The Vengance Affair Read online

'Oh!' she gasped some time later—how much time?—as he finally raised his head and thrust her away from him.

  'I told you that you have a very kissable mouth,' Beau rasped unapologetically, his expression grim, hands once again gripping the steering-wheel. .'Now get out of here—before I do something to really shock you!'

  Jaz 'got', scrambling inelegantly down from the Range Rover to hurry over to the small cottage where she lived in the grounds of the garden centre, not look­ing back as she heard the roar of the vehicle's engine as Beau took off at great speed.

  What had triggered that? she wondered dazedly as she leant back against her closed front door. Her 'kiss-able mouth', Beau had claimed, but surely it had to be more than that?

  Like what? Beau actually being attracted to her? Somehow, despite his earlier kindness, she didn't think that was the answer. Then what was?

  She didn't know, really didn't have the experience to try to fathom a man like Beau Garrett. In which case, the best thing, surely, was for her to keep well away from him?

  Easier said than done, when she was actually working on his garden for the foreseeable future!

  Although, after this disastrous end to the evening, she didn't think he would be too happy to spend too much time in her company, either...

  It was only later—much later, her jobs all done for the evening—as she lay in bed trying desperately to sleep, that she remembered the anonymous letter she had received earlier today. Remembered also that it was still in the top drawer of her desk, that with Beau's arrival earlier she had totally forgotten to destroy it!

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  'So would you like to tell me what the hell is going on?'

  Jaz stared at Beau around the half open door to the cottage as he stood angrily on her front doorstep, clutch­ing her robe to her as she did so, her hair caught up in a towel to prevent the steam from her bath-water frizz­ing it into even wilder disarray.

  How did he know?

  What did he know?

  As far as she was aware she had destroyed that letter first thing this morning, before anyone else had an op­portunity to see it. And yet here Beau now was, stand­ing on her doorstep at nine o'clock at night, demanding to know 'what was going on?'!

  Although she had worked on his garden most of the day this was the first time she had seen him since his abrupt departure the evening before, the memory of the reason for that abruptness bringing the colour into her cheeks.

  She blinked, shaking her head. 'I don't know what—' She broke off as Beau walked past her into the cottage. 'Come in, why don't you?' she muttered disgruntledly as she closed the door behind him, turning to find him frowning down at her in the dimly lit hallway, instantly finding the cottage even smaller than usual when dom­inated by this man's forceful presence.

  'Have I caught you in the middle of something?' Dark brows were raised as he looked at her standing there in her bathrobe. It was all too obviously the only clothing she was wearing, her legs and feet bare, as was her throat above the vee of the robe.

  Her cheeks felt even hotter. 'I was taking a bath when you knocked on the door.' Battered on it would have been a more fitting description of the thunderous noise he had made on the cottage door—she had thought there had to be a fire, at least! But apart from Beau's angry opening remark, he didn't look as if he were in the midst of an emergency.

  'Oh.' He looked slightly perplexed now.

  'Yes,' Jaz acknowledged dryly. 'If you would like to wait in the sitting room...' She opened the door to the left of them, glad she had lit a fire in there earlier. The shabby room looked much more comfortable when warmed by a coal fire. 'I'll—I'll just go and put some clothes on.' She really would have to try and learn a little social coolness, she inwardly remonstrated with herself; this constant blushing was extremely juvenile!

  Beau's mouth curved into a mocking smile, his gaze speculative. 'Don't bother on my account,' he mur­mured huskily.

  Jaz gave him a glaring look. 'I'm "bothering" on my own account, thank you.'

  He shrugged. 'Okay, go ahead. As you suggested, I'll be waiting in here.' He strolled into the sitting room.

  Jaz didn't wait any longer, hurrying up the stairs as fast as her bare legs would carry her, quickly taking out clean underwear and a jumper and jeans, removing the towel from her hair before pulling them on hastily, feel­ing much more self-contained once she had some clothes on. Being in Beau's company was intimidating enough at any time, standing in front of him half dressed, while he was fully clothed, was something guaranteed to lessen her own self-confidence.

