Yesterday's Scars

Rafe gave a wry laugh. ‘Hardly, on Hazel. She’s too shapely to ever look anything but completely feminine.’

‘Really?’ His sister arched one carefully plucked eyebrow. ‘I wasn’t aware that you’d looked at her that closely.’

He gave her a cold look. ‘Well, now you know I have.’

‘I see.’ Celia bit her lip before looking at Hazel. ‘When do you intend leaving?’

‘Celia!’ Rafe’s glass slammed down on the drinks cabinet. ‘You’re being rude,’ he said darkly.

‘It’s all right, Rafe,’ Hazel began. ‘I——’

Celia’s blue eyes glared her dislike. ‘I don’t need any help from you! I’m perfectly capable of making my own explanations—when I think them necessary.’

‘I think one’s due now,’ Rafe said tightly. ‘Your rudeness is inexcusable.’

‘I don’t consider my question rude,’ she told him tightly. ‘I merely enquired when Hazel was leaving.’

Rafe was in the process of pouring himself another drink and so Hazel thought she had better make some effort to stand up for herself, hard as that was turning out to be against the dominant Savage family. Once again she felt herself to be overwhelmed by their forceful personalities.

Before she could utter a word Rafe was speaking again. ‘She isn’t leaving.’

His sister looked at him sharply. ‘What do you mean? Why isn’t she?’

Hazel was wondering the same thing herself; she certainly hadn’t said she was going to stay on.

Rafe appeared unperturbed by Celia’s aggressive attitude. ‘She isn’t leaving because I’ve asked her to stay,’ he told her calmly.

Celia stiffened. ‘You’ve what?’

‘I’ve asked her to stay—and she’s accepted.’

Celia turned furiously on the still silent Hazel. ‘You little cat! You lying little bitch!’ Her mouth turned back in a sneer. ‘You told me you were leaving. It didn’t take you long to start wheedling around Rafe again. I suppose you’re paying for your keep with services rendered,’ she added insultingly.

Rafe’s mouth tightened, a certain whiteness about his lips. ‘You’ll apologise for that remark,’ he told her grimly.

She turned on her heel, marching purposefully towards the door. ‘I won’t apologise to that little—to her,’ she amended at Rafe’s threatening step in her direction. ‘And don’t worry, I’m not staying here to interrupt your first dinner together in three years. Perhaps you deserve her after all!’ With that she slammed out of the room.

CHAPTER THREE (#u5162962c-4cb8-5cfd-b132-b2c9295ae3fb)

HAZEL was deathly pale, Celia’s insults having hurt her more than she cared to admit, even to herself. How could she have said those things, and in front of Rafe too! Her face flooded with colour now as she looked at him, her imagination taking her along the same lines as Celia, of being taken in his strong arms and made love to by him. She brought her thoughts up with a start; she mustn’t think of things like that, she must put all such thoughts out of her head.

‘I’ll see that she apologises for her rudeness when she returns,’ Rafe said hardly.

Hazel looked uncomfortable, knowing that if Celia were forced to do such a thing her resentment would only grow—if that were possible. ‘It isn’t important. And she does have a point,’ she tried to make light of it. ‘When I was a child there was little I could do about providing for my keep, but now that I’m older I can’t presume on our tenacious family tie any longer.’

His blue eyes had narrowed to icy slits. ‘Meaning?’

She shrugged. ‘Meaning I can’t accept your charity any longer.’

His face was livid with anger, the scars standing out whitely against his otherwise swarthy skin. ‘It was never charity and you know it!’

‘You never made it seem like it, you were too thoughtful for that, but I realise now what a burden I must have been, both emotionally and financially. Celia is honest enough to show her resentment.’

‘Are you saying I’m not?’ he queried mildly, too mildly.

Her eyes pleaded for his understanding of what she was trying to say. ‘You know I didn’t mean that, I’m just trying to tell you that I understand Celia’s attitude towards me, her resentment. I’m not even related to you really.’

‘I realise that.’

She looked at him sharply, the relief in his voice not going unnoticed. She had always been aware that most of the Savage family had not altogether approved of her father as a husband for Marisa Savage, but she had never realised that Rafe was of the same opinion. She resented his condescension.

Consequently her answer was sharper than she might otherwise had intended it to be. ‘So if I’m to stay I’ll have to work for my keep.’

‘In what way?’

She blushed as she remembered Celia’s mentioned method of payment. ‘Acting as your helper with the paperwork, of course,’ she said quickly.

Rafe gave a wicked grin at her embarrassment. ‘That’s what I thought. Shame!’

‘Rafe!’ she blushed anew.

He gave a husky laugh. ‘Only joking, Hazel. Only joking.’

Sara bustled in to announce dinner, waiting on them herself in honour of Hazel’s return. Conversation was general through dinner, with Rafe wanting to know more about her time spent in America. She relaxed with him completely over coffee, even going so far as to tell him a few of the humorous mistakes she had made during her first few months as Jonathan’s secretary.

Rafe sipped his brandy, perfectly relaxed as he sat in one of the armchairs. ‘I’m sure Jonathan understood.’

She frowned. ‘You know him?’

‘Only slightly.’

‘I didn’t realise,’ she said slowly.

‘Why should you? I only said I knew him slightly. I know his son better. Did you like Josh?’

Hazel looked confused. ‘You know Josh too?’

‘We met some years ago in London.’

‘Why didn’t you tell me?’

‘Because there was nothing to tell. We’re only acquaintances.’ He looked bored with the subject now, as if he regretted mentioning it.

‘Yes, but—well, all this time and you never once mentioned it. It seems a little strange to me, almost as if you were both keeping quiet on purpose.’ She sprang to her feet, not liking the implications that conjured up in her mind. ‘Rafe?’ she questioned uncertainly. ‘Did you keep quiet on purpose?’

‘What an imaginative child you are! I never mentioned knowing Jonathan because I don’t—at least, not well.’

She put her cup down on the side of the mantelpiece. ‘But you do know him. Why didn’t he mention it either?’