The Seduction Scheme (2 page)

Actually, considering the discussion they'd had earlier in the day, Rachel had a pretty shrewd suspicion where her errant child was heading. This knowledge only increased the wholesale panic that threatened to reduce her to a gibbering wreck. Fear lodged like a physical presence in her chest; she could smell it and taste it. She glanced at the baby-sitter who had collapsed onto the sofa. She couldn't lose it now; one incoherent wreck was enough! Her fingernails gouged small half moons in the soft skin of her palms, but her expression stayed composed.

‘It w-wasn't my fault!'

‘I didn't say it was. Charlie is very…resourceful. Did you say something, Nigel?' she enquired icily as a disparaging sound emerged from his throat.

‘Resourceful is one word for her; I could think of others…' He'd been goaded by the frustrating events of an evening which he had planned so meticulously into forgetting his usual tactful reticence.

‘At another time I'd be only too delighted to hear your opinion…'

‘Rachel, darling, I'm—'

‘In the way,' she supplied, her urgency making her brutal as she shrugged off the unwanted protection of the arm he had draped across her shoulders. ‘Susan, what time was it when you last actually saw Charlie? Not just heard the music in her bedroom, actually
saw
her. I know you're upset, but it's very important.' She stifled her natural impulse to wring the information out of the girl and forced herself to sound calm and reasonable. It took every ounce of her will-power. ‘We need to know how long ago she left.'

‘I…I'm not sure,' the girl sniffed. ‘I was revising…the finals are next week.'

Rachel bit back the scathing retort that hovered on the tip of her tongue. To say her interest in this young woman's academic future was tepid would have been an exaggeration.

‘You were being paid to look after the child, not study.' Nigel's accurate but ill-timed observation reduced the young woman to incoherent sobs once more.

‘Nigel,' Rachel snapped, ‘will you be quiet?' The loud and continuous sound of the doorbell interrupted her. ‘Charlie!' she breathed, hope surging through her body.

 

‘Will you stop that and go away?' The door opened a crack. ‘I didn't want Susan to know I've been—'

‘Charlie!'

‘Mum!' The child released her hold on the door and Benedict took the opportunity to push it open. The source of the first cry stood at the other end of the hallway. A slim-fitting lavender-coloured floor-length gown was gathered in one hand, a mobile phone in the other. She let go of both; one slithered around her shapely calves and the other hit the big, distinguished-looking man with the silver-grey hair directly on the nose.

‘I'll kill you, you little wretch,' the low, intriguingly husky voice that evoked a response like fingers gently moving up his spine announced lovingly.

Benedict didn't think this was likely, unless you could hug a person to death. The woman had dropped onto her knees and the child had walked straight into her arms.

‘Are you all right? How
could
you?' Rachel was torn by equally strong desires to berate and kiss her daughter. ‘Hush, it's all right now,' she murmured as the slender frame was shaken by silent sobs.

Rachel noticed the man standing behind her daughter for
the first time. How sad—the lights were on but there was definitely nobody home! It instantly struck her as tragic that someone so sinfully beautiful was lacking the intelligence to lighten those heavy-lidded, almost black eyes. She pressed her daughter's damp face into her bosom and looked briefly into the blank face. Jaw slack, eyes glazed and vacant, he stared back dully. Latin extract, she decided; there was nothing Anglo Saxon about his olive-toned skin and glossy black hair.

‘Who's this, Charlie?'

‘That's…Steven. He fetched me home. I thought I'd get back before you were home, Mum. How did you know…?'

‘Susan rang us, of course.'

‘Susan doesn't usually look in after John arrives. Just my luck!'

‘John?'
Rachel turned her attention to the baby-sitter who hovered nervously in the background.

‘My boyfriend. He sometimes comes to keep me company. He had to go home early tonight.' Her tear-stained young face turned an unattractive shade of red as she studiously avoided Rachel's eyes.

‘How fortunate for us he had a prior engagement.' Rachel pushed the wing of soft brown hair that had escaped her smooth chignon from her face and the sparkle of anger faded from her eyes. She could afford to be magnanimous now she had her daughter back. Her fingers slid down Charlie's silky, jaw-length blonde hair and she felt weak with relief. Things could have been so different.

