When the Devil Drives (3 page)

seat. The towel, and the rest of the gear in the bag, was unused, so he

must be on his way to the country club, but if so what was he doing on

the high road, when there were other, more direct routes?

In spite of the towel's pristine condition, it was still his property, and

she was deeply reluctant to use so personal an item. The idea of

having to be beholden to him in any way affronted and revolted her.

But she couldn't escape the fact that water was dripping dismally

from her hair on to her face, and, after a brief internal tussle, she

unfolded the towel and began to blot away the worst of the moisture.

With any luck, he would be the one to catch pneumonia, she thought,

glaring through the windscreen at him as he worked. And, as if aware

of her scrutiny, Cal Blackstone looked round from his task, and

waved.

With a snort of temper Joanna tossed the towel back into the bag and

leaned back, savouring the undeniable comfort of her seat. Her father

had driven a Jaguar when she was a small child, she remembered, and

she'd always loved riding in it. She began to examine the dashboard

and internal fittings, trying to remember what they'd been like in her

father's day.

She'd been sitting with her father in the back of the Jaguar the first

time she'd seen Cal Blackstone, she remembered with a shiver of pure

distaste.

With regrettable promptitude, he appeared at the side of the car. 'Your

wheel is duly changed, madam. Don't forget to have your damaged

tyre mended.'

'I'm quite capable of working that out for myself,' she snapped.

'Of course.' He got into the driver's seat, and gave her a long look. His

eyes were grey, she found herself noticing for the first time. Grey

eyes, hard as steel, and cold as the skies above them. 'Please don't

overwhelm me with gratitude.'

Joanna flushed at the sarcasm in his tone. 'Thank you,' she said stiffly.

'It was—fortunate that you were passing.'

'I often use this road,' he returned. 'I like the view of the Northwaite

valley from up here.'

'If you can see it today, you must have X-ray vision.'

'I don't need to see it,' he said softly. 'I know what's there by heart. I've

always known.' He pointed outinto the mist and cloud. 'Away to your

right is the country club. As you come down the valley, there are the

chimneys of the Blackstone engineering works. They're generally

what people notice first, just as my grandfather intended when he

built the place. Then there's the Mill, relegated to second place these

days, I'm afraid.' He paused for a moment as if expecting some

response, some denial, and when there was none he continued, 'And

finally, down to the left, well away from the pollution of the workers'

houses in Northwaite, tucked away as if it's trying to hide, is Chalfont

House.'

When he smiled, his teeth were very white. A predator's smile,

Joanna thought, and her heart began to thump suddenly, harshly.

'Everything I own,' he said. 'And everything I intend to own before

I've finished. Including you, Joanna Chalfont, you beautiful, hostile

little bitch.'

For a moment she sat gaping at him, hardly able to credit what she'd

just heard. Then,

'How dare you?' She could barely squeeze the words out of the

frightening, painful tightness in her throat.

Cal Blackstone threw back his head and laughed. 'Said to the manner

born,' he mocked. 'The well-born young lady rebuking the upstart

pleb. It's wonderful what they teach you at those fancy Harrogate

schools!'

'I think you must be insane,' said Joanna, fumbling for the handle of

the door. 'I refuse to listen to any more of this.'

'You don't have to.' He was infuriatingly at his ease. 'I want you, and

I'm going to have you. There's nothing more to be said.'

'Well, you couldn't be more wrong!' Joanna flung at him. She was

trembling all over, fighting to keep her voice steady. 'I have a few

things to say myself, and the first is that I wouldn't have you, Callum

Blackstone, if you came gift-wrapped.'

He was still smiling. 'And what do you know about it?' he asked

softly. 'What do you know about anything, Miss Chalfont, except

pride and your own version of the past?' He shook his head slowly,

his gaze locked with hers. 'It's time you began to think of the future,

so let's start your thoughts in the right direction.'

The car door refused to budge under her frantic fingers. It was clearly

linked to some central locking system outside her control, trapping

her there alone with him.

Shrinking into the corner of her seat, Joanna saw Cal Blackstone

reach for her, felt her shoulders grasped without gentleness, and her

whole body drawn inexorably forward towards him. The smile had

been wiped from his face, and his grey eyes glittered with something

far removed from amusement. Something she barely understood, but,

strangely, feared just the same.

She said, on a little sob, 'No—ah—no,' then his mouth was on hers

and all further protest was stifled.

Nothing in her limited experience had prepared her for Cal's kiss and

nothing could have done. He held her ruthlessly, crushing her soft

breasts against the hard muscular wall of his chest, twining his hand

in her still-damp hair to hold her still, while his lips plundered hers,

relentlessly, hungrily—and endlessly.

She couldn't breathe. The scent of his skin filled her nostrils with a

sudden and desperate familiarity. Tiny coloured lights danced

frenetically behind her closed lids. She felt physically overpowered,

totally at his mercy. She thought she might be going to faint, and with

the thought came a surge of anger, and contempt for her own

weakness.

He muttered against her lips, 'Open your mouth,' and in a flash she

saw her salvation. Pliantly she obeyed. She felt his sigh of

satisfaction, was aware of his clasp slackening slightly so that he

could turn her in his arms, to hold her more easily against his body,

and as he relaxed she bit him hard, sinking her teeth into his lower lip.

Cal jerked his head away, swearing, lifting a hand almost

unbelievingly to his bleeding mouth.

'You little shrew!'

'Try explaining that to your latest woman!' Joanna flung at him. 'And,

from now on, keep your distance from me.'

He took a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at the blood. To

her fury he was grinning again.

