Beaumont Brides Collection (71 page)

Her heart was racketing with excitement, with something so close to joy that she couldn’t bear to trust it, refused to trust it.

‘Gabriel, how unexpected,’ she murmured, her attempt at indifference somewhat marred by the tremulous shake in her voice. ‘I thought you’d already said everything this afternoon.’

‘Did you? Then you were wrong. I’ve been waiting here for hours.’

‘On the pavement? Don’t tell me you were defeated by your own locks? Or did Kay take your warning to heart and refuse to let you in this time?’

‘For God’s sake, Claudia, I’ve been worried sick about you. Where have you been?’

Worried? The joy swelled. He’d be worried sick about her.

‘I’ve been to a party. After the show. The chat show, that is. You’d have enjoyed it.’

‘I doubt it.’ He looked so fierce, deep lines chiselled into his cheeks, his brows drawn down in a dark line. Did it mean that he was jealous? If it had been anyone else she would have enjoyed his discomfort, but she didn’t want Gabriel to be jealous, she wanted him to know that she loved him, she just didn’t know the right words because she’d never told anyone that before.

‘James very kindly brought me home.’ She indicated the agitated young man who was practically hopping from foot to foot behind her, not knowing quite what to do, but certain he should be doing something and this gave him his opportunity.

‘Look here,’ he began. Then, squaring up to Gabriel, he said, ‘You can’t just-’

But Gabriel was not impressed. ‘I can and I will. It was good of you to see Claudia safely home, James, but we won’t keep you,’ he said, without ceremony and taking Claudia’s elbow he urged her towards the front door.

‘My name is not James.’ He trailed, somewhat petulantly, after them. ‘It’s Nigel, Nigel Thomas.’

Mac glared at him, clearly thinking the man was quite mad. ‘Well goodnight, Nigel Thomas,’ he said, without breaking his stride. And when they reached the door, he turned the searchlight of his attention on Claudia. ‘So,’ he began, ‘tell me about David Hart.’

‘David?’ He was jealous. Claudia, hands shaking, knees giving a fair imitation of warm jelly as she retrieved her keys from her bag, glanced up at him.

Gabriel took the keys from her and opened the front door. ‘Yes, David. Is he your press agent? Or just an obliging friend?’

She just hated the way he said “friend”. It gave her a very bad feeling. The day had been long and stressful and despite that initial leap of pleasure at seeing him, she had a terrible feeling that it was about a get a lot worse.

‘I thought you’d already made your mind up about that.’

But he wasn’t interested in what she thought. ‘Tell me, Claudia. Am I just being made a fool of here, or should I be worrying about you?’

Suddenly his anger seemed far more important than the fact that he was standing on her doorstep at three in morning, desperate to see her because he was worried about her. And it occurred to her that he wasn’t angry because she’d arrived home late with another man. He was angry with her full stop.

The bad feeling was more than justified, she decided. The rush of warmth that had swept through her at seeing him, at hearing him say how worried he had been as he waited for her to come home, ebbed away leaving her chilled right to the bone.

‘You don’t have to worry about me, Gabriel. I’m quite capable of looking after myself.’ After all what was the odd nasty letter compared to someone telling you face to face that they thought you were a liar, a fraud? Someone you loved. ‘And as it’s been a very long day,’ she observed, ‘you’ll understand that I have no wish to stand here on the doorstep playing your silly games-’

‘My games? You’re the one playing games, Claudia and since you weren’t too tired to go partying until all hours, despite getting up at dawn for the television show and despite your shopping trip afterwards, you can spare me two minutes to tell me exactly what is going on.’ His gaze swept over the seductive red gown, his lip curled back in disapproval. ‘You can start by telling me what happened to the new dress that you simply had to have this morning? Was there a dress? Or was that all just part of the performance, part of the wind-up to get me good and edgy for the coupe de grace at the restaurant?’ He stepped back, releasing her so suddenly that she staggered slightly in her high heels, holding his hands up as if touching her might in some way contaminate him. ‘My God. I’ve fallen for it again, haven’t I?’ He continued to stare at her. ‘I watched that surveillance video and suddenly I was so certain... God, what an idiot I am. He was put there to keep me interested wasn’t he? The guy in the van watching the flat? You keep trailing these enticing lures and like a hungry pike, I keep on getting caught. Why?’

