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Tomorrow she would feel better. Later tonight she would pack and first thing in the morning she would phone for a taxi to take her into Shrewsbury, get the inter-city back to London, get her life back on tra
ck again.
Ben wouldn’t complain to her boss, she decided cynically. She’d satisfied those needs he’d talked about and he’d be more than happy to see her go.
Outside the air was cooler than she’d expected but she wasn’t going back in to fetch a jacket, not when it meant risking running into Ben. Hell would freeze over before she could meet his eyes without cringing with shame.
Unthinking, her mind pre-programmed, Caroline skirted the property, crossed the walled kitchen gardens and let herself out onto the green lane beyond the wooden door in the far wall. The grass was soft beneath her feet and soon she was under the dim canopy of the trees that bordered the stream.
The sound of the water as it chattered over its stony bed soothed her a little. The rustle of ferns as she brushed through them and the cry of a distant owl eased some of the tension from her shoulders.
She rubbed some warmth into her arms, the thin silk of her shirt offering little protection from the cool evening air, and stepped into a grassy clearing. The mist from the water made softly moving grey patterns against the dark background of the trees.
She saw him then and stopped breathing. Too late she realised where she’d come, instinctively making her way, as she had so often done in the past, to the secret place. The secluded, magical place where their love had been consummated, where dreams had been born and nourished. Dreams that had turned into a nightmare of betrayal and deceit.
How could she have been so thoughtless? And, more to the point, why was he here?
Ben had his back to her, standing on the bank of the stream, seemingly intent on the dark waters as they swirled around the partly submerged rocks. Caroline turned swiftly to retrace her steps but he must have heard her.
He called her name.
The sound of his voice sent shock waves through her. Her feet felt as if they were rooted to the ground. She could hear his approach and still couldn’t move.
‘Don’t go.’ He sounded weary, as if something had happened to drain away his life force. ‘I have to talk to you.’
Caroline didn’t want to hear what he had to say, whatever it was. He diminished her utterly, made her so ashamed of herself.
Clinging onto what little dignity that remained, she said dully, ‘I’m going back. It’s getting very dark and I’m cold.’
‘Then, I’ll walk with you,’ he said firmly, adding, ‘Wait!’ as she took a blind step back into the woodland. The touch of his hand as he laid it on her shoulder was sheer torture, the warmth and strength of it sending sparks through her that were part pleasure, part agonising pain.
He turned her round, his eyes searching her face and even in the fading light she could see the faint, almost reluctant, smile that curved his mouth. ‘Your shirt’s buttoned up all wrongly and your hair’s gone mad—you look exactly like the wild thing I used to know. Here—’ Releasing her briefly, he slipped out of the soft leather jacket he wore over a body-hugging dark T-shirt and draped it over her shoulders.
The masculine warmth of him, stored in the supple leather, almost defeated her, but not nearly as much as the sudden shocking and heart-stopping realisation that, whatever he had been in the past, whatever he was now, she still loved him.
Her stomach churned sickeningly. But he didn’t love her. He never had, despite his youthful protestations. The sex had been brilliant, that was all.
Today he’d admitted that his need to form a committed relationship with any other woman had been stifled by the memory of their tempestuous, perfect love-making.
She could understand that, sympathise. Memories could be dangerous, distorting things. So he’d made love to her, had used her to satisfy himself that she was just an ordinary woman, no different from any other.
She had set him free, free to do what he’d said he wanted—commit himself to one special woman, marry, raise children. Did that explain his gentler mood, the care he was taking on her behalf as he guided her through the growing darkness? Resignedly, she supposed it did.
Emerging from the trees she caught her foot on a root and would have fallen had the guiding arm around her waist not tightened, pulling her against his body.
She heard the rough tug of his breath, felt the heavy beats of his heart beneath the palms of her hands that had automatically splayed out, seeking support. Felt the immediate masculine stir of his body and pulled away. Easy to go with the flow, take what there was to take of him in the short time they had left together. But dangerous for her future peace of mind. What had happened this afternoon must not happen again.
Away from the trees the going was easier, the light from billions of stars making his guiding, protective arm redundant. She mourned the loss though she knew she shouldn’t and the silence he kept—in spite of his saying that he needed to talk to her—was like an intolerable ache.
She would be leaving early in the morning she reminded herself so perhaps this was their final goodbye. Recriminations for the heartless way he’d used her—both in the past and since their paths had crossed again—would achieve nothing.
No one was all bad and, as they reached the house, she knew she had to tell him how much she admired what was good in him.
Caroline waited while he closed the door behind them and flicked on the lights, the aching sadness inside her robbing her voice of all vitality as she said, ‘Linda told me what you’re doing with this house—helping children from deprived backgrounds. I think it’s wonderful—’
‘You do?’ His eyes, the set of his mouth was dismissive. Plainly he wasn’t interested in compliments, not if they came from her. ‘Ironic, isn’t it? I saved your revered family home from falling into complete disrepair, only to plan to fill it with young tearaways from run-down estates. Your father would turn in his grave if he knew that his precious daughter would have to face such a situation.’ One brow rose mockingly. ‘The villagers used to call you Princess Caroline, did you know that? Shut away in your ivory tower, too good to mix with the likes of them.’
This barely veiled antagonism was enough to break her heart, especially as she recognised the truth that she’d so carefully hidden from herself for such a long time. She could never love another man as she loved this one: warts and all.
