Forbidden Fruit Read online

  Forbidden Fruit

  By

  Charlotte Lamb

  Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  "You are going to marry me, Leoni."

  "No," she whispered, her eyes held hypnotically by the power of his demanding stare. "I couldn't marry you. I can't even bear it when you touch me!"

  As soon as the words left her lips she wished she could call them back; she knew it had been a stupid, reckless thing to say, and his expression underlined her own instincts.

  "Can't you? Well, let's see, shall we?" Giles bit out, and her nerves leapt at the furious flash of his icy gray eyes.

  His mouth took hers with driving force.

  CHARLOTTE LAMB is one of Harlequin's best-loved and bestselling authors. Her extraordinary career, in which she has written more than one hundred books, has helped shape the face of romance fiction around the world.

  Born in the East End of London, Charlotte spent her early childhood moving from relative to relative to escape the bombings of World War II. After working as a secretary in the BBC's European department, she married a political reporter who wrote for the Times. Charlotte recalls that it was at his suggestion that she began to write "because it was one job I could do without having to leave our five children." Charlotte and her family now live in a beautiful home on the Isle of Man. It is the perfect setting for an author who creates characters and stories that delight romance readers everywhere.

  Books by Charlotte Lamb

  HARLEQUIN PRESENTS PLUS

  1560—SLEEPING PARTNERS

  BARBARY WHARF

  1498—BESIEGED

  1509—BATTLE FOR POSSESSION

  1513—TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT

  1522—PLAYING HARD TO GET

  1530—A SWEET ADDICTION

  1540—SURRENDER

  Harlequin Presents Plus first edition September 1993

  ISBN 0-373-11584-9

  Original hardcover edition published in 1991

  by Mills & Boon Limited

  FORBIDDEN FRUIT

  Copyright © 1991 by Charlotte Lamb.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Leonie craned her neck to catch sight of herself in the mirror, and caught her breath, her lips parting in an audible gasp. She didn't recognise the slender girl in the floating white dress; it was a stranger standing there. Oh, she knew the silvery fair hair which she often wished less fine, the oval face it framed, the skin she always felt was too pale, the widely spaced dark blue eyes. Her familiar features looked back at her, sure enough; and yet there was a disorientating sense of unfamiliarity. Could a dress make that much difference?

  'That isn't me!' she thought aloud, and Angela impatiently clicked her tongue.

  'Stand still, or I won't be able to get the hem straight!'

  'Sorry!' Leonie obediently lapsed back into her previous posture, looking out through the window into a cold blue sky. It was early spring; a chill wind lashed the trees along the London street, but there were daffodils braving the win-try afternoon and pink sprays of blossom breaking out on the almond tree's black boughs.

  'So Malcolm's away for three more days?' asked Angela, deftly inserting a final pin in the hem and leaning back to assess the result.

  She had insisted that the dress should be her wedding present to the bride, even refusing to let Leonie pay for the beautiful and expensive materials, the silk, ribbon and lace. The style was romantic in the extreme; extravagantly medieval, a high-necked, long-sleeved gown which made the girl in it look like the heroine of a fairy-story come to life.

  Leonie knew that Angela's work was so good that she had a long waiting list of clients, to whom she charged very high rates.

  'It's too generous of you!' she had protested when Angela first said she was going to make the wedding dress as her present to the bride, but Angela had simply brushed the words aside with a shake of the head.

  'Don't argue, I've made up my mind!' she had said firmly. Angela prided herself on being down to earth. Warm-hearted she might be, but she hated to be emotional.

  Leonie's mouth curved in a smile now. 'Yes, Malcolm gets back on Thursday.'

  'He goes away a lot, doesn't he?'

  Leonie's smile faltered. 'Lately he does, yes. He never used to, but I think his brother is deliberately sending him on all these selling trips to keep him away from me.' Her blue eyes were shadowed now, and she looked down at her friend unhappily. 'If they could stop Malcolm marrying me, they would, you know, They don't think I'm good enough for him.'

