Of course, his reasons were not philanthropic. Ryan Macallister never did anything for anyone without de manding payment. And, although Sarah knew that what she was doing was wrong, she couldn't help being flat tered by the older man's attentions.

Besides, she con soled herself with the knowledge that he was helping Henry, and only when she found herself pregnant with the other man's child did the fear of how her husband would react when he found out compel her to confront Ryan with her dilemma.

To Ryan, the answer was simple. She must get rid of the baby.

He would give her the money to have an abortion. He knew of a woman in Charleston who would do the deed, with no questions asked.

Sarah refused. She was hurt and anxious, but nothing would persuade her to do away with her baby. She would have the child, she said, and if Adam disowned her, so be it. She would get a job and support both her children. She would survive.

But something happened that made her worries about her pregnancy merely academic. Adam was killed-in a freak accident in the fields. He was run down by a mech anical picker, and in her grief at losing the man she had lived with for more than three years Sarah was once again vulnerable to Ryan's persuasion.

It was fairly easy for him to convince her that she wouldn't be happy, staying in the shack, which must contain so many upsetting memories. Instead, he set her up in a house in Beaumaris- far enough from Tidewater so that when her baby was born no one would a.s.sociate it with him, and near enough so that he could continue to visit her on a regular basis.

Nathan had told Joanna this, when, heart broken over Cole's behaviour, she had gone to him for support. Nathan had been the only person she could discuss Cole's unfaithfulness with. And, whether to comfort her, or to expunge some of the bitterness he still possessed, she never knew, but he told her the whole, unhappy story.

Joanna had been shocked, but not as shocked as she might have been before learning of Cole's unfaith fulness. And, in the weeks that followed, he took her to meet his mother, and she learned more. She discovered that Ryan still occasionally visited the house in Acacia Street. She discovered that in all these years Margaret Macallister had remained unaware of Nathan's existence. She learned that her father-in-law lived two distinct lives: one at Tidewater Plantation, and the other with his mistress in Beaumaris.

She didn't blame Sarah. Nathan's mother was one of life's victims. Joanna had no doubt that when Ryan first affected an interest in Henry Sarah had taken his kindness at face value. She must have been flattered that her son had been singled out for attention, and, having seen the shacks at Palmer's Point, Joanna could under stand her dilemma.

It was through talking to Sarah that Joanna eventually visited the shacks for herself. Nathan went with her, and, although at first the women were suspicious of her, gradually she won their confidence. To begin with, it was just something to do, somewhere to go when Cole was working or away from the plantation. She took her sketch pad with her, and spent hours producing like nesses of the children for their mothers. She talked to the children, and encouraged them to talk to her. And, in time, their mothers began to trust her, telling her their problems, and asking her advice.

She supposed it had been a gigantic step from there to actually starting the mother and baby clinic, but so many of the women had had children who'd died, and others were weary from so many pregnancies. Health care was expensive, and Joanna, who would have loved a baby of her own, whatever Cole thought to the con trary, was more than eager to help. Some of the older women, who were past child-bearing themselves, but who wanted a better life for their daughters, helped too. A derelict shack was appropriated, and between them they repaired and painted the inside, and hung the posters Joanna had provided.

There were scales to weigh the babies, and a creaky old couch, where the mothers were examined. Her biggest coup was in persuading the hos pital in Beaumaris to offer the services of a doctor, free of charge, one afternoon a week, to provide the medical skills necessary for the clinic to succeed.

It was ironic, she thought, that, while she was so suc cessful in helping other people, she was so unsuccessful in helping herself.

Her marriage had failed. She and Cole seldom spoke to one another any more. Oh, she sup posed, if she had been willing to overlook his in volvement with Sammy-Jean, they might have been able to work something out. If she had been willing to humble herself, and beg him to come back to her. But she had her pride, and she refused to barter it, even though sometimes the need to touch him was like a raging ache inside her.

