The Yuletide Engagement & A Yuletide Seduction (22 page)

And he would be wasting his time, now and in the
future; she had no intention of answering any of his questions about her marriage!

“Do your parents live in London?”

She drew in a gasping breath—this man just didn't give up, did he!

“No,” she answered unhelpfully. “Do yours live in America?”

His mouth twisted in acknowledgement of her having turned the question back to him. “They do,” he drawled dryly, the two of them having cleared the table now. “In Washington DC. My dad was in politics, but he's retired now.”

If he thought that by appearing open about his own family she would return the compliment, then he was mistaken! “Do politicians ever retire?”

“Not really.” Gabe smiled at the question. “But it's what he likes to tell people. He and Mom have been married for forty years.”

And her own parents had been married for thirty. In fact, tomorrow was their wedding anniversary, and she intended going to see them for a few hours on Saturday. Sadly a few hours was all she could bear nowadays.

It used to be so different, her parents doting on their only child. But what Paul had done three years ago had affected them all, and now her father was a mere shadow of his former self, and her mother desperately tried to keep up a pretence for Jane's benefit that everything was normal whenever she went to see them. But Jane wasn't fooled for a minute, and her visits, few and far between nowadays, were as much of a strain for her as they were for her parents.

“Someone should give them a medal,” she told
Gabe cynically. “A lasting marriage seems to be a dying art!”

“That isn't true,” he defended. “There are lots of happily married couples. Look at Felicity and Richard,” he pointed out triumphantly.

“You didn't,” Jane reminded him dryly. “You accused me of having an affair with Richard!”

Gabe grimaced. “A natural mistake, in the circumstances.”

Jane gave him a look of exasperation. “And just what ‘circumstances' would they be?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “You were very strong in your defence of him.”

Because of her past knowledge of Gabe, not because she was actually close to the other couple. Although she did like Felicity and Richard, admired their happy marriage and beautiful daughters. And it had been the destruction she knew this man could wreak that had made her defend them so fiercely. It seemed that defence had succeeded in arousing Gabe's suspicions, but in completely the wrong direction—thank goodness!

“It's an English trait,” she answered dryly. “We always root for the underdog,” she explained at Gabe's puzzled expression.

His mouth twisted ruefully. “I doubt Felicity and Richard think of themselves as such!”

“I visited Felicity today.” Jane looked at him pointedly.

He gave that mocking inclination of his head. “And she told you about my business deal with Richard,” he guessed wryly. “And now part of you—a very big part if I know anything about you at all—is wondering what I'm up to now! Will it make any difference if I tell you
nothing; it's a straightforward business arrangement, with no hidden agenda?”

Jane still looked at him sceptically. “And what's in it for you?” Because from what Felicity had told her about that deal, he had gained absolutely nothing. And that didn't sound like the Gabriel Vaughan she knew at all!

“It means I can sleep nights,” he muttered harshly.

Her eyes widened. “Don't tell me you have a conscience, Gabe?” she said disbelievingly.

“Is that so hard to believe?” he rasped.

She shrugged; three years ago she wouldn't have believed he had a conscience to bother—and she didn't want to start changing her opinion of him now! “I find it so, yes,” she answered truthfully.

“Oh, it's there, I can assure you,” he bit out. “And I've just realised you very neatly changed the subject again a few minutes ago,” he added mockingly.

Jane looked at him with innocently wide sherry-brown eyes. She wasn't actually sure which subject he meant; there seemed to be so many of them that she didn't wish to discuss with this man!

Gabe threw back his head and laughed. “Does that innocent-little-girl expression usually work?” he finally sobered enough to ask.

“Usually—yes.” Jane grinned back at him in spite of herself.

“God, Jane, you're beautiful when you smile!” he said with husky admiration. “You're also trying to change the subject—again!” he added chidingly.

She arched her brows. “Am I?”

“Oh, yes,” he acknowledged without rancour. “Tell me, do you play bridge?”

“As a matter of fact, I do,” she admitted dryly.

“And chess?”

She smiled again, knowing exactly what he was getting at. “Yes,” she confirmed wryly.

“Unfortunately—for you—so do I!” Gabe drawled teasingly. “Tell me, Jane, do you believe in love at first sight?” he added softly, his gaze suddenly intense once again.

“No,” she answered without hesitation. “Not at second, third, or fourth, either!” she bit out tautly.

He frowned at her answer. “Was your marriage that awful?”

“In its own way. Wasn't yours?” she challenged, once again avoiding talking about her marriage to Paul. “Awful” didn't even begin to describe it! “Even loving your wife as you did?”