Her eyes returned to the magnificent hunk in the doorway. A very unlikely Samaritan, she thought, gratitude misting her eyes.

Benedict hoped the groan was only inside the confines of his skull—
incredible
eyes! Pale skin that had an almost translucent quality and slightly slanted almond-shaped eyes that
made the onlooker overlook the fact that her features weren't strictly symmetrical.

‘I'm sorry, Miss French; it's just John and I don't get to see one another much. We've both got part-time jobs to supplement our grants and—'

Rachel's weary voice cut through the young woman's babble. ‘I've no objections to you having your boyfriend's company, Susan. I just don't like you neglecting Charlie. It's been a long night. Perhaps you should be going home.'

‘Right…sure, I'll get my things.'

She turned her attention back to her daughter, noting the sure signs of exhaustion in the delicate young face. ‘Well, young lady, was it worth it?' The post-mortem and the chastisement would come later.

‘You know where I went?'

‘It didn't take a genius, love.' The argument they'd had over her standing with hordes of equally youthful, adoring fans in front of a theatre in the hope of catching a glimpse of her favourite boy band as they arrived at an awards ceremony had dragged on for two days. Charlie had capitulated rather too easily, which ought to have set the alarm bells ringing.

‘Actually there was such a crowd, I couldn't see a thing,' Charlotte confessed. ‘The taxi driver overcharged me and there were these nosy people…'

‘Quite a little adventure,' Rachel murmured with great restraint. She knew it didn't do any good to dwell on what might have happened, but it was hard to control her wayward imagination.

‘Is that all you're going to say?' Nigel asked incredulously.

Mother and daughter turned with identical frowns to look up at him. Although there was little physical similarity, at moments like this their relationship was very apparent. Rachel straightened up gracefully, her arms around her daugh
ter's shoulders, the two of them unconsciously presenting a united front.

‘At this precise moment, yes,' she said quietly.

‘The child needs punishing; she needs to know what she did was wrong.'

‘It's none of your business!' Charlie flared, pulling out of her mother's arms.

Rachel sighed. ‘That's no way to speak to Nigel. He was very worried about you.'

‘No, he wasn't! He doesn't even like me.'

Rachel winced as her daughter slammed the sitting-room door behind her. ‘Sorry about that, Nigel.' She noted with dismay the pinched look around his nostrils.

Even though she knew Nigel's ill-judged comments stemmed from the best possible intentions, Rachel couldn't help but sympathise with her daughter's viewpoint. It had been just the two of them for so long, she couldn't help but resent his well-meaning efforts to share the burden of responsibility herself at times. Do I want to share the responsibility? a tiresome voice in her head piped up.

‘Are you?' He ran a hand through his well-ordered hair and sighed. ‘I'm sorry, Rachel,' he said stiffly. ‘It's just tonight was meant to be special…'

‘Well, we're not likely to forget it.' Her impish grin faded as there was no glimmer of answering humour in his handsome face. ‘Perhaps we should just forget tonight ever happened.'

‘Are you trying to tell me you
don't
want to marry me?' Incredulity filled his voice.

‘Of course I'm not.'
Am I?
The thought filled her with guilt as she looked at the hurt expression on Nigel's face.

Her intention to kiss him, Rachel moved forward. She'd kicked off her high-heeled shoes earlier and the silky fabric of her long gown caught a loose nail in the skirting-board.

‘Damn,' she muttered as the fabric snagged. ‘Oh, thank you.' A large, capable-looking hand had freed the hem with surprising delicacy. Irrelevantly she noticed that despite his dishevelled appearance the shapely hands seemed very well cared for. As the young man straightened up his dark eyes looked directly into her face; the smile on her lips frayed ever so slightly around the edges.

She mentally binned her earlier label of simple but kind. There had been nothing simple or even particularly kind in the dark glance. Her stomach muscles quivered and she waited a little breathlessly for the sensation to stop. She'd never been this close to so much sheer
maleness
in her life. The distant noise in her ears sounded very similar to warning bells.