  And after the way they had parted the evening before she needed all of that she could find!

  She had no idea what had induced Beau to kiss her in the way that he had, had lain awake for hours as the incident played over and over again in her mind, feeling tired and disgruntled this morning when she'd climbed out of bed at her usual seven o'clock, the thought of shortly seeing Beau again not helping her mood any.

  Not that she need have worried about that at all; Beau's Range Rover had been missing all day, as had the man himself, neither having returned when she'd left at four o'clock.

  But he had returned now—and he was obviously up­set about something!

  But he couldn't know about that anonymous letter she had received; now that she had destroyed it, only she and the person who had written it could possibly know about that. So what was bothering him?

  Only one way to find out...

  Beau was staring into the glowing fire when she qui­etly entered the sitting room a few minutes later, giving her a moment's respite before he turned and saw her.

  Something seemed to catch in her throat every time she looked at this man, her breathing suddenly con­stricted, her pulse racing as she knew herself to be com­pletely aware of him.

  He looked slightly incongruous standing amidst the scruffy comfort of her tiny sitting room, only space for a sagging sofa and matching chair, the table beside the chair piled high with gardening magazines and cata­logues.

  As if sensing her presence, he glanced up, the glow

  from the fire throwing his face into stark relief, empha­sizing that scar that ran from his eye to his jaw. 'Mes­merizing,' he murmured ruefully.

  Although she knew her appearance to be vastly im­proved by the clothes and freshly brushed hair, some­how Jaz didn't think he was referring to her!

  Beau moved abruptly, so that he now had his back towards the fire. 'Feel better?' He raised mocking brows.

  'Yes, thank you,' she answered primly, hoping he would now put that glow in her cheeks down to the warmth from the fire—although somehow she doubted it; this man knew exactly what effect he had on her!

  How could he be in any doubts after her response to him the night before?

  She straightened, her gaze now meeting his unflinch­ingly. 'What can I do for you?'

  He gave a derisive smile. 'I think it might be better if I didn't answer that!'

  She gave an impatient sigh at his deliberate mockery, knowing that the kiss of last night couldn't possibly mean to him what it had meant to her. He was an ex­perienced man of the world, couldn't have failed to be aware of her inexperience, even when it came to kissing a man. 'Beau—'

  'Okay.' He held up a silencing hand. 'You can start by telling me why I had to suffer innuendos and rib nudging remarks from Dennis Davis when I arrived home this evening. Why Mrs Scott, when I called in at the village shop to get something for my dinner, re­marked how very...kind it was of me to take such an interest in poor Jaz,' he continued grimly, eyes nar­rowed. 'And why, when Madelaine Wilder "popped over" a short time ago to say how sorry she was we couldn't all have dinner together last night—' his mouth twisted scathingly '—she was at great pains to tell me how deserving you were of meeting "a nice young man". I doubt she was referring to me by that last re­mark, by the way!' he concluded self-derisively.

  Jaz had felt the colour slowly fading from her cheeks as Beau had related each incident that had
brought him to her doorstep this evening. She wasn't sure she wouldn't almost have preferred him to have been refer­ring to that anonymous letter, after all! Almost...

  Dennis, despite his outer pleasantness, she had never liked, Barbara Scott was well-meaning, she was sure, and Madelaine only had her best interests at heart. All of which didn't mean that Jaz didn't wish they would all just mind their own business!

  She moistened dry lips. 'Can I offer you a cup of tea or coffee?' she delayed, her mind racing as to exactly how she could answer him. 'I'm afraid I don't have anything stronger in the house; my father wasn't a drinker, and, apart from the odd social glass of wine, neither am I.'

  'Jaz—'

  'I fancy a coffee myself,' she continued brightly, turning to leave the room. 'If you have time, of course?' she paused to add.

  Beau shrugged, his narrowed gaze not leaving her face for a moment. 'I have nothing else to do this eve­ning,' he began slowly.

  'How flattering!' Jaz came back with deliberate fa-cetiousness.

  His mouth twisted derisively. 'If it's flattery you want, Jaz, you're talking to the wrong man!'

