Fallen Angel. Anne Mather

all. I don’t intend to let a housekeeper intimidate me!’

      ‘Do you think that’s all she is?’ asked Miss Holland doubtfully, unexpectedly voicing those fears which Alexandra had succeeded in keeping hidden until that moment. ‘She seems—very much in command to me.’

      Alexandra determinedly squared her shoulders. ‘Well, maybe she is, at that. But she’s not in command of us, Miss Holland, and that’s what matters.’

      The older woman gave a rueful smile. ‘Oh, for the arrogance of youth!’ she murmured, a trifle anxiously, and then started when a male voice spoke brusquely behind them.

      ‘Is everything all right?’

      It was Jason, and Alexandra turned to him mutinously, wondering how much of their conversation he had overheard. ‘Must you creep up on us like that?’ she snapped, thrusting back the weight of her hair with a nervous hand, aware that it must be uncombed and unruly after the journey, and his mouth took a downward curve.

      ‘I did not creep up on you!’ he declared coldly. ‘I was merely attempting to assure myself that you had everything you needed.’

      ‘Well, we haven’t!’ said Alexandra childishly, facing him in defiance of her emotions. ‘We’re short on a host, for one thing, and for another—where did you disappear to?’

      Jason’s mouth relaxed a little. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m afraid this is not a holiday hotel. It’s a working ranch, with any number of things waiting to be done. I’m sorry if you think I neglect my duties——’

      ‘Oh, I’m sure we didn’t think any such thing.’ Miss Holland rose now and after a reproving look in Alexandra’s direction moved uncomfortably towards the door where Jason was standing. ‘I expect we’re all tired. I know I am.’

      ‘I’m not,’ declared Alexandra shortly, tipping her head on one side and daring Jason to argue with her, but he was already standing aside to allow her companion to leave the room.

      ‘I suggest you rest for a while, Miss Holland,’ he was saying with quiet assurance. ‘Supper isn’t served much before eight, and there’s time for you to take a bath, if you’d like to.’

      ‘Thank you. I may take you up on that,’ she agreed, moving along the landing, and presently Alexandra heard the door of her room close behind her.

      Only then did Jason step into her room, his face eloquent with disapproval. ‘Do you think you could refrain from embarrassing me in front of Miss Holland?’ he demanded, in low angry tones, and her momentary joy that he had chosen to remain was quickly doused.

      ‘Yes,’ she declared now, holding up her chin, ‘if you can guarantee that—that Estelita won’t embarrass me in front of her!’

      ‘Oh, God!’ He raked back his hair with impatient fingers. ‘Now what has she been saying?’

      ‘Saying?’ Alexandra’s shrug was offhand. ‘She hasn’t exactly—said anything. It’s just—her attitude,’ she finished lamely.

      ‘I see.’ His lips thinned. ‘Is that all?’

      ‘No, it’s not all.’ Her chin jutted defensively. ‘I like my room. It’s very nice.’ She paused. ‘But I don’t want to rest. I’m not tired. I want to see the ranch. I want to be with you!’

      Jason’s features took on the guarded expression she was coming to know so well. ‘The estancia,’ he said, stressing the Spanish derivative, ‘comprises some twenty thousand acres. How much do you suppose you could see before it gets dark?’ He gestured towards the open windows, where already shadows were falling. ‘Tomorrow—or the next day—if you can sit a horse, I’ll have Ricardo show you the home paddocks——’

      ‘Ricardo!’ Alexandra’s chest heaved. ‘I don’t know Ricardo. I don’t want Ricardo to show me the—the estancia. I want you——’

      ‘Alexandra!’ His use of her name cut her off in full spate. ‘The sooner you realise your every wish is not my command, the better. All right, so I allowed you to come here as you wanted, but so long as you are living under my roof, there are certain things you will have to learn, and the first is that I cannot devote all my time to your entertainment!’

      There was silence for a moment after that while they viewed one another with wary speculation. Then Alexandra spoke, but it was so quietly that he could barely hear the words.

      ‘You want me to hate it here, don’t you?’ she accused him, in low choking tones. ‘You want me to find it so awful that I’ll pack my bags and go away again, don’t you? Then you won’t have to be bothered with me any longer!’

      ‘Alexandra!’ With a driven kind of anguish, he crossed the room between them with long easy strides, and grasping her by the shoulders, he shook her until her head felt too heavy for the slender column of her throat. ‘Stop it!’ he ordered savagely. ‘Stop feeling sorry for yourself. Of course I want you here. If I hadn’t, I wouldn’t have allowed you to come, whatever you said.’

      ‘Is that true?’ The long silky lashes swept upward, and the smouldering torment of his gaze was achingly reassuring. ‘Oh, Jason,’ she whispered, lifting her hand to his face and touching his cheek. ‘Jason, you do care about me, don’t you?’

      ‘I’ve said so, haven’t I?’ he muttered gruffly, but he held himself away from her, and almost instinctively she moved nearer to him.

      Immediately she was aware of the tautness of his body, of the moist male smell of him that no written word had ever warned her about. She could feel the hard muscles of his legs where hers were touching him, and longed, with an incomprehensible yearning, for something she hardly understood; for some contact between them that was not compounded of sympathy and comfort.

      ‘Jason …’

      His name on her lips was a plea for understanding, but when he turned his head and parted his lips against her palm, she fairly snatched her hand away and pressed it tightly to her. Her startled eyes were mesmerised by the probing force of his, her whole body tingling with emotions she was not equipped to handle. She felt her breasts taut against the thinness of her vest, shameless in their eagerness, her head was swimming, and her legs, weak and trembling, scarcely had the strength to support her. Then she glimpsed the dawning cynicism in his gaze, the mocking curve of his mouth—and guessed his intention had been to achieve just this result. With a shudder of reaction, she pulled herself away from him, and his hands fell loosely to his sides.

      ‘Yes,’ he said, and his voice was low and angry, ‘you are just a child, aren’t you, Alexandra? So don’t try to play the femme fatale. It doesn’t satisfy.’

      ‘I—I suppose you think I’m afraid of you!’ she burst out jerkily, her arms folding about herself, as if for protection, and he nodded.

      ‘Aren’t you?’ he demanded, and then, as if his patience had spent itself, he brushed past her and left the room.