Strange Adventure. Sara Craven

‘No, I’m not “running out”. I have a headache, and I’ve come to get something for it.’

      ‘I am desolated to hear it,’ he said with a complete absence of expression. ‘May I recommend prevention rather than cure as a policy for the future.’

      ‘Prevention?’ she echoed bewilderedly.

      ‘My advice would be to avoid alcohol, to which you are patently not accustomed.’ His tone was smooth. ‘Also hair styles which rely for their effectiveness on quantities of hairpins.’

      Her hand was released, and she recoiled instinctively as she felt his hands moving with detestable assurance among the lacquered coils of her hair.

      ‘What are you doing?’ She sounded breathless and very young, and saw his teeth gleam suddenly in a smile.

      ‘Curing your headache,’ he replied laconically, and Lacey tensed as the long shining strands, released from their restraint, spilled past her shoulders.

      ‘Oh!’ She lifted a helpless hand to check on the complete ruin of Barbara’s careful creation. ‘Oh, how dare you!’

      ‘Oh, I dare.’ Totally ignoring her flushed face and eyes filled with angry tears, he reached out and lifted one gleaming tendril between his finger and thumb. ‘You have hair like silk, pethi mou, why not take pride in it, instead of torturing it into shapes that only serve to make you look older than the child you are.’

      ‘I’m not a child!’ she defended herself hotly, forcing herself to forget all her own misgivings about her appearance that night.

      ‘Aren’t you?’ he said sardonically. He let the long tress of hair fall back on her shoulder, and his fingers followed it to touch the curve of her throat in a caress that, although fleeting, seemed to burn her flesh. A long tremulous quiver shook her body, and, dazed, she heard him laugh softly as if he was quite aware of her reaction. His hand moved almost inexorably along her shoulder to the wide, soft folds of the shoulder-strap which constituted half of her bodice, and she tensed unbelievingly, her eyes flying to his face in swift, outraged denial, as she felt him begin to slide the material aside.

      ‘No!’ she got out, pulling herself away almost wildly from the intimate exploration of his touch.

      ‘Why not?’ His voice was quiet but with an underlying sensuous warmth that disturbed her as much as the frank appraisal in his dark eyes. ‘Your room is here, and I can guarantee no one would disturb us.’

      ‘You’re—insulting.’ Her voice shook uncontrollably.

      ‘How have you been insulted? I’ve merely credited your intelligence by making my intentions clear, instead of merely seducing you as I might have done.’

      ‘I think you must be mad!’ Backed against the door, her shoulders pressed against its panels as if she would draw some reserve of strength from its solidarity, she looked incredibly young and defenceless. ‘I think your previous—conquests must have gone to your head, Mr Andreakis.’

      He laughed. ‘How charmingly old-fashioned! I don’t look for conquests, however. Submissiveness is the last quality I look for when I take a woman to my bed.’

      ‘That is no concern of mine,’ she said, lifting her chin with a kind of forlorn dignity. ‘But I am afraid you will have to look elsewhere for your latest—seduction.’

      ‘Andithetos, pethi mou,’ he said, almost gently, then, as she tried to slip past him, to return to safety and sanity downstairs, his hands reached for her, bruising her bare arms and dragging her with merciless strength against the hardness of his body. For a long moment he held her, writhing impotently in his grip, while his eyes searched her face as if he was etching her features on some inner consciousness, then his mouth came down on hers, parting her lips with sensual ruthlessness and destroying for ever any innocent illusions she might have had about what a kiss would be.

      When he let her go, Lacey stood motionless for a moment, her eyes enormous with shock in her pale face, then she pressed her hand almost convulsively over her swollen mouth and ran from him, only to collide with someone else standing at the head of the stairs.

      ‘Lacey!’ Michelle’s voice was taut. ‘Where have you been for this age?’ Her eyes narrowed as they swept over her stepdaughter. ‘Mon dieu, your hair! What have you done …’

      ‘It was my doing, Lady Vernon.’ Troy Andreakis joined them unhurriedly, his dark face cool and imperturbable, leaving Lacey wondering dazedly whether she had merely imagined the last few outrageous moments. ‘A sovereign remedy for headaches—passed down in our family for generations.’

      His eyes, faint amusement in their depths, seemed to challenge Lacey, daring her to take exception to his behaviour. She turned impulsively to her stepmother and paused, whatever protest she had planned to make trembling unsaid upon her lips, hardly able to believe the unmistakable look of triumph she had surprised on Michelle’s face. Lacey realised then what Troy Andreakis had meant when he had told her that they would not be disturbed. Michelle knew already all that there was to know, and condoned it, as if she had been an actual witness to that shattering kiss. Lacey felt cold and sick. And would Michelle also have condoned the lovemaking which would have been the most probable aftermath to the kiss, if she had not made her escape? It seemed only too likely.

      Michelle gave a little smile. ‘It seems to have been very successful,’ she said smoothly. ‘But perhaps you should tidy yourself a little, ma petite, before you join us downstairs. We are all waiting to hear you play.’

      Lacey murmured something unintelligible and fled to her room. Some ten minutes later she stood back and looked at her reflection. It was as if the clock had been turned back and the girl who stood there slim and straight in her deep blue dress, with the long silver-blonde hair brushed straight and shining over her shoulders, was the only one who had existed that evening. As she turned away, her foot caught the crumpled folds of the discarded black dress lying on the floor. For a moment she hesitated, then, as anger and humiliation welled up inside her again, she bent and picked it up, wrenching at the delicate fabric until it tore irretrievably. With a grim smile, she let it drop back to the floor. She would never be forced into that particular charade again, she vowed.

      From now on, any contest would be played according to her rules, she told herself defiantly, then shivered as in spite of herself the dark relentless face of her adversary forced itself into her mind, and her fingers strayed almost wonderingly to the softness of her mouth which he had made so totally his own.

      In her little talks on morals to the girls at the convent, Reverend Mother had always stressed that a girl’s best protection was her own innocence, yet hers had proved at best the shakiest of defences, Lacey thought bitterly. And even Reverend Mother had not visualised a situation where that innocence might be placed on sale to a man like Troy Andreakis.

      She gave a little trembling sigh. All she could hope to do was keep out of his way as much as possible and see to it that she was never alone with him again. After all, he would not be staying at Kings Winston for ever, and soon, very soon, she would never have to set eyes on him again.

       CHAPTER THREE

      LACEY awoke early the next morning, after a restless night. She washed and dressed in an old pair of denim pants, topped by an equally ancient thick sweater, then slipped downstairs and let herself quietly out by the side door, collecting her duffel coat on the way. She felt like a fugitive as she made her way down the drive, but her mind was made up. She intended to spend the day working at the stables with Fran Trevor.

      It occurred to her that Troy Andreakis might well have mentioned to her stepmother that he had asked her to spend the day with him, and that her disappearance might well involve her in a major row later, but even that was preferable to being forced to spend hours in close proximity with a man whom she disliked and feared. Yes, she was prepared to admit to herself that Troy Andreakis scared her. She had been right when she had gauged that civilisation could