'And Laura told you otherwise.'

'Tonight,' Catherine nodded.

'And-that made the difference? Nothing else?' 'What else could there be?' she cried.

He hesitated a moment, and then he nodded, indeed. What else?'

'Oh, Jared, I've been through h.e.l.l!'

'Not the h.e.l.l I've been through,' he groaned, and unable to prevent himself, he pulled her into his arms, shuddering down the length of his body as his hands slid possessively over hers. He buried his face in her neck, his beard rough against her soft skin, just holding her close against him until she felt the hardening pressure of his thighs. 'G.o.d-oh, G.o.d, I want you, Catherine.'

Then, when she expected him to kiss her, he drew away from her again, trembling as he raked unsteady hands through his hair.

'This is no good,' he said thickly. 'I'm not fit to touch you. I haven't had a bath in days, and I don't remember the last time I ate. I think it was yesterday-or maybe the day before.'

'Jared!'

She caught his arm, but he released himself shakily, and she realised he was half fainting with weakness.

'Let me get a wash and a change of clothes,' he told her unevenly.

'Then I'll be fine.'

'You won't be fine!' she protested, half tearfully, although she knew tears were no good right now. 'You haven't been looking after yourself at all, have you? Dear G.o.d, Jared, do you realise, another two months of this and you'd be dead!'

He sought the back of an armchair for support, forcing a smile.

'I-had nothing to live for, did I?' he asked, with an attempt at lightness, and Catherine felt a surge of primitive hatred for Elizabeth for allowing this to happen.

She must have known how he felt, why he came to London. Yet she had been prepared to let him go on thinking the worst, that Catherine didn't care about him. If she hadn't become concerned because he had not contacted her and sent Laura to find him.

And of course, the last person she would expect Laura to contact would be Catherine. She had obviously overlooked Laura's gentler character, and her interest in Tony's rehabilitation centre.

Had this been Elizabeth's way of paying them both back for what she thought were her grievances? But even she could have had no idea of the real state of Jared's health.

'Where is the bathroom?' Catherine asked now, and Jared nodded towards the kitchen. 'Through there.'

Ignoring the urge to take him in her arms, she brushed past him and switched on the light in the kitchenette. It was small and rather grubby, but a rapid exploration revealed that the bath folded away beneath the sink, and it was large and reasonably clean. She would have liked to have taken him to her own flat with its more modem conveniences, but she guessed he did not have enough strength to trail down all those stairs and up others.

This would have to do, and turning on the taps at the sink, she began to fill the dish preparatory to transferring its contents to the bath.

Jared came to the door, leaning against the jamb for support.

'What are you doing?'

'I'm filling you a bath.'

'I can do that.'

'No, you can't.' She resisted his attempt to grasp her wrist. 'You see-you haven't the strength.' She bit back another wave of anxiety, and indicated his shirt and jeans. 'You'd better start undressing.'

A look of self-contempt crossed his face. 'I won't let you bathe me.'

'I wasn't about to offer,' she retorted, pouring another dish of water into the bath. 'Hurry up. This won't take long. Then I'm going to prepare you some food.'

'I'm not hungry.'

'Nevertheless, you're going to eat something.'

'You're giving me orders?'

Catherine flushed 'Yes.'

He shrugged and obediently started to unzip his pants. It was intoxicating having him at her mercy like this, but she guessed that it wouldn't last long. Once he had recovered his strength...

But then she wouldn't have it any other way.

She turned her back as he got into the bath, and then handing him the soap, she said: 'Where are your clean clothes?'

He sighed, relaxing lazily in the water, disturbingly sensual in this intimate state. 'I guess they're in the dressing table drawers,' he answered, looking up at her, and a quickening of emotion in his eyes made her catch her breath. 'Come here.'

She shook her head, albeit a little reluctantly. 'Not-not now.'

She walked towards the door. 'You can give me a shout when you're finished.'

His bedroom was a small, single-bedded room opening off the living room, and these three rooms formed the flat. Going in there, Catherine grimaced at the tumbled bed and wrinkled sheets, stripping off the covers and rolling the linen up for washing. She found clean sheets in a chest of drawers, and remade the bed, finding pleasure in the task.

His clothes were in disorder in the drawers, and she pulled out a tangle of shirts and socks, dislodging some papers as she did so.

