Night with a Stranger

  NIGHT WITH A STRANGER

  Joanna Mansell

  The holiday of a lifetime!

  That's what Lorel decided to blow her aunt's small legacy ors--and damn the consequences. After two miserable years she needed a break before reassessing her future.

  And what could be more extravagant than a trip on the Orient Express and a few days in Venice? Lorel hoped she'd make some friends, but she didn't bargain on meeting Lewis Elliott.

  At first he mistook her for the gold-digging girlfriend of his stepbrother. Then on board the train the attraction between them flared--and went out of control....

  CHAPTER ONE

  Lorel trudged on to the platform at Victoria Station, dumped her heavy case with a sigh of relief, and then looked up at the Departure Board. A smile of excitement touched her mouth as she saw it announced the imminent departure of the Orient-Express. And she was going to be on it! All right, so perhaps it had been crazy to spend that legacy from her great-aunt on this horrifically expensive trip instead of something sensible—like some new furniture for her distinctly shabby flat. The last couple of years had been pretty depressing, though, and she had suddenly felt the urge to break out and do something that was a little mad, but fun.

  Well, this was breaking out with a vengeance, she told herself a trifle ruefully. Blowing several hundred pounds on a train journey that was only going to last twenty-five hours! Too late to change her mind now, though. She just had to go ahead and enjoy every single minute of it.

  She picked up her case again, and marched over to the special desk that had been set up on the platform to deal with passengers for the Orient-Express. She checked in, handed over her luggage, and was just turning away again when she felt hard, strong hands gripping her shoulders. Then they whirled her round, almost throwing her off balance.

  'So you decided to come after all, you contrary little bitch!' snarled a man's harshly angry voice.

  Stunned by the sudden, unprovoked attack, Lorel just gazed dumbly at the tall, tense figure looming over her. She found herself staring straight into a pair of furious vivid blue eyes, which darkened with shock as they raked over her face.

  'You're not Melinda,' the man said abruptly. Then, without another word, he wheeled round and quickly strode off.

  Now that she was free of that blazingly blue gaze, Lorel began to recover her wits. 'Haven't you ever heard of such a thing as an apology?' she flung after him, but it was too late. He was already out of earshot, and he obviously had no intention of coming back to apologise for his mistake.

  Realising that the other people standing around were now staring at her with open curiosity, she flushed slightly, and then began to walk away.

  'What a great start to a holiday,' she muttered under her breath. 'Meeting up with a mannerless pig like that!'

  She hurried through an archway, and then suddenly stopped, the unpleasant encounter completely forgotten for the moment. There it was—the Orient-Express! Chocolate brown and cream, every inch of it had been polished until it gleamed. It was probably the most luxurious train in the world—and the most famous. And she was going to spend the next twenty-five hours cocooned in its warmth and elegance, as it rattled its way from London to Venice.

  She found her seat, and then sat looking out of the window, watching the other passengers boarding the train. There was a varied assortment of people, as she had hoped there would be. There were a fair number wearing furs and designer labels, of course, but there were quite a few others like herself; ordinary people who had splashed out on this trip of a lifetime.

  She wondered who would be sitting in the seats opposite and beside her. She hoped they would turn out to be friendly, whoever they were. It would be a pretty dull journey if no one spoke to her.

  The rest of the carriage was filling up now, but still the seats around her remained empty. Hardly anyone was left on the platform, and it was getting very near to departure time. Lorel gave a small grimace. It looked as if she might be in for twenty-five hours of her own company!

  A few minutes later, the train began to pull out. As it moved out of the station, someone finally flung themself down into the seat opposite her. Lorel glanced up, ready to give a friendly smile to her fellow passenger. Then the smile froze on her face, and she gave a silent groan of disbelief. It was the mannerless pig!

  On the platform, she had only seen him for a few brief seconds. Those blue eyes were quite unmistakable, though. Once seen, never forgotten, she told herself grimly. At least, not by her!

  She glared furiously at the man, but he didn't take the slightest notice. He wasn't even looking at her. Instead, he was staring out of the window. She had the impression that he was looking for someone, hoping that they might still miraculously turn up, even though the train was now gathering speed and beginning to leave the station behind.

