The Feisty Fiancée

CHAPTER FIVE

SHE WAS not, not, not in love with Thomson, Yancie told herself repeatedly as the weekend came and went. She was still telling herself the same thing when Thursday rolled around again-a week, a whole week since she had last seen him-and thoughts of the head man at Addison Kirk seemed to be still totally dominating her mind.

She supposed, on balance, seeing what a hash she'd made of it the last time she'd been called upon to chauffeur him-when he had ended up chauffeuring her-that she couldn't blame him for not requesting her to drive him since. And yet-even though she wasn't in love with him-she missed him. Indeed, sometimes she felt so heartsore, she ached just to see him. But she wasn't in love with him!

Yancie occasionally worried that she might be growing to be like her mother, or her cousins' mothers, Aunt Portia or Aunt Imogen. But it didn't feel like it. This-this feeling inside of her wasn't a feeling she got for any one anywhere-likely-looking man. It was just for Thomson Wakefield.

It upset her, this new and never experienced-before emotion. Yet, when she, Astra and Fennia had always been able to discuss absolutely everything, including their innermost thoughts, she felt completely unable to discuss this-whatever it was she felt for Thomson-with them. It was too private. Somehow, it was much too private to share with even her two lovely cousins.

Yancie tried hard to think of something else other than Thomson, yet thoughts of him seemed to consume her. Ridiculous, she told herself; totally ridiculous. It was for sure he wasn't wasting a minute's sleep in thinking of her. If he were, he'd be on that phone to Kevin asking for her to drive him somewhere. But had he rung for her? Had he blazes!

'What's the matter, Yancie`?' Fennia asked her when they met up at Astra's flat that night.

'Matter?"

'You've been-different. All this week you've been quiet. Sort of as if your mind is elsewhere.'

'I'm sorry,' Yancie apologised.

Fennia shrugged her apology aside. `You're not having problems at work? With your mother?"

'Oh, Fen!' Here was she, moping about, when Fennia had much more serious problems. `How are things with you and your mother?"

'Like she doesn't want to know.'

'What we need is a party,' Yancie decided to be cheerful.

'True, but Astra's got a whole load of work on this weekend, and it wouldn't be fair.'

'So Saturday night's out,' Yancie agreed.

'In which case, I'll take myself off on Saturday to see my mother-who knows? She might give me a less frosty reception than last time.'

'Would you like me to come with you?"

'I couldn't let you,' Fennia replied-they both knew that if Portia Cavendish was not ready to make friends with her daughter, then her cousin Yancie would be included in the permafrost.

'We've been through worse.'

Fennia laughed. `Do you remember…?'

With Astra busy most of Saturday, and with Fennia planning to call on her mother that evening-Fennia's mother refused to speak to her daughter on the telephone-Yancie, for the first time in her life, felt at a loose end.

She had worked on Saturday morning, getting a Mercedes spruced up. Because she was off to the airport very early on Sunday morning, taking Mr Clements to catch a plane, she was being allowed to take the Mercedes home.

Yancie knew full well that she was not allowed to use the car for personal use but she felt out of sorts, without feeling ill. Felt restless, unsettled and needing to be doing something. She could, she knew, go and pay her mother a visit. And Ralph would always welcome her; she knew that.

But, as ever, she turned to her aunt Delia in this time of needing she knew not what. Yancie drove the Mercedes over to her aunt's home.

'Yancie, my dear, how lovely to see you!' Aunt Delia beamed, warming Yancie's heart immediately. `Come and tell me all you've been up to.'

Two hours later, while making a determined effort that her aunt should not know she was feeling a little flat just then, Yancie was enjoying her aunt's company when Delia Alford said she'd make some more tea. 'I'll make it!' Yancie straight away volunteered, when just then the telephone rang.

'You answer the phone-I'll make it,' her aunt countermanded at once. `I don't want to speak to Imogen Kirby if it's her.'

'I'll tell her you're tied up with the plumber.' Yancie laughed, guessing the two half-sisters had had words about something or other.

It was not her aunt Imogen, Astra's mother, on the phone, however, but Matthew Grant, a friend of Greville's, asking if by any chance Greville was there. `That's not Mrs Alford, is it?' it suddenly dawned on him.

