she had left, in fact that had been part of the reason she had wanted to go to America. And surprisingly Rafe had offered no resistance. In fact, it had been he who made all the enquiries for her job, and on finally being accepted he had accompanied her on the flight and stayed a few days to make sure she was going to be happy there.
And she hadn’t see him for three years, three long peaceful years. Would he have changed? She remembered him as being tall, very tall, and dark, with the dark skin colouring and thick black hair of his ancestors. The Savajes had originated from Spain, moving to England hundreds of years ago, their name soon refined to the more acceptable Savage.
Rafe wasn’t even really her cousin, her father having married Rafe’s true cousin when Hazel was only two years old. Her first memory of this tall arrogant man had been at the age of five, when he was already a grown man of twenty-three, and she had fallen and cut herself, sobbing bitterly for her father. Rafe had laughed at her tears, saying she was a big girl now and big girls didn’t cry over silly little things like cuts. From that moment on she had begun to hate him.
And now her time in America was over and she was returning to Savage House, a large house overlooking the sea that pounded on the rocky beach far below them. She felt nervous about meeting Rafe again, so nervous that by the time the plane landed she was pale and apprehensive. And her journey wasn’t over yet.
She had cabled a couple of days ahead to say when she would be arriving, but having received no reply she had no idea if she was going to be met. She certainly hoped so; she didn’t relish the idea of getting to Savage House on her own. The grounds surrounding the house were private, with a man on the gate to stop any intruders, and no one was allowed in without Rafe’s explicit permission. How humiliating to arrive there and not be allowed in! It would be the sort of humiliation Rafe would enjoy witnessing.
She knew her fears to be groundless when she saw James waiting for her in the airport lounge. Dear kind James, the chauffeur who had been with the Savage family every since she could remember, his wife Sara being the cook and housekeeper.
Hazel hugged him, huge tears of emotion welling up and threatening to overspill. ‘Oh, James, it’s lovely to see you!’
He held her away from him. ‘Why, Miss Hazel, I wouldn’t have recognised you, you’re so grown up.’
She laughed. ‘I’ll take that as a compliment, James, thank you.’ She licked her lips nervously. ‘Rafe hasn’t come with you, then?’
The middle-aged man frowned. ‘He would have come himself normally, you know that. But since he was hurt he doesn’t go out much.’ His face brightened. ‘But it should be different now you’re home again. Mr Savage has certainly missed you.’
Hazel doubted that very much, but didn’t argue with him. Something else he had said held her attention much more. ‘You say Rafe has been hurt?’ she asked sharply. ‘What do you mean by hurt?’
James stashed her suitcase in the boot of the Mercedes, just one of the cars kept for the use of the members of the Savage family. She supposed she could be considered part of the family, although she had never considered herself as such. Rafe had a much more sturdy Range Rover for transporting himself about the estate.
James looked at her sharply now, his surprise unhidden. ‘Why, he was hurt in the accident, Miss Hazel. Hurt quite badly too. Of course he won’t admit to the pain he has, but you can see it in his eyes. You’ll probably notice it more than we do, having been away so long.’
Hazel frowned her puzzlement. ‘I don’t understand all this, James. Are you telling me that Rafe has been involved in an accident?’
James halted in the process of opening the car door for her. ‘You mean you don’t know? Didn’t Miss Celia write and tell you?’
She shook her head. ‘What should she have told me, James? Tell me what’s happened to Rafe!’
He shook his head. ‘I would have thought someone would have told you,’ he muttered to himself.
‘Tell me, James!’ she pleaded.
He sighed. ‘Mr Savage was on the launch. No one realised, least of all him, that there was a leak in the petrol tank. One lit match and the whole thing went up. You know how Mr Savage likes to smoke those cheroots of his, it was inevitable it would happen as soon as he went on board. Luckily he was thrown clear, but the left side of his face was badly burnt and he had a crushed bone in his left hip that’s left him with rather a nasty limp at times.’
Hazel paled at this information. Rafe maimed and scarred! Oh, it didn’t bear thinking about. She and Rafe might have argued constantly, but she had never been able to deny that he was a fine specimen of manhood—at least, he had been! ‘Oh God!’ she groaned. She felt physically sick. ‘When—when did it happen, James?’
‘About a year ago now. Mr Savage——’
‘A year ago?’ she burst out. ‘But I—I——No one told me!’
James closed her car door behind her and climbed into the driver’s seat. ‘That’s very odd, Miss Hazel, because I’m sure that when he was so ill Mr Savage asked for you. Miss Celia promised him she’d write to you.’ He began to look uncomfortable, as if realising he had said too much. ‘I suppose she must have decided it was better not to worry you.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed hollowly.
Celia! A viper in paradise was a good description of Rafe’s sister. Celia of the laughing, teasing, spiteful blue eyes, long black lustrous hair, and a perfect petite figure; she managed the Savage household with the arrogance of all the Savage women before her. And she deliberately hadn’t told Hazel of Rafe’s accident, Hazel felt sure of that.
There had never been any love lost between them and on the death of Rafe’s mother Hazel had known she couldn’t stay at Savage House any longer. Celia had married at twenty but was widowed two years later when her husband was killed in a car accident, and so she had moved back with her mother and brother. Four years ago Mrs Savage had died, Hazel’s only ally as far as she was concerned, and Celia had taken over.
But she had never believed Celia would go to the extreme of keeping something of such importance concerning Rafe away from her, she had never believed she would go that far.
At twenty-seven, twelve years Rafe’s junior, Celia was one of the most beautiful women Hazel had ever seen, and she was surprised that she had never remarried. But why should she feel it necessary when she had the privileged position of running the Savage household? As Celia was only six years Hazel’s senior the two girls were of an age where it should have been possible for them to have been friends. But there had always only ever been antipathy between them.
Celia had always resented the fact that Rafe had taken over Hazel’s care on the death of her parents, declaring vehemently to anyone who cared to listen that Hazel wasn’t a true Savage, that she didn’t belong at Savage House. And Hazel supposed she was right, but where else could a ten-year-old child go?
‘I suppose you’re right,’ she agreed more strongly with James. ‘But I’ll be glad to get home.’ And strangely enough she meant it. Ever since the chauffeur had told her of the accident she could think only of Rafe, of what seeing him again would mean to her. He had always been so masculinely handsome, so male, and now that maleness had been marred.
She couldn’t wait to reach the house, leaving James to bring in her luggage from the car as she ran inside