  Angela bristled indignantly, and stood up, her face flushed. 'Are they still, being standoffish with you? Who do they think they are? Royalty?'

  Leonie gave a husky laugh. 'I wouldn't be surprised! They are very wealthy, Angela. The firm has been making paper at Kent Warlock Mills since the nineteenth century, and their home is much older than that, although I think they bought it about fifty years ago. They haven't always lived at Warlock House, but Mrs Kent comes from a very old family. She grew up in a castle somewhere in Scotland.'

  Angela snorted, unimpressed. 'That doesn't give her the right to look down on you! I've no time for snobs.'

  Angela was always very forthright; a short, determined brunette with fierce brown eyes and lots of energy. She and Leonie were opposites in many ways and yet they had been friends since they were at school, perhaps because something vulnerable in Leonie's nature made Angela feel she needed someone to took after her and tell her what to do, and Angela was good at that.

  Nobody was ever going to get the chance of ordering Angela about, of course, which was why, when she started work, her passion for dressmaking had quite naturally led to her setting up in business on her own. She was successful from the start, and she was her own boss. The job enabled her to work from home, independently, doing as much, or as little, each day, as she chose.

  'I can understand Mrs Kent's being disappointed that Malcolm isn't marrying someone from her own background,' Leonie said soberly, trying to be fair, and Angela made impatient noises.

  'Someone with money, you mean!'

  'I really don't think it is just a question of money. They wanted Malcolm to marry a different sort of girl. Someone from their world, someone whose family they know. I'm just a secretary from an ordinary family.'

  'They should be glad Malcolm has found someone so pretty and nice,' Angela said aggressively, and Leonie smiled at her.

  'Thanks. Oh, I expect they'll get used to the idea of me. I'll do my best to fit in, and, after all, Malcolm and I have known each other for nine months; they must realise we're both serious. It isn't a spur of the moment impulse—we know what we're doing. I only hope they come to the wedding…' Angela looked shocked. 'You mean, they might not come?'

  'Malcolm says they will, but they haven't answered the invitations my mother sent them.'

  'Well, if they don't come they aren't worth bothering about. This is going to be your big day, so don't let them spoil it for you! Once you and Malcolm are married they'll soon come round, wait and see.'

  'Do you think so?' Leonie's delicate face lit up, and Angela nodded firmly.

  'Of course. There is one thing you can always be sure about with rich people—they're realists. Once you're Malcolm's wife they'll come to terms with the idea.' She caught sight of the clock on the mantelshelf, and gave a groan. 'Look at the time! I've got to meet Jack in the West End at six—we're going to a party. I haven't got time to take the dress home first. I'll have to leave it here, and pick it up tomorrow morning—but guard it with your life. I want it to
be perfect on the day!'

  'You don't need to worry.'

  'But I do!' Angela began hurrying to the door, but lingered, her anxious eyes on the dress. 'Maybe I should stay and help you take it off?'

  'I can do it!'

  'Well, OK, but… you will be extra careful, especially with the zip?'

  'Of course!'

  'And don't, whatever you do, let Malcolm see it; it's unlucky!'

  'I won't be seeing him!'

  'No, of course not.' Angela still couldn't tear herself away. 'And put it back inside the cover before you hang it up!' she reminded her from the door.

  'I know!' Leonie laughed and made pushing gestures. 'Go on! I can manage!'

  Laughing, Angela said, 'OK. Bye, then, see you tomorrow!' She vanished, the front door of the little flat slammed, and Leonie turned slowly to stare once again at her own reflection, able to do so, this time, at her leisure. She was thrilled with her dress and the way it made her look— she couldn't wait for Malcolm to see it. She had so badly wanted to look really special on their wedding-day, and Angela's clever fingers were going to make that dream come true. Nobody else would ever have had precisely this style of dress, since Angela had designed it for her, a unique, one-off wedding dress for her day in a lifetime.

  This was how she had dreamt of looking—so why did she feel strange, unfamiliar?