  'Somehow I thought as much,' she returned dryly before moving out to the kitchen.

  Why on earth couldn't Dennis, Barbara and Madelaine have kept their thoughts to themselves? she fumed inwardly as she clattered about the kitchen pre­paring coffee and taking out the mugs to put it in. Wasn't her life difficult enough as it was, without hav­ing Beau Garrett on her case?

  'Were the vicar and his wife your father's or your mother's parents?'

  The mug she was holding wobbled precariously in her hand, almost falling, although she managed to re­trieve it at the last minute, turning sharply to look at Beau as he completely dwarfed her tiny kitchen. She hadn't been aware of him entering the room, abstractly wondering how such a big man managed to move so silently. Not that it mattered; he was here now, and the small confines of the room made his presence all the more palpable.

  She gave him a puzzled frown. 'Why do you ask?'

  He shrugged. 'Just making conversation.'

  Her frown deepened; somehow she didn't think Beau was a man to make idle 'conversation'... 'My mother's,' she answered slowly.

  He nodded, as if she had just confirmed something. 'I somehow couldn't see the transition of the son of a vicar into a gardener,' he explained ruefully.

  Jaz stared at him for several seconds, and then she burst into derisive laughter. He couldn't see how the son of a vicar had become a professional gardener? Then he wouldn't have understood her mother, the daughter of a vicar, at all!

  Beau gave her a searching look. 'Did I say something funny...?'

  She sobered, slowly shaking her head. 'Not really. But what do you think children of vicars should be­come? More vicars?'

  He moved to lean back against one of the cupboards. 'I've never really thought about it before,' he admitted. 'It just seemed a strange choice.'

  Jaz found the fact that he had thought about it now rather disturbing. She didn't want Beau Garrett to have thoughts about her, or members of her family...

  'What was it like being the granddaughter of a vicar?' Beau continued conversationally.

  Except, once again, she didn't think Beau was a man who engaged in idle conversation...

  'Wearing,' she admitted abruptly. 'My grandparents always expected me to be perfect,' she explained at his questioning look. 'In contrast, the other children in the village used to tease me a lot.' No point in adding that Sharon, the barmaid from the pub, had been one of the worst culprits.

  Beau nodded. 'I can see how that might be a prob­lem.'

  A problem? At times it had been a nightmare. Made worse by the fact that, as her parents had always been so busy doing other things, she spent a lot of time at weekends and school holidays with her grandparents. They were well-meaning people, obviously loved their only grandchild—while at the same time not under­standing her in the least!

  'It could have been worse,' she dismissed with a shrug, picking up the tray of coffee things in preparation of returning to the other room.

  Beau gave her a considering look, making no move to follow her. 'Could it...?'

  'Of course.' She gave him an over-bright smile. 'Would you mind getting the door for me?'

  'Of course,' he echoed mockingly, moving to open the sitting room door too. 'This is rather nice. Cosy,' he added appreciatively as she looked up at him en­quiringly. 'Maybe I would have been better off in a cottage rather than that huge house.'

  'Maybe you would have been better off staying in London,' Jaz came back tartly as she handed him a mug of black coffee, leaving it up to him to add milk and sugar.

  His gaze narrowed. 'Why do you say that?'

  She gave a dismissive laugh as she sat down in the armchair. 'You fit in here about as well as a tiger would in suburbia!' No harm in trying to turn the tables on him; she would like nothing better than not returning to the reason for his visit here this evening! 'All prevari­cation apart, Beau; why are you living here?' she added with deliberate challenge.

  His eyes glittered silver. '"All prevarication apart", Jaz—mind you own business!'

  She nodded. 'Somehow I thought you would say that'

  'Then why ask?' He shrugged.

  She grimaced. 'Just wanted to see if I was right'

  He sat down on the sofa, adding milk but not sugar

  to his coffee. 'You still haven't answered my question,

  Jaz.'

  Her brows rose. 'Which one?' she enquired—know­ing exactly which one, but really not wanting to answer it.

