The End of her Innocence. Sara Craven

thought gratefully. And now she was back, she would not leave again.

      She had five miles still to go when the petrol warning light suddenly appeared on the dashboard, when only fifteen minutes before it had been registering half-full.

      Chloe wrinkled her nose, wondering which was the true reading. ‘Memo to self,’ she murmured. ‘Take the car to Tom Sawley’s garage and get the gauge seen to. Particularly before the MOT becomes due again.’

      Fortunately, she was approaching a turning for the main road, where there was a small filling station only a few hundred yards away.

      All three pumps were busy when she arrived, so she joined the shortest queue, and got out of the car stretching.

      And then she saw it, parked over by the wall, its number plate as familiar to her as that of her own car.

      Ian’s jeep, she thought joyously. What was more, the bonnet was up, and there he was bending over the engine with his back to her, his long legs encased in blue denim, as he made some adjustment.

      She was sure he would sense her presence and turn, but he was leaning too far over, intent on what he was doing.

      As soon as she was within touching distance, she reached for him, her mouth curving mischievously as she ran her fingers over the taut male buttocks and slid one hand between his thighs.

      He yelped and sprang upright, cursing as he hit his head on the bonnet.

      And as he did so, Chloe backed away gasping, praying for the ground to open up beneath her.

      But it remained heartlessly intact, so that she was still there, open-mouthed with horror when the man swung round, and looked at her, his blond hair tousled, and the green eyes blazing.

      ‘What the bloody hell do you think you’re playing at?’ asked Darius Maynard, his voice a snarl of pure anger. ‘Or have you just gone raving mad?’

      CHAPTER TWO

      CHLOE took another step backwards, aware that she was burning from the soles of her feet up to her hairline, and probably beyond.

      Oh, God, let me wake up, she prayed frantically, and find this is only a nightmare.

      When she could speak, she said hoarsely, ‘You—you! What are you doing with Ian’s jeep?’

      ‘Correction,’ he said brusquely. ‘My jeep for the past eight weeks. Cartwright was trading it in for a newer model and I bought it.’

      ‘You’ve been back here for two months?’

      ‘For over six, actually.’ He added curtly, ‘If it’s any concern of yours, Miss Benson.’

      Her flush deepened, if that was possible. ‘I—I didn’t realise.’

      What on earth was going on? she wondered. Why had he returned when his banishment was supposed to have been permanent? How could that kind of breach possibly have been healed? Sir Gregory surely wasn’t the type to welcome back the prodigal son. And how did Andrew, the betrayed husband, feel about it?

      Above all, why had no-one mentioned it? How was it Ian hadn’t said, ‘By the way, I’ve sold my jeep, and to Darius Maynard of all people.’

      ‘Why would you know?’ He hunched an indifferent shoulder. ‘You haven’t been around much to catch up on the local sensations.’

      ‘I’ve been working.’

      ‘Most people do,’ he said. ‘Or are you claiming particular credit?’

      I am not going to do this, Chloe told herself, swallowing back the impetuous retort that had risen to her lips. I am not going to stand here bandying jibes with Darius Maynard.

      Because he’s perfectly correct. However I may feel about it, his return is absolutely none of my business and I must remember that. I will remember it.

      ‘Not at all.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘And now I must be going.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I—apologise for what just happened. It was a genuine mistake.’

      ‘It must have been,’ he drawled. ‘After all, we were never exactly on goosing terms, were we, Miss Benson? I wasn’t aware you had that kind of relationship with Cartwright either.’

      ‘Clearly, you also have some catching up to do.’ She turned away. ‘Goodbye, Mr Maynard.’

      She got back in her car, started the engine and swung the vehicle out of the forecourt towards the Willowford Road.

      I’m shaking like a leaf, she thought, which is totally ridiculous. Yes, I’ve just made a complete fool of myself, but if it had been anyone else, they’d probably have helped me to laugh off the embarrassment somehow, not made it worse.

      Of all the people in the world I never wanted to see again, he must be in pole position. Yet here he is, turning up like the proverbial bad penny. I wish I could ignore him, but we both have to live in the same small community, so that’s impossible.

      On the other hand, she thought, his return might be purely temporary. He’d frequently been absent in the old days, and might not be planning to stay for any length of time now. That was what she would hope for, anyway.

      Besides, she added firmly, she would be too busy planning her wedding and her life with Ian to pay any heed to the Hall, and the vagaries of its occupants.

      She’d travelled about a mile when the petrol light showed it meant business by letting the car slide slowly but very definitely to a halt.

      Swearing under her breath, Chloe steered it to the verge. She’d had one thing on her mind at the filling station—escape—and this, of course, was what it had led to. Something else she could lay firmly at Darius Maynard’s damned door, she thought, fuming.

      She could use her mobile, she supposed. Send out an SOS to Uncle Hal or Ian to come to her rescue, but that, apart from leaving her looking like an idiot twice in one day, wasn’t exactly the upbeat, triumphant return to Willowford that she had planned.

      Better, she thought, grimacing, to start hiking, and as she reached for the door handle, she saw in her mirror the jeep come round the corner, drive past her, then pull in a few yards ahead.

      She felt a silent scream rise in her throat, as Darius Maynard got out and walked back to her.

      No, no, no! she wailed inwardly. This couldn’t be happening. It wasn’t possible.

      ‘Having problems?’

      ‘Absolutely not,’ she said. ‘Just—collecting my thoughts.’

      ‘Pity you didn’t collect some petrol while you were about it,’ he commented caustically. ‘I presume that was your purpose in the filling station, rather than renewing our acquaintance in that unique manner. And that’s why you’re stuck here?’

      ‘Whatever,’ Chloe returned curtly, loathing him. ‘But I can cope.’

      ‘Presumably by drilling for oil in the adjoining field. However, God forbid I should leave a damsel in distress.’

      ‘Especially when you cause most of it.’ She made her voice poisonously sweet, and he winced elaborately.

      ‘Giving a dog a bad name, Miss Benson? Inappropriate behaviour, I’d have thought, for someone with her eye on a vet.’

      She bit her lip. ‘It happens that Ian Cartwright and I are engaged.’

      ‘Good God,’ he said. ‘Does he know that?’

      ‘What the hell do you mean?’ Chloe demanded furiously. ‘We’re engaged and we’ll be married by the end of the summer.’

      ‘You know best,’ he said softly. ‘But I do hope you’re not mistaking a girlhood crush for the real thing, Miss Benson. You’re no longer a susceptible teenager, you know.’

      She said in a small choked voice,