'Guess again,' Yancie suggested, having met Matthew on numerous occasions, and liking him very much.

'You've got to be one of Greville's stunning cousins.'

'Which one?'

'I can't say "the pretty one", because you're all ravishing.'

'I wonder why some girl hasn't snapped you up yet, Matthew?' Yancie laughed. `It's Yancie. How are things with you?"

'Poor on all fronts. Not only has my girlfriend dumped me, but my car had a slight mishap last night, so I'm without wheels which is why I'm trying to trace Greville. I'm supposed to be going to a party tonight, and if he's going too he might be able to give me a lift-only he's not home.'

'Hang on; I'll ask my aunt if she knows what he's doing.' Yancie put down the phone and slipped into the kitchen. `Matthew Grant wants to know if Greville's going to some party or other tonight. Any idea?"

'He's taking his poor dear mother to the theatre,' Greville's wonderful mother replied.

Yancie grinned and went back to the phone, recollecting that Greville was something of a theatre buff, but her grin faded-everybody had something to do that night, it seemed. 'Greville's not going to your party,' she relayed to Matthew, and, on a sudden impulse, she offered, `I'll drive you if you like. But I can't come back for you,' she added as an afterthought. `If you can make your own way home.' She knew all about parties. They went on until all hours and she didn't fancy getting out of bed to collect him at any time past midnight when she had to be up at four in the morning to drive to Mr Clements' address.

'Would you?' Matthew seemed a little amazed at her offer, but was soon liking the idea. `Getting a lift home won't be a problem. There's sure to be someone there going my way,' he accepted, and Yancie was just about to ask him what time he wanted picking up when Matthew had a sudden idea. `You wouldn't like to come to the party too, would you.

'I haven't been invited.'

'I've just invited you. I'm supposed to be taking someone-and I don't want all and sundry to know I've just been thrown over. Do come with me, Yancie.'

Poor Matthew; beneath his bright tone he sounded as if he was hurting. `I won't be able to stay long,' she said, weakening; wasn't a party just what she needed?

'You'll come?' he sounded pleased.

'What time shall I call for you?'

As soon as she put the phone down Yancie knew that she didn't want to go to any party. She had thought she did, but even though she didn't know what she did want it wasn't a party. 'I'm taking Matthew Grant to a party he's invited me to tonight,' she smiled to her aunt when she went back to the kitchen.

Yancie, dressed in a straight garment of little material, considering its outrageous price, picked Matthew up at eight-thirty as arranged and drove him to the party. They were warmly welcomed by their hosts and were soon in the swing of things.

Yancie had thought she might see someone she knew, as usually happened at that sort of function. But she saw no one she knew and, while owning that her heart wasn't in it, she did her very best for Matthew's sake.

The party was at its height, however, when he leaned forward and, sounding extremely stressed, exclaimed in hushed tones, `She's here! '

'Your ex?' Yancie whispered back, keeping her eyes steady on him so whoever `she' was shouldn't know, by the merest look, that they were talking about her. He nodded, pinning a smile she knew he wasn't feeling on his face. `Do you want me to be all over you, or to disappear and leave you to try and mend fences?' she sought to help in any way she could.

'Why couldn't I have fallen in love with you?' he asked, looking at her seriously.

Because I wouldn't have wanted you to. `It's a sad life,' she said, and laughed-and he laughed too-and Yancie, almost as if she could feel his ex-girlfriend's eyes boring into her, just had to look up, over by the door.

They were being observed, she saw, lapsing into stunned shock. Not by a female, though, but by a tall, dark-haired man who was a latecomer to the party. Warm colour seared her skin-the last time she had seen him he'd kissed her to stop her giggling!

Hurriedly she switched her glance away from Thomson. Matthew was saying something, but he could have been babbling away in Esperanto for all she was making any sense of what he was saying.

Thomson! Thomson-here! Her heart was fluttering like crazy; she wanted to go homeshe wanted to stay. She wanted to rush out to the Mercedes and… Oh, my lord-the Mercedes. She was dead! He'd seen the car in the drive-he must have done. Did he know the car? With his photographic memory for numbers? Stop hoping, Yancie; he probably had every car registration number in the Addison Kirk fleet noted.

"… she can think again!'

