who had sat like a statue, her thoughts in chaos, burst out, ‘I don’t know what you hope to achieve by this—’
Jared put a finger to her lips, stopping her breath and sending a shiver running through her. ‘I’ll tell you what I hope to achieve as soon as we’ve had breakfast, but in the meantime we don’t want to upset Henry.’
He unfastened their seat belts and shepherded her through to the lounge area.
‘I really don’t want to eat,’ she protested. ‘In the circumstances, I’d prefer to know just what you’re playing at.’
His voice holding a quiet authority, he said, ‘I’ll be happy to tell you, once breakfast is over.’
When, biting her lip, she was once again seated at the table, he stood for a moment or two looking down at her before taking the chair opposite.
He was dressed in oatmeal-coloured trousers and a well-cut lightweight jacket, with a navy-blue silk shirt and a matching tie loosened at the neck. His crisp dark hair was parted on the left and cut and styled conventionally.
But even as the thought struck her, she knew there was nothing remotely conventional about Jared.
Unable to look away, she found herself staring at his handsome face. He was the same, yet not the same. Any trace of the younger, carefree Jared she had first met was gone. This man was altogether harder, tougher, with a mature width of shoulder and lines of pain etched beside his mouth.
Meeting those brilliant eyes and glimpsing a cold purpose in them, she shuddered and tore her gaze away just as the steward wheeled in a breakfast trolley loaded with several silver dishes.
He was about to serve them when Jared said briskly, ‘Thank you, Henry. We’ll help ourselves. But perhaps you’d be good enough to fetch Miss Boyd a clean cup and saucer?’
‘Certainly, sir.’ The dirty crockery was whisked away and immediately replaced by fresh. Then, with a slight inclination of his gleaming head, the steward withdrew silently.
‘Coffee?’ Jared enquired politely.
Subduing a sudden desire to laugh hysterically, Perdita answered with equal politeness, ‘Please.’
He filled both their cups before lifting the lids of the various dishes and enquiring, ‘What’s it to be? Bacon and eggs? Sausages? Kidneys? Mushrooms?’
‘Nothing, thank you. I couldn’t eat a thing,’ she told him stiltedly.
‘Try. You’re too thin as it is.’ Looking at her set face, he added, ‘Starving yourself isn’t going to solve anything and, if I remember rightly, you used to enjoy bacon and eggs.’
She sat in tight-lipped silence while he served her with a generous amount of crisp bacon and fluffy scrambled eggs before helping himself to the same.
Then, his eyes fixed on her face, he waited.
His willpower proved to be stronger than hers—as it always had been—and finally she gave in and picked up her knife and fork.
He waited until she put the first forkful of food into her mouth before starting on his own.
Once Perdita began to eat, in spite of all the trauma, she found that her normal healthy appetite was back and she cleared her plate.
Jared made no comment, but he swapped the plate for a clean one and put the toast-rack within easy reach.
When she sat unmoving, he helped himself to some toast and spread butter and marmalade on it in a leisurely fashion.
Seeing he had no intention whatsoever of saying anything until he was good and ready, she threw in the towel and followed suit.
She had just taken her first bite when, with a glance from beneath long dark lashes, he remarked slyly, ‘The last time we had breakfast together like this, we were in Las Vegas.’
Her eyes on her plate, she kept chewing in silence.
‘But perhaps you don’t remember?’
She remembered only too well.
All her life Perdita had been cosseted and cared for, guarded as well as any chaperoned miss from the Edwardian era.
Naturally quiet and a little shy, and loving her father as much as he loved her, it had never occurred to her to feel caged and stifled by so much care and affection.
That was, not until she met Jared and wanted enough freedom to spread her wings.
At first everything had gone well. Her father had been prepared to both like and respect him until Martin had mentioned that Jared had a bad reputation with regard to women.
Suddenly waking up to the fact that his beloved daughter might be in danger, John had ordered her to give, ‘that young Dangerfield’ a wide berth.
She would certainly have rebelled but, as her father had recently suffered his first heart attack and his doctors had warned against worries or stress of any kind, she had, outwardly at least, complied.
For several months she and Jared had been forced to meet in secret, snatched moments together that had left both of them dissatisfied and bitterly unhappy.
He had begged her to marry him and present her father with a fait accompli, but she had been afraid to chance it while his recovery was still uncertain.
Then, while Elmer was away in New York, John had had to go into Mardale, a Los Angeles hospital, for a week of special and extensive tests.
Perdita had made up her mind that if the results were good and showed that her father was more or less recovered, she would tell him the truth.
When the time had come for John to go to Los Angeles, he had refused to let her accompany him, saying there was no point in her simply hanging around a hospital all that time. She would be much better off at home.
‘After all,’ he had added, ‘it’s not as if you’ll be on your own. Martin will be there.’
Truth to tell, she had been pleased to stay behind. It had given her a few precious days to be with Jared.
That sudden taste of freedom had gone to both their heads, and when he had suggested a trip to Las Vegas she had eagerly agreed.
All the tawdry glitter of that city in the desert had seemed to be right and romantic, and she had been blissfully happy to be with the man she loved, with no idea how it was all going to end…
Feeling suddenly chilled through and through, Perdita snapped off the thought and brought her mind back to the present.
What had made him mention Las Vegas? she wondered. She didn’t for a moment believe it was just an idle remark. Jared never did or said anything without a good reason.
Which meant it would only be playing into his hands to ask.
Holding on to her facade of composure as best she could, she ate her toast in silence while she waited for him to finish his coffee.
As