He was staring at her now with an expression so dark that it sent a shiver up her spine.

‘I don’t think I can answer that question for you, Gabriel.’

He brushed aside her answer with an angry gesture. ‘You know what I mean. Why are you doing this to me? Haven’t I done enough for your personal publicity crusade?’ Claudia turned away, heartsick at his undisguised contempt, unable to listen any more, but he blocked the way with his arm.

And Claudia, her hopes so cruelly raised for the briefest of moments, felt her heart break as surely as if it was made of glass.

She didn’t know what he was talking about, but it was clear as day that she had got it wrong again. He hadn’t come racing back to say that he was sorry, to ask her to forgive him for even thinking she could be so false.

He’d been lying in wait for her because he wanted more answers. More bloody answers. Well she didn’t have any answers for him and she didn’t know anything about a man in a van, but she knew how to get rid of Gabriel MacIntyre. It was easy.

‘Why? Because you’re a gift, Gabriel.’ Claudia was hurting so much that she needed to strike back, so she invested her voice with a deep husky warmth, using his given name because she knew in some deep pocket of her soul that he’d hate that most of all. ‘You respond so beautifully to the slightest suggestion of danger...’ She didn’t know exactly what had sent him rushing back to her, so she kept it vague. ‘Offer you a clue and you’re like a bloodhound after the scent. I knew it would bring you running back…’ - she stretched out her hand and clicked her fingers - ‘…just like that. Am I a clever girl, or what?’ She looked about her. ‘It’s just a pity there’s no one about to see your performance.’

Mac lowered the arm that blocked her way and taking her hand in his, dropped the keys he was holding into her palm before stepping back, leaving her alone on her doorstep. Then he stared at her for one long moment before he turned on his heel and strode across the road to the four-wheel drive parked opposite her flat.

*****

He smashed his fist against the bonnet. He’d been so stupid. Again. What was it about the woman? She had addled his wits, driven him crazy. He’d been right all along, from the very beginning, he just hadn’t wanted to believe it. Couldn’t bear to believe it.

Yet something about the man watching the flat had been so disturbing. He’d been there all day. Not in the same place. He’d moved up and down the street, first one side and then the other, avoiding the traffic wardens, not wanting to become too obvious. But he was always watching the flat.

But Claudia had admitted that it was all a publicity scam. So he’d left his office, gone back to the empty soulless flat that had no memories, determined to forget all about Miss Claudia Beaumont. Put her out of his mind. But his mind refused to co-operate.

It just kept running a scenario where she went home late at night and when she walked in, the man in the baseball cap would be there, waiting for her in the darkness.

Mac knew it was stupid. He’d changed the locks. He’d changed the code of her alarm. He’d at least made her safe from casual intrusion.

But suppose the kindly old lady downstairs had been persuaded to let someone in? If he was polite, convincing, she wouldn’t think twice. How would he do it? Tell her that Miss Beaumont had called the managing agent’s office to complain of a leak. In workman’s clothes, with the right bag, she wouldn’t even ask for ID. And if she did, he would have had something convincing to show her.

He opened the car door and slumped into the seat, glancing up at the window where she was probably right now laughing her socks off. She had made a fool of him and he had let her do it. Then he shook his head.

No. That wasn’t right. She’d simply gone along with what he had said, just the way she had this morning.

He was so damned confused. She’d admitted it was all a stunt, but she had been angry with him. And suddenly he wasn’t sure what she had been angry about. Had it been because he had misjudged her, because he had leapt to the wrong conclusion?