  Since he wasn't paying her any attention, Lorel took the opportunity to study his glowering face more closely. The vivid blue eyes were set beneath dark, straight brows, which were at present drawn together in an ill-tempered frown. The flare of his nostrils was a further warning of his black frame of mind, while the hard shape of his mouth was set in an uncompromisingly grim line.

  Lorel wasn't daunted, though. Leaning forwards, she tapped him very firmly on the arm, determined that he shouldn't ignore her any longer.

  His blue gaze slewed round to rest on her, and she could see that there wasn't the faintest flicker of recognition in those extraordinary eyes of his. She shook her head in amazement. He didn't have the slightest idea who she was. He was so preoccupied that he didn't recognise her as the girl he had grabbed hold of, and treated with such rudeness.

  'I believe you owe me an apology,' she told him bluntly.

  His face registered blank uninterest. 'I do? I've no idea why you should think that ‑' Then his eyes narrowed a fraction. 'The girl who looks like Melinda,' he murmured under his breath, almost as if talking to himself.

  'I've no idea who Melinda is,' Lorel retorted sharply. 'But I'm certainly the girl you pushed around on the platform. If that's the way you treat women, no wonder this Melinda didn't turn up!' she added, with a snort.

  He seemed about to make an irate reply, but was stopped by the appearance of a waiter, bringing round champagne. Lorel glared again at the man opposite her; then she lifted her glass and drank the champagne far too quickly. She could feel it fizzing around inside her, making her feel a little light-headed.

  'It's a waste of good champagne, to guzzle it down like a glass of orange juice,' he told her coolly. Then he lifted his own glass, and began to drink at a much more leisurely pace. All the time, though, he was watching her, as if something about her had unexpectedly begun to fascinate him. The longer that unblinking blue gaze was fixed on her, the more uneasy Lorel became. She wished there were some other seat she could move to, but all the other places in the carriage were occupied.

  He finished the champagne and put down the empty glass. 'Maybe you're right,' he said, his voice far more relaxed now. 'Perhaps I do owe you an apology.'

  'Are you sure it's not too much trouble?' Lorel enquired sarcastically. 'I mean, I wouldn't want you to put yourself out!'

  'I've always thought that sarcasm is a particularly unpleasant trait in a woman,' he remarked.

  'And I've never much liked being pushed around by men,' she threw back at him at once. 'Especially when they happen to be complete strangers!'

  To her surprise, he didn't react angrily. Instead, he merely lifted one black eyebrow a fraction. 'Then perhaps we should introduce ourselves. I'm Lewis Elliott.'

  His unexpected change of tack left her floundering a little. This man seemed to know exactly how to unsettle her, and she didn't like that.

>   'And I'm Lorel Parker,' she muttered at last, with some reluctance. Then she couldn't help adding curiously, 'Who's Melinda?'

  His gaze briefly darkened. 'That's none of your damned business.'

  Lorel immediately bristled. 'I wouldn't say that, not after the way you treated me at the station.'

  Lewis Elliott gave an irritable shake of his head. 'Don't blow the whole thing up out of all proportion. You're making it sound as if 1 threw you to the ground, and then hurled insults at you. It wasn't as bad as that, and you know it.'

  'Well—perhaps not,' Lorel conceded grudgingly. 'But you certainly didn't behave like a gentleman,' she added firmly.

  His eyes suddenly gleamed. 'Perhaps I'm not a gentleman.'

  Something in his tone made Lorel's nerves curl. She didn't know what it was, and she decided that she didn't really want to know.

  Luckily, the waiter came round again at that point, serving lunch this time. Lorel glanced up in surprise. 'I didn't think we'd be eating so soon.'

  'This first stage of the journey, down to Folkestone, only takes an hour and a half,' Lewis informed her, beginning to sound slightly bored now. 'They want to get everyone fed before we're all shunted off the train for the Channel crossing.'

  Lorel wished he hadn't mentioned the Channel. It was the one part of the journey she definitely wasn't looking forward to. She looked out of the window, and then wrinkled her nose. Although it was early spring, it looked more like a day in February, with heavy clouds scudding across the sky, and a steadily rising wind.

  'I hope the crossing won't be too rough,' she said, a trifle apprehensively.

  Lewis Elliott was no longer listening, though. He had opened his briefcase, and was now shuffling through some papers, ignoring the food that had been placed in front of him.