He sighed heavily. “Let me tell you about my feelings for Jennifer—”

“Gabe, I don't want to know about your marriage or your wife,” Jane cut in agitatedly; she already knew all she needed to know about both those things. “If you're still having trouble coming to terms with what happened, and need someone to talk to about it, then I suggest you try a marriage guidance counsellor—or a priest!” she added insultingly, eyes gleaming darkly.

He drew in a sharp breath. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“I have no idea,” she sighed wearily. “But that's my whole point really, Gabe; I have no idea because I don't want to know. How many times do I have to keep saying that?” she added with deliberate scorn.

“I'm obviously a slow learner,” he murmured thoughtfully, picking up his jacket from the back of the chair. “I thought you were different, Jane.” He frowned. “I
still think that,” he added firmly. “I also don't think you're as indifferent to me as you would like to think you are.” He shrugged into his jacket. “Thanks for the meal, Jane. And the conversation. Believe it or not, I enjoyed both!”

She did find that hard to believe. Oh, parts of the evening—very small parts!—had been pleasant, but his kisses had had a devastating effect on the emotional barriers she had succeeded in putting up over the last three years, and the conversation about his wife was something she hadn't enjoyed at all, and she couldn't believe Gabe had enjoyed talking about Jennifer either. And Jane certainly regretted having revealed so much about her own life…

“Thank you for the flowers,” she said stiffly. “But please don't try and use Evie again to get in here,” she added hardly, eyes glittering warningly. “She may be a romantic—but I'm not!”

“And you intend putting her straight about your American fiancée,” Gabe guessed easily. “Next time I come here, Jane, it will be at your invitation,” he promised.

That day would never come, she inwardly assured herself as she walked him to the door.

Gabe turned in the doorway, gently touching one of her pale cheeks. “I really mean you no harm, Jane,” he told her huskily.

He might not mean to harm her, but he had already shaken the foundations of her new life. “I wouldn't allow you to,” she assured him firmly.

He gave a wry smile. “Look after yourself, Jane Smith,” he told her softly. “Because I very much doubt you would allow anyone else to do so!” came his parting shot.

Jane closed and locked the door before he had even walked down the carpeted hallway to the lift, leaning back against it with a sigh, closing her eyes wearily.

But the action had little effect in closing out the image of Gabe in her apartment, of Gabe kissing her until she responded…

T
HE
house looked the same as it always had as Jane drove down the long driveway. There was snow still on the grass verge and trees, but it had mainly melted on the gravel driveway—evidence that one or both of her parents had driven down it in the last few days.

Jane had always loved this house set in the Berkshire countryside. She'd grown up here from child to teenager in the surrounding grounds and woods. This was her parents' home, where she had only ever known love and the closeness of a happy family.

Although she felt none of that warmth now as she parked her van outside the house. It was no longer the grand house it had once been; the paintwork outside was in need of redoing, and inside only the main parts of the house were kept in liveable order now. The once gracious wings on either side of this were closed up now, being too expensive to heat, let alone keep clean and tidy. There was only Mrs Weaver in the kitchen now to cook and tend the house, a young girl from the village coming in at weekends to help with the heavy housework. Once the house had had a full-time staff of five, and three gardeners to tend the grounds. But not any more. Not for three years now…

Jane got out of her van, taking with her the cake she had made for her parents' anniversary and the bunch
of flowers she had bought to signify the occasion. She let herself in through the oak front door, knowing Mrs Weaver had enough to keep her busy without having to answer the door to the daughter of the house.

Jane paused in the grand hallway, putting down the box containing the cake on the round table there, before looking up at the wide sweep of the staircase, briefly recalling the ball that had been held here for her eighteenth birthday—her walking down that staircase in the beautiful black gown her mother had helped her to choose, with her honey-coloured waist-length hair swinging loosely down her slender back.

At the time it had seemed to Jane she had the whole world at her feet, little dreaming that ten years later her perfect world would have been totally destroyed. And as for her youthful dreams that night of Mr Right and happy-ever-after…! As she had told Gabriel Vaughan two evenings ago, she no longer believed in them, either!

Gabriel Vaughan…

She had tried not to think of him for the last two days, and as she had been particularly busy, catering for a lunch as well as a dinner yesterday, she had managed to do that quite successfully. Although she had to admit she had felt slightly apprehensive about the dinner party the evening before, in case Gabe should once again be one of the guests!

But it had been a trouble-free evening. As the last two days had been Gabriel Vaughan-free. And strangely enough, after his initial bombardment of her privacy and emotions, she found his complete silence now almost as unnerving. What was he up to now…?

“Janette, darling!” her mother greeted warmly as Jane entered the comfortable sitting-room, a fire blazing in the
hearth—the only form of heating they had in the house now that central heating was an unaffordable luxury. Fires were lit each day in this sitting-room and in the master bedroom.