He had seen how sensitive she was when her moral integrity was challenged.

And she was volatile, she would have reacted without thinking of the consequences, she was quite capable of leaving him to think what he liked and let the devil take the consequences. And if that was the case, she’d still be in danger.

But she wasn’t. He was the one reacting with his emotions instead of his head. In fact, he was in desperate need of a cold shower. His hand was shaking slightly as he reached forward to put the key in the ignition and he let it fall. Several cold showers.

He opened the window to let in what passed for fresh air in London, sat back, glanced again up at her flat. Her light hadn’t come on.

He watched for a moment, but her windows remained dark and his gut contracted. It was the same feeling he had whenever he thought of her in danger. The feeling that had sent him rocketing up the M4 without a thought for the speed limit. The feeling that had kept him cooling his heels outside her flat until the small hours of the morning.

He reached forward and started the engine. Her light still hadn’t come on but it probably meant nothing, except that she was standing behind her curtains in the dark quietly enjoying his vacillations, maybe hoping to tempt him to come up and check that she was safe. Yet he still couldn’t bring himself to drive away and leave her alone in the dark even when he knew that to ring the bell because he needed to reassure himself, was to invite ridicule.

What was the matter with him? Why on earth was he still sitting there? Her new locks would take too long to pick for even the most skilled locksmith to take the risk of discovery. Her alarm would have sounded if she hadn’t switched it off by now. She had the personal attack alarm he had given her.

Then, quite suddenly, he began to laugh because he knew what had happened. She had forgotten the new code for the burglar alarm. She was standing outside her flat door trying to remember it, knowing that if she got it wrong it would wake the street, bring out the police. It would serve her right if he left her there.

But he wouldn’t.

He eased himself out of the car and crossed the street to the front door and rang the bell.

There was no response. After a moment he frowned. That was odd. Even if she had got inside, she must know it was him. Surely she wouldn’t miss the opportunity to gloat? Some inner instinct for danger raised the tiny hairs on the nape of his neck. The same instinct that had once sent him diving for cover when a sniper had lined up his sights...

He jammed his finger onto the bell, holding it down for the count of five. When there was no answer he knew that his instincts were right.

‘Claudia!’ he called. ‘Claudia!’ And then he was pounding on the door with his fist, punching at the bell with his thumb, still shouting. Lights began to come on in windows up and down the street and he stepped back to look up at her window, but there was still no sign of life. ‘Claudia!’ His voice sounded desperate even in his own ears now and he swung again at the door with his fist. But this time it opened to the pressure, swinging back. And Claudia was clinging onto it as if for dear life.

Her mouth was working, but there was no sound. Great silent wrenching gulps of breath were being gasped in but she couldn’t catch at them. And in the streetlight, her hair and face were wet, soaked with something that was the same colour as her dress.

*****

‘You can come in now, Mr MacIntyre. Miss Beaumont is asking for you.’

The sense of relief that she was well enough to speak, was prepared to speak to him was like being given a new life. He’d been driven from the emergency room by a sharp-tongued nurse who’d told him to wait in the day room, but the hour that he’d been waiting had seen more like ten.

He’d called Luke who had promised to find Edward Beaumont and tell him what had happened but after that he had nothing to do but berate himself for ever doubting her, blame himself for what had happened.

‘How is she?’

‘Sleepy. She’s been given a sedative, so if you’re planning on talking you’d better be quick. Down the hall. Third door.’

Claudia was lying in bed, one side of her face and neck covered in angry red blotches. And great chunks had been hacked from her glorious hair. She was so still that he thought for a moment that she was asleep. Then she turned her head and looked at him.

‘Gabriel,’ she murmured, drowsily. ‘I wasn’t sure you’d stay.’ She thought he’d go away and leave her alone after what had happened? Well, why not? Hadn’t he left her, when she needed him most? ‘I wanted to thank you.’

‘Thank me? For what?’