The Vengance Affair Read online

  She stared at him perplexedly for several long minutes, none the wiser for doing so. 'I don't under­stand.' She finally gave a shake of her head. 'Have they moved the television studio up here—?'

  'Jaz, I may not have known you very long,' he cut in icily, 'but it's certainly long enough for me to know you are far from lacking in intelligence!'

  Her cheeks flushed with pleasure at what was, com­ing from this man, most definitely a compliment. Even if it hadn't sounded like one!

  'Yes, but—' She broke off, drawing in a sharp breath as another explanation presented itself.

  Beau Garrett was the leading host of any chat show on any television station, had been for almost a decade, but as far as she was aware there hadn't been any new programmes since his accident four months ago...

  He had assured her that the scar didn't 'bother' him, but that didn't mean that it didn't bother someone else...

  Surely the television studio, in its infinite wisdom, hadn't decided to drop his programme just because he was no longer the perfect, handsome presenter he had once been?

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  'What are you thinking now?'

  Jaz glanced up to find Beau looking at her with nar­rowed eyes. She couldn't help it, found her own gaze drawn to that livid scar that ran the length of his face. It wasn't pretty, she accepted that, but its lividness would fade in time, probably only leaving a silvery line to mark its presence. In time... Which was probably something they didn't give you in the world of televi­sion!

  Were the general public, the people who watched his television show, really that fickle? Didn't they—?

  'Jaz?' Beau prompted harshly.

  She gave him a startled look, having forgotten that he was still waiting for an answer. But what could she say that he wouldn't take exception to? That she thought the people who had made the decision to drop his tele­vision show, just because he had a scar on his face, were a lot of idiots? That she believed the English pub­lic had more intelligence than they were being given credit for? All of that, given the circumstances, sounded totally inadequate for the humiliation he must have gone through after so much pain.

  'Time I was going, I think,' Beau rasped, standing up abruptly. 'Thanks for the coffee, Jaz—even if I can't say the same for the conversation,' he added dryly. 'That, I'm sure you'll be happy to know, was a total waste of my time!'

  As had his own been! Oh, she knew a little more about him personally now, his parents, his education, his early career, but none of that helped her to under­stand the man he was now.

  Jaz stood up too. 'I'm sorry I couldn't be more help­ful'

  Beau's features lightened into a smile, his gaze warmly appreciative. 'You aren't sorry at all,' he drawled ruefully.

  She shrugged. 'Okay, so I'm not. It was still nice to see you.' Especially as she had been wondering all day how they were possibly going to face each other again after Beau had kissed her the evening before. In retro­spect, it hadn't been as difficult as she had thought it would be. Mainly because Beau had made sure that it wasn't...

  'Was it?' He raised dark brows skeptically. 'I'm afraid I wasn't very nice to you when we parted last night,' he added huskily, silver gaze searching now.

  She had spoken too soon!

  Her cheeks warmed at this reminder of something she was sure they would both rather forget.

  Beau grimaced at her obvious embarrassment. 'It's no excuse, I know, but I'm afraid I'm not really—adapt­ing too well.' He frowned darkly. 'I certainly shouldn't have taken my bad temper out on you.'

  Jaz looked at him curiously. 'Adapting to what?'

  His mouth twisted humourlessly. 'You don't miss much, do you, Jaz?' He shook his head. 'You're a very strange mixture of intelligence and innocence—'

  'For innocence read naivety!' she cut in scornfully.

  'Not at all,' he said slowly, his gaze totally assessing. 'In fact, Jasmina Logan—'

  'I thought I warned you against calling me that,' she reminded him forcefully, feeling the usual queasiness in the pit of her stomach that her full name always in­voked. Her mother had been one of the people who had always insisted on calling her by her full name...

  'So you did,' he acknowledged lightly, at the same time making no effort to finish his earlier statement. Much to Jaz's frustration... She would have liked to know what had come after 'in fact'. But it was obvious by the way Beau was replacing his empty mug on the tray, and moving towards the door, that the conversation was over as far as he was concerned.