Her mother looked as elegantly beautiful as ever as she rose to kiss Jane, tall and stately, blonde hair perfectly styled, make-up enhancing the beauty of her face. And despite her fifty-one years, and the birth of her daughter, Daphne Smythe-Roberts was still as gracefully thin as she had been in her youth.

It took Jane a little longer to turn and greet her father, schooling her features not to reveal the shock she felt whenever she looked at his now stooped and dispirited body. Ten years older than her mother, her father looked much older than that, no longer the vibrantly fit man he had once been, a force to be reckoned with in business.

Jane forced a bright smile to her face as he too rose to kiss and hug her, over six feet in height, but his stooped shoulders somehow making him appear shorter, the thickness of his hair no longer salt-and-pepper but completely salt, his handsome face also lined with age.

Guilt.

Jane felt overwhelmed with it every time she visited her parents nowadays. If she hadn't fallen in love with Paul, if she hadn't married him, if her father hadn't decided to groom his son-in-law to take over the business from him one day, handing more and more of the responsibility for the day-to-day running of the company to the younger man, at the same time trusting Paul more and more on the financial side of things too… If only. If only!

Because it had been a trust Paul had abused. And as
his wife, as his widow, Jane could only feel guilt and despair for the duplicity on Paul's part that had robbed her parents of the comfortable retirement years they had expected to enjoy together.

“You're looking wonderful, darling.” Her father held her at arm's length as he looked at her proudly with eyes as brown as her own.

“So are you,” she answered, more with affection than truth.

Her father had lost more than his business three years ago, he had also lost the self-respect that had made his electronics company into one of the largest privately owned companies in the country. And at fifty-eight he had felt too old—too defeated!—to want to start all over again. And so her parents lived out their years in genteel poverty, instead of travelling the world together as they had once planned to do when her father finally retired.

Guilt.

God, yes, Jane felt guilty!

“I think you're looking a little pale, Janette,” her mother put in concernedly. “You aren't working too hard, are you, darling?”

Guilt.

Yes, her parents felt that guilt too, but for a different reason. The life Jane had now, catering for other peoples' dinner parties, was not the one they had envisaged for their only and much beloved child. But none of them had been in a financial position three years ago to do more than offer each other emotional support.

Things were slightly better for Jane now, and she did what she could, without their knowledge, to help them in the ways that she was able. Before she left later this afternoon she would deliver to the kitchen such things
as the smoked salmon that her mother loved, several bottles of her father's favourite Scotch, and many other things that simply could not be bought in the normal budget of the household as it now was. Her mother, Jane felt, probably was aware of the extras that Jane supplied them with—after all, her mother had always managed the household budget—but by tacit agreement neither of them ever mentioned the luxuries that would appear after one of Jane's visits.

“Not at all, Mummy,” Janette Smythe-Roberts assured her mother. She'd once been Janette Granger, before she'd thrown that life away along with her wedding ring—Jane Smith, personal chef, taking her place. “The business is doing marvellously,” she told her. “It's just a busy time of year. But I'm not here to talk about me.” She smiled, holding out the flowers to her mother. “Happy Anniversary!”

“Oh, darling, how lovely!” Her mother blinked back the tears as she looked at her favourite lilies and orchids that Jane had picked out for her.

“And this is for you, Daddy.” She handed her father a bottle of the whisky that she wouldn't have to sneak to Mrs Weaver in the kitchen later, her eyes widening appreciatively as she saw for the first time the display of roses on the table in the bay window. “My goodness, Daddy,” she said admiringly, the deep yellow and white roses absolutely beautiful. “Did you grow these in your greenhouse?” Rose-growing had become her father's hobby in the last few years, and whenever he couldn't be found in the house he was out in the greenhouse tending his beloved roses.

In years gone by, the house would have been full of flowers, a huge display on the table in the hallway,
smaller vases in the sitting-room and dining-room, posies of scented flowers in the bedrooms. But not any more; there were no gardeners now to tend the numerous blooms her mother had needed to make such colourful arrangements.

“I'm afraid not.” Her father grimaced ruefully. “Would that I had. Beautiful specimens, aren't they?” he said admiringly.

Beautiful. But if her father hadn't grown them, where had they come from…?

Her parents' circle of friends had narrowed down to several couples they had known from when they were first married, and Jane couldn't imagine any of them had sent these wonderful roses either. There were at least fifty blooms there, and they must have cost a small fortune to buy.

Her parents' sudden change of financial circumstances had had a strange effect on the majority of people they had been friendly with three years ago, most of them suddenly avoiding the other couple, almost as if they were frightened the collapse and financial take-over of David Smythe-Roberts' company might be catching!

