Kelly's Man (11 page)

She threw him a burning look. 'And what's that supposed to mean?'

'Only that your sort has to be flattered and fawned on at every moment.' He looked down at her, and the sudden flash of white teeth in the tanned face sent a quiver through her system. 'You don't like that, do you?'

'Because it's not true,' she ground out low- toned.

'No?' he drawled. 'Your play of outraged innocence doesn't have me fooled, Kelly. You don't have a single scruple in that infinitely desirable body of yours.'

She bit back the almost instinctive retort. Whatever she could say at this moment would be considered provocation, and even after such short acquaintance Kelly knew how Nicholas would react thereto. They were quite alone beneath a narrow canopy of branches, and she had had ample evidence of his methods. At the thought of his uncompromising lovemaking her green eyes, in which the rawness of emotion was only too clear, hid quickly beneath long dark lashes.

A shuddering breath shook her body as she drew her mouth in a tight line. She was letting Nicholas get to her in a way no man had done before. It was bad enough that she could no longer control her feelings. To let him know it would be disastrous.

'At least you no longer try to deny it?' The words cut in on her thoughts.

She lifted her head. She had herself under control now. 'That I'm unscrupulous?' She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of unconcern. 'If I denied it you wouldn't believe me anyway, so why bother?'

A gleam came and went in the grey eyes. Despite her rigid attempt at composure Kelly felt the quickening of her pulses, but she managed to remain silent.

'I wonder if Andrew Lang understands you any better than Gary Sloan did.' Long fingers reached for her throat and began a slow stroking movement from the jaw down to the hollow with its feverish pulse. There was no affection in the touch, only a tantalising sensuousness which tightened her chest. 'Beneath that cool exterior you're a complex and hot-blooded female.'

Despite herself, Kelly could not stop her eyes jerking to his face. The familiar mockery was there, and the derision, but with it there was something else, a quality which she could not define but which was infinitely disturbing. Was it possible that Nicholas knew the drift of her unspoken thoughts? No! Perceptive he might be, and insufferably arrogant. Psychic he was not. Nevertheless it seemed wise to remove herself from his presence with the utmost speed.

'You said I was running late,' she said stiffly. 'Suppose you tell me what I'm supposed to be doing next?'

Just when she thought the breath would stop in her lungs the fingers left her throat. 'Checking the bedrooms,' he said, and his voice was quite without expression.

'The bedrooms?' Her voice shook just a little, and she could not look at him. Even now, when he was no longer touching her, she could feel a tingling where his fingers had been. 'I understood that there are maids who do the beds.'

'Of course. But it's Mary's custom to check the rooms after they've been done.'

They were almost at the rondavels now. The thought of being alone with Nicholas in a bedroom—no matter that it would be the impersonal room of a faceless guest—provoked an involuntarv shiver. Kelly felt she could not endure another minute of an intimacy which was becoming un- nervingly sensual.

'I can manage on my own,' she said coolly.

'I'm sure you can.' His voice was as cold as her own. 'But I'll go through one room with you, after that you'll know what to look for.'

'That's quite unnecessary. As the spoiled daughter of a rich tycoon'—she threw the words at him with a modicum of his own sarcasm—'I've been in enough hotel bedrooms to know how they should look.' And, as he still continued to walk with her, 'Besides, you must have enough chores of George's to keep you busy.'

He stood still and looked down at her. For once she could not drag her eyes away from his. Despite his impersonal expression there was once again the disturbing feeling that he understood her thoughts. Kelly braced herself for a cutting insistence, or at the very least a sarcastic remark, but it did not come.

'Very well,' Nicholas said quietly. 'But do the job properly. Any complaints from the guests and I'll hold you directly responsible.'

Kelly lifted her chin. 'There will be no complaints.'

Again^ there was the brief gleam which she did not quite understand, and which had the power to disturb her. But all he said was, 'Be in the kitchen at twelve sharp.'

Without waiting for an answer Nicholas strode away through the trees. Kelly stood for a moment and watched him. As before she was struck by the litheness and power of his movements. Arrogant and hateful he might be, but there was no denying that Nicholas Van Mijden was quite a man.

