Dragon's Lair (18 page)

His voice was too quiet for anyone else to have overheard, she

knew, but she could not prevent a wave of colour flooding her face.

She was thankful to her heart to see the head waiter heading in their

direction to take their order.

When he had gone, she said in a low voice, 'Gethyn, it's foolish to

go on like this. Can't—can't we call a truce at least for the rest of

the day?'

He sent her a derisive look. 'We could always try. But I advise you

not to provoke me again, Davina;'

'No,' she said, unhappily aware of her shorn hair and resisting the

impulse to make yet another nervous adjustment to her scarf. The

last thing she wanted was to draw his attention again to her peculiar

choice of headgear. She glanced round hastily. 'I—I wonder who all

these people are. That group in the corner are climbers, of course,

but that woman at the table against the wall looks rather strange. I

wonder why she's wearing a cloak. Do you think she's an artist or

just pretending ...' Her halting words died away as her eyes met his

blazing with anger.

His fingers closed round her wrist in an ungentle grip.

'What are you trying to do, Davina?' he demanded in an undertone.

'Pretend that the last two years have never happened? Well, I'll go

along with you. Play your little games, if you must, but don't

complain if you should find I've substituted my own rules.'

'I—I didn't mean it like that.' She lifted her shoulders unhappily. 'I

was just—trying to make conversation, that's all.'

He gave a mirthless smile. 'If anyone had told me I'd ever hear you

say that ...' he said quietly.

'Please,' she said with difficulty. 'My wrist. You're hurting it.'

He released her almost contemptuously. 'Pity it wasn't your neck.'

He swallowed the remains of his drink with one violent movement,

and turned away. 'They're ready for us in the dining room.'

It was an uncomfortable meal. Davina barely touched the melon she

had chosen as her first course, and picked at the delicious-looking

salad when it arrived. It was little consolation to note that Gethyn

seemed to have no better appetite himself, and she felt nothing but

relief when, after she had declined a sweet and coffee, he sent for

the bill.

When they were outside again, she touched his arm rather timidly.

'Are we going home now?'

He sent her a cool, unreadable glance. 'We're going to Plas Gwyn,

certainly,' he replied, and she flushed at her slip of the tongue.

She kept silent as the car threaded its way through the busy streets.

When they were clear of the town at last, she said, 'It was a mistake

for me to come here, Gethyn. I'll pack up as soon as we get back.

I'll go back to London and leave you in peace.' She stared down at

her clasped hands. 'You can contact Uncle Phil with your decision

about the trip—when it's convenient.'

She gave him a swift, sideways glance, but although his mouth

tightened, he made no attempt to reply. She leaned back in her seat

and closed her eyes. So that was that, she thought. She would leave

tomorrow without having achieved any of the things she had come

for. All she had succeeded in was a further deterioration in the

relationship between Gethyn and herself. She stifled a sigh. It had

been madness, of course, to imagine she could arrive at an amicable

solution to their problems with this—dark dragon of a man. Gethyn

was a law unto himself and always had been.

She kept her eyes determinedly closed. It was bad enough having to

sit beside him in the car, their sleeves practically brushing, but at

least she did not have to look at him, see his lean brown fingers

gripping the wheel and remember the utter magic of their lingering,

sensuous exploration of her body.

When at last he spoke, his words seemed flung at her like stones.

'You'll leave when I say you may and not before. If you insist on

going now, then I'll contest each and every effort you make to

divorce me for the rest of our lives.'

'But that's ridiculous,' she protested, her voice quivering. She sat

bolt upright in the seat, her eyes fixed on him appealingly. 'You

want to be free as much as I do, and besides—there's your

bride-to-be. Aren't you going to consider her?'

He gave a cynical shrug. 'I don't doubt I can—persuade her to fall in

with my wishes. Not all women are as insistent on the wedding

ceremony as you were.'

She paused, her heart thudding painfully, then she said in a low

voice:

'You seem very sure of yourself.'

'Not of myself. Of her.'

'She has my sympathy,' Davina said with difficulty.

'She doesn't need it.' He slanted a look at her. 'I intend to spend

every moment that's left to me in making her happy.'

A sudden searing vision of Rhiannon, her full mouth parted in a

triumphant smile, was imprinted on her inner vision. She was

horrified at the sudden, sick jealousy that clawed at her throat.

But it made her reckless. 'Are you sure you know what it takes to

make a woman happy? You haven't been conspicuously successful

so far.'

As soon as the words were uttered, she knew she had gone too far.

She blenched under the hard glitter of the look he turned on her,

and an apprehensive shiver ran along her nerve endings as she

realised he was bringing the car to a halt at the side of the road.

'Gethyn,' she protested, dry-mouthed, as he switched off the engine

and turned to her. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean it ... I ...'

Her words were crushed under the brutal pressure of his mouth. Her

hands came up to thrust him away, and were trapped between their

bodies as he pulled her against him so hard that the breath was

jerked out of her. But she resisted him, mouth and teeth locked

against his savage insistence, fighting the terrifying clamour of her

senses, her body's instinctive welcome for him.

Just before her thoughts dissolved into chaos, she seemed to hear a

voice inside her head screaming, 'No. No!' And as if he had heard

the silent plea and knew that it was not a rejection of his kiss but

only the desire to punish which had inspired it, his lips gentled

suddenly, magically, and she was lost.

