Helen shifted unsteadily under his gaze, momentarily numbed by the fierceness of his attack. ‘I—I—I don’t care what Margot does, as—as long as she doesn’t expect—us to—to condone it,’ she stammered, struggling to recover her dignity. ‘And—and intimidating me isn’t going to make me—change my mind, Mr Manning,’ she added bravely.
‘No?’ Unexpectedly his eyes dropped to the modest neckline of her dress, and it was all she could do to prevent herself from clutching the collar about her throat. ‘Then perhaps I should give you a sample of what you’re missing, mmm?’
Helen gulped. ‘Don’t you dare——’ she began chokingly, and then felt her words stifled at the source as his mouth descended over hers.
He held her, his hands gripping her shoulders without respect or gentleness, the narrow fingers digging into her soft flesh. She was not crushed against him, but she was aware of the hard strength of his lean body, and ridiculously embarrassed by the pressure of his legs against hers. She had never been kissed in anger before, never experienced the wholly possessive abrasion of raw emotion, and while her mind repulsed the savagery of his embrace, her senses swam beneath the undoubted skill of his expertise. He was no callow youth, attempting to seduce her with clumsy force, but an experienced man, making her fully aware of his needs—and her own. And that was the most upsetting thing of all. Until this moment she had not known she possessed such needs, or that she could be aroused in quite this fashion. It shed a whole new light on the prospect of her marriage to Charles, and with the remembrance of her fiancé, sanity asserted itself.
With a superhuman effort she wrenched herself away from Jarret Manning, and summoning all her strength she raised her arm to deliver the slap he deserved. But although he was gazing at her with a curiously speculative frown marring his lean features, he had obviously not been as emotionally disturbed by what had happened as she was, and when she tried to slap him he parried the blow without effort.
‘You—you——’ she began impotently, and he offered: ‘Cad?’ with mocking raised eyebrows. ‘Yes! Yes!’ she cried, unaware that her rounded breasts were rising and falling with the intensity of her anger, and were drawing his attention to their delectable promise.
However, he seemed to think better of any further incursion, and rubbing the back of his hand across his mouth, as if to assure himself he was not exhibiting some betraying trace of her lipstick, he gestured with mock-politeness towards the door: ‘Shall we continue?’
Helen found she was trembling, but without saying another word she turned into the hall, only to stop abruptly at the sight of her mother and Margot, just coming along the passage which led to the back of the house. In consequence, Jarret almost stumbled over her, and she heardthe almost inaudible oath he uttered at the realisation of why she had halted.
‘Going to tell on me?’ he murmured by her ear, his tone derisive, but the look she cast at him over her shoulder was belittling.
‘And embarrass my mother?’ she countered scornfully, but was in no way gratified by the lazy insouciance in his eyes.
‘Have you seen over the house, darling?’
It was Margot who hailed them, quickening her step so that she reached them seconds before Helen’s mother, and Jarret inclined his head, permitting her to slide her arm possessively through his.
‘Er—Miss Chase has done a good job of—making me feel at home,’ he remarked, with a wry grimace, and Helen felt, rather than saw, her mother give her a quick speculative glance.
‘And what did you think, Mr Manning?’ Mrs Chase asked now as she reached them, and they all moved by mutual consent into the drawing room once more.
He seemed to take ages to reply, and Helen, stiff and uneasy, chided herself for allowing such a situation to develop. The man was obviously a rogue and an opportunist, and she had only fuelled his resources by giving him that kind of a hold over her.
‘I like it,’ he said at last, detaching himself from Margot’s clinging arms and going to stand by the windows, looking out on the view Helen had been admiring earlier. ‘But I don’t know if it’s what I want.’
‘Darling——’
‘It’s not?’
Both Margot and her mother spoke at once, and Helen put her hands behind her back so that no one could see she had her fingers crossed. He was going to turn it down, she thought, with an overwhelming sense of relief, and then wondered why she felt such a hollow sense of victory.
Jarret turned then, drawing a case of cheroots from his pocket, and after gaining Mrs Chase’s permission, put one of the thin cigars between his teeth. Lighting it, the flame cupped in his brown hands, he let his gaze rove to Helen’s uncertain features, and then, extinguishing his lighter, heinhaled deeply before continuing.
‘It’s—bigger than I had in mind,’ he admitted thoughtfully, while Margot made a little sound of contradiction that for the most part he ignored. ‘And the grounds—I believe Margot told me there were forty or fifty acres.’
‘Fifty-five, actually,’ put in Mrs Chase hurriedly. ‘But most of that is arable land belonging to the home farm. I explained about the Flynns, didn’t I?’
‘Oh, yes,’ Jarret nodded, studying the glowing tip of his cheroot. ‘But the price you’re asking …’ His eyes flickered to Helen’s set face once more. ‘Quite frankly, it’s a lot of money to lay out without any previous experience of living in the country. ‘I’m sure your daughter would agree with me. An urban-reared individual like myself may find life at King’s Green a little too—unexciting, you know what I mean?’
Helen’s cheeks burned, the more so because she could imagine what her mother was thinking. She thought she had put him off, when in all honesty she had done no such thing.
‘I’m afraid Helen’s ideas are rather out of date, Mr Manning,’ Mrs Chase was saying now, with a reproving look in her daughter’s direction. ‘She persists in clinging to the past, and forgets that times have changed. As far as living in the country is concerned, Mr Manning, Thrushfold is only a couple of hours drive from the outskirts of London, or there’s an excellent train service from Bristol, if you prefer it. I can’t deny I’m looking forward to living in the city myself for a while, but I shall miss the peace and tranquillity of King’s Green once it’s sold.’
Jarret smiled, that devastating smile that could charm the birds off the trees, thought Helen maliciously, and then said: ‘You know, you almost convince me. I feel I could work here, certainly, but I don’t know. I’d have to think it over.’
‘Of course.’ Mrs Chase caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘As—as a matter of fact, I don’t mind if you take several months to think it over. You see,’ she hastened on, ‘Helen is getting married in August, and I rather hoped she might get married from here. Her father would have liked that, and if we have to leave …’
‘I see.’ The amusement faded from Jarret’s face, leaving it strangely sombre suddenly. ‘Well now, that rather disappoints me.’
‘Disappoints you?’ echoed Mrs Chase doubtfully. ‘I’m afraid I don’t understand.’
Jarret shook his head, pushing one hand into the pocket of his jacket. ‘I had hoped—if I decided to buy—that the sale might be completed in a month or so,’ he admitted. ‘You see, Mrs Chase, I do want to get away from London for a while, and the sooner the better.’
‘Jarret’s working on his fourth novel,’ explained Margot unnecessarily, and received a scathing glare from him for her pains.
‘I am working,’ he conceded dryly, ‘although whether it will ever transform itself into a readable manuscript is doubtful. However, that is the position, and perhaps it would be as well for all our sakes if I looked at something else.’
‘Oh,