She was trembling as she went into the first rondavel and cast an expert eye around the room. She was at the door when she caught sight of her face in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed beneath a honey-coloured tan. On her forehead was a fine sheen of moisture, and her hair had escaped its neat style and was an untidy tumble of curls. But it was her eyes which caught her attention. They were very bright, sparkling with unaccustomed excitement. She was not so naive that she did not know what had put that look there. But the reason she could not accept, never would.

It was unthinkable that Kelly Stanwick, the girl who could have any man she wanted, should find herself unendurably stirred by an uncouth man of the mountains who neither liked her nor made any secret of his disapproval. Nicholas Van Mijden's physical attraction would be hard for any woman to resist, Kelly acknowledged that now, but she was letting him get to her emotions in a way that was absurd. More than absurd, it was dangerous, for she could not let the memory of the man haunt her long after she had left the Drakensberg and was married to Gary.

She glanced at her watch. Just a few more hours and Mary would be back. Until then she would keep out of his way, and after that she would not think of him again. No matter if it was difficult at first, she surely had enough discipline to exclude him from her thoughts. After a day or two even discipline would no longer be necessary. Once she was with Gary, Nicholas and the time at Great Peaks Lodge would fade from her conscious mind.

She glanced at her watch. At most a few more hours until Mary returned. Until then she would try to keep out of Nicholas's way.

It took some time to inspect the rondavels, and by the time she had finished it was time to go to the kitchens. It was the third meal she had supervised, and by now the staff seemed to accept her quite naturally.

Once some instinct caused her to turn her head. Nicholas was standing in the doorway. He was looking straight at her, his expression inscrutable. She did not need to see his eyes to know that they would be mocking. Her body tensed at the sight of him, and she wondered if he had come with the sole purpose of checking on her. She forced herself to meet the hard gaze for a full second, and then, very deliberately, she turned her back to speak to one of the chefs. When she looked round again Nicholas had gone.

She managed to avoid having lunch with him. Instead of going to the dining-room, Kelly asked one of the waiters to bring a tray to the cottage. And let Nicholas make of that what he wanted! she thought,defiantly.

When she had eaten she looked aimlessly around the living-room which belonged to the Andersons and wondered how she could pass the hours until Mary's return. In a while she would have to go to the verandah and preside over the tea. Until then, unless Nicholas came in search of her to unload further tasks, she had nothing to do. She could lie down on the bed and relax, but she felt oddly wound up.

Restlessly she looked out of the window. On a sudden impulse she walked back to the hotel, asked the desk clerk where she could find gardening gloves and clippers, and made her way to the rose garden beside the swimming-pool. She had noticed that the bushes were in need of attention—perhaps the Andersons had had to save on gardening staff—and since the cultivation of roses was her mother's hobby, Kelly knew enough about cutting and pruning and trimming to get by.

The midday sun was very hot. Now and then Kelly paused to rest a few moments. The mist had vanished from the mountains and the granite peaks were sharply etched against the metallic blue of the cloudless African sky.

It was quiet in the garden. The engineers were in the convention room, and the other hotel guests were either out on whole-day walks or in their rondavels resting. The air rang with the incessant drone of the bees which hovered over the ripe pollen of over-bloomed roses, and once two birds soared suddenly from a tree, their plumage exotic in the sunlight, loud cries emerging from slender throats as they soared skywards. A breeze came from the mountains, ruffling the roses and rippling the calm surface of the pool. Kelly, whose body was moist from the intense heat, revelled in the momentary coolness.

It was only when she was alone that she could fully enjoy the serenity of the mountains and the garden, and appreciate the sheer beauty of the setting. There was a sense of space and loneliness, a feeling of infinity and strength, which could not fail to make its impact on those who made their homes in the foothills and the valleys and the forests of the great escarpment.

Despite Mary's problems, and they were ones which Kelly in no way sought to minimise, she wondered if the loveliness all around her did not give the woman a strength which she might otherwise not have had in quite the same measure.