They fluttered to the floor, and as she bent to pick them up, she saw that one was a copy draft on a London bank for a sum of money which not long ago had figured so prominently in every conversation at the centre. One hundred thousand pounds! It could not be a coincidence. And she sank down weakly on to the side of the bed, staring at the draft disbelievingly.

She ought to have guessed, she supposed, although it was such a large sum of money, she could see no reason why he should have donated it. And yet he had. It was there in black and white. And the other papers only verified what she suspected.

She looked across the living room to the kitchen door. Perhaps that was what he had meant when he had asked her why she had come here. Perhaps he had been afraid Laura had revealed the truth of what he had done.

She was still sitting there when she heard him getting out of the bath, and she pushed the papers away again, knowing she could not mention them now. She had not found his underclothes, but she had found a navy bathrobe, so she walked back to the kitchen with that.

Jared was standing at the sink when she re-entered the kitchen, the towel tucked around his hips, using his razor. He had washed his hair and it was damp and tousled; the beard had disappeared.

Already he looked years younger, if no less gaunt. He rinsed the lather from his jaw and turned to face her.

'I-' Catherine's mouth was unaccountably dry-'I couldn't find your underclothes, so I brought this.' She held out the bathrobe.

'Thanks.'

He came to take the robe. Even barefoot, he was taller than she was in her heels, steadier now than before his bath. He unhitched the towel and let it fall to the floor, and then, with a m.u.f.fled exclamation, he gathered her into his arms, finding her mouth with his, parting her lips with his tongue and kissing her with hungry urgency.

'Mmm, Catherine, you smell so good!' he groaned, his fingers finding the long zip at the back of her dress and steadily impelling it downwards.

'You-must be hungry,' she got out breathlessly, but he only gathered her closer, letting her feel the effect she had on him.

'Only for you,' he breathed into her ear. 'Only for you.' Then he swung her up into his arms, ignoring her protest, carrying her rather unsteadily across the living room and into his bedroom, laying her on his bed almost reverently. 'Don't stop me, Catherine,' he implored, and she wound her arms round his neck, pulling him down to her. 'I wasn't going to,' she confessed helplessly.

Some time later, Jared rubbed his face against her bare shoulder, his hand cupping her throat possessively. 'Oh, Catherine!' he muttered huskily. 'I've been so wrong about you.'

'Do you mind?' she whispered, turning her head on the pillow to look at him.

'Mind?' He gave a rueful laugh. 'My darling, no one could love you more than I do. And it's me who should be asking you that question,' he added ungrammatically.

'Do I mind?' she murmured, stretching her arms luxuriously above her head. 'Hmm-I don't mind at all.'

Jared said a word that sent shivers of delight down her spine, and then caressing her mouth with his own, he said: 'I couldn't let you go. Not even when I knew-' He broke off with an endearing grimace. 'Oh, what the h.e.l.l! We're getting married just as soon as I can get a licence, and something tells me I'm not going to be able to let you go until a piece of paper tells us it's legal.'

Catherine wound her arms round his neck. I wouldn't want to leave you,' she breathed, running her fingers through his hair.

'Oh, Jared, I do love you.'

His eyes darkened pa.s.sionately. 'You know what you're inviting, don't you?'

She smiled complacently. 'You've just shown me,' she said teasingly. Then: 'I ought to ring Tony. Just to let him know everything's all right.'

Jared looked down at her possessively. 'Tony,' he muttered. 'If you knew how I grew to hate that name!'

Catherine touched his mouth with her fingers. 'Poor Tony!'

'Poor Tony nothing. He caused me a h.e.l.l of a lot of sleepless nights.' He paused. 'I could have killed you that day at the airport. I'd been building myself up to ask you to marry me in spite of- well, you know in spite of what. When I saw Tony, I didn't know what to believe.'

Catherine hesitated. 'Would you-I mean, did you really want to marry me, believing I was- pregnant?'

Jared buried his face in the hollow between her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. 'I knew I'd never marry anyone else,' he replied softly.

'Oh, darling!'

Jared lifted his head. 'So many things conspired against us. I'm not blaming you. I resented the effect you had on me right from the start. I guess that was why it was easier to be uncivil to you.

To keep you at a distance.'

'And there was Laura,' she reminded him.