And then, one afternoon, Cole came to the clinic and found Nathan helping her. Joanna had known he was aware of the clinic's existence. His father knew about it, and he had sworn he would get the place closed down. He objected to his daughter-in-law being involved, and he had told Cole to deal with it. But, as she and Cole rarely had a conversation these days, nothing had hap pened, and as the weeks went by she had cautiously begun to hope they were safe.

Cole's appearance had destroyed that hope. She had been convinced he could have no other reason for coming to the clinic than to do his father's bidding. That was why she had jumped recklessly into the attack, accusing him of being his father's lackey, and ordering him off the premises.

In retrospect, she could see it had been the wrong thing to do.

She had immediately created a volatile situation, and the row that had ensued had been every bit as vi olent as she had antic.i.p.ated.

And, when Nathan sprang to her defence, things got really ugly.

Even today, it was hard to understand Cole's fury to wards Nathan. Rounding on the younger man, he had delivered one of the most abusive speeches of his entire life. He had accused Nathan of every crime he could think of, finishing with a warning that he should stay away from Macallister women and off Macallister land.

And that was when Joanna had told him. Ignoring Nathan's warning hand on her sleeve, she had informed Cole exactly who Nathan was. His name might be Smith, she said icily, but that wasn't the name of his father. His father's name was Macallister, just like his. In fact, he was speaking to his brother.

Cole had been stunned. Looking back now, she had to admit that, of all the Macallisters, Cole had taken it the hardest. For, of course, he had confronted his father with the accusation, and other ears had heard Ryan's angry outburst. The news had spread like wildfire, and what had just been a rumour became a verified fact.

Maggie Macallister showed little reaction, proving, to Joanna at last, that Cole's mother must have known what was happening all along. But, as long as it wasn't talked about, and Ryan was discreet, she had been prepared to ignore it. After all, Nathan was twenty-one. She must have thought the worst was over.

And it might have been, if Ryan had been prepared to leave it there. After all, it wasn't such an unusual story. Without further scandal to feed on, the story would have been nothing more than a nine-day wonder. But Ryan was angry. He wanted retribution.

And, be cause it was Joanna who had betrayed him, he chose to use her to get his revenge.

The first that Joanna knew about it was when she next went into Beaumaris to see Sarah. Although she knocked at the door of the house in Acacia Street, no one answered, and when she went to the clinic, seeking Nathan, she found the shack had been bulldozed to the ground. And none of the women wanted to talk to her. They were cool, and offhand, avoiding her eyes when she tried to get them to tell her what had happened, calling their children away, as if she was to blame for everything.

She knew it was Ryan Macallister who was behind it.

She could imagine the threats he had made not just to these women, but to Sarah as well. Was that why Sarah wasn't answering her door? Was that why Nathan was avoiding her?

She thought about going to the school where Nathan taught, and asking him what he thought she should do, but the trouble was, she felt guilty. After all, if she hadn't betrayed Sarah's confidence, none of this would have happened. It was her fault that it had all gone wrong. Her fault that all her hard-earned efforts were wasted.

She knew there was only one person she could appeal to, and that was Cole. She hadn't spoken to him once since that day at the clinic, but somehow she had to make him see that it wasn't fair to punish others for her mis takes. Nathan was such an honourable man. It wasn't right that he should have to suffer for simply being there. He hadn't asked to be born. He hadn't chosen his parents.

She went to Cole's room that night, long after his parents had gone to bed. She knew it was the only time when she might get to speak to him alone, but her hands were trembling as she tied the cord of the silk wrapper around her. Her appearance didn't please her. Since she and Cole had been living separate lives, she had piled on the weight, and her hips swelled unattractively below the belt of the robe. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were bigger, too, round and voluptuous, bouncing along beneath the wrapper like two melons in a bag.

But, although she spent several minutes trying to at tract Cole's attention, he didn't open the door. And, when she eventually plucked up the courage to step inside, she found the room was empty. The maid had turned down the bed, but it hadn't been occupied.

