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She hadn't expected Aston to be pleased, of course, she had known he would be taken aback, even hurt or angry, but it hadn't entered her head that under his smiling surface there lurked such strong feelings.
He came over and put a glass into her hand, sat down next to her
, swallowing some of the whisky in his own glass. He was very flushed, he looked like a man who has surprised himself and isn't sure what to do, next. Lindsay glanced at him secretly from under her lashes, pretending to sip her whisky. Grimacing at the taste, she said huskily: 'Aston, I've got to tell you…'
'I know,' he said, interrupting. 'Why do you think I haven't rushed you until now? I knew you weren't in love with me, I realised I had to be patient. Don't think I'm expecting an answer right away, I just wanted you to know how I felt.' He blushed and looked down into his whisky, smiling, a quick, secret smile he tried to hide by turning his head away, but too late, Lindsay had seen it. 'I should have shown you sooner,' he said, and she knew from that smile that her response to his passionate kiss had misled him into thinking she felt more for him than she did.
Or was he right? She sat up, jerked into cold self-appraisal. How had she felt? At the time she had been swept away like a straw on a flooding river, helpless to do more than go with the compelling tide. She hadn't been thinking or assessing how she felt, she had given in to him mindlessly. If Daniel had not come back into her life, would she have fallen in love with Aston, sooner or later? She had been telling herself she liked him but nothing more; she had seen him in a different light now and she was no longer so sure.
What was love, anyway? Why did she feel the way she did about Daniel, rather than any other man? His looks? Other men were as good- looking, but they didn't do a thing to her heartbeat. His wealth and power? If he had been as rich as Croesus but hadn't turned her on, she wouldn't have looked at him twice. His personality? She grimaced, drinking some more whisky. Daniel had the personality of a steamroller; he crushed everyone he met and left them flattened at his feet.
There was a lot of hostility in the way she felt about him, but she couldn't hide from herself the truth that her emotions towards him were complicated, involved, convoluted, like a thick skein of multi-coloured silks, twisted together and almost impossible to unwind without violence. When she was with him she couldn't take her eyes off him, he fascinated her; images flashed through her head now and she felt that betraying weakness she always felt when she was with him. Daniel's wide, firm mouth, smiling, or hard, his lashes lying on his skin like shadows when he looked down, his brown neck, the slow pulse at the base of it, the way he moved suddenly, the long legs graceful. She visualised without thinking, swallowing on a sudden dry-mouthed intensity. How can you pinpoint the focus of so deep an attraction? Perhaps it was none of those things, perhaps it was in herself that she should be looking—her own nature needed something she sensed in Daniel and not in any other man, but she didn't have a clue what it was she needed.
Would she have found it with Aston, though?
She looked at him and he was watching her, his mouth crooked.
'Don't look so worried, it will wait,' he said, and she wanted to cry again because he was trying to comfort her and that made her ache with guilt.
Self-hatred forced the words out of her. 'I'm going to marry Daniel.'
Aston sat there, staring at her, his glass clutched in his hand. He looked as though he hadn't understood the words. The colour drained slowly out of his face.
'I tried to tell you,' Lindsay mumbled in a low voice.
He leaned over and put down his glass, whisky spilled out of it at the crash as it hit the table.
'Why?'
The word had a raw force behind it. She couldn't meet his eyes, she was pale and she felt sick. What could she tell him? Not the truth, obviously, the situation was explosive enough without that.
'I don't know,' she said helplessly, her lower lip trembling, and in a sense that was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. On the surface Daniel was blackmailing her, but under that there lay whole layers of reasons for what was happening, subterranean levels of feeling one upon another, so complex she couldn't reach the end of them.
'What do you mean, you don't know?' Aston broke out angrily, and he might well be angry-she knew she sounded fatuous, stupid, she wasn't making sense, to him or herself. 'Are you out of your mind?' he asked, and she grasped almost gratefully at the question.
'Yes,' she said, and began to laugh now, a high-pitched, unbalanced laughter close to tears. 'Stop it!' Aston muttered, and she stopped, dead, swallowing.
'You can't be serious,' he protested. 'After what you've said about him? He's poison to you!'
A sweet poison, Lindsay thought, shuddering, and felt the ache of desire deep inside herself— wasn't that what Daniel had meant when he said that although lobster brought him out in a rash he couldn't resist it? Did he feel the same about her? Were they both aware that it was insanity for them to be together, but far more painful for them to be apart? During their separation she had built up a pleasant life, her days had been busy and painless, her burnt-out nerves had had a chance to heal, she should have been very happy, but since Daniel came back into her world she had felt fifty times more alive, a hundred times more real. He hurt, he drove her crazy, but she needed him.
Aston was looking at her grimly. 'Just now—' he began, and she put her hands over her face. He had good reason to be angry with her, she was angry with herself.
'I'm sorry,' she muttered through her fingers, and he pulled them down, refusing to let her hide from him.
'Why did you let me kiss you like that when all the time you knew you were going to marry Randall again?'
'I didn't mean to… I'm sorry… Aston, I like you so much, but…what can I say? I don't know, you've every right to hate me, I wouldn't blame you if you did, I wish I could love you, you're a wonderful man.'
He got up in a fierce, aggressive movement. 'I don't want to hear any more. I don't understand you, I don't understand women at all.' He walked to the door and Lindsay sat on the couch, shivering.
Aston stopped at the door, looked back. His hazel eyes were still almost black, his jawline rigid. She thought he was going to say something and waited, not quite meeting that stare, but after a long silence he went without a word, closing the front door very quietly.
Lindsay sat there without moving for a long time, then she got up unsteadily and went into the kitchen, to be met by a wave of perfume from the flowers Daniel had sent her. She looked at them with animosity, as though they were to blame for what had happened. She pulled some of the roses out, water dripping on the floor as she did so, and was barely conscious of the thorns pricking her skin. Half sobbing, she tore the flowers between her fingers. 'Damn you, damn you!' she whispered, and flung them from her. They drifted to the floor in a shower of torn crimson petals and green leaves. Her fingers showed tiny spots of blood, she stared at them with clouded eyes. He was hurting her already.
The phone rang, making her jump. She answered it reluctantly. It was Stephen, sounding almost lightheaded. 'I suppose you know,' he said, and she pretended not to understand, her voice, puzzled. 'Know what?'
'You don't?' Stephen sounded disbelieving, but he told her about Daniel's offer, and she ex-claimed joyfully, hoping she wasn't over-acting and that he wouldn't guess she knew all about it.
