Seduction Never Lies(17)

Tavy's face warmed. 'The flowers aren't my responsibility,' she said, replacing the kneeler.

'Tell me, do you recycle all your unwanted bouquets in this way?'

'I don't get flowers as a rule.' She gave him a defiant look. 'As I said-I assumed it was a mistake.'

He said silkily, 'But one that won't be repeated, if that's any reassurance.'

'And now I'll go,' she went on. 'And let you return to sketching.'

'I've done enough for one morning. I'll drive you back to the Vicarage instead.'

Oh, no, she fretted silently. It was still much too early for that.

'Thanks, but I'm not going straight home.'

'Ah,' he said. 'Could I be interrupting some assignation?'

Her breath caught. 'Please don't be absurd.'

He said slowly, brows lifting, 'Anyway, you work on Saturday mornings.  Is that why you're lurking in here-hiding away-because you're skiving  off? Playing truant from school?' He tutted. 'What would your father  say?'

She said hoarsely, 'I'm more concerned about how he'll react when he  hears I've been fired. Thrown out on my ear.' Her voice cracked  suddenly. 'Just as if things weren't bad enough already.'

And, all her good intentions suddenly blown, she sank down on to the  pew and began to cry. Not just a flurry of tears but harsh, racking sobs  that burnt her throat, and which she could not control.                       
       
           



       

And in front of him. Of all people.

She would never recover from the shame of it. Or from the knowledge  that he was now sitting beside her. That his arm was round her, pulling  her to him so that her wet face was buried against his shoulder. So that  she was inhaling the warm musk of his skin through the fabric of his  shirt with every uneven gasping breath, as she struggled for composure,  and for a semblance of sanity, as she realised his free hand was  stroking her hair, gently and rhythmically.

When the sobs eventually choked into silence, she drew away, and he  released her instantly, passing her an immaculate linen handkerchief.

Sitting rigidly upright, she blotted her face, and blew her nose, trying to think of something to say.

But all that she could come up with was a mumbled, 'I'm sorry.'

'What do you have to apologise for? I'd have thought the boot was on quite a different foot.'

'I mean I'm sorry for making such a fool of myself.'

'You've had a shock.' His tone was matter-of-fact. 'Under the  circumstances, I'd say tears were a normal human reaction.' He paused.  'So what were the grounds for your dismissal? Have you had the usual  verbal and written warnings?'

Tavy shook her head. 'Nothing like that. She just told me I wasn't up  to the job as she saw it, handed me a cheque and told me to go.' She  swallowed another sob. 'But what's going to happen to the office? She  has no idea about the computer. I don't think she even knows how to  switch it on.'

'I wouldn't worry. I'm sure she has your successor already in place.'  He watched her absorb that, and nodded. 'However she's driven a horse  and cart through your statutory rights. You could take her to a  tribunal.'

Tavy shuddered. 'No-I really couldn't. I simply want to find another job and get on with my life.'

He was silent for a moment, then: 'So what else has gone wrong?'

She looked around her. 'It's this,' she said in a low voice. 'Dad's  church. It needs thousands of pounds in repairs, and the diocese can't  afford it. We were hoping for a reprieve but it's going to be closed. So  we'll be leaving.'

She swallowed. 'She-Mrs Wilding-told me so, as part of her justification for getting rid of me. She knows the Archdeacon.'

There was a silence, then Jago said softly, 'She's a real piece of  work, your ex-boss. I wouldn't want a daughter of mine to go to her  school.'

A daughter of mine...

Something that was almost pain twisted deep inside her, as she tried to  imagine him as a father-and, of course, a husband, which was ludicrous  with his track record. He could never settle for anything so  conventional, she told herself vehemently. And heaven help anyone who  hoped he'd change.

'Well, there's no chance of that,' she said with sudden crispness, as  she rallied herself. 'She thinks you're Satan's less nice brother.'

'Then maybe I should immediately withdraw from this sacred place to  more appropriate surroundings,' he drawled. 'Come with me to the pub and  have a drink. I think you could use one.'

'No,' she said, too quickly. 'Thank you, but I really should get back and talk to Dad. It won't help to delay things.'