She was debating whether to go back to her own room, when she heard a sound behind her. Cole had evidently just arrived home, and was standing in the doorway, swaying slightly on his heels.

'Well, well,' he said unpleasantly, 'to what do I owe this honour?

His voice was slightly slurred, as if he had been drinking. But the words he used were deliberate, and Joanna coloured. 'I wanted to talk to you, Cole,' she said, wishing now she had waited till the morning. 'I-- but it doesn't matter.'

However, when she would have gone past him, he stepped inside and closed the door. 'Go ahead,' he said. 'I'm listening. You'll sleep better if you spit it out. They say that confession's good for the soul!'

'Confession?'

Joanna was confused, but Cole merely unfastened the remaining b.u.t.tons on his shirt and pulled it free of his trousers. 'Sure,' he said, tossing his jacket aside and running exploring fingers across his chest. 'You're going to tell me how sorry you are for making a fool of me with Nathan. Tell me about it. I hear he's pretty impressive in that department. Got all the right equipment, if you see what I mean-'

'Shut your filthy mouth!'

Joanna's hand swung towards his cheek with all the force she could muster, but Cole only swayed back on his heels and avoided the worst of the blow. Besides, he was probably anaesthetized against any pain by the amount of alcohol he had swallowed, she thought bitterly. Unlike her.

'Hey, that's what they say,' Cole protested, his lean features showing only a mocking disregard for her anger. 'Don't blame me if he's found someone else!'

Joanna seethed. 'He hasn't found anyone else!' she exclaimed, frustratedly, 'That is, our-our relationship wasn't like that!'

'Oh, come on, Jo! I know what a hot little body you've got. And if you're not cooling it with me .. .' He shrugged expressively.

Joanna gasped. 'Is that all you can think about? s.e.x?' Cole's face sobered. 'What else is there?' he asked harshly.

Joanna winced. 'I thought we loved one another-'

'Oh, spare me that!' Cole was scathing. 'You don't love me. You never did. All you love are those b.l.o.o.d.y paintings of yours!

They're your family, aren't they? Your children! When we got married, I thought you'd forget all about that nonsense. I thought you'd be so busy having my babies, you wouldn't have time to think about anything else. But that's not what you had in mind.

Children are a nuisance. They'd get in the way of your Work.

And heaven help anything that interfered with that!'

Joanna stared at him. 'You actually expected me to have children here? In this house?'

'Why not? You never gave my family a chance. You were so busy finding reasons for not living here, you didn't see what you were doing to us!'

'1 didn't do anything to us! 1 wasn't the one who moved out of our room. 1 wasn't the one who went off to South America for weeks at a time, so that when you came back we were like strangers with one another.'

'And whose fault was that?'

'Well, it wasn't mine----'

'Not even when 1 found out what was going on?' Joanna blinked.

'What was going on?'

'Do 1 have to spell it out?' Cole thrust his hands into his trouser pockets, and Joanna had to drag her eyes away from the taut cloth. 'We've been married over a year, Jo. Why aren't you pregnant?'

Joanna caught her breath. 'Perhaps you ought to ask yourself that,' she retorted indignantly. 'It takes two to make a baby, you know.'

Cole's eyes darkened. 'You b.i.t.c.h!'

'Oh, yes, I'm a b.i.t.c.h, aren't I? Just because 1 suggest that good 'ole Cole Macallister mightn't have what it takes-'

'Shut up!'

Cole reached for her then, and, although she tried to avoid his hands, he was less intoxicated than she had thought. His fingers fastened around her throat with bruising intent, and when he hauled her up in front of him her eyes opened wide with apprehension.

'You know what 1 should do, don't you?' he snarled. 'I should wring your lying little neck!'

'Because you can't take the truth?' Joanna taunted, scared, but defiant too, and Cole groaned.

'What the h.e.l.l are you trying to do to me?' he de manded, his fingers finding her windpipe and exerting an unsteady pressure.

'G.o.d in heaven, you'd try the patience of a saint!'

