Deception (4 page)

Wearing
her indignation like an armour, against she knew not what, Thea picked up her
jug of lemon and
marched angrily from the kitchen. Again she
resolved to
leave at dawn. There were bound to be more
comfortable
places in which to nurse her hurt feelings.

Mr
Murray was still lying quietly where she had left him
when
she returned to his room. Immediately she noticed
the
room was warming up nicely and felt quite pleased with
herself.
She must remember, though, to bring up more logs.
It
was a longish haul from the kitchen, but the fire mustn't
be allowed to go out.

Cautiously
she approached the bed. Although he was
quiet he still seemed
very hot. Putting down the bowl of
fresh water which she had
collected as she passed the bath
room, she began bathing
his face again. Now that she had
her feelings under strict
control, she didn't find this so
difficult. It was simply
a matter of being sensible, of re
minding herself that Mr
Murray was a sick man in need of
help, and she,
unfortunately, was the only one available to
give it to him.
He might have a wife and brothers, but none
of them appeared to be here.

It
obviously still soothed him when she bathed his face and hands, but she didn't
like the way he repeatedly threw
off his blankets. It
couldn't be helping his fever and she
continued to find it
disturbing. Once, as she was pulling
his sheets up, he opened
his eyes and stared at her. It was a
terrible shock, a
curious experience. His eyes were like
Jamie's, but a darker
green. With a strangled little gasp she
shrank from him, until
she realised he wasn't really seeing
her.

As
he closed his eyes again her breathing returned to
normal.
Green eyes, a hard, handsome face and black hair.
He
was attractive, and she hated to think she was aware of
it.
Wasn't it high time she developed better judgment?
Jerry
had been a rogue, and while this man might not be
that,
he was married. After Jerry she had vowed she would
never be taken in by a
man again, yet here she was
trembling
because a perfect stranger had chanced to glance
at her. An unconscious
one, at that!

It
was unforeseeable, of course, that just as she was de
ciding
to leave him, Mr Murray should start shivering, and
immediately
her own problems fled as she found herself
concentrating on his.
First he was raging hot, now he was
cold, for all the room was warmer. If she
could find a
pyjama jacket and get him into
it, this might help.

Feeling
she was trespassing, she opened several drawers
but could find
nothing, the vast majority of them being empty. Next she looked in the huge
wardrobes, but with
out success. It puzzled her that the lady's
wardrobe was
completely empty and there were no women's
clothes in the
other one which contained only Mr Murray's
suits.

Eventually
she settled for one of his soft silk shirts, but when she tried nervously to
get it around his broad shoul
ders he flung her off
with such ferocity that she went flying
back over the room.
Unable to do anything to save herself,
she banged her head on
the side of the dressing-table and
for a few moments she
could see nothing but stars.

When
the room righted itself again, with a soft moan she
sat
up. Nursing her sore head in her hands, she felt sure
her
neck must be broken. It took a lot of effort to scramble
to her feet and return
to the bed. Effort and courage! .
About to
tell Mr Murray exactly what she thought of him, she saw hazily that he was
still unconscious and couldn't
have known what he was doing.

She
went to sit on the bare carpet by the fire to recover,
tears
beginning to trickle down her cheeks, and she just sat
there,
letting them. It must be the silliest situation on earth
—a
girl like herself attempting to take care of a man like that! If she had been a
real nurse it mightn't have been so
crazy, but she wasn't.
She had flown from London to
escape what she had considered an
intolerable situation and
seemed well on her way to getting
involved in another even
worse one. With only a little more force Mr
Murray might
easily have done her a serious injury. She
could still feel
the almost frightening strength of his arms.

Deciding
there was nothing more she could do for him but keep the room warm, she roused
herself and went downstairs for more logs. With these she replenished the
fire,
grateful that the crackle of them disguised his difficult
breathing. The fire
grew hot, making her drowsy. She
must have
fallen asleep as she woke with a start to hear
him mumbling again and throwing himself about. Fearing
he might fall out of bed, she jumped clumsily to
her feet
and ran to his side.

'Mr Murray,' she
implored, hoping she might get
through to
him, 'you mustn't do that! You'll only make
yourself ill...' Pausing helplessly, she substituted a hasty
'worse'. He was still very ill, she could see,
although he
was cooler. She
discovered this when she grasped his shoul
der, in an automatic attempt to prevent
him
hurting him
self.

She
was completely unprepared when his arms shot out
and she found
herself jerked swiftly down to him, toppled on to the bed and held fast against
his long, lean body.

'Let
me go—at once!' she heard herself crying, her
breath
almost removed by shock. 'Please, Mr Murray!'

She
sensed at once that it was no good trying to reason
with
him. He was delirious, possessing the extra strength of
someone
temporarily out of their mind. He didn't know what he was doing or saying, and
she would be wiser to
save her breath to fight him. Words could be
a sheer waste
of time.

Fright
prompted her to begin hitting out at him, as
strangely, she
seemed to be attacked both by him and the wildest of feelings—feelings
she found difficult to under
stand as they swept
through her slight body. Fiercely she
tried to keep on
fighting him, but the determined grip of
his arms made this more
impossible by the minute.

