and bitterness. She was almost glad that the waitress arrived at that moment, bringing their soup accompanied by a basket of home-made bread cut into chunks.
Lisa picked up a spoon and forced herself to begin eating. If she could maintain a cool façade, that might be her saving grace. But as she swallowed the hot savoury liquid, an instinctive pleasure in good food began to take over and she began imperceptibly to relax. If it hadn’t been for the inimical presence of the man at her side, and the undoubted problems awaiting her in Yorkshire, she might even have been able to enjoy herself.
After a pause, she said, ‘Is Mrs Arkwright still reigning supreme at Stoniscliffe?’
‘If you want to put it like that.’ He offered her the dish of sandwiches. ‘You never did like her, did you, Lisa?’
She shrugged again. ‘Not a great deal, but then she always made it plain she had very little time for me—or my mother,’ she added.
Dane’s face tightened for a moment, then he said, ‘You have to remember she’s been with our family a long time.’
‘I’m not likely to be allowed to forget it,’ she said wryly. Looking back, she could remember how difficult Jennifer’s first months as mistress of Stoniscliffe had been. At first she had been difficult about making changes, a little unnerved by Mrs Arkwright’s usual response to any suggestion—‘The mistress always liked it done this way,’ delivered in a flat tone which brooked no argument. But gradually as she gained confidence and realised that she had Chas’s backing, Jennifer had quietly but firmly taken over and Mrs Arkwright had been forced to retreat, grumbling. But Lisa with a child’s sensitivity had been aware that she had never forgiven or forgotten that she had been replaced as the virtual mistress of the house by someone she regarded as an interloper. As a small girl, Lisa had been made to suffer in various ways, but she wasn’t the only one. Mrs Arkwright hadn’t cared for Julie either and considered children generally to be an obstacle to the smooth running of any house.
In fact, Lisa had since wondered whether Mrs Arkwright’s unthinking harshness in many small matters—making Julie sleep in the dark when she was frightened was only one instance—had been responsible for her stepsister’s acute nervousness. All during adolescence, Julie had been subject to attacks of excitability rising at times almost to hysteria, while at school her wild and often rebellious behaviour had caused constant trouble. Persuasion worked with her most of the time, but attempts to exert any kind of authority over her caused an intense reaction. The only person she had ever seemed to be in awe of was Dane, Lisa recalled ruefully, but she knew that even he had been worried by Julie’s extremes of behaviour, and had always tended to make concessions where she was concerned.
Presumably Lisa’s return to Stoniscliffe had been one of these concessions, especially if Julie had exhibited any signs of becoming hysterical, and it was a weapon she had never hesitated to use whenever it had seemed likely she might be thwarted.
She sighed inwardly, wondering whether Tony Bainbridge realised just what he was taking on, or had he discovered some magic formula to control Julie by. Love could and did work miracles, of course, and yet …
She was suddenly aware that Dane was studying her face, his dark brows drawn together in a frown.
She said, ‘I’m sorry—did you say something? I was thinking.’
‘You were lost in thought.’ His voice was dry. ‘And not particularly pleasant thought by all appearances.’ He paused as if waiting for her to offer some explanation, and when she said nothing, he continued, ‘I was merely asking whether you’d like some coffee.’
‘Yes, I would.’ She finished her last sandwich and sat back with a little sigh of repletion. ‘That was delicious. What a lovely place this is, and the rest of the village looks interesting too. It would be nice to stay here.’
He said coolly, ‘I daresay it could be arranged. It’s out of season. They would no doubt have a room.’
Her eyes met his, widening in frank disbelief while the hot blood surged into her face.
She said, her voice shaking, ‘I was making conversation, not issuing an invitation. Perhaps I should have made that clear.’
‘Perhaps you should,’ he said. His eyes slid over her cynically. ‘You may be a tramp, Lisa, but you’re still a beautiful and desirable woman. And you said earlier that no one had exclusive rights to you. Do you really blame me for trying?’
Anger was threatening to choke her, but she forced herself to speak calmly. ‘Blame—no. Despise—yes. And now can we change the subject? I find the current one distasteful.’
‘Thus speaks the vestal virgin,’ he drawled. ‘Only we both know how far from the truth that is—don’t we, Lisa?’
For a long moment his eyes held hers, and her rounded breasts rose and fell under the force of her quickened breathing, while her small hands clenched into impotent fists.
Then she said unevenly, ‘Can we go now, please? I don’t think I want any coffee after all.’
‘Just as you wish,’ he said, and signalled for the bill. Lisa made an excuse and fled to the powder room. For a long time she stood, her fingers gripping the porcelain edge of the vanity unit, staring at her reflection with unseeing eyes. Just what had she invited by agreeing to return to Stoniscliffe? she asked herself despairingly. She must have been insane to agree.
She ran the cold tap, splashing drops of water on to her face and wrists, making herself breathe deeply to regain her self-control. She hated him, she thought. She loathed him. She had nothing but contempt for him. So why when he had looked at her, his eyes lingering on her mouth, her breasts, had there been that small stirring of excitement deep within her, that tiny flicker of something which could only be desire?
She felt sick with self-betrayal. The poise she had so painfully acquired over the past two years seemed to have deserted her, but then Dane had always had the power to bring her confidence crashing in ruins about her. Yet it was imperative that she give no sign of this. Somehow she had to convince both Dane and herself that the most she felt for him was indifference, and that not even his most barbed remarks could hurt her any more.
It would be hard, but it had to be done. Either that or she would have to run away again, and she couldn’t run for ever.
She drew a long quivering breath and went slowly back to the bar. Dane was standing talking to the landlord’s wife. He was smiling, and as she looked at him Lisa was again reluctantly aware of the tug of his attraction. No woman could be proof against it, she thought. And yet she had to be. Because she could never, never let herself forget that two years ago Dane had violated her, body and soul.
It began to rain just south of Doncaster, big icy drops which battered against the windscreen with more than a hint of sleet. It seemed like an omen. Lisa thought, looking out of her window at the lowering skies, but she was only being fanciful.
They had travelled for the most part in silence. Dane had addressed a few brief remarks to her, usually connected with her comfort. Was she warm enough? Did she want the radio on? After a while, Lisa had pretended to doze. It was easier than sitting rigidly beside him, fighting to think of something to say which would not evoke any disturbing memories, or re-open any old wounds. Not that Dane had ever felt wounded, she thought bitterly.
She would be glad to get to the house now. The car she was travelling in was the last word in comfort, but she felt cramped and cooped up. A cage however luxurious