  He paused as he reached the sitting room door. 'I shall be going away for the weekend tomorrow after­noon, so if there's anything you need from me before I go...?'

  He was going away? But he had only just arrived!

  Who was she kidding? The sinking feeling in her stomach, at being informed Beau was going away for a few days, had nothing to do with the fact that he had only recently moved into the village—and everything to do with the fact that even though he had only been here a short time, she was going to miss him, going to miss the way he just called in here whenever he felt like it, the way he gave colour to her life after what seemed like years of grey.

  Which wasn't something she particularly enjoyed ac­knowledging... The reason she felt that way was some­thing she just wasn't going to think about!

  She straightened, her expression deliberately non­committal. 'No, there's nothing I can think of,' she dis­missed with a lightness she was far from feeling.

  Where was he going? Who was he going to see? His parents, who lived in Surrey? Or someone else...?

  It didn't really matter; she simply didn't have the right to ask him any of those things—especially when she had just discovered that there were other questions she needed to answer herself!

  How had this man's presence become so essential to her life in such a short space of time? More important, why had it?

  'Jaz?' Beau was looking at her questioningly now, his expression quizzical.

  She forced an over-bright smile, knowing by the way Beau's gaze narrowed that he was well aware it was forced. 'There's really nothing I need from you,' she assured him lightly.

  His mouth twisted derisively. 'You really know how to wound a man, do you know that, Jaz?' he taunted.

  'Ha ha,' she muttered dryly, knowing he was teasing her.

  He laughed softly. 'Actually, Jaz, in view of the other marriage-minded women in the area, you're very good for my ego—there's no chance of it becoming over-inflated with you around to keep my feet firmly on the ground!'

  Then he wasn't reading her at all! The truth was, she was aware of this man with every part of her, felt nerve-tinglingly alive whenever she was in his company.

  Whereas he, it seemed, regarded her more as the little sister he had obviously never had.

  Which was probably just as well...

  She gave him a rueful grin. 'Any time!'

  He grinned back. 'That's what I thought.' He nodded. 'I —hello; what's this?' He bent down to retrieve some­thing off the mat just inside the front door.

  'What is it?' Jaz prompted sharply, a terrible pre­monition creeping over her.

  He turned with a shrug. 'Just a letter. Obviously from someone too mean to affix a stamp—hey!' he protested teasingly as Jaz snatched the white envelope out of his hand.

  Jaz stared down at the envelope she now held. It was just like the last one; as Beau had already pointed out, had no stamp on it, the name and address printed on the front.

  'What is it?' Beau prompted sharply.

  Her hand tightened on the envelope even as she looked up at him with over-bright eyes. 'If I'm lucky it might be someone paying a bill,' she attempted to dis­miss lightly, knowing she fell far short of succeeding, but not willing to discuss these letters with anyone. Least of all this man.

  Because she now had a feeling it was her new friend­ship with Beau that was causing them to be sent in the first place!

  It had to be; there was no other man she had been even remotely clo
se enough to for that initial accusation to have been made. Goodness knows, in view of her having had dinner with Beau at the pub last night in full view of half the village, what this second letter was going to say!

  Whatever it was, she certainly wasn't going to open the letter while Beau was still here!

  She moved forward to open the front door. 'Have a nice weekend, Beau,' she said lightly.

  'You too,' he answered distractedly, his frowning gaze still fixed on her face. 'Jaz—'

  'Goodness, it's turned cold this evening, hasn't it?' She affected a shiver as if to emphasize her point.

  'Does that mean you'll have to turn up your heating in the greenhouses or something?'

  Her mouth twisted wryly. 'Or something.'

  Beau looked up at the sky, clouds whisking across the blackness. 'I believe snow was forecast for this weekend.'

  'Oh, wonderful,' she said with feeling.

  He chuckled softly. 'Not good for the plants?'

  'Not good at all. Brr,' she gave a genuine shiver this time. 'Take care on the roads tomorrow,' she advised.