So who had given them the roses?

“We had a visitor yesterday, darling.” Her mother's tone was light, but her gaze avoided actually meeting Jane's suddenly sharp one. “Of course, he didn't realise it was our anniversary yesterday.” Daphne laughed dismissively. “But the roses are absolutely lovely, aren't they?” she continued brightly.

He? A sense of forboding began to spread through Jane. He! Which he?

Her hands began to shake, and she suddenly felt short of breath, sure she could actually feel the blood starting
to drain out of her cheeks as she continued to stare at her mother.

“Oh, Janette, don't look like that!” Her mother moved forward, clasping both of Jane's hands in her own. “It was perfectly all right,” she assured her. “Mr Vaughan didn't stay very long—well, just long enough for a cup of tea,” she admitted awkwardly. “Talking of tea,” she added desperately as Jane looked even more distressed, “I think I'll ring for Mrs Weaver to bring us all—”

“No!” Jane at last found her voice again.

Mr Vaughan! Her worst fear had come true; it was Gabe who had come here, to her parents' home, bringing those beautiful roses with him.

Why? It was three years ago now; why couldn't he just leave them all alone? Or had he come here to see the results of what he and Paul, between them if not together, had done to her family?

The man she had spent time with this last week didn't seem to be that cruel, and his actions towards Felicity and Richard Warner didn't imply deliberate cruelty either. But if it wasn't for that reason, why had he come here…?

“I'll take these flowers through to the kitchen and put them in a vase,” she told her parents desperately. “And I'll ask Mrs Weaver for the tea at the same time.” She had to escape for a few minutes, had to try and make some sense out of what was happening. And she needed to be away from her parents to be able to do that.

“Janie—”

“I won't be long, Daddy,” she assured him quickly, his use of his childhood name for her making her want to sit down and cry. Instead she fled from the sitting-room,
much to the dismay of her parents, but necessarily for her own well-being.

She drew a deep breath into her lungs once she was out in the hallway, desperately trying to come to terms with what her mother had just said.

Gabe had been here! To her family home. In the house where she had spent her childhood and teenage years.

Why? she inwardly cried again.

She could hear the concerned murmur of her parents' voices in the room behind her, knew that her reaction had disturbed them. Ordinarily she kept her feelings to herself, felt her parents already had enough to cope with. But hearing of Gabe's visit here had just been too much of a shock, so completely unexpected that this time it had been impossible to hide her emotions from her parents.

But she had to calm herself now, put the flowers in a vase, ask Mrs Weaver to serve tea, and take in to her parents the cake that she had made to celebrate their anniversary. She had to keep everything as normal as possible. After all, her parents had no idea she had met “Mr Vaughan” again too…

The housekeeper was, as usual, pleased to see Jane, having worked in the house since Jane was a child. The two of them chatted amiably together as Jane arranged the orchids and lilies in the vase, the very normality of it helping her to put things into perspective. Her family would have their tea and cake, and then they could return to the disturbing subject of Gabriel Vaughan; she felt she had to know what Gabe had found to talk to her parents about during his visit. More to the point, she needed to know what her parents had talked to him about!

Her parents seemed relieved at her relaxed mood
when she rejoined them, thrilled with the cake she had made them, all of them having a slice of it with the tea the housekeeper brought in a few minutes later.

But they were all just biding their time, Jane knew; she could feel her parents' tension as well as her own.

“You'll stay and have dinner with us, of course, darling?” her mother prompted expectantly a short time later.

Jane grimaced her regret. “I'm afraid I won't be able to,” she said.

“Another dinner party, Janie?” her father guessed mildly, the regret in his eyes saying she should be attending the dinner party, not cooking it for other people.

“It's almost Christmas, Daddy,” she reminded him, looking pointedly at the festive decorations they had already put up. “It's my busiest time.”

He sighed heavily. “You'll never meet anyone stuck in other people's kitchens!”

She didn't want to meet anyone! Besides, she had met someone. She had met Gabriel Vaughan…

“Always the bridesmaid, never the bride, that's me,” she dismissed teasingly. “But tell me,” she added lightly, “besides bringing you the roses, what did Gabriel Vaughan come here for?”

Jane had taken a good look around the sitting-room when she'd returned from the kitchen, looking for any incriminating photographs. There were no recent ones of her in here, only ones of her when she was very young, and then at gymkhanas as she went up to collect one of the rosettes she'd often won. And in those she was a round-faced teenager, with long blonde hair, smiling widely into the camera, a brace on her teeth that she had worn until shortly before her sixteenth birthday.