Penny Jordan Collection: Just One Night (12 page)

‘So you’re staying at the Annabelle. I’ve heard it’s the last word in luxury...’

‘It sure is,’ Lloyd agreed enthusiastically. ‘My suite is really something else, isn’t it, Sylvie?’

‘Yes, it is,’ Sylvie agreed colourlessly. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Ran switching his concentration from Lloyd and Vicky to her, frowning as he did so.

It wasn’t
her
fault that his lady-friend, his
lover
, was showing an interest in Lloyd... Sylvie had seen women expressing such an interest before, of course; Lloyd was an extremely wealthy man and a very, very charming one. In the past he had often made a joke of their pursuit of him, warning Sylvie that it was part of her job to keep them at bay. For his age he was extremely fit and physically he looked attractive. He still had a full head of silver hair and his eyes held a warm twinkle, but to prefer him to Ran... Or was it perhaps his bank balance that was attracting the other woman? Sylvie wondered unkindly.

In the end, all four of them drove over to Haverton Hall in Ran’s Land Rover, with Vicky pulling a small face as she coaxed Lloyd to sit in the back with her.

‘This really is the most uncomfortable old thing, Ran,’ she complained, adding to Lloyd in a sugary sweet voice, ‘I keep telling him he should buy himself a decent four-wheel drive. In all the years I’ve known Ran, he’s never owned a decent car. You Americans make such wonderful ones...so luxurious and comfortable...’

‘Well, I guess we have the country for them,’ Lloyd agreed with a smile. ‘You and Ran are old friends then?’

Vicky pouted.

‘Well, we certainly go back a long way—although I only moved to Derbyshire a short time ago and, by coincidence, I discovered that Ran was one of my new neighbours and we were able to renew old acquaintances.’

Some coincidence, Sylvie reflected ironically, irritated by Vicky’s behaviour. What on earth did Ran see in her? Surely he could see what type of woman she was—how unworthy of him she was?

When they arrived at Haverton Hall, Vicky made a big performance of climbing out of the Land Rover, thanking Lloyd effusively for helping her, leaning heavily on his arm as she complained about the uneven gravel on the forecourt.

‘You should have worn flat shoes like Sylvie,’ Ran told her.

‘Flat shoes...? Ugh, no, never.’ She shuddered. ‘I
always
wear high heels,’ she confided to Lloyd. ‘I think they’re so much more feminine.’ Lifting her foot, she held out one slim, elegant ankle for his inspection.

‘Very pretty,’ Lloyd approved, ‘but you’d better hang onto me. We don’t want you to hurt yourself.’

As they toured the house, Sylvie’s irritation with Vicky grew. Every time she made a comment, Vicky had to chip in, diverting Lloyd’s attention from the house to herself, accompanying each successful attempt to do so with a look of acid triumph in Sylvie’s direction. Really, the woman was totally impossible. They weren’t in competition for his approval...his
affections
, for goodness’ sake. She was simply trying to do her job. If Ran’s lover wanted to flirt with Lloyd, that was totally her business and Ran’s. All that Sylvie wished was that she had chosen another time to do so.

‘The Annabelle sounds the most fabulous hotel. I’d love to see it... I’ve been planning to go to London for some time... I need some new clothes and there’s nowhere in Derbyshire.’ Vicky gave a small, fastidious shudder as they finally headed back to the Land Rover.

‘You were? Say, why don’t you come back with me, then? Sylvie’s going to drive me to Manchester airport and—’ Lloyd began politely.

‘Come to London and stay at the Annabelle as your guest...?’ Vicky pounced immediately. ‘Oh, how wonderful and how kind of you. I’d love to...’ she breathed huskily.

Sylvie, who guessed that Lloyd had simply been suggesting that they travel together, could only marvel at the other woman’s sang-froid and her cheek.
She
would never have dared to behave as Vicky had just done. But Lloyd, far from looking displeased, was almost beaming from ear to ear.

