be there. And the house felt empty—as if it had lost its heart and soul.

With spare time on her hands, she began to wonder whether Jack had been right and whether she was the world’s biggest hypocrite. Because she
had
wanted him to make love to her and yet had denied it—even to herself. She had responded to him with all the passion of a woman and then run away like a frightened little girl. Had she been so scared of her own feelings that she didn’t dare risk it—or was she just guarding herself against the possibility of being hurt by him?

She missed him more than she had thought it was possible to miss anyone. And then one morning she had to dodge round one of the cleaners, who was polishing the oak floor in the hall, and when she walked into the kitchen Ashley saw Christine bustling around on a day when she wasn’t supposed to be working.

‘Hello! I didn’t know you were coming in today,’ Ashley said.

The housekeeper put down the cookery book she’d been poring over. ‘No, I wasn’t—but Mr Marchant’s coming back for the weekend!’

Ashley’s heart began to pound with excitement as she told herself that it didn’t matter that he hadn’t bothered mentioning it to
her.
The most important thing was that Jack was coming home. Back home—where he belonged. He’d be walking into the study every morning just as he used to—with those dark, clever eyes watching her. Once more, they would spend long days together.

And if he tried to kiss her again—would it really be the end of the world? What if she just went with the flow and let him make love to her—as most women in her position would have done? Would that be so very wrong, given the feelings she had for him? Maybe it was time to stop acting like a little girl and to embrace all that went with being a woman. Ashley found herself grinning like an idiot as suitable words to express her joy seemed grossly inappropriate. ‘That’s… nice,’ she managed.

‘Is it?’ Christine’s tone was disapproving as she reached into the cupboard for some eggs. ‘Not when he
suddenly announces he’s bringing people with him—and barely giving me enough time to do the catering.’

Ashley stilled as an unknown foreboding began to creep over her skin. ‘People?’ she echoed quietly. ‘W-what people?’

‘Oh, some of his fancy friends, I expect.’ The housekeeper gave a shrug. ‘Those glamorous types who are a
nightmare
to cook for—won’t eat dairy, won’t eat wheat—never heard anything like it! That Nicole will probably be among them. She usually is.’

Ashley’s heartbeat now became dizzyingly erratic. He was bringing people here? Well, of course he was. What had she expected—that he might run it past
her
first? ‘Really?’ she questioned, in a voice she didn’t quite recognise as her own.

‘You would think,’ continued Christine darkly, ‘that he would deal with his
other
commitments and priorities at home, before he goes gallivanting off to London with all those other women.’

But Ashley scarcely heard her. Vaguely, she wondered what the housekeeper meant by
commitments
and
priorities
—but there were much more pressing issues on her mind.
Those other women,
Christine had said.