Fallen Angel. Anne Mather
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right behind him made him aware she had moved to join him by the window. ‘Jason, please—can’t we talk about this? I know I must have been a great shock to you, and I admit, I did leave you in ignorance deliberately, but only because—well, because I was afraid you might—you might not come …’
‘And what kind of a swine would I have been if I hadn’t?’ Jason demanded, glancing at her broodingly. ‘My God, whatever his reasons, your father has left you in my care, at least until you’re eighteen, and I should not have shirked that responsibility.’
‘Oh, responsibility …’ She scuffed her toe against the expensive rug with ill grace. ‘I don’t want to be a responsibility! I’m a person, a human being; a living entity in my own right. I don’t want to be anyone’s responsibility. I just want to be—to be a part of your life, part of someone’s life anyway,’ she finished a trifle wistfully.
Jason’s teeth grated. ‘You won’t try and understand, will you?’
‘What’s to understand?’ She held his gaze deliberately. ‘Are you afraid of me, Mr Tarrant? Are you afraid you might be as—tempted as the next man——’
‘Don’t be so ridiculous!’ Jason’s rejection of her taunting statement was violent, but she stood her ground. ‘I’m simply trying to explain to you that my gauchos are not the fanciful gallants you’ve probably seen on the screen. They’re rough men, mestizos and Indians for the most part, for whom an unattached white girl is fair game. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Perfectly,’ she conceded, without flinching. ‘But surely as your—ward, I would merit some respect.’
‘Perhaps. But I don’t feel like being nursemaid!’
‘And that’s the truth, isn’t it?’ she declared bitterly. ‘Oh, you’re just like my father!’
She presented her back to him then, groping in the bag that hung from one shoulder for the handkerchief she couldn’t find. Jason watched her helpless fumblings for several minutes, and then extracted his own handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her.
But instead of thanking him, as he had expected, she snatched the pristine square of white linen and threw it on the floor, deliberately grinding the heel of her boot upon it. Jason’ stared, bleak-eyed, as she kicked the now soiled handkerchief aside, and rubbed her nose unhygienically on the back of her hand.
‘Why, you——’
‘Go on!’ she encouraged him, chancing a look at him over her shoulder. ‘Say it! Call me names. Better that than ignoring my existence!’
Jason allowed his breath to escape on a suppressed oath, then bent and lifted the grubby handkerchief. He regarded it solemnly for several seconds, then he stuffed it back into the pocket of his jacket. Alexandra was sniffing now, her head bent, but he made no attempt to comfort her. Instead, he drew a case of the long narrow cigars he liked from his pocket, and placing one between his teeth, applied the flame of his lighter to it.
The aromatic flavour was soothing, and he attempted to remain calm. Arguing with the girl was doing no good, he could see that. But somehow he had to make her see reason. A sudden idea occurred to him. What she needed was someone to take care of her, some woman, and almost instantaneously the image of Miss Holland sprang to his mind. If that lady could be persuaded to accept a position as housekeeper-cum-guardian, he could lease a house here in London, and Alexandra could choose whether she wanted to continue with her studies or alternatively find some suitable occupation. He might even permit her to visit him in Santa Vittoria on occasion. If she stayed at the hotel in Valvedra, there was no reason why she shouldn’t travel if she wanted to.
‘Alexandra …’ His own voice was almost persuasive now, and instinctively she responded to the gentler tone.
‘Yes?’ She half turned, and he glimpsed the tear-washed brilliance of her eyes, tiny globules glistening like raindrops on her lashes. Unaccountably, he was stirred, and the knowledge brought an impatient hardening in his voice.
‘I’ve come to a decision,’ he said, thrusting his balled fists into the pockets of his pants, unaware that the action drew her attention to the powerful muscles of his thighs. ‘I shall lease a house here in London, for you—and for Miss Holland——’
‘Miss Holland?’
‘That’s right. The woman who was here a few minutes ago. If I’m not mistaken, she needs a job badly. Maybe she will be prepared to act as your guardian in my absence——’
‘No!’
‘What do you mean—no?’ he demanded ominously. ‘Alexandra, might I remind you that until your eighteenth birthday, I am your guardian. You will do as I say.’
‘You can’t make me,’ she retorted, swinging round to face him. ‘Oh, I admit, while you’re here, you can force me to stay with Miss—Miss Holland, but after you’re gone, do you honestly believe she’ll be able to make me do as she says? She can’t lock me in my room, you know. I shall have to go out sometimes. And who says I’ll have to come back?’
His face was steely hard by the time she had finished. ‘Are you threatening me?’ he demanded, and she sensed the tautening of his body.
‘I—why, no. Not—threatening,’ she muttered, resorting to looking for her handkerchief again. ‘But …’ She caught her lower lip between her teeth and looked up at him again, and this time there was only appeal in those drowned violet depths. ‘Oh, Jason, please! Don’t do this. Let me come with you. I’ll be good, I promise. I won’t go near any of your farmhands—gauchos, whatever. I’ll do exactly as you say. I can cook—and clean—and make beds——’
‘No, Alexandra!’
‘Why not? Why not?’ Instead of spitting at him again as he had half expected, she closed the gap between them and he tore his hands out of his pockets to prevent her from getting too close for comfort. ‘Jason, Daddy respected you so much. He wanted us to be friends. Won’t you at least try to like me?’
Jason’s hands had descended on her shoulders, and the fragile vulnerability of the bones beneath his fingers caused him to hesitate before saying, ‘It’s not a question of—liking, Alexandra.’
‘Then why——’
He found he was not immune to those eyes after all. Hurting her was like hurting a wounded deer, a trite observation, but true nevertheless. What the hell, her father had abandoned her, hadn’t he? Was he about to do the same? What would happen to her if he did? Who knew what dangers she might encounter in London, particularly in her desire to prove to him that she needed his protection? His fingers tightened so that he felt the bones might crack beneath his hold, but she didn’t wince, and with a feeling compounded of sympathy and compassion, and a curious kind of self-disgust, he said:
‘All right, all right, I give in. You can come with me to Santa Vittoria. You and Miss Holland both.’
‘You really mean it?’
Tears overspilled her eyes as she stared disbelievingly up at him, and almost with revulsion he thrust her away from him. But that didn’t alter the fact that by allowing her to accompany him, he sensed he was inviting trouble. What form that trouble would take, he could not foresee, but almost immediately he wished he could retract his words.
It was too late, of course. Much too late. The misty relief that shone in her eyes could not be doused, and far from regretting his submission, she was positively incoherent with delight.
‘Oh, Jason!’ she breathed, brushing away her tears with a careless hand, and before he could anticipate what she was about to do, she had flung her arms around his neck and was bestowing kisses all over his face. ‘Darling, darling Jason!’ she was crying exuberantly, while he tried rather unsuccessfully to free himself, uncomfortably aware of those firm breasts pressing against the material of his waistcoat and of the warm scent