The Devil at Archangel (9 page)

try and get you drunk—or did he just offer you a night of sin aboard

his boat?'

'Nothing of the kind,' Christina said stiffly. 'And I didn't even know

he had a boat.'

'Oh, but he has—an absolute beauty. I'm wildly envious. But you'd

better be careful, sweet Christina. I'm told it's the setting he usually

uses for his seductions—that or his beach cabin.'

'I'm really not very interested in Mr Brandon's amatory exploits,'

Christina said coolly. She gave Theo an uncertain look. 'Did you say

he was your cousin?'

'I call him that.' Theo gave a negligent shrug. 'He's actually my

uncle—but I'm sure he wouldn't appreciate it if I started addressing

him as such. I might do it, though, to punish him—for being unkind to

you.'

'Please, no!' Christina was appalled. 'He—he just doesn't approve of

my being here, for some reason. Perhaps when he sees that I can work

with Mrs'Brandon, his attitude will change.'

'Did he know who you were in Martinique—when he performed his

daring rescue?' Theo inquired.

'No.' Christina shook her head. 'In fact he gave the impression he

thought my employer was a man.'

'How very piquant.' Theo's eyes danced. 'And so he comes sailing

peacefully home to find you here. He must have been most

disconcerted.'

'I don't really see why. After all, I was expected. My room was ready,

and you obviously knew I was coming.'

'Grand'mere sent a cable, naturally, but Dev wouldn't have seen it. He

doesn't live at the house, you see.'

'Oh?' Christina was conscious of a feeling of profound relief. Having

to share the same roof and meal table with a man whose every remark

seemed barbed had not been an enticing prospect. But maybe now she

would not have to see anything of him after all.

'You're glad?' Theo's voice, faintly teasing, intruded on her thoughts

and she coloured.

'I have no right to be anything of the sort,' she said frankly. 'I ought to

remember that he did rescue me.'

Theo yawned slightly. 'Well, don't let it keep you awake,' he advised.

'It may not have been quite the daring deed it seemed at the time.

They were quite probably friends of his, and that's why they made off

in such a hurry. Dev keeps some pretty peculiar company at times,

and his own past doesn't bear looking into. There was even a time

when people said he should have been christened Devil instead of

Devlin.'

The room seemed to perform a sudden, sickening dive and Christina

felt herself totter on legs that were too weak to support her. When she

regained her control, she was sitting on the chesterfield being urged

by Theo to put her head down on her knees.

'I'm sorry.' She put her hand on her forehead. 'I—I'm still getting

acclimatised. It must be the heat... I think I'll go up to my room for a

while.'

'That's a good idea.' Theo sprang to his feet, and placed his hand

under her elbow to assist her. 'Lie down for a little while and you'll

soon feel better. I think Cook is laying on something special for

dinner tonight in your honour, and it would be tragic if you weren't

well enough to come down.'

'Oh, but she shouldn't,' Christina exclaimed in distress. 'I'm here to

work, after all. I really am.'

Theo's hand felt warm and solicitous on her arm as he guided her to

the door. 'Of course you are,' he said soothingly. 'But there'll be plenty

of time for that. Grand'mere wants you to get to know us, to enjoy

yourself.'

He would have accompanied her up to her room, but she assured him

she could manage, and he stood at the foot of the stairs watching her

go up.

When she reached the gallery, she turned and smiled down at him a

little uncertainly. He held her eyes with his for a long moment, then

lifted his hand with infinite grace to his lips and blew her a kiss.

Her cheeks hot, Christina turned suddenly away. Theo possessed

altogether too much charm, she told herself warningly. She would do

herself no good at all if immediately on her arrival at Archangel she

was to embark on a flirtation with her employer's grandson.

She tried to rest, but sleep eluded her. Her head whirled with a

multitude of disturbing impressions, and foremost of these was the

warning she had received from the for- tune-teller.
'Beware of the

devil at Archangel.'
At least now, she knew who the devil was and

had decided for herself, even before his identity had been revealed,

that he was someone best avoided. His own overt hostility had taught

her that.

If it hadn't been for that, she thought, it could have been quite easy to

rationalise what had happened. The fortune-teller had known that she

was accompanying Mrs Brandon as she had worked out previously.

Therefore he would also know of Devlin Brandon and his

reputation— and the nickname that had been bestowed on him and

would naturally have woven these elements into his prediction to give

them weight. It was a perfectly acceptable explanation for everything

that had happened—so why could she not wholly accept it?

It was because there had been something so strange in the man's

manner—as if he had been genuinely alarmed by what he saw, or

claimed to see, in the chicken bones. And then he had disappeared,

even though there was still a crowd of potential clients waiting.

She had already dismissed the notion that Devlin Brandon might have

hired the man himself in order to frighten her off. It was obvious he

had had no idea who she was when he met her on Martinique, and

Theo had confirmed that he had no means of knowing about her

appointment until he had arrived at the house that day. Besides, it was

a strange sort of contempt, but not menace, that she seemed to detect

in his attitude.

He had decided that she was a parasite preying upon his aunt's good

nature, she told herself bitterly, and wondered why that bitterness

should also contain a trace of despondency. Surely she was not going

to let his opinion trouble her? He knew nothing about her or the

circumstances in which she had come to Archangel.

She closed her eyes firmly, trying to dismiss the image of that tanned,

utterly cynical face from her mind. She would indeed beware of him,

she told herself, and with the thought came once more that soft,

troublous shiver as she seemed to experience again the hard grip of

his hands on her skin and that fleeting contact with his warm body.

