days in an effort to quell its urge to curl, was a tousled mass about her creamy features. She looked—wanton, she thought unhappily. Which was not the image she’d wanted to convey.
She stayed in the cloakroom as long as she dared, and when she emerged she found Jared waiting for her in the kitchen. His hips were propped against the counter, where he had just made such passionate love with her, his arms folded across his broad chest, his glasses back in place.
The suitcase containing the letters she had been examining earlier—and which she had almost forgotten in the heat of their mating—was lying on the counter at his back, and he tipped his head towards it in obvious enquiry.
‘Whose is this?’
Recognising the tension in his casual query, Isobel wondered if he thought it was hers. A hysterical sob rose in her throat at the unknowing irony of that suspicion, but she managed to fight it back, and, sliding her long fingers into the sides of her hair, she lifted her shoulders in a dismissing gesture.
‘It was my mother’s.’
Jared’s dark brows drew together. ‘Your mother’s?’ he echoed. ‘I thought you’d got rid of all your mother’s stuff.’
‘I thought so, too.’ Isobel took a deep breath. ‘That was before I looked in the loft.’
‘The loft? Here?’ Jared glanced towards the ceiling. His eyes darkened. ‘You haven’t been crawling around in the loft on your own?’
Isobel gave him a retiring look. ‘Someone has to do it,’ she said drily.
‘Not on your own,’ retorted Jared, evidently disliking the proposition. He flicked back his cuff and looked at the plain gold watch on his wrist. ‘Dammit, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a meeting with Howard and Ross Cameron at half-past one.’
‘And it wouldn’t do to keep your father-in-law waiting, would it?’
Isobel couldn’t resist the mocking comment, and she saw the look of real pain that crossed his face. ‘No, it wouldn’t,’ he conceded flatly. ‘Particularly as he can probably smell you on me,’ he said, straightening away from the bench, and Isobel felt instantly ashamed.
‘Um—you could take a quick shower,’ she offered, gesturing towards the stairs. ‘I think there’s an old towel still up there—’
‘Did I say I cared?’ Jared demanded, coming to slide caressing hands over her shoulders. He angled his head to rest his forehead against hers. ‘Dammit, Belle, I don’t want to go.’
She didn’t want him to go either, but even thinking such a thought was breaking every promise she’d made to herself, and she knew she had to stop wishing for miracles. They didn’t happen, and somehow she had to get over it—get over him—and move on.
Move on…
God, how cold that sounded. Isobel felt the prick of unshed tears burning behind her eyes and she knew she had to make him go before he started suspecting that something was seriously wrong.
‘I’ll see you tonight, right?’ he murmured, kissing her again, but Isobel shook her head.
‘Not tonight,’ she said, through dry lips. ‘I—I’ve got too much to do. I’ve got to finish here, and then I’ve got some marking—’
‘You’re not going into that loft again,’ said Jared harshly. He tipped her face up to his. ‘Promise me you won’t go up there unless someone else—preferably me—is with you.’
Isobel expelled an unsteady breath. ‘I—all right,’ she agreed, deciding that, whatever else was left up there, Marion’s husband would have to move it. She forced a smile. ‘You’d better go.’
‘Okay.’ Jared released her without further protest and started towards the door. ‘I’ll ring you,’ he said, pausing at the end of the hall, and then, with an irrepressible grin, he let himself out of the door.
She cried after he’d gone. She told herself her hormones were responsible, that ever since she’d found out what was wrong with her she’d been in a state of emotional turmoil, but she knew she was just fooling herself. She wasn’t crying because she was pregnant. She was crying because he’d never know.
Then, as she went to the sink to bathe her eyes with cool water, her gaze alighted on the suitcase again. And suddenly she knew what she was going to do. She’d planned on leaving Newcastle, but until now she’d had no clear idea of where she was going to go. The little money she’d saved and her share from the sale of the house would support her until she found a regular job, and she considered herself lucky to have an occupation that was not confined to any one area. Oddly enough, she’d thought of moving south and west, and now she knew her destination. She was going to Cornwall, to a town not too far distant from Polgarron, wherever that was. And she was going to do her best to find out what kind of man her father was—or had been…
WHEN someone knocked at the door of her apartment that evening, Isobel’s heart leapt into overdrive. She was expecting Michelle, but it was too early for her, and she wondered how she’d explain her friend’s arrival to Jared if it was him. When she’d told him she couldn’t see him, it had been because she’d planned to spend the evening packing things that would be put into storage until she found somewhere else to live. Michelle had agreed to help her, despite her own misgivings about Isobel’s decision.
But when she eventually opened the door, she found her sister waiting on the landing outside. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t in,’ remarked Marion tersely, brushing past her into the living room. She loosened the jacket of her black business suit and glanced about her impatiently. ‘What’s going on?’
Isobel closed the door, a frown drawing her dark brows together as she followed Marion into the room. ‘What do you mean?’ she asked, her pulse palpitating at the thought that Marion might have somehow found out about what she intended to do. A quick glance assured her that she’d disposed of all the evidence. So long as her sister didn’t go into the spare bedroom, she appeared to be safe.
‘You were going to call at the agency after you’d finished at the house,’ Marion reminded her shortly, and Isobel breathed a little more easily. After reading Robert Dorland’s letters, and the disturbing emotions aroused by Jared’s visit, she’d forgotten all about the promise she’d made to her sister.
‘I—forgot,’ she said lamely now, and Marion regarded her with scarcely concealed irritation.
‘How could you forget?’ she exclaimed, subsiding onto a braided sofa. ‘You knew I’d promised to give the keys to the estate agent this afternoon.’
‘Yes, well…’ Isobel sighed. ‘There’s a problem.’
‘A problem?’ Marion looked sceptical. ‘You haven’t found something structurally wrong with the house, have you?’
‘No.’ Isobel shook her head. ‘Why should you think that?’
Marion shrugged, and then, when it became apparent that Isobel expected an answer, she clicked her tongue. ‘If you must know, Malcolm saw Howard Goldman’s son-in-law going into the house at lunchtime,’ she said shortly.
‘Oh.’ Isobel felt the heat in her cheeks, and she turned away towards the kitchen. ‘Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Or something stronger? I think I have some sherry. And beer, of course—’
‘Nothing, thanks.’ Marion’s lips were tight. ‘You do know the risk you’re taking, don’t you, Isobel?’ She shook her head. ‘If Elizabeth Kendall finds out…’
‘She won’t.’ Isobel pushed her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. She’d had a shower when she got back from the house and deliberately changed her clothes in an effort to forget what had happened. ‘In any