'And we both know you're no saint, don't we?' whis pered Joanna, through dry lips. 'Go on, Cole. Do it! Put us both out of our misery!'

Cole's hands tightened, and for a moment she thought he was going to make good his threat. And then they gentled, smoothing the skin of her throat, and tracing the pulsing veins that had risen, threadlike, to the surface.

'You know what I really want to do with you, don't you?' he muttered, his breath wafting across her face, only lightly tinged with the alcohol he had consumed. His hands slid down, over her quivering shoulders, and found the rampant fullness of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He squeezed them hard, through the slippery silk of her wrapper. Then he bent his head, and sucked one of the b.u.t.ton-hard peaks into his mouth, suckling it through the cloth, and sending a wave of longing surging into her thighs.

She thought she was going to collapse, her knees felt so weak.

But, as if sensing this, Cole put his hands be neath her bottom, and lifted her into his arms. Her legs curled automatically about him, and she wound her arms around his neck. The feel of his smooth skin felt so good beneath her hands, and when his tongue probed her lips she met it with her own.

'G.o.d, I want you!' He shrugged off his shirt, and his bare chest was unbelievably sensuous against her aching nipples. She wanted to tear off the wrapper, and rub herself against him. As it was, the damp cloth only sen sitised her awareness of the masculine beauty of his body.

His tongue invaded her mouth, sliding across her teeth, and caressing the moist inner sh.e.l.l. Its greedy possession imitated the thrusting arousal of his body, and she could feel his swelling hardness rising beneath her hip.

When he carried her to the bed, and came down on top of her, she stopped trying to a.n.a.lyse what was hap pening. Perhaps he was doing this because he hated her. Perhaps he was using her to a.s.suage his l.u.s.t for Sammy- Jean. But she didn't care. What he was doing to her was what she wanted him to do to her, and the reasons for his urgency didn't really count. She wanted him-on her, and in her, melding their bodies together, and bringing her to a peak of fulfillment only he could achieve. She wanted to hold his sleek length inside her, the fullness of him stretching not just her muscles, but the limits of her consciousness. And she wanted to feel the liquid heat of his seed, lubricating the dryness of her soul.

And he was hungry for her. Of that, there could be no doubt. To her relief, the silk wrapper was quickly thrown aside, and his teeth tugged painfully at her nipple, as his hands fumbled awkwardly with his buckle. She wanted to help him, but he wouldn't let her. Instead, he dealt with his own belt and zip, while his mouth roamed freely over her flesh.

'Watch me,' he ordered once, when her drifting senses caused her eyes to close. 'Look at me!' And she did, as he nudged her thighs apart, and poised, erect and glistening above her. Then, groaning with satisfaction, he eased himself into her tight sheath, allowing her muscles to close about him with an eagerness she couldn't hide. : It was a frantic loving, a desperate meeting of souls, whose only outward connection was through their bodies. Yet it was a spiritual blending, too, a magical experience, when the pounding desire of possession became an urgent invocation of the sublime.

The end came all too soon. Driven to the heights of pa.s.sion, it was far too tempting to tumble over the brink. Cole wanted to prolong it. She knew that by the way he tried to pace himself.

But with her legs around his waist, and the luscious beauty of her mouth luring him on, the needs she was creating were too powerful to subdue. Besides, the desire to reach that tantalising peak was dragging every ounce of strength from him, and when he felt her wild convulsions he couldn't prevent his own explosion. A shuddering wave of tension swept through him, and then he slumped heavily on top of her.

And it was while they were lying in the sweat-slick aftermath of their lovemaking that Cole's door opened. Until then, Joanna had scarcely been aware that the lamps were still on, or that anyone could come into the room and find them. Besides, it was so late.

She had believed everyone was in bed. But it was Cole's father who stood in the doorway, and for a moment she saw that his face was as shocked as her own.