Sylvie waited until they were back at the Rectory and Vicky had disappeared to ‘tidy herself up’ before taking Lloyd to one side, out of Ran’s earshot, to warn him discreetly, ‘Lloyd, Vicky is Ran’s girlfriend and I don’t think—’

‘So far as I am concerned, Vicky is a free agent. If she wants to go to London with Lloyd then that’s up to her.’ Sylvie bit her lip as Ran interrupted her. He had been on the other side of the hallway, but then his hearing had always been extremely sharp. It went with his job.

‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to go home and collect a few things,’ Vicky apologised gushingly to Lloyd as she came back downstairs. ‘I don’t want to keep you waiting.’

Grimly Sylvie watched as she batted heavily mascaraed eyelashes in Lloyd’s direction.

‘No problem,’ he assured her. ‘There are a few things Sylvie and I need to discuss and I guess Ran too. You take all the time you need, my dear.’

‘I expect the Annabelle is very dressy,’ Vicky murmured appreciatively.

‘Charming woman,’ Lloyd commented warmly after she had gone.

‘Yes, she is,’ Ran agreed.

‘About as charming as a piranha,’ Sylvie muttered between clenched teeth behind their backs before reminding Lloyd curtly, ‘I’ve got preliminary estimates for some of the work here if you want to see them. I have faxed copies off to New York, but...’

‘Sylvie, you’re so efficient,’ Lloyd told her, smiling benignly at her. ‘I keep telling her, Ran, that she needs to relax a bit more...have fun... When was the last time
you
spent a day shopping for yourself?’ he challenged her before she could say anything.

‘I shopped in Italy,’ she told him dismissively.

‘Yes, I know. I was there, remember...? I took her to Armani,’ he told Ran. ‘And what did she do? She told me that the clothes were far too expensive. What do you do with a woman like that?’

‘They
were
too expensive,’ Sylvie told him defensively. Too expensive for her at any rate, and although she knew that Lloyd would happily have offered to buy an outfit for her he was still her employer and she had no intention of taking advantage of his generosity. Even so, it hurt to know that he was comparing her to Vicky Edwards and perhaps finding her less feminine, less womanly, and in front of
Ran
. It was plain what both of them were thinking: that somehow she was less
fun
than the other woman—less of a
woman
. Well, let them think what they liked, she decided angrily.
She
was there to do a job, not to...to flirt and bat her eyelashes.

‘She’s a wonderful girl,’ she heard Lloyd telling Ran as she went to get the papers she wanted him to see. ‘But she works too hard, takes life too seriously.’

* * *

After she had dropped Lloyd and Vicky off at the airport, her head aching from listening to the other woman’s flirtatious comments, instead of heading back to Derbyshire, Sylvie drove on impulse to Manchester itself and parked the Discovery outside the Emporio Armani boutique that a kindly taxi driver had directed her to.

A pretty, dark-haired girl who could have been Italian but wasn’t brought her the trouser suit she had seen in the window.

The diffusion range might be cheaper than the designer originals but it was still expensive. Even so... As she turned and twisted in front of the mirror, studying her reflection in the flatteringly cut suit, Sylvie admitted that she couldn’t resist it. Neither could she resist the matching shirt that went with it.

So, she was dull and boring and unfeminine, was she? Well, she might not wear three-inch heels, and she certainly didn’t flutter her eyelashes, but she was still a woman...very much a woman...more than woman enough to ache with longing for Ran. Oh, yes, she was more than woman enough for that!

CHAPTER NINE

‘Y
OU
’
VE
been a long time. What happened?’

Guiltily Sylvie spun round, dropping her Armani carrier bag as she did so. She had arrived back at the Rectory five minutes ago and had decided to go straight to her room, but she had just reached the top of the stairs when Ran emerged from his room, his curt comment coupled with her own guilt startling her.

