That Would Be a Fairy Tale (20 page)

‘I will be providing the tiara,’ said Alex. ‘I will bring it to the villa tomorrow, if I may.’

‘You will be welcome at any time,’ said Mrs Lessing graciously.

‘And when does the Mr Goss arrive?’ asked Sophie.

‘On Monday,’ said Cicely. ‘Which means we have a few days to perfect our plan, and after that Al - Mr Evington and I must not be seen. Mr Evington will remain in Karlsbad, and I will remain at the villa. We don’t want Goss to see us and scent a trap.’

‘Very well.’

Mrs Lessing finished her coffee and stood up. Alex rose politely, and the two young ladies rose as well.

‘We will expect you at the villa tomorrow, Mr Evington. I hope you will come to lunch. It will give us a chance to finalise the details of our plan.’ By now, Mrs Lessing was as involved as the rest of them. ‘And in the meantime, I have a lot of arrangements to make.’

They made their farewells. Alex returned to the neighbouring town of
Karlsbad
, and Cicely, together with her cousin and her aunt, returned to the villa.

Cicely felt uncomfortable as she walked through the pine forests surrounding her aunt’s villa on the following morning. She had slept badly, her mind a whirl of dinners and tiaras, but most of all it had been full of Alex. No matter how hard she tried, she could not put him out of her mind.

She turned her attention to the forest, breathing in the heady scent of pine and rejoicing in the beauty of the trees. Beneath their needled branches the path was cool. Blue shadows fell across the undergrowth, pierced here and there by a brilliant shaft of sunlight that lanced into the forest’s cool depths.

She began to feel her spirit calm. Her pace gradually slowed, until she was doing nothing more than strolling along the path. It would soon be over. Martin Goss would be caught. She would return to
England
. Alex would leave the Manor. And everything would be as it had been before.

But would it? Whilst a part of her hoped that would be the case, another part of her knew that, for her, nothing would ever be the same again.

She forced herself to turn her thoughts into less dangerous channels and began to take greater notice of her surroundings. She took in the ferns and brackens that grew beneath the trees, and stopped every now and again to let her eyes wander down over the glimpses of the spa town, which was just visible through their heavily-needled branches.

By and by she began to feel better. She decided that, on reaching the next bend, she would turn back to the villa. It was already
eleven o’clock
, and she would have to change for luncheon at twelve.

She had almost reached the bend, and was preparing to turn, when she saw someone round it from the other direction. She stopped dead. It was Alex!

He too, stopped. By the look on his face it was obvious he was surprised to see her.

She took a deep breath to calm her pulse, which had become uncomfortably rapid, and then managed to say a few words. ‘I . . . was just taking a stroll before luncheon,’ she began, suddenly feeling acutely aware of the fact that she had ventured out on her own and was now alone with him in the cool and inviting depths of the forest.

His eyes wandered over her face and she felt him taking in the softness of her hair and the delicate flush that had sprung to her cheek.

‘I arrived early,’ he said, by way of explanation. ‘I didn’t know how long it would take me to find the villa, and so I left in plenty of time. I didn’t want to disturb your aunt before half-past twelve and so I decided to take a walk.’

They stood looking at each other, an indefinable awkwardness hanging between them. It should not have been there. Cicely was merely taking a stroll, and Alex was doing the same. They had simply met on the way. After expressing their surprise at seeing each other, they should have turned and walked back to the villa. Nothing would have been more natural. Instead of which they stood facing each other, neither one of them moving or speaking, as though in the grip of some invisible spell which held them rigid, afraid to move or speak for fear of losing control of what they might do or say.

‘Cicely —’

‘Alex —’

They spoke at last in an effort to break the tension that rippled through the forest air, but they spoke at the same time and it unnerved them, making them relapse into silence again. And it was just as well, for Cicely had the sudden feeling that if they succeeded in breaking the tension the storm would break with it; not a storm of thunder and lightning, but of feelings and passions that would be impossible to control.

There was only one thing to do. She must go back to the villa, and leave this highly charged atmosphere behind. She tried to turn around but it was beyond her power to do it. She made a determined attempt, and this time she managed.

It made things easier. She was no longer looking at Alex, and she began to walk away from him.

He watched her take the first few steps, and then said, ‘I can’t let you do it.’

She stopped. She knew she must keep on walking, but almost against her will she turned, and when she did so she caught her breath. There was an air of such intensity about him it seemed he was more alive than anything else in the forest.

Against the suddenly-dimmed background he stood out, his attitude one of tightly-leashed power, as though he were a predator about to pounce. But it was not just his body that held her motionless, causing her heart to skip a beat. His face, a collection of sharp angles and planes, held her rigid, and his eyes burned.

She felt alarmed, not because of what he might do, but because of what they might do together. Yet despite this she was unable to move; unable to take the steps that would let her walk away.

Then she must say something. If she could not move she must at least utter a few words. The situation was becoming so charged with pent-up energy that she knew she must do something to give it release, for if it continued it would become unbearable.

‘I . . . I don’t know what . . . ’ She started to speak, but it was impossible for her to continue because her throat and mouth were parched.

His eyes continued to bore into her own, holding her and drinking her in.

She began to tingle.

And then he spoke. ‘I can’t let you marry Chuffington,’ he said.

‘Marry . . . ?’ She couldn’t think what he was talking about. Had she heard him correctly? There was such a rushing in her ears that she could not be sure. Her mind was no more help than her ears, for it was filled with heart-wrenching memories, and she was finding it difficult to think.

She was in the forest, with Alex, and his eyes were full of an intense emotion that she could not begin to understand; her legs were turning to water; but beyond that her mind could not go.