The Drakensberg was also Nicholas's home. Thoughtfully Kelly's eyes searched the furthest reaches of the valley. Somewhere not far away was a place which belonged to Nicholas. She did not even know what he farmed; in the tension which crackled constantly between them, there had been no occasion for normal conversation. It occurred to her now that she might leave here and never know what he did. And while she had resolved not to think about him, she knew that there was a part of her which would always wonder about the things she had failed to ask.

The dull peal of a gong startled her from her reverie. Tea-time already! She had not realised it was quite so late. There was just enough time to go to the cottage to wash her hands and her face and run a comb through her hair, and then she would be expected on the verandah.

Many of the guests stopped for a friendly word as they took their cups. Yesterday she had been a stranger to them, but today they accepted her as part of the management. Kelly was aware of an odd pleasure as she laughed at a small joke or answered a question. Apart from Nicholas and Andrew Lang, she doubted that anybody knew her name and thus who she was. It was gratifying to be treated with an unaffected friendliness that was meant purely for her, and not for Robert Stanwick's daughter.

Andrew took his cup with a smile. She thought he would ask her to join him when she was finished at the table, but it seemed the tea-break had come at an awkward moment in the convention and the engineers had just paused for a few minutes before going straight back to work.

'Mary's not back?' Andrew asked.

'No.' Kelly glanced at her watch, and frowned. If the other woman did not come soon, it would be difficult to leave Great Peaks Lodge before dark.

'You won't leave here without telling me?'

'Of course not,' she promised.

When all the guests had been served, Kelly poured a cup for herself. She looked around her, feeling a little lost. Andrew had gone back inside, and though everyone had been friendly she was uncertain about joining one of the groups on the verandah.

'Mary will be glad you did her roses,' drawled a familiar voice at her shoulder.

It was odd how quickly her muscles could tense. Kelly turned with deliberate slowness. 'I hope so,' she said, and wished that she could keep the shakiness from her tone. She had been so certain she was alone and unobserved during her stint in the garden.

'You've cleaned your arm, I suppose?'She looked up cautiously. She could not guess the drift of the question, but she was ready for the sarcasm which seemed inevitable from her conversations with Nicholas.

'Don't tell me,' she said saucily. 'There's a spot of mud I forgot to clean off.'

'Not mud. You've scratched yourself.' For once there was no mockery in his tone. His eyes were hooded and impenetrable, making it hard to read his expression.

After a moment she shifted her gaze to her arm. There was indeed a scratch a little below her shoulder. It looked as if there had been some bleeding. It was the first time she had noticed it.

She made a small gesture. 'It's nothing.'

'Mary has some disinfectant. You'd best come with me to the cottage.'

A man like Nicholas worry about a tiny scratch? Kelly regarded him warily. What new trick was he up to? 'There's no need to fuss,' she said dismissively.

'Fuss?' His eyebrows rose, and he sounded impatient. 'Mary sprays her roses.' His eyes narrowed sardonically. 'Of course, if you'd rather chance blood-poisoning than trust yourself to my care, that's entirely up to you.'

'Your concern for me is touching.' She did not know what made her say it, except perhaps that the idea of being alone with him again made her so light-headed that she had to say something.

He laughed shortly. 'My concern for you is only in as far as it would be inconvenient if your arm flared up and I had to take you to hospital.'

Kelly's fingers bit into the palms of clenched fists. Darn the man! He was more arrogant than anyone she had ever met.

'Save your concern,' she advised bitingly. 'Mary will be back long before anything like that can happen. After that I won't be your responsibility anyway.'

He did not answer, but his steady gaze was enigmatic. Disconcerted all at once, Kelly stammered, 'Mary
will
be back this afternoon, won't she?'

He shrugged. 'Come along, Kelly.'

The words were in the nature of a command, and Kelly had learned already that Nicholas was a man who assumed he would be obeyed. She was trembling as she walked with him through the garden in the direction of the cottage. She had been counting on Mary's return; it was not possible that she was not coming. Yet Nicholas's evasiveness had seemed to indicate just that.