  Beau winced. 'You sound like my mother now!'

  'I don't think, with you around, that there's any chance of my ego becoming over-inflated, either!' she snapped indignantly; his mother, indeed!

  'I think,' he began, at the same time reaching up to gently caress one of her creamy cheeks, pausing to look at her quizzically as she blushed.

  Jaz moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, unable to move away, held captive by the look of ten­derness on Beau's normally arrogant features. 'You think...?' she finally prompted.

  He seemed to snap out of whatever trance he had briefly lapsed into, straightening, his hand falling away from her cheek. 'I think your ego could do with a little inflating,' he informed her harshly. 'In fact, more than a little,' he added hardly.

  Her eyes flashed deeply blue. 'You—'

  'Jaz, anyone with eyes in their head can see you have an inferiority complex the size of a house,' he continued remorselessly. 'Quite why, I have no idea—'

  'How dare you?' Jaz gasped, her previous confusion-fading as anger took over. Just who did this man think he was? Some amateur psychologist? He had no right!

  'But one thing I can assure you—I intend finding out!' he concluded grimly.

  She became suddenly still, barely breathing as she stared at him apprehensively, the unopened letter in her hand feeling like a ton weight. 'What do you mean?' she finally managed huskily.

  'Exactly what I said, Jaz,' he bit out tersely. 'There has to be a reason why half the village pities you and the other half looks on you with suspicion.' He gave a disgusted shake of his head.

  That was exactly how she was looked on in the vil­lage! And it hadn't even taken this man a week to re­alize it...

  Her mouth twisted scornfully. 'I think you have an overactive imagination—'

  'Really?' he snapped. 'Well, we'll see, won't we?'

  Jaz swallowed hard. 'What do you mean?'

  Beau shrugged. 'I'm not really sure,' he admitted with hard self-derision. 'One thing is becoming very clear to me, though...' He scowled.

  'Yes?' she prompted breathlessly, that letter seeming to be burning her fingers now.

  He gave a humourless smile. 'I should have looked into village life a little more before buying into it,' he rasped. 'I thought London was a minefield of gossip and speculation, but it's nothing compared to this!'

  Jaz gasped. 'I think you're being a little unfair—'

  'Do you? In the circumstances, that's very generous of you.' He gave another disgusted shake of his head. 'I'm a relative stranger here, have been resident only a matter of days, and yet several people have already cho­sen to discuss you with me—'

  'That isn't quite true,' she defended indignantly. 'Barbara, Betty and Madelaine's comments have all been kindly meant, and as for Dennis!' She gave a dis­gusted snort. 'He was a friend of my father's—'

  'Then he should know better,' Beau said icily.

  'Yes, he should,' she acknowledged impatiently. 'But my father was very hurt by my mother's desertion of him—'

  'And you weren't?' Beau prompted incredulously. 'You were what? Seventeen, I think you said. Just at the age when you needed a mother's love and guidance. But instead you seem to have received pity or preju­dice—'

  'You don't understand, Beau,' Jaz cut in wearily.

  No, he didn't understand, because he didn't know the full story—and she had no intention of telling him, ei­ther!—but at the same time he was far too astute than was comfortable.

  'No, I don't,' he accepted heavily. 'Both your parents are gone, your grandparents too, so why the hell do you still live here?'

  Jaz stared at him. No one had ever asked her that before. But the answer, now that she had been asked, was that she didn't know.

  Where else would she go? She had been born here, brought up here, didn't know anywhere else.

  But was that enough reason to stay... ?

  She had never even given that question any thought before, had simply gone on, day after day, barely keep­ing the garden centre afloat, with no thought that she could do anything else...

  'Think about it,' Beau advised harshly.

  She gave a tight smile. 'I think that you should mind your own business! You're very free with your advice about what I should or shouldn't do, for someone who—' She broke off abruptly, chewing on her bottom lip as she realized exactly what she had been about to say.

