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k all her considerable courage not to turn round and flee while she still could.
As she rounded the corner of the chair and came into his sight, she took a deep breath to hide her inner agitation and said calmly, ‘Hello, Marcus.’
CHAPTER TWO
HE HAD changed so little physically that to look at him was to step back ten years in time.
It was true that there were small touches of grey in the black hair, hardly discernible unless one looked closely, but his eyes were the same—the pure cold grey of the North Sea—and his face still held that same quality of hard perception, that made one feel there could be no secrets safe from him.
His skin was still as tanned, his body still as physically fit, despite the encumbrances of two plaster casts, one from hip to ankle and one on his right arm. He still had that same daunting air of authority, of knowledge and intelligence, which had initially made her feel nervous of him as a teenager.
Strange, when she had met so many successful people, both male and female, that Marcus should still stand out among them; or was it simply that she was still held in thrall to her own childhood awe of him, so that she was investing him with a magical power he did not really possess?
Where she had not quailed in the presence of millionaires and politicians, she quailed a little now as that cold, searching grey gaze fastened on her, but she controlled her reaction to it, masking her thoughts from him by dropping her eyelids, so that she missed the sharp quiver of emotion that tensed his face.
There was no emotion though in his voice as he exclaimed harshly, ‘My God!’ He half made to start up, and then demanded instead, ‘What the hell are you doing here, Maggie?’
She took a deep breath, and stepped aside from her own personal feelings and emotions as she had taught herself to do, so long ago.
‘Susie wrote to me and begged me to come,’ she told him quietly.
She saw his expression darken with quick, growing anger, his muscles tensing as he fought to control it.
So something had changed, after all. How many times in the past had she been infuriated, baffled and, yes, frustrated by Marcus’s ability to hide his feelings from her? She had always been aware of his strength of will, or course, but, apart from the night she had run away, she had never seen him so quickly aroused to betraying what he felt.
Quite a unique distinction, she reflected grimly: to be one of the very few people he disliked strongly enough to betray an emotional reaction to.
That was another thing which had always infuriated her about Marcus: the fact that he always seemed to distance himself from others…to set himself apart and sort of look on in almost contemptuous amusement at the follies of the rest of the human race.
She had seen and met people in London who displayed the same skill, although with nothing like Marcus’s finesse. They, she had learned, used it as a protective shield against the world and the hurts it could inflict; she had even learned to adopt a little of that camouflage for herself, and now, unexpectedly, beneath her firmly controlled apprehension, ran a fine thread of speculation. What was it in Marcus’s life that had made him decide he needed the benefit of such camouflage?
As she observed his angry reception to her arrival, she was aware that, perhaps for the first time, she and Marcus were meeting on the same level. The ten-year gap which as a teenager had made her feel so awestruck and tongue-tied in his presence, especially when she started to suffer from that crippling crush on him, was now of no importance at all.
Yes, the disadvantage she had suffered because of their age difference had gone, but the hostility remained. And small wonder that he should resent her. He had never married—because of what she had done? It was an uncomfortable thought, and one which awoke old guilts.
‘How long have you been in contact with Susie?’ he asked her harshly, trying to swing round in his chair so that he could face her properly.
It gave her a tiny, savage thrill of satisfaction to realise that for once he was the one at a disadvantage, both from the surprise of her arrival, and from the fact that his heavy plaster cast made it virtually impossible for him to stand up, so that she was in the enviable position of looking down on him. It was a strange sensation when she was more used to him towering above her.
She was a fairly tall girl, somewhere around five foot seven or eight, but she had always found Marcus’s powerful six foot two male frame a little intimidating.
Probably because vulnerable teenage girls were, by their very natures, inclined to be over-impressed by such physically masculine attractions as those Marcus possessed, she reflected cynically.
He wasn’t perhaps a strictly handsome man, but he had something more compelling than intense good looks. He had a magnetism…a maleness that no woman could fail to be aware of.
By the time she had come to live at Deveril House he had been over his teenage years of dating a different girl every month, and for a long time there had been no serious girlfriend in his life, but it had still been very obvious even to her that the half-dozen or so girls who almost continuously called round on some pretext or other whenever he was at home were the ones doing the running in whatever relationship he had with them.
He had told her once that he didn’t intend to marry until he found someone he knew he wanted to spend the rest of his life with; she, at fifteen and already desperately in love with him, had breathed safely again. If he hadn’t found that women yet, then there was time for her to grow up and convince him that she was that woman.
After that she had prayed fervently every night that he would not find someone until she had grown up.
Her birthday fell in July, and the year before she left school, she thought that moment had actually come and that Marcus no longer saw her as a child, but as a woman.
Marcus and her grandfather between them had arranged a party to celebrate her attaining her seventeenth birthday. Her grandfather had given her some small items of jewellery which had once been her mother’s: a string of pearls, the diamond pendant which had marked her own birth, and various other gifts from her father to her mother, some of which had been in the Deveril family for very many years.
As the second son, her father had always known that eventually the small estate and the house would pass to his elder brother, but that had never worried him. He enjoyed teaching, loved his quiet, calm way of life and his small family, and his father, being a wise and caring parent, had made sure that there was no rivalry between his two sons by allowing both of them to give their wives gifts of jewellery from the small number of pieces that still belonged to the family.
Maggie had also received a charmingly delicate Victorian bow brooch in diamonds and pearls for her birthday, and she had left both that and the diamond ear-rings Marcus had given her behind her when she had left. When she had realised that, far from loving her, in reality Marcus thought of her as nothing more than a difficult child…a child whom he now hated and loathed. When, as the angry lash of his acid words had flayed her tender nerves raw, she had realised that she could no longer live under the same roof as him.