'Yes, Laura.' He rolled on to his back, and she propped herself up on one elbow looking down at him. 'We should never have got engaged. But Liz convinced me it was a good idea.' He looked squarely at her. 'Whatever you've been led to believe, there was never anything between Liz and me. She was my father's wife, and I respected her for that. I never saw her as anything else.'

'But-but that night we were on the beach. She said you had spoken to her then about the wedding. Was it-was it when you got back?'

'Honey, I didn't get back until after seven. After you rode off and left me, I was pretty mad.' He reached up and pulled a strand of her hair. 'I must think of some punishment for that' Then he went on: 'I stayed on the beach until after the sun was up. Then I walked back. She spoke to me when I was loading up the car.'

'About the wedding?'

'Catherine, I was still trying to convince myself that you meant nothing to me. But I couldn't do it al the house. I didn't trust myself not to-well, I had to get away. You know how successful that was. I came back and found you and-Laura found us.'

'You were so horrible to Laura that day.'

'I know, I know. But G.o.d help me, Catherine, they were tying me up, she and Liz. I knew what Liz was doing. I could see that she didn't like you, and she was afraid I might marry you instead of Laura if she didn't set the wheels in motion. But I couldn't go through with it. Seeing you-being with you-I was jealous of any man who came near you, including that playboy Dexter.'

'And yet you let me go.'

'I couldn't hold you there by force, and after that scene in the library, I thought you'd never forgive me. I did go to the airport, though. I saw you get on the plane.'

'So it was you!' Catherine's lips parted.

'Oh, yes, I was always around.' He gave a rueful sigh. The night you arrived at Amaryllis, I put you to bed. You didn't know that, did you? Susie had closed the shutters and removed the flowers, but I had to a.s.sure myself that you were all right. I think that was when I began to resent the power you had over me.

Catherine hesitated. Then she said gently: 'Why did you donate that money to the centre, Jared?'

His brows drew together and he scowled. 'How do you know about that?' he demanded.

She sighed. 'When I was looking for your clean clothes, I found some papers. I didn't deliberately set out to read them, but I saw the bank draft and. . .'

Her voice trailed away and she looked at him anxiously, half afraid he was going to be furious with her. But he had relaxed again.

'I suppose I would have had to tell you sooner or later,' he conceded dryly. 'As my wife, you'll have to access to all my financial affairs.' He gave a wry smile. 'It wasn't the unselfish act it appeared. I thought perhaps-if they had enough money to build the centre, you might get bored with the project and consider returning to Barbados.'

'Oh, Jared!' She bent her head and kissed his chest. 'That's all I ever wanted to do.'

For a few moments there was silence in the apartment, and then Jared rolled over, imprisoning her body beneath the weight of his.

'And now,' he said, with lazy mockery, 'I'm hungry. Did I hear you say something earlier about preparing me some food?'

Six weeks later, Catherine and Jared walked barefoot along the beach at Flintlock, their arms round each other's waists. It was twilight, and the sun was sinking in a glory of gold into the ocean.

'We ought to be getting back,' murmured Catherine reluctantly, and Jared pressed her closer. Five weeks of marriage had obviously agreed with him, and there was flesh on his bones again, as well as a lazy indolence in his walk.

Tonight there was to be a dinner party at Amaryllis, their first big dinner party since their return, and the guests of honour were to be the governor-general and his lady. Jared had finished the commission at long last, and tonight he was presenting it.

'Come on,' he said now, turning away from the ocean and up towards the beach house. 'I've got something to show to you.'

Catherine waited until Jared had entered the building and lighted some candles before following him inside.

'Isn't the lamp working?' she asked, indicating the flickering light of the candles.

Jared grinned. 'Don't be so practical! Candlelight is more romantic.'

Catherine laughed. 'Darling, our guests will be at the house in less than an hour, and now that Elizabeth's got a home of her own and isn't there to greet them for us... We don't have time to be romantic!'

'We always have time to be romantic,' her husband contradicted her, carrying a sheet-shrouded in canvas into the light.

'Now-what do you think of this?'

He pulled the sheet away and Catherine gazed in awe at the painting confronting her. It was the ocean, wild and untrammelled, surf rising, white and spumed with foam. But the ocean was only the background. She stood in the foreground, slim and more beautiful than she knew herself to be, veils of green chiffon flowing round her, her hair as free and unbound as the ocean.