Yancie came slowly out of her shock to realise that Matthew had just finished telling her something. 'Er-would you mind very much if I took off now?' she asked him, dragging up a smile from somewhere.

'Oh, Yancie, you couldn't hang on for another half-hour, could you? It's only eleven and I wouldn't mind at all if Pippa caught sight of me captivating the best-looking woman here.'

She didn't want to hang on-she wanted to get out of there, and fast. Thomson Wakefield wasn't interested-but he might have come over to say hello. Since they'd been looking straight at each other, he couldn't pretend he hadn't seen her. Not that she wanted him to come and say hello either. She just wanted to get out of there. She wanted to go home.

So, she stayed, `Go on, then,' she smiled at Matthew Grant. `Captivate me.'

He laughed, and she hoped Thomson was watching. Watching and taking note how, if he wasn't interested, then-as some other eager male came up to them-there were others who were.

It was a large room, more of a hall than a drawing room, but Yancie was aware of where in the room Thomson was most of the time. Where he wasn't was anywhere near her!

'I have to be up very early in the morning,' she told Matthew when, in her view, having done a magnificent stint and still there threequarters of an hour later, she just couldn't take any more. `Will you say goodbye to our hosts for me, and thank them for me? I'd prefer just to slip off.'

'You're sure? I'll come to your car with you."

'Oh, good heavens, no!' she smiled. `No need for that. Stay and…' she had an idea he might be sidling up to his ex fairly shortly `…and the best of luck.'

He kissed her cheek, and Yancie, unable to resist looking where she had last surreptitiously looked, felt completely wretched that she was denied her last sight of Thomson-for he wasn't there.

As if making her way to the cloakroom, for all she hadn't brought a coat, Yancie wandered out from the drawing room. She felt unutterably bereft as, impervious to the cold, she walked down the long line of cars, until she came to the Mercedes.

But that was when her heart started to thunder. She had the Mercedes unlocked when, before she could get into the driver's seat and speed away from there, a voice she would know anywhere quite clearly drawled, `Well, if it isn't Yancie Dawkins! Fancy seeing you here,' and Thomson Wakefield strolled out of the shadows.

What could a girl do? Instinctively, while most peculiarly she wanted to stay and linger a while with Thomson, she also wanted to rocket out of there. Thomson had come round to stand facing her by the time she'd got herself a little more together.

She decided on a charm offensive-well, you never knew. `It's a fair cop, guv,' she trotted out, smiling. She could see his face-he wasn't smiling. `How about-I've a widowed mother and six siblings to support?' she pressed on, feeling suddenly desperate not to lose her job, but realising that she was going to have to be exceedingly lucky to keep it.

'You forget, I've met your mother-you couldn't make enough in a year to support her monthly expenses,' he replied.

Yancie stared up into his unsmiling expression. `You're going to sack me, aren't your' she questioned, all bravado gone.

'Give me one good reason why I shouldn't,' he invited, fair to the last, she realised.

But she didn't have any good reason. And to go partying in one of the firm's vehiclesa Mercedes, no less-was something that was most definitely against the rules. It was, equally definitely, something that would be frowned upon and was, without doubt, a sackable offence.

'If-if you sack me then the-er-business will suffer,' she brought out of a despairing nowhere.

Thomson continued to stare, unsmiling, at her. `Intriguing,' he allowed. `You're suggesting you're doing a deal somewhere which will collapse if you're not on the payroll to finalise it?'

Sarcastic toad! But she still wanted her job. `Not me, but Douglas Clements might be doing that kind of a deal. I'm picking him up to take him to the airport at five in the morning. He might miss his plane and jeopardise his whole mission if he can't find alternative transport when I don't show up.'

She wished she could read Thomson's eyes, but they were giving nothing away. `Then you'd better go home to bed, hadn't you?' he remarked at length. `I imagine you're going to be up very early.'

Her heart picked up speed. `Have I still got my job?' she asked eagerly. `Or do you intend I should do just this one job from expediency, then see to it I'm dismissed as soon as I get to work on Monday?'

'You know better than that!' he clipped, curtly-and she rather thought she did.

'I'm sorry,' she apologised at once, and, having just added insult to the rest of her crimes, she decided it might be an idea to get out of there before she said something that might annoy him some more-when he wouldn't give her another chance.