She sat up suddenly, pushing her hair back from her face, a feeling

akin to panic seizing her. Where was her imagination leading her?

She was thinking like a hysteric. She had been touched by men

before—she'd even been kissed with varying degrees of enthusiasm

and had responded, or'not, as the mood took her. Why then was she

reacting like this? Almost dazedly she recalled that she had told

Devlin Brandon on Martinique that she did not like to be touched.

What had possessed her to say such a thing? Yes, she'd been

frightened, but not witless. Had she, then, been granted some curious

foreknowledge of what this man could make her feel if he chose?

With a little cry she turned and flung herself down on her stomach,

burying her face in the pillow and pressing her hands over her ears as

if by this means she could shut out the clamour of her thoughts.

If she had to indulge in erotic daydreams, she thought fiercely, then

why couldn't she focus them on Theo, blessed with far more than his

fair share of devastating good looks and charm? But she knew the

answer to that question almost before it was formulated in her mind.

Theo, for all his veneer of sophistication, was still a boy. Devlin

Brandon, on the other hand, was all man and had probably been so

since his cradle.

Stop it—stop it! she raged at herself. It was useless to think in that

way, and what was more, it was dangerous too. He was her enemy,

and he despised her. She must never lose sight of those facts.

There was a tap at the door, and Eulalie appeared.

'Madame is awake and asking for you,' she announced without

preamble.

'I see.' Christina scrambled off the bed and reached for her dress. 'Can

you show me where her room is?'

The other girl shrugged. 'I cannot be too long. I have work to do,' she

said abruptly.

'I won't be a minute.' Christina stepped into her dress and closed the

zip, aware as she did so that her slender figure was being rather

contemptuously assessed by Eulalie, whose own body was built on

gracefully voluptuous lines. Christina tried to appear unconscious of

her regard as she donned her sandals and ran a comb through her

tangled hair. 'I'm ready,' she said, turning away from the mirror.

Eulalie did not reply, but led the way out of the room and along the

corridor to the main gallery.

Mrs Brandon's suite led directly off the gallery, Christina discovered.

It consisted of a large bedroom, charmingly furnished ill the Empire

style in shades of blue and white, with an adjoining bathroom and

small sitting room,, in which the main item of furniture seemed to be

a baby grand piano. A small brocaded sofa with gilded legs had been

drawn up to the window, and here sat Mrs Brandon, already dressed

for dinner in royal blue chiffon, occupied with some embroidery. An

inlaid table had been placed at her side and on this reposed a small

silver bell, and a crystal decanter of pale sherry with two glasses.

Mrs Brandon looked round and smiled as Christina knocked and

entered.

'Sit down,
mon enfant.
You are rested now?'

Christina smiled and agreed. It seemed the easiest thing to do.

'I should have changed for dinner—I'm sorry,' she apologised,

looking down rather ruefully at the chocolate- coloured dress.

'It is of no moment. It is hardly likely that you would be
au fait
with

our ways on your first evening.' Mrs Brandon inclined her head

graciously in acknowledgment of the apology. 'Besides, the little

frock is quite charming.'

Christina was slightly embarrassed by the compliment. Why were all

the Brandons quite so overwhelming, she wondered, and would she

ever get over this feeling of inadequacy? Determinedly, she took

herself in hand. It washer turn to be admiring. Mrs Brandon's

needlework was exquisite.

'Thank you.' The older woman's smile was tinged with melancholy. 'I

have much to be thankful for. At least my hands still work for me as

they always did.'

Christina bent her head sympathetically. It must be agonising, she

thought, for such a proud, independent woman to find herself the

victim of a crippling disease like arthritis. She found herself

wondering at the same time why Mrs Brandon did not travel to

America or Europe and take advantage of the latest treatments.

Mrs Brandon folded her work and placed it on the table.

'You may pour some sherry,' she directed, nodding towards the

decanter. Christina complied, although dry sherry was not a particular

favourite of hers. However, she had to acknowledge that some form

of stimulant would be welcome.

Mrs Brandon accepted the glass from her and held it up. '
Votre sante,'

she said kindly. 'Tell me, Christina, what are your impressions of

Archangel? Do you think you will be happy to settle here?'

Christina did not know how to reply and took refuge in a barely

audible murmur which appeared to satisfy her employer.

'I realise it is early days yet for you to decide such a thing, but at the

same time I want you to know that you may consider this as your

home for as long as you wish,
ma chere.''

'You're very kind,
madame
.' Christina sipped at the pale liquid in her.

glass, feeling rather taken aback. 'I—I promise IH do my best

to—carry out your requirements.' If and when I know what they are,

she added silently. Now seemed as good a time as any to introduce

the subject. 'Perhaps you'd like to tell me when you wish me to start

my duties and precisely what they will be.'

Mrs Brandon waved a hand on which a huge diamond glittered like

living ice.

'There is plenty of time for that. For the momenVrest and enjoy

yourself. You have, I believe, already met my grandson?'

It seemed a totally casual question, but Christina" found herself

tensing. She set the glass down carefully on the table. Had someone

seen and reported that lighthearted farewell pantomime of a kiss in

the hall? She knew that she was blushing faintly and kicked herself

mentally for her lack of poise.

'Yes,' she made herself say neutrally. 'He—he came in while I was