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‘No!’
‘Then what was all the money for?’
‘It wasn’t as much as the newspapers said—just a few hundred dollars—and it belonged to someone else. I was simply...minding it,’ Rosalind said reluctantly. Peter Noble’s last and most frighteningly direct gift had been a thick wad of banknotes stuffed in with his letter and she had inte
nded to ask Peggy to return it. Peggy had had it in her hand when the pain had struck and in the ensuing panic the money had been scattered around the room.
‘Was it some sort of drug deal gone wrong?’
She glared at him. ‘No, of course not!’
‘Then what?’
She remained silent, folding and refolding the top of the sheet across her chest. Even dead, Peter Noble had the power to create havoc in Peggy’s life.
‘Still want to keep your secrets, Roz?’ Luke taunted softly as the silence stretched.
She swallowed the copper taste of fear. Why was he pressing her like this? Was it just a matter of principle, or did he have some deeper purpose? He must realise his flatly confrontational approach was bound to rankle. It was almost as if he wanted her to refuse...
‘This one isn’t mine to tell. My promises mean as much to me as yours do to you—’
He pounced. ‘Who did you promise? Peggy Staines? Does that mean you know something that could be damaging to her or her husband?’
Rosalind looked away. Oh, he was sharp. So very, very sharp. If she wasn’t careful, with a little more information he might piece the picture together. In a way she wished he would guess the truth and thus relieve her of the burdensome responsibility she had impulsively shouldered. His impartial, analytical brain might see an honourable resolution to her painful dilemma.
‘I’m sorry...’ Her expressive voice was redolent with weary regret. This was even harder than it had been denying her own family. The Marlow clan would always stand staunch for one of its members. Her family’s love and private belief in her was strong enough to endure the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune. But the relationship between her and Luke was still very fragile and new and she might be damaging it beyond repair by demanding that he take her on faith. ‘I can’t tell you anything else.’
‘Not ever?’ he asked with equal quietness.
Her heart quivered with a faint pulse of excitement. ‘Ever’ was a world without end. His question implied a future that she feared to contemplate.
‘Not yet,’ she temporised.
‘Soon?’
She looked back at him helplessly. ‘I—no—maybe...! I don’t know!’ She wrapped her arms about herself and shook her head. ‘I just don’t know! Can’t we let it drop?’
‘So you want us to go on as we are, then—no soul-searching confessions on either side...yet?’ There was a tormented edge to his words, a duality that suggested that in spite of his attempts to persuade her otherwise he too welcomed the reprieve.
‘Oh, you’re very clever,’ she said bitterly, recognising that he had brought her full circle, knowing no more about him than before, whereas he had managed to eke some valuable information out of her.
She flinched at his sudden movement, but he was only reaching for one of her fretting hands, lifting it unexpectedly to his lips.
‘Clever enough to accept the wisdom of the Bible when it says that there is a season to everything,’ he said, a strange serenity replacing the aggressive curiosity in his eyes as he kissed the underside of her encircled wrist and placed her hand against his warm chest, his rapid heartbeat providing a counterpoint to his slow words. “‘A time to every purpose under heaven...a time to keep silence, and a time to speak...’”
“‘A time to love, and a time to hate”?’ she quoted shakily as he ran his hand caressingly up her arm and cupped her shoulder, gently tugging.
‘Is that what you’re afraid of, Roz? Do you think I might hate you when you finally unveil your secrets?’ he whispered as he drew her inexorably down on top of his outstretched body.
A sudden smile chased the brooding shadows from her eyes and relaxed her supple body. Of course not. Why would he? ‘No...’ He might love her, though, if she gave him sufficient encouragement.
‘Well, then...’ Luke reached up to trace the outline of her soft lips. ‘Maybe you’re right... maybe this is our time for silence...our season for loving.’ His fingers stroked up over her temple and threaded into the shimmering red halo of her hair. ‘But that other time will come for us, Rosalind...’ He lifted his head and exerted just enough pressure on the back of her delicate skull to breathe his vow against her lips. ‘One day soon we’ll have our reckoning...’
It was a promise Rosalind tried hard to forget over the next few days. After calling Jordan later that same evening to reaffirm the details of Peter Noble’s death and check that Peggy Staines’s condition remained unchanged, she determinedly dismissed the tangled past and uncertain future from her mind. She decided that for the remainder of her holiday she would live in the golden present, storing up emotional treasures, stringing memories like priceless pearls—pure, precious, unique in their joyous lustre.
The long, blazing Tioman days gave way to equally long, blazing nights with Luke. For all his inexperience, he was a wonderful lover, tender yet fierce, hungry for everything that she could offer and disconcertingly eager to experiment, delighting in his ability to sometimes fluster the unshockable Roz Marlow.
Instead of easing with familiarity, their passion strengthened and deepened, and as they lazed away the days Rosalind knew with utter certainty that her instincts hadn’t betrayed her. Luke had melted into her heart until he was an indivisible part of it—part of her...