  A frown knit her brows. She was passionately in love with Malcolm—it couldn't be any doubts about him—but she had to face it. Her wedding-day was not going to be all bliss, nor could she be certain about her future life with the man she loved, which was why her moods, for weeks, had swung wildly between deep happiness and a troubled uneasiness. Oh, not about Malcolm, or their feelings for each other—but about his family's hostility, and how that might affect their relationship.

  From the very beginning the Kent family had made no secret of their shock, and their dislike of the girl Malcolm had taken home to meet them one hot July evening. She remembered it as if it had been yesterday. There had been thunderstorms rumbling somewhere in the distance, across the rolling wheatfields in the Essex farmland surrounding Warlock House. The sky had been an ominous colour; heavy with cloud, an occasional flash of lightning splitting the horizon. Midges had hummed under the heavy green branches of the trees in the beautifully kept gardens, and the air had been humid.

  Leonie had noticed all that, anxiously, and then had been struck dumb by the magnificence of Malcolm's home, a large Queen Anne house built of red brick and stone, set in parkland. The interior matched the beauty and grace of the facade: golden oak panelling, polished woodblock floors, gleaming antique furniture and flowers everywhere, scenting the rooms.

  She had become so nervous by the time she met Malcolm's family that she was trembling as she shook hands with Mrs Kent, a slim, elegant woman with silvered dark hair. Leonie knew she had been widowed for some five years, and was over sixty, but she certainly did not look it.

  Face to face, Leonie had shakily smiled, but been given no smile In reply. Mrs Kent had merely looked Leonie up and down, her thin brows rising in cold disdain.

  Meeting those dagger-sharp grey eyes, Leonie had hurriedly turned away to shake hands with Malcolm's elder brother, Giles, only to face the same animosity, the same icily level gaze, and to recognise with a sinking heart that there was no welcome for her in that house.

  In the ensuing weeks they had made sure that she met some of the girls Malcolm might have married if he had not met her. They were much the same, all of them: rich, pretty, arrogant, fitting in perfectly with the world Malcolm's family inhabited. The Kent family wanted her to feel inferior and out of place, and Leonie was so shy and unsure of herself that she was an easy target.

  One autumn evening she had stood alone at a garden barbecue at the Kent house, miserably watching Malcolm dancing with another girl, who had clung to him, her body sinuously moving in rhythm with his, her arms tightly clasping his neck. Leonie had felt like crying, but she had gritted her teeth and pretended to smile. After all, Malcolm had chosen her, hadn't he? He had not asked any of these other girls to marry him!

  'Enjoying yourself?' Giles Kent had asked in a dry, sarcastic voice, suddenly joining her, and she had started, her body tense as she'd looked up at him. He rarely spoke to her, but when from time to time they did meet she always felt wary and tense in his company.

  'Yes, thank you,' she had lied, and his mouth had twisted wryly.

  'You don't look as if you are.'

  'I can't help the way I look!' she had retorted, stung, and he had smiled with an odd sort of irony.

  'No, I suppose you can't.' His grey eyes had flicked over her, and for no season she could explain she had felt her skin burning. His face still held hostility, but for that second she had seen something else in his glance, a sensual awareness of her that had made her blush.

  He had laughed at her hot colour. 'Did you think I hadn't noticed the way you look?' he'd softly mocked. 'I'm sure men always do. You're lovely, and I can't blame Malcolm for wanting you. I wouldn't say no, myself, if an offer was made.'

  She would have been insulted if she had not been so startled. It was the last thing she had expected from Giles Kent, that sort of remark. She'd almost believed she was imagining the whole thing; hallucinating.

  Then he had put out his hand and touched her neck, softly, lightly, his fingertips stroking downwards from her ear to her bare shoulder, and she had felt a shudder run right through her. The brief touch had had an intimacy that had shaken her like an earthquake. She had leapt backwards, eyes huge in her burning face, and a second later Malcolm had been there, frowning, looking at his elder brother with suspicion.