Soon
she was lying weakly panting, held fast against the
hard
muscles of his broad chest. Fear mounted within her
as
she lay half crying, not knowing what to do. Jamie might
come
if she could manage to shout for help, but she was
reluctant
to do this. He had so little, but he obviously
thought the world
of his father. How could she risk strip
ping that eager
hero-worship from his eyes? She had an
uneasy feeling this might happen if he came in
and found his father holding her like this.

No—she moved her
head hopelessly, under the pressure of Murray's hand. She should have guessed
what could happen and been prepared for it. With a little foresight such a
situation might have been avoided, so it must be up to her to get herself out
of it, without frightening Jamie.

Mr Murray's arms were
still tightly around her and she was gathering strength to renew her struggles
when she heard him muttering the first intelligible words he had said since she
came. 'Kay,' she made out, 'I can't believe you've come back.'

'I haven't—you're
crazy!' Terror coursed rigorously through Thea as she tried futilely to escape
him. His voice was slurred, his harsh query resulting directly from inflamed
lungs and mind. 'Please!' she entreated, hoping desperately to get through to
him before he crushed her to death. 'You don't know what you're saying, Mr
Murray. I'm not Kay!'

'Kay,' he laughed
harshly, 'my sweet bitch of a wife!'

As Thea shrank from
his contemptuous tones, she realised that her protests had done nothing more
than stir his memory. Kay must be his wife and it seemed very clear that they
were either separated or not on the best of terms. He sounded as though he
would like to do something violent to her.

Too late Thea became
aware that this indeed must be his intention. Without warning he turned on his
side, pulling her closer, bringing his mouth down hard on hers. Shock and
something else flared within her again as he crushed her lips beneath his. She
tried to draw away, to protest, but the parting of her lips only served to inflame
him more. Swiftly he seemed consumed by a devouring anger which threatened to
send her into dark oblivion. Under the weight of his body and the force of his
mouth she was held immobile.
 
  

She
had never been kissed like this before. His body
seemed a mass of
throbbing need which quickly conveyed a
message to hers. Against
her will, while her mind only
wanted to be free of him, every
nerve, every fibre of her
being started to respond. As his
kiss deepened, becoming
more demanding, she felt herself clinging to
him, even
when his main purpose appeared to be to inflict pain.
This he was making abundantly clear, both with his mouth and
in
the hands that roamed brutally over her. Savagely he
thrust
the robe she wore aside, so that his hands might
better explore her slender young body.

Praying
feverishly that she wasn't going to faint, Thea tried to free herself, but as
her hands caught in the rough
ness of his chest a
burning sensation swept over her. It
was like a flood of
fire, a rawness of passion, bringing to
her heart and limbs a
kind of fluid awareness. Without her
^l
realising
it was happening, her body went weak, from
sensations she hadn't
known existed: Suddenly, unbeliev
ably, she felt herself
relaxing, her mouth becoming almost
as urgent as his.

The
swiftness of her release was so unexpected, it kept
her
still for several seconds in sheer surprise. Dazed, she
opened
emotion-laden eyes to hear him gasp as he abruptly
shook
his head. While gulping air into her own deprived lungs, she saw him rub his
hand over his eyes, as if trying
desperately to wipe away
the veil of darkness that blinded
him.

'You've
changed, Kay,' he said thickly. 'You make me want you.' Then his threatening
attitude slowly changed.
With all the inconsistency of a very sick
man, he pushed
her away and fell exhausted back on to his
pillows.

Unable
to speak, feeling terribly weakened by the ex
perience
she had just been through, Thea stumbled from
the bed, across
the room. As she left him, Mr Murray
opened his eyes and
looked straight at her, again without
really seeing her.
Fervently she hoped that when he did
regain proper
consciousness, he would remember nothing
of her, or of what had just taken place.

Re-tying
her robe with shaking fingers, she felt so upset she was forced to go to the
bathroom for a drink of water,
and was almost afraid to go back to
the bedroom. After
wards, she found it difficult to believe,
after what had hap
pened, that throughout the remainder of the
night she had continued to tend the fire and look after the sick man.

Unable
to understand why she found it impossible to
leave him, she
bathed his face and gave him sips of the
diluted lemon. She took
care, of course, not to get too near
him, or when she had to
she was careful to keep a wary
eye on those strongly muscled arms.
Her new sense of
personal involvement was confusing, but she
would only have herself to blame if the same thing happened again.

Why
had his wife left him? she wondered, the empty wardrobe and neglected house no
longer a mystery. Were
they divorced, or had his wife simply got
tired of living with a penny-pinching husband? Murray, Thea decided,
was
the kind of man who married the beautiful and sophisti
cated
kind of woman. But some women, especially ones like
that,
often demanded luxury, deeming it more important
than the most superior of men.

Staring
down at him, as she now appeared to be doing
with increasing
frequency, she was conscious that she was
becoming too concerned
over both him and his son. Her
compassion for Jamie she could
tolerate, but never for his
father. Not after the way he had
kissed her, even if he * hadn't known what he was doing. She shivered to think
what could have happened if his fever weakened body
hadn't
denied him the fulfilment of the desires which, in
experienced
as she was, she sensed had been moving within
him.