She had turned about to open the driver's door, when Thomson put his hand on her arm to stay her, his hand remaining on her upper arm, an exclamation leaving him. 'Ye gods, you're like ice!' he added-it didn't feel that way to her; his touch, his skin against her skin was burning. `Where's your coat?' he demanded.

'I didn't bring one!'

He did not comment adversely on that, as she fully expected, but, ever a man of decisions, in next to no time he had shrugged out of his jacket, and was wrapping its delicious warmth about her.

She was, she started to realise only then, freezing. Thomson Wakefield apparently had the power to make her forget all about the skimpiness of her attire on such a cold night.

Feeling quite dazed, Yancie turned again to open the driver's door. But found that Thomson was directing her to the passenger's door.

'I'll drive,' he said, and they were both in the car heading down the drive before she got her wits back.

'Where are we going?' she asked, which she owned wasn't the brightest of questions. `I mean, if you're driving me home, you'll need the car to get back to the party, and I won't have a car to take Doug…'

'I'm not going back to the party.'

'You're not?' she questioned, but managed to find a little more brain power from somewhere. `Oh, Thomson, I… Oh, heck!' she mumbled, realising she had just called the head of Addison Kirk by his first name. `Is that a sackable offence?' she asked. He laughed, just as if he couldn't help it; he laughed, and she loved it, as she loved him. `I'm sorry,' she went on swiftly, not ready yet to more fully acknowledge this world-shattering thing that had happened to her. `I didn't want to spoil the evening for you.'

'You haven't,' he assured her, his laughter gone but his tone pleasant.

'You were thinking of leaving the party anyway?' she began to question, and then thought of something else. `Did you spot me-nonchalantly-on my way out?"

'Too casual to be true,' he commented.

'You really are kind. As I may have mentioned before,' she added. And added too, only hurriedly, 'I'm not trying to butter you up, honestly, but you could have…' Her voice faded; she started to feel a fool. `So what's happening?' she asked unhappily.

'What's happening,' he took up, `since we're heading in your general direction, is that I'm going to drive as far as my place, and you're taking this car the rest of the way.'

'I see,' she murmured. 'You're-um-not going back to the party.' Somehow, she seemed more than a little confused, and even though he'd already said he wasn't going back to the party she felt a need to get everything crystal-clear in her head.

'And neither are you,' he stated.

'I'm not?"

'You're not,' he promised her firmly.

Well, that was clear enough. `Where's your car, by the way-the Aston Martin?"

'Where I parked it,' he replied, which to her mind was no kind of an answer. But it seemed she had recently come through a very sticky patch, and since by the skin of her teeth it seemed she still had her job Yancie decided not to push it.

So, `Thank you,' she said prettily. `What for?'

Not to go overboard-for being absolutely wonderful. `For letting me keep my job.'

'So what's with this pride thing?'

'Pride thing?'

'You said you needed this job,' he reminded her. `That it was a pride thing.'

'Ah.'

"'Ah", as in?"

'As in you know so much, there's little more to tell.'

Silence reigned for several seconds. Then, `You're not going to leave it there, are you?' Thomson asked, and, fantastically, sounded in a very good humor.

'We're nearly at your house,' she said, recognising that part of the road.

'SO?"

'So my stepfather-and rightly so,' she inserted fairly, `was a little displeased when I lent my car to a friend and…'

'And said friend concertinaed it.'

Her mother had acquainted him with the fact. `Exactly,' Yancie agreed.

'You normally get on with the stepfather? Presumably-since your mother's just got engaged-her ex-husband?"

'I get on very well with him,' she agreed. `In point of fact, Ralph's a dear, and I love him very much, and he had every right to be cross with me.'

'But?"

'But-well, nothing, really.'

'But?' Thomson repeated-a man, she guessed, who seldom repeated a question. She roused herself to answer as requested.

'Well, he was rightly cross, as I said, and I would have taken a telling-off as my due.'

'Only?"

'Only my stepsister, Estelle, surprised me by chipping in and saying she hoped I wouldn't expect her father to buy me another car. I'd honestly no idea she resented me so much! Anyhow, when I said I'd pay for a new car out of my allowance, Estelle reminded me it was an allowance her father paid me, andand…' her voice faltered.

