Bridegroom On Loan

She was wearing herself out with the effort to get free, a temper tantrum imminent, when light flickered across her and was gone.

Startled, she flung up her head. ‘Hello?’ she called.

‘Carenza?’ A torch was shone in the crushed side window and she twisted towards it.

‘Can you see me?’ she shouted stupidly.

‘I can see you. Are you hurt?’

‘No,’ she shouted back. ‘I’m stuck!’

Beck, she thought in relief, and if there was one person you needed in a crisis it was someone like Beck. His jacket was being whipped and snapped like rigging on a yacht, hair blown every which way as he reached in to remove the ignition key, and the alarm thankfully stopped its strident call.

Moments later, the rear of the car was lifted, the back seats shoved flat, and the car dipped alarmingly as he crawled into the small space.

‘Which part of you is stuck?’

‘My hips; I don’t have enough leverage.’ And she was definitely going on a diet when she got out of this.

He put down the torch, grasped her upper arms, braced his feet, and pulled. One foot against the splintered dashboard, she pushed, ignored the pain of being squashed like a sausage, and eventually came free.

‘Let’s get out of here.’

‘Just let me get my breath…’

‘No time.’ He sounded terse, urgent, and for once she didn’t argue, just allowed him to drag her free. Into mayhem—and another tree that looked in imminent danger of toppling.

He grabbed her arm and dragged her away from danger. Eyes shut to protect them from the whirling dust and debris, fingers clutched into his coat, she stumbled blindly where he led. Speech and coherent thought were impossible; they needed all their energy for walking, or staggering, to safety. Impossible to stand upright, hair almost tugged from its roots by the force of the gale, they could only go in the direction the wind was blowing. She fell twice and was ruthlessly dragged to her feet, but without Beck she would never have managed.

Power lines were down and were shooting blue sparks across the grass. Avoiding them, detouring round so many fallen trees, climbing over those they couldn’t, virtually blind in the pitch-darkness, he forced her on, until thankfully, blissfully, they were in the lee of a building. Exhausted from the battle, they remained there a few moments to catch their breath.

‘All right?’ he shouted.

She nodded against his shoulder.

‘Ready?’

She nodded again, and he urged her along the side of the stone wall, then round the corner where the full force of the wind hit them again. Anchoring her against his side, he halted again, fumbled in his pocket for his keys, unlocked the door and thrust her inside. It took all his strength to shut the door behind them, and the transition from violence to calm left her almost uncomprehending.

She found that she was shaking. Untangling her hair with her fingers, she tucked it behind her ears, savoured the ability to breathe normally. She still couldn’t see a thing. But she was aware of him beside her. More aware than she had any right to be.

She heard him flick a switch, but nothing happened. He didn’t say anything further, and neither did she. He took her arm and led her blindly across the room and into another one. Low burning coals in the fireplace gave some illumination and he steered her towards an armchair.

His shadow was huge, unreal as he bent to toss a log on the fire, stir it into life, and then he said quietly, ‘I’ll make some coffee.’

‘Thank you.’ Her voice was as quiet as his.

The wind sounded somehow worse from inside, as though it were angry that its prey had escaped. And I’ll huff and I’ll puff, she thought tiredly, and I’ll blow your house down. Leaning back, jumping nervously at every crash from outside, she stared at the fire. Flames were beginning to lick round the log. Hungry, devouring, but she was alive, safe, and in the house of Andrew Beckford, known to his friends as Beck. Her employer. A man she’d been avoiding for the past few weeks of working for him. Because it was best.

The first time they’d met, last November, she had thought it would be just another job, another client. She hadn’t expected to like him. From the little she had known about him—that he was a marine archaeologist, respected mountaineer, explorer, a crewman in one of the Tall Ships Races—she had expected him to be arrogant, condescending, and he hadn’t been like that at all. A tall man with steady grey eyes and brown hair, he exuded a quiet confidence. There had also been an air of sadness about him, of hurt, and, like the fool she sometimes was, she’d allowed her heart to rule her head and agreed to work for him. She should have refused, because when she had discovered that he was engaged to the beautiful Helena it was too late.

She could hear the soft movements he made in the kitchen. With no electricity, he must have gas, or an Aga if he was able to boil a kettle, but it was an absent thought.

When he returned carrying two mugs, she turned her head to watch him. He handed her one, and went to stand by the fireplace, staring down into the fire. The flickering shadows curved his face into a mask, made it unfamiliar, stark; only the eyes seemed alive, bright, intelligent.

‘Were you coming to see me?’ He spoke quietly, gaze still on the fire.

‘No, I’d left my notebook at the centre. I tried ringing you…’

‘I wasn’t there.’

‘No. I should have left it until tomorrow, but I needed to check some figures.’

‘And being an impatient sort of person…’ he murmured.

‘Yes. I didn’t know a gale was imminent. I didn’t see the weather report. I knew March was supposed to be windy, but…’ She felt awkward. Nervous of being alone with him. ‘And then I missed the turning,’ she continued with false brightness. ‘What’s with the dragons?’

‘Dragons?’

‘Mm. The Muted Dragon, Dragon’s Rest. St Maxim’s Forest known for them, is it?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. A local legend, I expect.’

‘I should have asked the one I met. If I’d had time, that is. Trees falling on you tend to limit conversation somewhat. Sorry,’ she apologised with a wan smile. ‘I always ramble when I’m tired. It’s been one hell of a day.’ And was liable to get worse. Her awareness of him in the intimacy of the darkened room was ten times worse than it normally was. Unable to sit still, she put her coffee on a nearby table and got to her feet. Hands shoved into her jacket pockets, she walked across to the window. ‘What were you doing out? Looking for damage?’

‘No, I was on my way home. The road was blocked. I left the Land Rover and walked.’

‘Lucky for me.’

‘Yes.’

Turning, she gave him a small smile that he probably couldn’t see in the dark room. ‘I loved that car. Stupid, isn’t it? I mean, get a life, Carenza…’ Tailing off, she returned her attention to the darkened window. All she could see was herself. She was never at a loss for words. Never. And now she couldn’t think of one.

‘Are you hungry?’

She shook her head. ‘I had something earlier.’

‘Then if you’ll excuse me for a moment, I’d better empty the freezer.’

‘Yes, of course.’

When he’d gone, she returned to the chair and picked up her mug. Both hands wrapped round it for warmth, she stared at the fire. Miss No Brain, she scolded herself. All it needed now was for the beauteous Helena to come wafting in. Even an idiot could have sensed the tension between them—not that she thought Helena an idiot—she didn’t know her, didn’t want to know her—but she couldn’t have failed to miss the fact that Beck was as aware and tense as she was. Which naturally begged the question, why? If he was in love with Helena, why would he be attracted to herself? Because he was. She knew he was. The pair of them had been as inarticulate as teenagers. And Beck wasn’t a man for inarticulateness. He wasn’t a shy man.

Resting her mug on her knee, she continued to stare into the fire. Continued to think about him. Speculate. As she had been doing since the first time she met him.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, only remembered waking. Opening her eyes, she stared blankly at the fire. It was freshly banked, warm and cosy. A blanket covered her, and the wind had stopped. Silence. Complete and utter silence. Grey light filled the room, and she turned to look at the window. A window framed by expensive curtains. It was raining, she saw.

Allowing her gaze to roam, she pulled a face, partly envious, partly wry. The whole room was expensive. Being an interior designer, she could tell, almost to the last penny, how much it had all cost. Not entirely to her taste with all those small tables holding lamps, too much like something out of a magazine, but tasteful, she supposed. The only thing she really liked was the fire.