  It had been extremely difficult continuing to live here after her mother had run away so abruptly, for her grandparents, as well as her father and herself, and now that they were all gone there was only Jaz to remember—and be remembered!—for the scandal that had so rocked the village and its inhabitants.

  She had no doubts that Dennis's rib-nudging, Barbara's gossipy approval, and Madelaine's well-meaning remarks were all connected to that scandal...

  Beau's gaze was narrowed to icy slits. 'Why are you "poor Jaz"? Why was it "kind" of me to take you to the pub last night? And why does Madelaine think you "deserve" to find yourself a nice young man?'

  Jaz was ready for him this time, giving a dismissive shake of her head, a noncommittal smile curving her lips. 'Unless I've lost the ability to count, that was three questions!'

  His mouth tightened. 'Unless I'm mistaken, all with the same answer!' he returned forcefully.

  He wasn't mistaken, but it was rather galling to know that he knew it too!

  It had been years now since her mother had left, so many years Jaz herself no longer even thought about it. But not so the other people in the village, it seemed...

  She gave a shrug of narrow shoulders. 'It's what hap­pens when you've lived in a village all your life, when you were born here, grew up here. People think they have the right to pass comment on your private life.'

  Beau didn't look in the least convinced by her an­swer. 'And what about Dennis's rib-nudging and in-nuendos?' he reminded pointedly. 'Was he passing comment on your private life, too?'

  She had forgotten about Dennis's behaviour! Although she could easily guess the reason for them; no doubt Dennis thought like mother, like—

  She sat forward suddenly, the colour fading from her cheeks, eyes deeply blue against that paleness.

  No!

  It couldn't be Dennis who had sent her that anony­mous note! Could it...?

  He could have a computer, most people seemed to nowadays. But even if he did, that didn't prove any­thing; what household didn't have a computer nowa­days? Well...she didn't, for one, but that was another matter!

  No, the thought had been hers, not Dennis's, although that didn't change the fact that he always made it ob­vious he believed her to be her mother's daughter, that most of the men in the village had at some time been warned off her for that very reason. Not that that was a deterrent to all men; in fact, the oppos
ite, in some cases! Although she had given those few misguided men short shrift with the sharpness of her tongue, and mostly they just left her alone nowadays.

  She gave another shrug. 'Dennis likes to think of himself as a man of the world,' she derided dismis­sively. 'And as that's obviously what you are...' She trailed off pointedly.

  Beau was still looking at her with narrowed eyes. 'Why do I have the feeling that there's something you aren't telling me?'

  Her eyes widened at his accusatory tone. 'There's a lot you aren't telling me, but you don't hear me com­plaining!'

  He settled back comfortably into the armchair. 'What do you want to know?' He took a sip of his coffee.

  When he put it like that—nothing!

  'Okay.' He nodded decisively when she hadn't an­swered him after several seconds. 'Let's see.' He seemed to give it some thought. 'I'm thirty-nine years old. An only child. My parents are both still living. In Surrey, if you're really interested,' he added dryly. 'I went to boarding-school near Worcester, then on to Cambridge University, reading Politics—again, if you're interested.' He raised mocking brows. 'I decided against a political career in favour of journalism. I've worked in television for the last twelve years.'

  Jaz looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue his 'resume'. And waited. And waited.

  'Well?' she finally prompted frowningly.

  'Well what?' He raised deliberately innocent brows.

  She gave a frustrated sigh. 'That was a pretty useless exercise, wasn't it?'

  He shrugged. 'About as helpful to what you really wanted to know as your own explanation was to me a few minutes ago, wouldn't you say?'

  Touché, she silently acknowledged. This man really was too bright for his own—and anyone else's!—good.

  'Maybe,' she conceded quietly. 'But your explanation didn't tell me why you are living here when your work is in London.'

  A shutter came down over already hooded eyes, his expression grim now; he was no longer relaxed as he sat in the chair. 'Because it isn't,' he rasped harshly.

  Jaz frowned. 'Isn't what?'

  Beau gave her an impatient glance. 'My work. It isn't in London,' he added abruptly as she still looked blank.