  'What's going on? What are you up to, Giles?'

  Coolly, Giles had drawled, 'I was making a pass at your girlfriend.'

  She hadn't known where to look. Why was he acting this way? Was he trying to cause trouble? Insulting her? Trying to come between her and Malcolm? She could not believe he really felt any attraction; he had always been so icily hostile to her in the past.

  Malcolm had stared at him, dark red colour rising in his face. 'Oh, you were, were you?'

  The brothers had faced each other, their bodies tense as if they might come to blows any minute, and Leonie had been frightened. 'Stop it! Please, stop it!' she had cried, turning white. Malcolm had given her a quick, concerned look, and relaxed a little, grimacing.

  'OK, darling, don't look so upset! I won't punch him in the nose, although he deserves it.'

  'Let's go, Malcolm,' she had muttered, careful not to look at Giles.

  Malcolm hadn't been ready to leave yet, though. He was too angry. 'Of course,' he'd said furiously, 'I might have known he would, sooner or later. He's used to women falling over themselves to get his attention; he probably thought he could have you with one snap of his fingers.'

  Giles had stood there impassively, his face totally without expression, but every line of it taut, his bones locked in tense concentration.

  Malcolm had laughed shortly. 'That's what you thought, isn't it, Giles? Well, you won't get anywhere with her—you can't stop our wedding that way! And you can tell Mother that she won't get anywhere with her delaying tactics, either. I'm not interested in any other girls, so tell her to stop pushing them at me. Whether she likes it or not, I love Leonie, and she loves me, and we are getting married, so you and Mother had better get used to the idea.'

  Leonie had felt her heart turn over. At that moment she had really begun to believe she and Malcolm could be happy together, that it wasn't just an impossible dream. She had always been afraid that his family would lure him away from her, that his feelings for her would not last, but as he'd smiled down at her at that moment she had been so happy that she had almost burst into tears.

  Remembering that evening, the smoky firelit garden, the music and laughter in the background, Giles Kent watching her with those remote grey eyes, and Malcolm smiling at her with love and reassurance, she sighed, a little smile curving h
er mouth. They were going to be happy. Whatever anyone said or did, in just a few days they would get married, and they would start to build a wonderful life together.

  Dreamily, she turned away from the mirror and began to unhook the neck of her dress. A zip ran all the way down to the waist, at the back, but first she had to open the high neck. As she freed the hook she heard the doorbell begin to ring, and grinned to herself.

  It was probably Angela, having changed her mind about leaving the precious dress here overnight. Leonie held her long skirts carefully in both hands, to lift the hem off the floor, and made her way to the front door.

  Half, laughing, she opened it, ready to tease her friend. It wasn't Angela outside, though. It was a tall man in a dark suit. Giles Kent!

  Leonie's smile died; she stiffened at the first sight of him, her blue eyes startled.

  'Oh. It's you,' she muttered, looking away immediately. It troubled her, as always, to meet his cool stare. He had known her for months now, but she was beginning to think that he would never like her, and yet at the same time she was always conscious of that underlying awareness of her, which he had first let her glimpse that day at the barbecue, an awareness matched inside herself, in spite of herself. It was far from being simple attraction; it was too complex for that; a disturbing mixture of hostility and a physical response, which she resisted angrily. She did not want to be conscious of that tall, lean body. She disliked the man intensely! Why on earth should she nevertheless feel this quiver of sensual attention whenever she saw him? She could only think that her dislike was so intense that it triggered off a chemical reaction that was far too much like desire.

  She hoped he wasn't aware of her secret feelings, but something in those mocking grey eyes usually made her uneasily suspect he was. Not today, though. She frowned. Today, he was even more hostile than usual. He was frowning heavily, his mouth tightly controlled. Why was he looking at her like that? What was he doing here if he disliked her so much? Through her lashes she noted inconsequentially that he was wearing a black tie. Maybe he had been to a funeral? That would explain his grim expression—but not what he was doing here, visiting her. He had never been to her flat before. Why was he here now?