  '"Someone who"...?' Beau prompted softly. Dangerously so, Jaz easily recognized with a wince. But he had stung her just now with his contempt for what he obviously saw as her lack of backbone in mov­ing away from here and making a life for herself else­where. He couldn't possibly know that it actually took more courage to stay here than to go!

  She shook her head. 'Forget it,' she dismissed, not quite meeting that glittering silver gaze now.

  He turned fully in the hallway to face her. 'No, I don't think that I will,' he ground out derisively. 'What totally erroneous explanation have you contrived in your head to account for my moving to' Aberton? That was where that previous statement was going, wasn't it?' he prompted in the dangerously soft voice.

  Jaz swallowed hard, knowing the guilty colour had warmed her cheeks. 'I—'

  'Careful now, Jaz,' he warned tauntingly.

  She shot him a resentful glare. 'You aren't on your television programme now, Mr Garrett,' she snapped defensively. 'In fact, you no longer seem to have—' She gasped as she realized exactly what she had been about to say. 'I'm sorry. I didn't mean—'

  'Yes, you did,' Beau taunted icily, his expression ar­rogantly remote. 'But I have no intention of satisfying any of the gossips as to the reason why I moved here— including you! You're getting cold.' He coldly ac­knowledged her earlier statement as she gave another shiver.

  Only this shiver had nothing to do with the cold out­side and everything to do with the icy disdain emanating from Beau himself.

  She shouldn't have said what she did, she acknowl­edged that, it was just that Beau seemed to have a way of evoking a response in her—both physically as well as verbally!—that she would rather not give.

  'Yes,' she acknowledged evenly. 'Have a nice week­end,' she added softly.

  He gave a mocking inclination of his head before stepping outside. 'You, too,' he drawled dismissively.

  A lot of chance she had of doing that, when she had another of those letters-—as yet unopened—clutched in her hand!

  CHAPTER NINE

  'But where would you go, Jaz?' Madelaine looked up at her concernedly, holding the teapot poised over the two delicate china teacups in her surprise at what Jaz had just said.

  Jaz had called in to see the older woman on her way home from working on Beau Garrett's garden most of the day—at the same time doing her best to avoid so much as speaking to Dennis Davis as he continued to work on the roof—now feeling in need of a little fem­inine company, and advice, and Madelaine was a
bout the only person she felt comfortable enough with to do that. It had the added factor that it was afternoon-tea time, and, despite Jaz's less-than-elegant appearance, Madelaine was only too pleased to share tea with her unexpected guest.

  She had nothing but admiration for Madelaine, the older woman having moved here from London with her husband fifteen years ago, continuing to stay on here after he died. To Jaz, Madelaine was everything that was elegant and charming, living her life like that of the Lady of the Manor, her house filled with genuine antiques, a live-in housekeeper to cook and clean for her, her own appearance always impeccable, her clothes expensively chic.

  Everything that Jaz wasn't, in fact!

  She shrugged now, accepting the cup of tea Madelaine had poured for her. 'I haven't really got that far in my thinking,' she answered the other woman's question. 'It's just that... The garden centre barely sur­vives, as you know. The landscape gardening is pretty much the same, and Ted Soames—' the farmer whose son was to marry Sharon in three weeks' time! '—has always wanted to add the land to his already impressive farm, and—someone suggested that it might be a good idea for me to move away from here.' She grimaced.

  Madelaine bent forward to pick up a plate and offer her one of the home-made scones provided by the housekeeper and covered in cream and jam, her smile teasing as she looked across at Jaz. 'And could this "someone" possibly be Beau Garrett?' she prompted, blonde brows raised speculatively.

  Jaz could feel herself blushing, but it wasn't for the reason Madelaine was bound to think; the blush to her cheeks was caused by anger! The more she had thought over Beau's remarks to her the previous evening the angrier she had become, to the point that she wished now she had finished her own cutting remark.

  Who did he think he was, challenging her in that way, especially when he seemed to have meekly accepted having his television show dropped in that way and crawled away with his 'tail between his legs'?

  'The two of you seem to have become—quite close in the last week?' Madelaine added warmly.