She was still grateful but her gratitude was now tempered with a degree of caution. There had been intelligence in those midnight-dark eyes and a confidence bordering on arrogance, a complacency common to all attractive male animals who knew they were the cream of the crop. It wasn't a confidence she associated with someone who worried about where his next meal was coming from.

Come to think of it, he didn't look undernourished—far from it. She felt an unexpected wave of heat under her skin as she assimilated his lean, muscular build and broad, powerful shoulders. It didn't matter what clothes he was wearing—he'd stand out in a crowd. Stand out in crowd nothing—the crowd would part to let him pass! He had an indefinable aura of someone who'd never been jostled in his life.

‘I don't know how to thank you.' Angry that she could be distracted by anything as inconsequential as a well-developed thigh, she thought her voice came out crisply prim.
For heaven's sake, Rachel, this man has saved Charlie from God knows what and you're sounding snooty because he stands
out in a crowd? You can't hold the fact that he oozes sexual magnetism against the man.

What could she do to thank him? It was beneath him to even think it, but Benedict couldn't stop mentally forming the obvious trite response. At least he could think again, even if the thoughts were too crass to share! He'd experienced lust at first sight before, but never anything quite so mind-numbing as those first few moments when he'd set eyes on this woman—Rachel. He liked the name, he liked—

‘For your trouble…'

Benedict stared at the notes in the boyfriend's outstretched hand and his narrowed eyes moved slowly to the older man's face. Forty if he was a day, he thought in surprise. What did she see in him? Apart from the air of affluence, he thought cynically.

‘I don't want your money.' He didn't bother to disguise his contempt.

Rachel elbowed Nigel in the ribs and glared at him as she brushed past. ‘Please don't be offended,' she said urgently. ‘Nigel only meant—'

‘Pay off the loser—he lowers the tone of the neighbourhood?'

‘Now look here…' She wasn't surprised Nigel didn't sound his usual confident self. That thin-lipped smile and dark stare would dent anyone's assurance. Rachel doubted he was accustomed to being regarded with such dismissive contempt.

‘Nigel!' she remonstrated in a tone betraying more exasperation than sympathy. He was acting as if this were his house, his daughter, his debt to repay. Couldn't he see he'd trampled on the man's pride? Her tender heart was wrung with empathy. ‘Perhaps it would be better if we said goodnight now. Charlie—'

‘Are you asking me to go? Fine…'

‘Don't be silly, Nigel.' It was unfortunate he sounded like a sulky schoolboy.

‘You're very considerate of
his
feelings.' This accusation took her breath away. ‘What about me?' The childish whine was back. ‘One of the things I like about you is your unemotional, level-headed attitude, Rachel, but just occasionally it would be nice to get a response that's not… Forget it!' he said, compressing his lips and throwing one last glance in the stranger's direction.

‘I'll ring in the morning, Rachel, and don't forget we're dining with the Wilsons on Tuesday. Wear something a little less…' his eyes dwelt critically on the loose, soft, low cowl neckline of her dress ‘…revealing. You know how conservative Margaret is.'

The apology died dramatically on her lips as Nigel left. Usually she could ignore his comments about her clothes. They were normally couched in such subtle jocular terms that it wasn't possible to take offence, but this time it wasn't possible to disregard the criticism.

With a frown she peered downwards. The shoestring straps had made it impossible to wear a bra beneath the dress, but it wasn't as if she was displaying a vast expanse of cleavage—she didn't
have
a vast expanse of cleavage to display! Not that she was exactly flat-chested. She plucked at the folds of fabric and squinted down at the shadowy outline of her firm breasts.

‘Oh, damn and blast it to hell!' she said defiantly, letting the fabric fall back into place. Trying to please Charlie, trying to please Nigel, she was tired of walking a damned tightrope. She was also pretty tired of feeling constantly guilty.

The faint indentation between her arched eyebrows deepened and her head fell back, revealing the graceful curve of her lovely throat. For a split second Benedict wondered what she'd do if he kissed her on that fascinating spot where the
pulse visibly beat against her collarbone. Scream bloody murder, you fool, he told himself sternly, putting a lid quick smart on this foolish fantasy.