Terms Of Possession. Elizabeth Power
don’t know,’ she murmured, and was glad when he leaned across to close the central air-vents, because the exhaust fumes from a dusty van in front were making her feel sick.
He started talking casually about pollution then, and the growing congestion in the city—things she felt strongly enough about herself to be able to engage in sympathetic discussion with him until he turned into the street of smart, semi-detached houses, pulling up outside her flat.
‘There you are,’ he said almost congenially, a smile touching his lips as he clicked the handbrake into place, and then, surprisingly, pulled the keys out of the ignition. ‘Now, do as you’re told and go up and pack as many things as you’ll need to see you through a long stay in the country, because you’re moving into that cottage tonight!’
Startled flecks showed in Nadine’s green eyes as she stared at him. ‘By whose authority?’ she snapped, flabbergasted.
‘By your own glimmer of a conscience, Nadine.’ Leather squeaked softly as he turned to face her, one finely clad arm resting disturbingly across the back of her seat. ‘Unless, of course, you would prefer me to pen a very detailed and informative account of your behaviour to your mother—?’
‘You wouldn’t dare!’
He didn’t even need to answer that. Seeing the inexorable determination on that uncompromising mouth, Nadine realised now what he had been doing when he had asked those seemingly casual questions about her mother. He’d been testing the water, as the saying went-or her reaction anyway—understanding her body language with all the skill and shrewdness of his profession.
He’d obviously heard her telling Lisa all those weeks before not to mention their arrangement to Dawn Kendall if she, Nadine, did become pregnant; had heard her begging Lisa, making her promise. He’d clearly realised how desperate she’d been to keep it from her mother, even if he hadn’t known—still didn’t know—the reason why. And now she’d played right into his hands! she thought hopelessly, without seeing the manipulation behind those cleverly posed questions. Otherwise she could have said she’d already told her mother the truth, or that she was intending to. Anything but suffer this humiliating defeat.
‘You calculating bastard.’
‘Right on target.’ He smiled without warmth, bringing embarrassed colour to her cheeks as she realised the hardhitting implication of what she had just called him. ‘And as far as the adjective goes, that makes two of us, doesn’t it?’ he said smoothly, aware of her embarrassment as he got out and came round to open her door with a courtesy that surprised her in the circumstances.
It only took an hour for her to pack the things she needed to take, although she filled a large suitcase and a substantial-sized travelling bag.
‘Leave that,’ Cameron ordered when she went to pick it up to follow him down with her suitcase to the car.
‘Why? Scared I might overdo things?’ she couldn’t help taunting sarcastically, but he ignored it, stooping to pick up the travelling bag with her case and carrying them both effortlessly downstairs.
She had been in the bathroom, checking that she hadn’t forgotten anything, and heard Cameron coming back just as she came out into the hall.
‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ he advised grimly, ‘before we go any further, and that’s that I don’t care an iota what happens to you. But I am concerned for the welfare of my child, and while you’re carrying it you’ll take every possible precaution to protect it. Do I make myself clear?’
Perfectly, she thought, trying to deny just how much his confessed lack of concern for her had hurt. And, of course, she was going to take every step necessary to safeguard her baby. But she didn’t tell him that, snapping back instead, ‘What will you do? Pass sentence on me if I don’t?’ And with that deliberately provocative remark she brushed past him with her chin in the air, out to the gleaming saloon.
It was dark when they arrived at the cottage—Cameron’s insistence on stopping for a meal en route, which she had felt too nauseous to eat, which he had interpreted as rebellion, having necessitated a good hour’s break in their journey.
Now, as they pulled up in the country lane outside the solitary little house, Nadine’s stomach seemed to come up into her mouth.
‘Would you give me a minute?’ she uttered as he started getting out of the car, despising herself for the way it had come out—as an almost feeble appeal. She didn’t want to make a fuss—show any weakness in front of him.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘I feel sick.’ Suddenly she was forced to swallow her pride and tell him, leaning sharply forward, her hand clamped over her mouth.
‘I thought that was a morning problem,’ he remarked when she sat back again.
‘So did I.’ Feeling easier, she uttered an ironic little laugh. ‘I think my body-clock’s stuck permanently on a.m. at the moment.’
‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’ He sounded surprisingly concerned, but she merely shrugged, deciding against reminding him of his earlier remark about not caring about her. ‘You’ve been to sleep,’ he said laconically—which was something, she thought, that she seemed to be doing all the time lately. ‘That might not have helped. Wait here.’
He got out of the car and she watched his tall, shadowy figure moving through the little gate, along the garden path; she heard the jangle of keys then the door opening, before light flooded through the aperture, spilling out across the step and two superb hydrangea bushes that were growing near the house.
‘Come on.’ The touch of his hand on her elbow was
gentle if not caring, and unwelcome sensations assailed her as she teetered unsteadily and felt a supportive arm go across her back.
‘I’m all right,’ she protested with mild vehemence, trying to pull away.
‘The devil you are.’ He swore roughly under his breath. ‘And it isn’t going to help not eating properly. You’re going to get something inside you,’ he asserted, that strong arm keeping her locked to his side as he guided her along the path.
‘I couldn’t,’ she uttered, her mind rejecting his electrifying nearness as much as her stomach rejected the thought of food.
‘You can and you will. You’ll eat little and often and drink plenty of fluids,’ he told her, surprising her with a knowledge of her condition she hadn’t expected him to possess. ‘You might think you can’t stomach anything, but it will help the nausea, believe me.’
On that, at least, she thought later, when she was sitting on the floral-patterned settee tucking into the dry toast and tea he had made her, he had been right, because the sickness had certainly begun to subside.
‘Did…you and Lisa come here for weekends?’ she asked hesitantly as he came in from the car with her luggage. The room, though spacious and well-furnished, reflected an old-world charm which was certainly not Lisa’s taste, she thought, remembering her friend’s liking for stark, contemporary designs.
‘No,’ he answered, and so tersely that she wondered if she should have mentioned it since he was still obviously blaming her for the break-up of his marriage. But then, in surprisingly neutral tones, he said, ‘Lisa never stayed here. This place belonged to an aunt of mine, and when she died last year it passed to me. I don’t get down here as often as I’d like, but it’s always been the perfect spot to come when I want to unwind and get life back into perspective. It’s also where I did a lot of my growing up.’
Of course. He had said he’d lived with various aunts, Nadine remembered, feeling the sudden throb of her pulse as her gaze clashed with his, the dark sapphire of his eyes holding hers with a hard, unsettling intensity.
What was he thinking? she wondered, weakened by a sexual magnetism she didn’t