'And even though you worked unpaid as his housekeeper you knew you could never take another penny from your stepfather,' Thomson finished for her, and Yancie turned in her seat and stared at him.

'How do you know me so well?' she gasped.

The corner of his mouth twitched. `I don't I'm learning all the time.'

He made that sound so nice that Yancie was near to crumbling as he slowed the car and steered it up the drive to his house. That, she felt, as he pulled up at his door, had to be the most terrific drive of her life. The trouble was that she didn't want to part from him-yet had absolutely no reason to linger.

Yancie quickly pulled herself together. Good grief, they'd just been talking of pridehad she none where he was concerned? Acting on the moment, as Thomson started to come round to the passenger's door, she quickly got out and pinned a bright smile on her face.

'Thanks for the loan of the jacket!' she said cheerfully, taking it off and handing it to him-at once feeling in danger of getting frostbite as the cold night air nipped.

Thomson looked at her-five feet eight, slender and totally feminine. 'You'll be all right driving on your own at this hour?'

She looked back at him and sorely needed some backbone-she was in danger of melting. `You'll have to watch that, Wakefield,' she jibed. `Your gentlemanly streak is showing!'

He studied her. `Are you always looking for trouble?' he asked good-humouredly.

'It always seems to find me without me having to look for it especially,' she laughed-and then, as the cold night bit, she shivered-and Thomson took decisive action.

'You can't go home like that. You'd better come in; I'll get you a sweater.'

'I wouldn't dream…' She was talking to herself. He was already unlocking the door to his house, and he still had the car keys. `You don't have to…' she protested anyway, following him in. `Once I'm inside the car's heater will… '

'You've next to nothing on.' He closed the door behind her, and was totally intransigent. `With those bitty shoulder straps you're all bare arms and bare chest.'

'Thanks,' she said sniffily.

And suddenly he seemed to relent. From being several paces away from her he all at once came back to her.

'Give way, Yancie,' he said softly, and at his tone she was melting again. 'I'm not happy about your driving through London, stopping at traffic lights, dressed as you are.'

Because I'm an employee and you don't want the responsibility of someone opening a car door and getting in beside me? Just because I'm an employee? 'I'll lock myself in,' she said.

'Of course you will,' he answered. But instructed, `Wait there.'

She didn't, of course. Though she didn't go far. She watched him go up the curving staircase and then, her mind on him more than what she was doing, she wandered off to the room she had been in before-his drawing room.

Thomson did not keep her waiting but returned in no time, carrying a blue cashmere sweater which he handed to her. 'I'll take the very best care of it,' she promised solemnly and again knew the greatest reluctance to leave-heaven alone knew when, if ever, she might see him again. `Goodnight, then,' she said.

'Put the sweater on,' he said.

'Oh! Right!' she answered, though instead of putting it on-and she just couldn't believe it-she actually heard herself say, `You realise, of course, that you've done me out of my goodnight kiss?' Had she said that? Had she actually said those words? Had she really invited Thomson to kiss her? Was she so starved of love that she had to beg?

She wanted to apologise, to run-oh, heaven help her, Thomson was looking at her as if he couldn't believe his hearing either! Yancie could have wept from the embarrassment of it. But Thomson was coming nearer and there was suddenly a glint in his eyes which she was a little unsure about.

And while she stood there staring, wanting her words back, he calmly took the sweater out of her hands and dropped it on the back of a chair, remarking, `I find it quite astounding, Yancie Dawkins, that you're still a virgin.'

'L…' she tried, but her voice died in her throat as he came that little bit closer-but she no longer wanted to run because, while giving her all the time in the world to do just that if she so wished, Thomson was reaching for her.

He looked down into her wide blue eyes and, when she had no other comment to make, he gently pulled her closer to him. As his head came down, Yancie closed her eyes, her heart giving a great quivering sigh of gladness when his sensational mouth touched hers.

It wasn't a brief touch of his lips to hers, but was firm as well as gentle, and her legs went weak. Involuntarily, her hands went to his waist, and she held onto him. He was warm and wonderful and he held her to him and, as gently as it had begun, his kiss ended.

Thomson pulled back, and Yancie stared up at him. `That was's-some goodnight kiss,' she murmured huskily, and knew she should let go of him and get out of there. But she didn't want to go and, since Thomson still had his arms around her, it didn't look as if he wanted her to go either.