‘It isn’t worth it,’ he said. His eyes still held her. ‘I know life has been difficult for you, and I know he can give you a beautiful home, but -’

Cicely blinked. The rushing sound in her ears began to diminish.

He can give you a beautiful home?

‘ - you will not be happy,’ he went on.

He can give you a beautiful home
. The words began to sink in.

And her expression changed.

Gone was the rushing in her ears, and the weakness in her knees. In their place was a growing disdain. To begin with she had been perplexed that he should think she was going to marry Chuff Chuff, but realizing he thought she was going to marry him for Parmiston Manor, her anger began to stir. Did he really know her so little? Did he hold her in such low esteem that he thought she would marry for mercenary reasons?

‘It isn’t enough,’ he said.

‘Isn’t it?’ she demanded.

She was by now almost back in control of herself but her gaze was drawn to his eyes, which were fixed tumultuously on her own. She had never realized how deep they were before, as though they were whirlpools that could draw her in.

She stood her ground as he approached her, but even so a part of her had an urge to back away. He was so overpoweringly, so overwhelmingly masculine; something she was able to forget on occasion, when it was hidden under a civilised veneer, but it was always there, waiting to break through. And it had broken through now, revealing the full strength and power of the man beneath.

‘I can’t let you do it,’ he said again. He cupped her chin. ‘You’ll regret it.’ He searched her eyes as though searching her soul. ‘Chuffington’s a buffoon -’

At his criticism of her childhood friend her anger began to rise again, and she used it to fight the unwanted sensations that were bubbling just beneath the surface, aroused by his touch. It would be so easy to let her eyes close; so easy to fall into his arms and turn up her face for his kiss, but she could not allow herself to do it.

If she once surrendered to him she would do so completely; body, mind and soul.

And she had no intention of surrendering herself to a man who thought so little of her that he believed she would marry without love. Let alone a man who was obviously very close to another woman, in a relationship she did not understand.

And so she focused on her anger, telling herself he had no right to speak of her childhood friend in that way.

‘Lord Chuffington is a dear, sweet man,’ she said, taking a step backwards and freeing herself from his touch. ‘He has more virtues than you could possibly imagine. He —’

‘Virtues!’ He spoke contemptuously. ‘You don’t need virtues! You need a man who can show you what it is to be a woman. He can give you a safe life; an easy life; but there is more to life than ease and safety, Cicely.’ His voice became husky. ‘There is so much more.’

Looking at him standing before her she did not doubt it. It was as though his words had tapped into the primal heart of her, and she was filled with a sense of anticipation, as though something momentous was about to happen.

His presence was so overpowering, the feelings he aroused in her so overwhelming, that she did not know how to control them. And if she lost control . . .

But still she did not turn away. She was held there by his presence, and the searing energy flashing between them. She flexed her feet, but it did no good. She could not move. She was held fast by the overwhelming force that enveloped them, crackling all around them like a forest fire.

‘There are kisses, for a start,’ he said throatily. ‘You have never been kissed, but — ‘

‘Wrong,’ she said breathlessly, remembering the gossamer-light brush of his lips against hers when they had been overtaken by their feelings once before. ‘You kissed me —’

‘In the study?’ He shook his head. ‘That wasn’t a kiss.’ He dragged her into his arms. ‘
This
is a kiss.’

His mouth closed over hers and the world disappeared. She was aware of nothing but Alex. It was as if there was no forest, no ground, no air and no sky; nothing but the searing heat of his body and his hot mouth claiming hers. His arms pressed her closer and then closer still as he crushed her body against him, until she could feel his every muscle, hard, firm and unyielding, pressed against her soft and pliant flesh.

Her hands rose of their own accord and slid round his neck. It felt so wonderful, opening up to her a whole new world, one she had never known existed. It was a world of heat and passion, of deep, intuitive feelings, of overwhelming sensations, and of pure unbridled joy.

She had never known it was possible to feel like this, to be so close to another person, spiritually, physically and emotionally, that she felt she was melting into him. But she knew it now, and with every touch of his mouth, every brush of his hand, she was aware of it more and more.

She wanted it to go on for ever, and when his mouth left hers she gave an unwitting cry, feeling suddenly lost. But he had released her only so that he could pull back and look at her, drinking her in.

His dark eyes traced the delicate curves of her face, lingering on her cheeks, her eyelids, her chin and her brow, before they looked deeply into her own.

Then taking her face between his hands he caressed her, his strong thumbs following the line of her cheekbones until at last they held her face with a strength and delicacy that made her shiver to the depths of her soul. And then he kissed her again. Slowly, languorously, as if time did not matter, as if they had all eternity in which to discover each other.

His hands dropped to her shoulders and trailed a blaze of heat down her spine . . .

In the background, she was dimly aware of a sound. Some small part of her, a part that had not yet completely succumbed to the intoxicating sensations that were coursing through her body, began to interpret it as bells.

Alex released her, slowly, reluctantly, as though it cost him an enormous effort, and yet he let her go. Gradually she began to emerge from her rapturous state and return to reality.

And reality was that the church bells were tolling the time, their ponderous chimes ringing out the hour of twelve. If she did not return at once to her aunt’s villa she would be missed, for it was time to change for luncheon.

She stepped back, still dazed, and tried to collect herself. Steadying her rapid pulse, she smoothed her crumpled skirt and pinned her straying locks back in place. What had come over her? Why had she so forgotten herself that she had allowed him to kiss her, and even worse, responded? Her head was so clear and so sensible, but her feelings were turbulent and out of control.