He walked beside her as she wheeled her bike down to the gate.

'Tell me,' he said. 'What does your boyfriend think of his mother's decision?'

Tavy bit her lip. 'I-I don't think he knows.'

'How convenient.'

The note of contempt in his voice stung.

She turned on him. 'Patrick will be devastated when he hears,' she said  hotly. 'And, anyway, just what business is it of yours? How dare you  walk into this village, making assumptions, passing judgements on people  you barely know?'

'Because outsiders can often see the whole picture,' Jago returned,  unruffled. 'Whereas you, my sweet, are incapable of looking further than  the end of your charming nose.'

'You know nothing,' she hurled back at him, her voice shaking. 'Nothing  at all. You've mixed in dirt for so long, you can't recognise or  appreciate decency.'

'Ah,' he said softly. 'Back to that, are we? If that's the case, what do I have to lose?'

One stride brought him within touching distance, his fingers gripping  her slender shoulders, rendering her immobile. He bent his head and his  mouth took hers in a long hard kiss that sent strange echoes  reverberating through every nerve of her body, and sent the world  spinning helplessly out of synch.                       
       
           



       

His lips urged hers apart, allowing his tongue to invade her mouth's  inner sweetness and explore it with a fierce and sensual insistence  totally unlike his previous gentleness. It was impossible to breathe-to  think. Or, even, to resist...

At the same time, his hands slid down to her hips, jerking her forward,  grinding her slender body against his. Making her shockingly aware that  he was passionately and shamelessly aroused.

And, worse still, making her want to press even closer to him. To wind  her arms round his neck and feel the silky gloss of his hair under her  fingers. To make the kiss last for ever...

When he finally released her, she was trembling inside, with fury that  she had not been the one to step back first, and disbelief at her body's  own reaction to this stark introduction to desire.

She wanted to call him a brute and a bastard, but somehow her voice wouldn't work.

He, of course, had no such problem. He said harshly, the tawny gaze  scorching her, 'A word of advice. Open your eyes, Octavia, before it's  too late.'

Then he turned and crossed the road to where a Jeep was parked under a  chestnut tree, swung himself into the driver's seat, and roared off  without a backward glance.

Leaving her staring after him, a shaking hand pressed to her swollen mouth.





CHAPTER EIGHT

IT WAS A subdued afternoon. Lloyd Denison listened gravely to  everything Tavy had to say, although she kept back her encounter with  Jago and its shameful aftermath, then retired to his study with the  comment, 'She does not deserve you, my dear, and never did.'

He was distressed for her, thought Tavy, but not particularly surprised.

She did her best to be upbeat, checking online that she had the  requisite qualifications to train for a B.Ed, although she found with  dismay that she'd have to wait until September to apply for the  following year.

Which meant she had to find some way to support herself in the interim period.

And, to her bewilderment, there was still no word from Patrick, making  it difficult to altogether dismiss Jago's unpleasant comments.

I'll just have to tackle him myself, she thought.

Accordingly, after breakfast the following morning, she asked if she  might absent herself from Morning Prayer and borrow the Peugeot.  'There's something I need to do.'

'Yes, of course you may.' Mr Denison studied her for a moment. 'Want to tell me about it?'

She forced a smile. 'Not right now.'

Market Tranton's streets were quiet as Tavy made her way across town to  the modern block where Patrick had his flat. She was just about to turn  into the parking lot when a car pulled out in front of her, forcing her  to brake sharply.

It was a convertible with the hood up, but she recognised it instantly,  as it sped off. It was Fiona Culham's car, and she was driving it,  wearing sunglasses and with a scarf tied over her blonde hair.

Tavy sat very still for a moment, aware that her pulses were drumming  oddly, as she told herself that there was probably a perfectly logical  explanation, and that driving straight back to Hazelton Magna was the  coward's way out.

Then, taking a deep breath, she turned into the car park and found  another car hurriedly departing, leaving an empty bay. An elderly woman  was just emerging from the main entrance as she arrived, and she held  the door open with a friendly smile. Tavy took the stairs to the first  floor, and rang Number Eleven's bell.