Smokescreen. Anne Mather

not teasing!’ and although she twisted her head away, his mouth sought and eventually imprisoned hers.

      It was a cruel assault, made the more so by the savage way he forced her head round to his. His jaw was hard against her cheek, the roughness of his unshaven beard scraping her sensitive skin. His teeth bruised her lips as his own forced them apart, and the brutal pressure of his mouth on hers was a suffocating debasement.

      Olivia tried to fight him off, but he was much too strong and much too determined to be thwarted by her puny efforts. Her hands pummelled uselessly at his back, but her breasts were crushed against his chest, and the rigid muscles of his legs were a solid barrier to any physical protest she tried to make.

      His mouth silenced her verbal objections. Although sounds of resistance gurgled in her throat, she was powerless to help herself, and as the searching sensuality of his mouth continued to ravage her senses, new and disturbing sensations began to trouble her. His hands slid from her waist to her hips and evoked an uncontrollable response, and Olivia’s defences crumbled. With the hungry demand of his lips softening to an unbearable intimacy, weakness enveloped her, and the hands which had only moments before been hammering at his shoulders were suddenly clutching the rough wool of his sweater.

      ‘You—bitch!’ he muttered suddenly against her lips, as his leg insinuated itself between hers, but the sound of his contemptuous voice, combined with the stirring pressure she could now feel against her stomach, brought Olivia to a horrifying awareness of what was happening.

      ‘Oh, my God!’ she choked, tearing her mouth from his. ‘My God!’ and because he chose to let her go, she was able to drag herself away from him.

      She wished the ground would open up and swallow her when she saw the mocking gleam in his dark eyes, eyes that were almost black now as they raked her frozen revulsion. ‘Poor Liv,’ he taunted unkindly, making no attempt to hide his own arousal, ‘you didn’t find much satisfaction in your husband’s bed, did you? You must have been desperate—’

      Olivia’s instinctive response rang quietly in the book-lined room, and her fingers stung horribly after impacting with his cheek. Gulping back a sob, she practically flew out of the door, and lifting the hem of the caftan she ran quickly up the stairs.

      With the door of her room closed firmly behind her, she was forced to face the fact that his accusation had not been unjustified. Dear God, she thought disgustedly, she had behaved like the common slut he evidently thought her. How could she have allowed such a thing to happen? And today of all days! Henry was dead. Had Alex no respect? And how could she have played into his hands, and betrayed her own self-esteem? The tears she had not shed through these long and lonely hours spilled from her eyes and she wept for the realisation that she was not immune after all …

       CHAPTER THREE

      IT was barely eight o’clock when Olivia went downstairs. She had not slept, indeed, she had spent most of the night in the library, reading into the small hours after she was sure that Alex Gantry had gone to bed. And as soon as it was light, she had bathed and dressed, in black leather pants and a matching jerkin, and left her room once more. For once, she had no appreciation for her surroundings, and the thoughts which had occupied the long lonely hours of the night had left an unpleasant taste in her mouth. There were dark lines around her eyes, and she had fastened her hair at her nape with a strip of black leather. She looked like a hag, she thought dejectedly, finding nothing of beauty in her dark-fringed eyes and unsmiling mouth; but it was quite apt, she decided, because she felt like one.

      The table in the dining room was laid for two, and for a moment Olivia wondered how Mrs Winters had known Francis was joining her for breakfast. But then the obvious explanation for those two place settings occurred to her, and her skin prickled unpleasantly in anticipation of the eventual encounter.

      She had tormented her brain, trying to come to some decision regarding Alex Gantry. But the situation had been confused by what had happened the night before, and she could not entirely dissociate the man from the dilemma. It would have been easier if that disgusting scene had not taken place. But it had; and while she kept telling herself it had nothing to do with the issue, she was human—and it did!

      It was strange, but she had imagined Alex Gantry would be a weaker man. But he was Henry’s son, after all, and how he must be congratulating himself for so cleverly insinuating himself back into the household. He had used Mrs Winters shamefully, exploiting her undoubted affection for him to his own ends, and creating an illusory image of his relationship with his stepmother. His stepmother! Olivia’s skin crawled. He was not her stepson, she told herself fiercely; he was not, he couldn’t be; but he was, and that made everything that had happened so much more shameful!

      With her arms wrapped closely about herself, as if to ward off the evil thoughts that persisted in tormenting her, Olivia walked across to the windows. The dining room faced south, across the river, and the view had always been a source of delight to her. But not this morning. Not even the patches of blue, clearing in the overhanging skies, could lift the burden of despondency that seemed to be weighing her down, and even the sight of a pair of sparrows squabbling on the lawn could not lighten her mood.

      ‘Oh, you’re up, Mrs Gantry!’

      Mrs Winters’ surprised greeting brought Olivia round with a start, but she acknowledged the housekeeper’s appearance with a faint smile.

      ‘I couldn’t sleep,’ she said, perching on the edge of the window seat. ‘It’s a fine morning. Is it very cold?’

      ‘Cold enough,’ agreed Mrs Winters, viewing her mistress’s pale face with some concern. ‘Are you sure you should be up, Mrs Gantry? You’re looking very tired.’

      ‘Haggard is the word, Mrs Winters,’ Olivia amended drily. ‘I look haggard—I know it. It must be—delayed shock.’

      Mrs Winters clicked her tongue. ‘I knew yesterday was too much for you.’

      ‘Oh, yes, you did. And it was.’ Olivia’s lips compressed. ‘But don’t worry, Mrs Winters, I’ll survive.’

      ‘If you say so, Mrs Gantry.’ Mrs Winters sighed. ‘But I do wish you’d take more care of yourself.’

      Olivia made a barely audible sound of self-derision. ‘Oh, so do I, Mrs Winters,’ she agreed, and then, getting up from the window seat: ‘By the way, Mr Kennedy is joining me for breakfast. Will you send him into Henry’s study when he arrives? We’ll have breakfast in there, if you don’t mind.’

      ‘Very well, Mrs Gantry.’ But Mrs Winters was not pleased, and Olivia wondered if she was concerned for herself, or for Alex Gantry’s sake. After all, it would be rather galling for him to come down and find himself eating in magnificent isolation. Still, he could always eat in his own room, she mused tautly. Somehow she did not think he was the type of man to allow any woman to get the better of him. Her lips tightened. She had not thought to ask whether he was married. Surely he could not be now or he would not have taken up her unwilling offer of accommodation. Unless he and his wife were separated; unless he was divorced.

      ‘Will you have some coffee now?’

      Mrs Winters was speaking again, and Olivia had to concentrate on what she was saying. ‘What? Oh—oh, yes. That would be very nice, thank you.’

      Francis arrived as she was drinking her second cup of strong black coffee. Murdoch showed him into the dining room, and Olivia got hastily to her feet to welcome him.