Cole's reactions were slower, more lethargic-even defiant, Joanna admitted now. At his father's hoa.r.s.e exclamation, he didn't immediately spring up from the bed, as she might have expected. Oh, no. He merely rolled on to his back beside her, and turned hooded eyes in his father's direction. 'What do you want?'

he de manded tersely. 'We're trying to get some sleep.'

Now Joanna pushed herself away from the bathroom basin, and walked wearily into the bedroom. And, as she did so, she realised it was the first time she had ac tually recalled the exact words Cole had used to his father that night. What had come afterwards had been so hor rible that she hadn't been able to think. And time, and the desire not to remember, had erased the whole scene from her mind.

For Ryan had come to tell his son that Nathan was dead. He had been pulled out of the river an hour before, and his mother had insisted that Cole's father should be informed. In addition to which, the sheriff wanted him to go down to the morgue right away, to identify the body. Sarah was too distraught to see her son right now, and Ryan had agreed to do it. But he wanted Cole to go with him. He needed his eldest son's support.

And Cole had gone, Joanna remembered, leaving her to pull herself together, and return to her own room in a daze of disbelief. Nathan dead! She couldn't believe it was true. And why had he died in the river? For G.o.d's sake, couldn't he swim?

Her mind skimmed over the awful events of the next few days. If she and Cole had ever had a chance of re gaining what they had once had, Nathan's death had destroyed it. She couldn't help blaming him for the way he had treated his half-brother. And she positively despised Ryan for his selfishness and blatant lack of feeling.

And then, at the funeral, something even more dreadful happened, something that had Joanna packing her bags, and swearing she would never set foot on Tidewater land again.

Sarah, racked with grief, and driven to the edge by her son's untimely demise, had accused Ryan Macallister of causing it. He had hounded her son, she said, ever since he discovered that Joanna; and Nathan were friends. He had accused him of se- ducing his brother's wife, of taking revenge for his own unhappy circ.u.mstances by destroying his brother's marriage. And Joanna had encouraged him, Ryan had added. Like took to like, he had sneered, with a scathing reference to Joanna's dark colouring.

Of course, Ryan had denied it. Red-faced and bl.u.s.tering, angry, now, that he had submitted to his son's conviction that they should attend the funeral; he had lashed out at anyone who had argued with him. But Joanna had seen his guilt, and despised him for it. And despised Cole, too, for letting it happen to a man who had been so kind, so gentle, so totally lacking in the arrogance his father had in such abundance.

For months afterwards, long after she had returned to London, and resumed her life there, Joanna tortured herself with thoughts of Nathan on that night. She couldn't believe it had been an accident. She had seen him fishing in the river so many times, and she was sure he would never have drowned unless he hadn't wanted to live. And, of course, she had blamed herself, not only for exposing Ryan and causing him to turn on his son, but also for being the unwitting tool his father had used against him. She could never forgive Ryan. Never. The problem was did she want to forgive his son?

CHAPTER TWELVE.

It was years since Joanna had been on a horse. She had learned to ride as a child, and, when she first went to live at Tidewater, she had occasionally ridden with Cole. But only occasionally.

After her illness, and their sub sequent estrangement, she had had no heart for such a pursuit. It would have seemed too much like pursuing him, and her pride had balked at the idea.

But, after a sleepless night spent reliving the past, she once again found herself in the saddle. Cole had had a beautiful pearl-grey mare readied for her, and the animal shifted a little nervously as Joanna settled herself on its back. She knew that horses, like other animals, could sense nervousness in humans, but in her case it wasn't fear of riding that upset her stomach. It was her un- willing awareness of the man riding beside her. And the uneasy realisation of how attracted to him she still was.

Not that Cole seemed aware of her. He appeared cool and detached, totally in control of his own destiny. Leather-clad thighs moulded the sides of the huge blood bay he was riding, and his booted feet rested confidently in the stirrups. He was wearing a cream shirt, opened down the front to allow whatever breeze there was to cool his skin, and a broad-brimmed hat tipped forward to shade his eyes.