His mouth moved on hers, warmly and seductively, coaxing from

her the response that force had denied him. His tongue flickered

like fire over the curve of her parted lips before exploring the

warmth and sweetness she had yielded to him. Her submission was

total. She knew that, even as the sweet bright flame grew within her

in answer to this remembered intimacy. Gethyn, after all, had taught

her what a kiss should be.

When at last he raised his head, his breathing was hurried, his eyes

as they held hers, oddly brilliant. Slowly, as if all the time in the

world was at his disposal, oblivious of their surroundings, he pulled

her down so that she was lying half across him, her head tilted back

over his arm. His fingers brushed her lips in a featherlight caress,

then began to stroke the smooth line of her throat. It was heaven,

but it was not enough, and her body began to arch itself towards

him of its own volition.

He gave a soft groan and his fingers slid compulsively under the

neckline of her dress, seeking the soft mound of her breast and

cupping it as if it were a flower.

'I want you,
anwylyd,'
he muttered huskily, his caressing hand

discovering the ardency of her own response for himself. And then

she heard him draw a quick sharp breath. Suddenly his encircling

arm was a steel band, bruising her spine. Her eyes which she had

closed while she abandoned herself to the pleasure of his caress,

flew open in alarm.

'Your hair,' he said too evenly. 'What in the name of God have you

done to your hair?'

She jerked herself upright, her hand flying guiltily upwards, but it

was too late. The disguising headsquare had slipped off altogether.

Gethyn bent and retrieved it from the floor of the car.

'So that was why,' he said, half to himself. He looked at her. His

eyes still glowed, but it was anger, not passion, that lit them now.

His lip curled contemptuously and she shrank. 'Why try to hide it?'

he asked. 'When you've embarked on revenge, then you should have

the courage of your convictions and see it through. Second thoughts

can be dangerous, as you nearly discovered for yourself just then.

You really had me fooled, you know. On the surface you're all

woman, but there's nothing underneath—just a spiteful child. God,

you must hate me!'

Something inside her was crying out, protesting that it had not been

spite, only self-defence, but she knew she could not betray how

completely she was in his power. Instead she let her own anger

kindle from his.

'How dare you criticise me! My hair is my own and I'll do what I

wish with it. I don't belong to you, Gethyn.'

'No?' His mouth twisted cynically. 'What did you have in mind at

the wedding ceremony, may I ask? A short-term loan? Thanks, but

I'm not interested.'

'You made that more than clear two years ago,' she whispered.

'Now drive me back to Plas Gwyn. I'm leaving. I won't even spend

another night under your roof.'

'You think not?' The look he sent her as he set the car in motion

again made her blench. 'Well, don't bank on it, my sweet wife,

because I haven't finished with you yet, not by a long chalk.

Perhaps I might just indulge in a little revenge on my own account.'

'I think you've already done so.' She tried to rally her

fast-diminishing courage. 'I—I'm bitterly ashamed of what

happened just now and ...'

'Are you now?' he mocked savagely. 'And after only a few kisses

too!'

'Oh, stop it, please!' She pressed her hands to her burning cheeks.

'I should practise that note of pleading,' he said. 'It's very effective,

and you'll need it by the time I'm through with you.'

It was pointless trying to reason with him in this mood, she realised

helplessly, and subsided back into her seat. The sun was blazing

into the car, but she felt cold and chilled. She made herself think

and plan for the moment when they arrived back at Plas Gwyn.

Whatever he had in mind, once she was in the house, his aunt's

presence should be some kind of protection for her. Her car keys

were in her bag. It would be the work of minutes to throw the few

things she had brought with her into her case. Her mind worked

feverishly. Surely at some time she would be able to slip away from

the house to her car? It wasn't feasible that Gethyn could watch

every move she made.

She tried to force herself to be calm, to steady her racing pulses, to

ignore the ache deep within her that spoke treacherously of

fulfilment denied. Oh, God, what was he— some enchanter that he

could hold her so easily in thrall? she asked herself helplessly. In

that moment when he had murmured that he wanted her, she had

been his for the taking. She would have gone with him willingly to

whatever lonely eyrie he had chosen in these wild hills and gloried

in the dark fierceness of his lovemaking.

But not now. Not since he had talked of spite and revenge. She put

up her hand and touched the short tendrils of hair curving on to her

face. Oh, she'd meant to make him angry, that was true, but that

was only the half of it. It had been the partly joking, wholly sensual

threat that he had uttered before he left her to go shopping that

morning that had driven her to do what she did. He'd spoken of her

hair across his pillow, aroused well-nigh unbearable memories. It

had seemed for a few mad moments that by destroying her hair, she

could in some way destroy his power over her. She had never in her

wildest dreams imagined that he would react as he had done. There

was a brooding purpose about him as he sent the car rushing

smoothly along the narrow ribbon of road that frankly terrified her.

And what a futile gesture it had been anyway. She had cut her hair

off to show Gethyn she was indifferent to him and his desires, but a

few brief minutes in his arms had shown her very clearly that her

sacrifice had been in vain. The only refuge left to her now was

flight.

Her hands clenched, her nails digging into her palms as he turned

the car into the track that led down to Plas Gwyn. When they

reached the parking spot under the trees, she opened the passenger