‘You’ve been shopping,’ he said sharply in disbelief, answering his own question as he saw the bag she had just dropped and the contents spilled out from it onto the carpet.

‘What if I have?’ Sylvie retorted defensively, bending down to gather up her purchases but not fast enough to match Ran, who had bent and got there before her, scooping up the soft, expensive cloth and then, pausing, shocking her by removing it completely from the carrier. He studied what she had bought and then lifted his gaze to her flushed face.

‘New clothes. Now, then, I wonder what motivated you to do that?’ he asked her softly.

‘What I choose to do with my time and my money is no business of yours,’ Sylvie snapped sharply at him.

But he ignored her, taunting her softly, ‘What exactly are you trying to do, Sylvie? Compete with Vicky? You can’t. You don’t have the right type of...assets.’

Furious with him, and with herself because his taunting remarks weren’t just making her angry, they were hurting her badly as well, Sylvie exploded into angry self-defence.

‘If by “the right type of assets” you mean I don’t use my womanhood, my sexuality, as some kind of...of cheap means of attracting men, then I’m glad to say that I don’t,’ she agreed.

‘Really? Then why go and buy this?’ Ran challenged her softly, indicating the trouser suit.

‘I bought it on impulse,’ she told him quickly. Too quickly, she realised as she saw the cynical look he was giving her. ‘Anyway,’ she added protectively, ‘it’s hardly the kind of outfit a woman would buy to...to attract a man...’

‘No?’ Ran gave her a sardonic smile. ‘Oh, come on, Sylvie, we both know better than that. There’s something powerfully alluring about the sight of a woman wearing a trouser suit, something very, very sensual and appealing—much more so than an over-tight dress on an over-exposed body. You bought this outfit because you’re jealous of Vicky. Because you—’

‘Me...jealous...of her?’ Sylvie virtually spat at him as she grabbed her new purchase from him and stuffed it back into the bag. ‘No way,’ she told him, shaking her head almost violently in denial. ‘Why should I be jealous?’ she added dangerously, too upset to question the wisdom of inviting him to humiliate her still further by revealing his awareness of just how she felt about him. ‘Just because years ago I was stupid enough, adoring enough,
vulnerable
enough to...to care too much about you, that doesn’t mean that I’m jealous of your lover. In fact...’

‘My
lover
?’ Ran stopped her as they both stood up, frowning down at her as he informed her curtly, ‘I was referring to the fact that you’re jealous because you’re afraid of losing
Lloyd
to Vicky. He’s your lover and—’

‘My lover...? Lloyd?’ Sylvie stared at him in disbelief.

Suddenly Sylvie had had enough. There was no way that Ran could possibly, genuinely, believe that she and Lloyd were lovers; he was just playing some kind of peculiar and cruel game with her. Well, he was going to have to play it on his own. Grabbing hold of her shopping, she darted past him, almost running into her bedroom and slamming the door behind her, her heart thudding with angry pain.

As she closed her eyes and leaned against the door she had just closed, she could feel them starting to burn with the useless demeaning tears of her unwanted love.

What was Ran doing now—laughing inwardly at her because he knew that her jealousy, her pain, her
love
were all for him, or was he too wrapped up in what he thought to spare any time to consider her feelings? Had he accused her of being jealous out of his own feelings of jealousy against Lloyd?

This job, which she had taken on with such high hopes, such a surge of determination and conviction that through it she would finally and for ever slay the dragons of her tormented youthful love for him, had now turned into a hydra-headed monster which she could never hope to overcome. How on earth was she going to be able to concentrate on what she had to do when she was forced to work in such close proximity to Ran?

No. It was impossible, she acknowledged half an hour later as she sat at her desk trying to concentrate on the work schedule she had in front of her. No matter how hard she tried to visualise a situation where she and Ran could work together in harmony, her emotions untouched by his presence, all she could actually see was a situation that was going to get worse and worse as she became more and more helplessly trapped in her love and his lack of it. The best remedy, the only remedy she could honestly see that would work would be for her to go to Lloyd and ask him to find someone else to complete this project, she admitted unhappily.

