Wherever Lynn Goes (27 page)

I glanced at the clock. It was one forty. Douglas should have been back long before now. Men, I thought bitterly, you couldn't depend on any of them. I might just as well load the car myself. Picking up the smallest of the suitcases, I started downstairs and, as luck would have it, ran into Mrs. Wellington in the foyer.

“
There
you are!” she cried, pouncing from behind one of the aspidistras. Plumper than ever, wearing the familiar felt slippers and old print dress, she had her hair in old-fashioned curlers and held a scandal magazine in one hand. “You're leaving
already?
”

“I'm leaving,” I said wearily.

“What you'll be doin' way off down there by yourself I have no
idea,
” she said, fanning herself with the magazine. “You could've knocked me over with a feather when I 'eard about it.”

“I'll be working, Mrs. Wellington.”

“Hump! Sure you aren't meetin' some man, dearie?”

“Quite sure,” I snapped. Why did we put up with her?

“Speakin' of men—that Douglas Duncan chap. I'm not
sure
about him. He's paid up in advance—that ain't botherin' me—but it seems like I've seen him before. I've been wrackin' my brain, tryin' to remember. Didn't he call on you once, before you left for Devon? Handsome lad, I'll admit, but so solemn. Never says a word to me, never stops to chat, just stares at me like 'e was a cop or somethin' and intends to raid the place. Your friend Amanda certainly seems to be taken with 'im, doesn't she? I run a respectable 'ouse, and I'm not sure I approve of—”

“I'm really in a bit of a hurry,” I protested.

“Since
'e
arrived, there ain't been all those other men callin' on 'er day and night,” she continued, deaf to my protest. “She never goes out with anyone else. The way 'e looks at 'er, so possessive-like, the way she dotes on it—I wouldn't be surprised if they got married or somethin'—”

“I wouldn't either. I really must—”

“Oh? Are they plannin'—”

Refusing to be pumped, I hurried on outside. My car was parked across the street. I undid the trunk and swung the suitcase inside. As I did so, another car pulled up directly behind me. There was a loud horn blast. I almost jumped out of my skin. He gave me a jolly wave through the windshield and climbed out. He was wearing jeans and jersey, his blue eyes merry, raven locks in tumbled disarray.

“What's this?” he asked jauntily. “Going somewhere?”

“You
would
turn up now.”

“Mandy called, actually. Told me you were leaving. I thought I'd better pop over and see what it was all about.”

“Not that it's any of your business, but I'm going to Cornwall. I've rented a cottage for the summer.”

“Indeed?” He arched one of those improbable brows, looking thoughtful. “How big is it?”

“It's—” I paused. “Why? What could that possibly mat—”

“It should be small enough to be cozy,” he said, “but large enough so we won't get in each other's way when we're working. Actually, I intended to rent a place in Scotland, but I suppose Cornwall will do just as well Modern. plumbing, I hope?”

“What on earth are you—”

“I'm going with you, of course.”

“You're out of your bloody mind.”

“I suppose you could say that. I shouldn't have stayed away so long, I can see. I've wounded your susceptible feelings. I had so much to
do
, you see—one book to finish, proofs of another to read and correct, contracts to negotiate, foreign rights to arrange—and I wanted to get it all done so I could devote full time to my new project.”

“Your new project?”

“You,” he said, smiling seductively.

“I'm tempted to use some very unladylike language, Mr. Cooper. If you expect me to be overwhelmed—”

“That was the general idea.”

“I'm leaving,” I said crisply.

“And I'm going with you. We might as well take your car. We'll have to stop by the flat. I'll need to pack some clothes, and I'll have to explain things to my landlady and make a few arrangements, write a couple of quick letters. All in all, I should be ready around four thirty or five.”

Exasperated, with him, with myself, I left the car trunk standing open and crossed the street. Bart trotted along behind me. Mrs. Wellington was still standing in the foyer. Her eyes widened in surprise when she saw Bart.

“Who's
he?
” she demanded.

“Hello, old thing,” he said chattily. “I'm her lover. We're going to Cornwall together. We're going to spend three months in delicious sin. Isn't that grand?”

I was already halfway up the stairs. He hurried after me and followed me into the flat. Ignoring him, I picked up another suitcase. He took the two that remained. As I went back downstairs, Bart was right behind me, as jaunty and merry as a boy. Mrs. Wellington's brows went shooting up. Her mouth made a round, shocked
o
.

“Eat your heart out,” Bart told her.

I put the bag in the trunk. Bart deposited the others beside it, and I slammed the lid down. File, books, and typewriter would go in the back seat.

“This has gone far enough,” I said.

“Not
nearly,
” he replied.

“Go away!”

“No chance, love.”

“You think I'd just go off with you?”

“Why not?”

“You don't know anything, do you?”

“I know I want you. I know you want me.”

He stood there with his arms folded across his chest, a faint smile on his lips, but the vivid blue eyes were filled with determination. The pavement glistened with dampness. Above us the tree leaves dripped tears. I was on the verge of tears myself. I turned quickly, before he could see, and hurried across the street. I went back upstairs, and in just a moment or so, he stepped inside.

I refused to look at him. Hands clasped tightly together, I fought back the tears. The sad, weepy feeling vanished, but the anger was still there, and the humiliation. Hundreds of women would have jumped at the chance to go off with him, to spend three months with a man so handsome, so magnetic, so exciting, but I was old-fashioned and strait-laced about sex, and he should have
known
that. It was infuriating and insulting and altogether too much to bear. I turned around, cheeks flushed, and he looked dejected and bewildered and hurt.

“What is all this? Don't you love me? I could have sworn—”

“Just go away!”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Well, at least I can help you carry the rest of your things down.”

He started to pick up the files.

“Don't you
dare!
” I cried. “I've finally got them all in order again, and I don't want you to touch them!”

He stepped back, anger mounting.

“Look, do you want me to
marry
you? Is that what you want?”

“Of course it is!”

“That's what I was afraid of!”

“Well?”

“Well all right! I
will!
”

I grew very quiet.

“You're a scheming little vixen! You meant for me to marry you from the very first. You held off, held back, taunted me. You drove me out of my mind! After all these years of caution, all these years of avoiding predatory, marriage-minded females, I had to run into you! It isn't fair. It isn't funny! Don't you dare gloat—”

I didn't. I was most serene.

“It's going to be hell. I can see that right now! We're going to fight like cats and dogs. I warn you, I can get pretty ugly. If you think marriage to me will be a bed of roses—”

“I think it will be divine.”

“The minute we met I was a
marked man
—”

“You were,” I admitted. “You've lost.”

Bart glared at me, brows slanting crazily, and then the scowl disappeared and, suddenly, he began to grin. He came over to me and took hold of my arms and looked down into my eyes.

“Oh no,” he said. “You're mistaken. I haven't lost. The victory is all mine.”

He was wrong, but it was a minor point. There was really no need to argue about it.

All rights reserved, including without limitation the right to reproduce this ebook or any portion thereof in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, events, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 1975 by Tom E. Huff

Cover design by Julianna Lee

ISBN: 978-1-4976-9837-6

This edition published in 2015 by Open Road Integrated Media, Inc.

345 Hudson Street

New York, NY 10014

www.openroadmedia.com

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