In fact, he was still looking warmly down into her upturned face when he enquired softly, `I don't suppose you'd care for another?'

Yancie smiled dreamily up at him, and if that wasn't enough of an answer she moved her hands from merely holding his waist, and put her arms around him. And, as she had known, Thomson was quicker than most on the uptake. The next she knew was that his mouth was capturing hers, and he was kissing her again, only this time it was a little different.

And since she was fully cooperating, giving him kiss for kiss, his mouth ceased merely giving but sought and took, and Yancie held tightly onto him. She had been kissed before, but there had always been a shut-off point, a so far but no further point. But, as Thomson's kisses deepened, so that invisible barrier was reached, and as he took her with him to one of the sofas in the room, so as new and exciting emotions started to rock her, her shut-off point was sublimely passed with Yancie being completely unaware of it.

All she was aware of as Thomson trailed kisses down her throat and over her shoulders was that this was the salve she needed to the loneliness of spirit she had endured each day that she had not seen him.

Then somehow she was on the wide sofa with him, Thomson half lying over her. He raised his head and looked into her warm, inviting eyes. `You're so lovely, Yancie,' he murmured, `so beautiful,' and again he kissed her, his long, sensitive fingers caressing her shoulders, brushing aside the fine shoulder straps of her dress, and Yancie wanted to be beautiful-for him.

But, even while she knew that she was willing to go wherever he led, suddenly, when gently, sensitively his hand caressed down to her breast, and she felt his warmth as he teased the hard pink tip, and she became aware that his intimate touch was on the inside and not outside of her dress, some unwanted kind of hesitancy started to stir in her which she did not want to stir.

To defy it, she held onto him, and, when he raised his head again, she kissed him. And would deny him nothing when he lowered his head once more and kissed her naked breast, taking its aroused pink apex into his mouth, causing her to clutch him from the pure pleasure of it.

To say no was nowhere in her mind. How could she say no, when she didn't want to say no? Why should she say no? She loved him what else mattered?

But something did matter, and she hated that it did, be it her inner convictions grown over the years, or the knowledge that this love she bore for Thomson was so utterly one-sided; she was too emotionally involved to be able to sort out what.

All she knew just then was that, while she wanted to continue to be held by Thomson, while she was aching to continue to make love with him, she couldn't-something was holding her back.

She felt his hand on her thigh. `Thomson,' she cried, and she guessed he must have picked up that something in her cry that wasn't yes, yes, yes, because his hand stilled, moved from her thigh, and came up to her chin.

'Yancie?' he queried, propping himself up on one elbow and looking down at her.

'Oh, Thomson,' she lamented, `I know I'm giving you all the-er-f-full-speed-ahead's-signals, but…'

She had no need to go on; she knew that as soon as he began to straighten her shoulder straps-and that was before he took up, `But you're not sure.'

He didn't add anything, but sat up, moving her to sit up. And, once sitting beside him, while with most of her she wanted to lie down with him again, to feel again the warmth of his embrace, there was that part of her that still said no.

'I'm sorry,' she said, starting to feel absolutely dreadful, particularly as Thomson was taking this halt to the proceedings so extremely well. `I d-don't suppose this has ever happened to you before.'

He smiled then, and she felt as if her heart would burst with the love she had for him when he gently tapped her on the nose, and dryly commented, `With you, Yancie, I'm learning it's wise to expect the unexpected.' And, while finding herself in such strange territory she had no clue to what she should do next, he stood up and went and collected the blue sweater from the chair. `Come on,' he instructed. `If you go now you might manage to get in a couple of hours' sleep before you have to get up again.'

Yancie left the sofa, and obediently pulled the sweater down over her head. 'I'm sorry,' she repeated as Thomson went with her to the front door.

'You're all right to drive?' he questioned.

'Yes, fine,' she answered, and as he unlocked the car and handed her the key she found that, away from the sofa, away from the drawing room, the house, the cold night air had some small sobering effect. She looked up at him, some tiny portion of her equilibrium restored. `Goodnight, Mr Wakefield, sir,' she managed lightly, and as he looked down at her she promptly had her equilibrium shattered when he bent and saluted her mouth with his own.

Then abruptly he stood back. `Go home,' he ordered her sternly-and Yancie went.