'Not now I've had a taste of delights to come, sweetheart.'

'You'll get nothing more from me as long as you live! You might have

been able to take advantage of the situation today, but I'll make sure it

never happens again.'

'Ah, but it will,' he said softly. 'I may have lost the first skirmish,

Joanna, but the war's only just beginning. And, I warn you, nothing

but your complete surrender will do.'

She drew a swift, blazing breath, glaring at him. 'You're nothing but

an animal, Cal Blackstone!'

He held out the bloodstained handkerchief, staring grimly back at her.

'Then I've certainly picked the right mate.'

'You've picked nothing and no one. From now on, keep out of my

way!' She turned to wrestle with the door-handle, and to her chagrin it

worked instantly.

'Our paths were made to cross.' His voice followed her as she

stumbled out of the car. 'If you didn't know it before, you know it

now. So drive carefully, my hot-tempered vixen. When I finally get to

unwrap my gift, I want it to be perfect.'

She got to her car somehow, and sat, shaking, in the driving seat,

waiting until the Jaguar slid past, and was swallowed up in the mist

and rain.

She put up a cautious finger and touched the swollen contours of her

mouth. Her lips felt bruised, but the greatest wound she'd suffered

was humiliation.

She stared at the grey-soaked landscape, and thought, I'm afraid of

him.

Now, in the drawing-room of Chalfont House, Joanna found the same

words rising to her lips.
I'm afraid of him.

She shook herself irritably. That was what came of letting herself

remember—relive things best banished from her mind for good. But

oh, God, it had been so real. She could swear she'd almost felt the

pressure of Cal's mouth ravaging hers once more, tasted his

blood...Two years ago she had escaped him, but at what a price. She

couldn't run away again. This time she had to stand her ground and

fight him. She squared her shoulders, glancing up again at her

grandfather's portrait.

The war's on again, Grandpa,' she said. 'And this time I mean to

win—for all our sakes.'

She had to. Because surrender on Cal Blackstone's terms was

unthinkable.

THE mist swirled thickly above the high road. Joanna was lost in the

depths of it, the damp tendrils wreathing about her, stifling her,

confining her so that her limbs felt heavy and incapable of movement.

Yet she had to move—to run, because somewhere in the fog Cal

Blackstone was waiting, his predator's hands reaching to stop her—to

take her. She took one sluggish step, then another—and screamed

aloud as a hand closed purposefully on her shoulder.

'Why, Miss Joanna, whatever's the matter with you?'

Perspiring, Joanna opened her eyes and found Nanny, comforting as

the daylight pouring through the window, standing at her bedside

with a cup of tea.

She managed a weak smile. 'Sorry, Nan, I must have been dreaming.

Did I startle you?'

'It looks more as if you startled yourself, lass.' Nanny scrutinised her

austerely. 'You're white as a sheet! Drink your tea while it's hot.'

A cup of tea, Joanna thought. Nanny's panacea for all ills from a

headache to bereavement. She sat up, punching her tumbled pillows

into shape. 'You're spoiling me.'

'Well, make the most of it. It won't happen so soon again,' Nanny said

severely. 'And I've a message from Mr Simon.'

'Let me guess.' Joanna looked up at the ceiling. 'He's won a million

pounds on the football pools and all our problems are solved.'

Nanny snorted. 'Since when has Mr Simon done the pools?' she

demanded. 'I'm to tell you that Mrs Chalfont was taken badly in the

night, and he's gone with her to the nursing home.'

'You mean Fiona's started labour?' Joanna sat bolt upright. 'But the

baby's not due for another couple of months. Oh, that's awful!'

'Don't waste your sympathy,' Nanny advised tartly. 'That baby won't

be born until the right time, take my word for it. Madam's got

indigestion, as I told her.' She snorted. 'What can she

expect—sending Mr Simon into Northwaite at all hours for that

tandoori chicken stuff?'

'Oh, is that all?' Joanna relaxed.

'Anyway, Mr Simon said to tell you if he's not back in time for the

meeting this afternoon, you've to hold the fort. He said you'd

understand.'

Joanna choked on a mouthful of tea. 'He said
what?'

'You're not deaf. And don't spill that tea on your quilt.'

'But he can't do this,' Joanna said, half to herself. 'He's got to be back

here in time—he's got to...' She looked up beseechingly at Nanny.

'The nursing home—they'll send Fiona home straight away if it's just

indigestion, won't they?'

Nanny sniffed. 'The lord only knows. She might have discovered a

few more symptoms by the time the doctor comes round. Madam's

not averse to a few days in bed being waited on.'

Nanny could never be described as the young Mrs Chalfont's greatest

fan, but Joanna had to admit she spoke with a certain amount of

justice. Once in the luxury of the nursing home, with attentive nurses

answering her every bell, Fiona might well be reluctant to return to

Chalfont House where people were more likely to tell her to pull

herself together and stop making a fuss about nothing. And she would

certainly insist on Simon dancing attendance on her.

'After all,' Fiona had often pouted to him, 'it's your fault I'm feeling so

ghastly. It's your baby.'

Joanna groaned inwardly. Her plan to put several miles between

herself and Chalfont House prior to Cal Blackstone's arrival was now

plainly inoperable.

I could always ask him to postpone his visit, she thought, but

dismissed the idea almost as soon as it had formed. The last thing she

wanted, after all, was Cal Blackstone to guess her deep reluctance to

face him. And at a wider, less personal level, any attempt to put him

off might be unwise at this juncture.

If Simon doesn't come back in time, I'll talk to him myself, she

decided grimly. And I'll let him know that though he may have