It wasn’t a course she wanted to take. She prided herself on her professionalism and it would mean taking Lloyd into her confidence about her feelings for Ran—she knew, of course, that he would respect them, but even so...

If she stayed on the possibility was—no, the
probability
was, she corrected herself fiercely, that sooner or later she would make a mistake that could prejudice the progress of the work on the house. This was a project that was going to demand her total concentration and attention and how could she give it when all the time she was thinking about Ran, when her feelings for him were already dominating her mind and her emotions?

It wasn’t going to be easy. She hated letting Lloyd down; in fact, it felt as though in asking him to find someone else to take over this particular project for her she was letting
herself
down; but she feared that if she stayed the way in which she could potentially let herself down, damage herself and her self-esteem, her very
self
, could be far more traumatic.

The anger and contempt which Ran had displayed towards her this evening had shown how very little compassion he was likely to have for her. No, there was no other way.

It was with a very heavy heart that Sylvie prepared for bed. There would be other houses, other projects, and no one but her would ever know how much it would hurt knowing that it was someone else who would have the pleasure of restoring Ran’s ancestral home to what it must once have been, just as it would be another woman who would ultimately stand beside Ran and their children in love and pride as they went through their lives together.

* * *

Ran wasn’t sure just what had woken him up first—his training, his work, meant that he was always alert to any sound that heralded some unfamiliarity, his perceptions and senses so keenly attuned that he was aware of such changes even in his sleep.

Alert and wide awake, he lay in the darkness listening. The illuminated face of his alarm clock showed that it was just gone half past one in the morning. The house had no alarm system. Lucy, his gun dog who slept downstairs, might be getting on in years now but she would have been barking if someone had been trying to break into the house, and besides, the outside lights had not come on.

Through his open bedroom window he could hear an owl hooting as it flew past. No alien sounds disturbed the natural busyness of the country night.

He started to relax and then he heard it—a door opening upstairs. Immediately he was out of bed and, reaching for his robe, pulled it on—he slept nude—before striding across to open his bedroom door quietly.

He saw her immediately, a slim white wraith who seemed to float rather than walk down the corridor, but, ethereal though she looked, Sylvie was no ghost. Even before he reached her he knew that she was sleepwalking; all the tell-tale signs were there, and of course he knew from her girlhood exactly what to do. So why was it so hard, then, to take her gently in his hold so that he could turn her round and walk her back to her bedroom?

The best thing to do, they had all been told after the first frightening occasion when she had been found wandering the long gallery at Otel Place, totally oblivious to what she was doing, was to guide her gently back to bed, if possible without waking her; but now, as he touched her, Ran could feel her start to tremble violently, her face turning towards him, her body stiffening as he tried to turn her round. Cursing under his breath, he glanced towards his own still open bedroom door. Perhaps if he could get her in there... The old family doctor at Otel Place had recommended that she be allowed to wake up naturally rather than be abruptly woken from her sleepwalk and he had also informed them that often these bouts of ‘walking’ could be attributed to some kind of disturbance or trauma that the walker might have suffered. Ran did not need to look very far to find the cause of tonight’s disturbance, and inwardly he cursed not just Vicky but Lloyd as well.

Didn’t the man know just how lucky he was—what he, Ran, would give to change places with him?

Sylvie was still trembling against his body, her eyes wide open and unseeing as she stood stiffly beside him, almost transfixed. Not wanting to risk waking her, Ran urged her gently towards his own bedroom, talking very quietly and softly to her, just as though she were still the girl he remembered.

‘It’s all right, Sylvie,’ he assured her gently. ‘Everything’s all right... Come on, now...’

Obediently she moved, leaning on him slightly. If he could get her into bed without her waking up he could sit with her to check that she was going to sleep on and then he could spend the rest of the night in one of the other rooms. In the morning... He started to frown. Too late to regret now the jealousy which had prompted him to speak so harshly to her earlier, but the sight of that suit, the knowledge of just how it would look on her body, had filled him with such furious jealousy that he had overreacted.

Tenderly Ran guided her into his bedroom and towards the bed. The light gown she was wearing was plain and white, in soft cotton. In it she looked almost like a girl...youthful...virginal...

He closed his eyes. The last thing he needed right now was to start thinking about—to start
remembering
. Forcing himself to suppress the thoughts, the memories and the emotions which were running riot inside him, he stopped to pick her up, intending to lay her down on the bed, but as he did so a dog fox out in the woodland beyond the garden howled to his mate; the sound carried into the bedroom on the still night air, shocking him into immobility and Sylvie into immediate wakefulness.

‘Ran...what...?’

He could hear the shocked anxiety in her voice as she stared round his moonlit bedroom.

‘You were sleepwalking.’ He tried to reassure her. ‘I heard a noise...found you on the landing...’

Sleepwalking. Sylvie focused distractedly on Ran’s face.

It had been years since she had last walked in her sleep, but she didn’t for one moment doubt that Ran was telling the truth. After all, there was no reason why he should have spirited her from her own bed and carried her here to his—was there? If he had wanted to take her there, all he had to do... But even so... She started to shiver.

She only walked in her sleep in times of intense personal stress...intense personal
dis
tress...

‘It’s all right, Sylvie,’ she heard Ran saying gently. He was still holding onto her. Sylvie could feel the warmth of his arms, his body through the robe he was wearing and through her own fine cotton nightgown. Bemusedly she looked at him, her eyes huge and shadowed in the small oval of her pale face.

Outside a peafowl, one of the small colony which had migrated from Haverton Hall to the Rectory, its slumber no doubt disturbed by the mating call of the fox, screamed loudly, causing Sylvie to go rigid with tension.

‘It’s all right, Sylvie,’ Ran repeated soothingly. ‘It’s only a peafowl.’

She knew that, of course—their noise was, after all, familiar to her—but for once she felt too weak to bother arguing the point with Ran.

His bedroom was on the opposite side of the house from hers and furnished very differently, with heavy early Georgian furniture that looked imposingly traditional and masculine. The room suited Ran, she thought abstractedly; it suited his maleness, his completeness. A wave of longing swept over her. Unable to stop herself, she turned in towards his body, lifting her hand towards him.

Later she wasn’t even sure if she had actually
meant
to touch him or if the gesture had simply been one of longing, but as he turned his head towards her her fingertips grazed his mouth. She felt his breath against them, warm, tormenting her with all that could never be. She started to look away and then, to her shock, she felt Ran taking hold of her wrist, circling it with his thumb and fingers, holding her hand where it was whilst he very deliberately pressed a kiss to each of her fingertips in turn.

Wild-eyed, Sylvie watched him, almost forgetting to breathe in her shock.

‘Ran,’ she protested half-heartedly, but as she said the word she was already moving closer to him, instinctively seeking the warmth and the comfort of his body heat, his body.

If it felt like heaven to have his arms close around her, that was nothing compared to what it felt like to have him lift his hands to her face and cup it whilst he oh, so gently kissed her mouth, a slow, tender, lingering kiss...a
lover’s
kiss. Silently Sylvie pressed even closer to him, lifting her own arms to hold him, her mouth and then her whole body, trembling with the effort it took her not to give in to what she was feeling.

She could feel her eyes fill with tears, feel them, too, starting to flood over and roll down her face.

‘Sylvie.’ She could hear the emotion in Ran’s voice as he lifted one fingertip to touch them. ‘Don’t cry...please don’t cry.
No
man is worth your tears...’

‘It just hurts so much,’ Sylvie told him, unable to hold back what she was feeling any longer. Somehow the night and their seclusion had stripped away the barriers she had fought so hard to erect against her love for him.