  Lorel looked down at her own plate. If the sea was going to be choppy, it might be a good idea not to eat too much. On the other hand, she had been too excited to eat much breakfast, and she was starving. The smoked turkey looked delicious, and the cranberry tartlets looked very appetising. She gave a resigned shrug of her shoulders. It was just too tempting. She picked up her knife and fork, and hungrily began to eat.

  When she had finally finished, she sat back and looked at Lewis Elliott, who was still absorbed in the papers he had taken out of his briefcase. She could see columns of figures, and several sets of clipped sheets, that looked like contracts of some kind. From that, she deduced he was going to Italy on business, not for pleasure. Why not fly, then? she wondered idly to herself. It was far quicker. And where did the mysterious Melinda fit into all this? Then she quickly reminded herself that it was really none of her business.

  On the other hand, it was difficult not to be just a little curious about her fellow traveller. Especially since the two other seats had remained unoccupied, leaving her with no one else to talk to. There must have been a couple of last-minute cancellations. Just her luck, she thought' with a grimace. Leaving her with the one man on the train that she would rather not be sharing the next twenty-five hours with.

  The waiter came and cleared their table, but Lewis Elliott didn't even look up. Lorel had the feeling that he was going to spend the rest of the journey with his nose buried in those business papers. She wrinkled her nose. She wasn't sure if she was pleased about that or not. It meant that there wouldn't be much opportunity for conversation, but on the other hand she didn't think there was very much more she wanted to say to Lewis Elliott.

  She looked out of the window, and saw they were nearing the coast now. Her stomach tightened a little at the thought of the Channel crossing ahead, and she began to wish she hadn't eaten quite so much of that delicious lunch.

  A few minutes later, the train pulled into the station and ground to a halt. With obvious reluctance, Lewis gathered together his papers and slid them back into the briefcase. Lorel was just about to ask him what was going to happen next, when a couple of ladies in smart uniforms walked through the carriage, handing out envelopes. Lewis tossed his to one side, but Lorel looked with interest at the one which had been slid discreetly into her hand.

  'What's this?' she asked.

  'Probably seasickness tablets,' Lewis replied briefly.

  'Oh, very funny!' snorted Lorel. 'You've obviously got a very strange sense of humour, as well as a nasty temper.'

  She slit open the envelope; then she looked down in surprise as two small tablets rolled out into her hand. Then she took out the neatly printed note inside. It informed her that it was choppy in the Channel, and that although their ferry had stabilisers, she might like to take the enclosed seasickness tablets.

  The colour rose in her face. 'I thought you were just being sarcastic,' she mumbled.

  'I told you, I don't like sarcasm.'

  He was already getting to his feet, and as he headed towards the door Lorel rather hurriedly scrambled after him. She might not like Lewis Elliott very much, but he was obviously an experienced traveller, so she decided it might be a good idea to stick fairly close to him.

  She still had the seasickness tablets in her hand. She glanced down at them for a moment, and then shoved them into her pocket. When she was younger, she had always been a good sailor. It was a long time since she had last been on a boat but, with luck, things wouldn't have changed. Anyway, she knew that travel-sickness pills tended to make you feel drowsy, and she didn't want to feel half-asleep for the next few hours.

  On board the boat, she found that there was a specially reserved lounge for passengers of the Orient-Express. Tea, coffee and biscuits were being served for anyone who wanted them, but quite a few of the passengers were looking with rather worried faces at the heavy swell of the sea, and not many seemed keen to eat or drink anything.

  One of the few exceptions was Lewis. He seemed quite unconcerned about the already noticeable movement of the boat.

  'I suppose you've got the sort of stomach that can weather a force-nine gale,' Lorel grumbled.

  He gave a brief shrug. 'What do you want me to do? Be seasick just to please you?'

  Unaccountably annoyed, Lorel turned away from him. Really, the man wasn't making any effort at all to be pleasant or friendly!

  Her head was beginning to ache a little now. It was rather stuffy inside the lounge, and fairly crowded. She moved to a quieter spot near the window, but soon realised that had been a bad mistake. From here, she could see the sombre, heavy swell of the sea, the white-tipped, darkly threatening waves stretching all the way back to the shore, which was now getting further and further away. The boat suddenly seemed a very frail thing, in comparison to the force of all that water, and alarm began to stir inside her.

  Lorel swallowed hard. She hadn't expected to enjoy this part of the journey, but she had thought she would be able to get through it without too many problems. There was a rather unpleasant feeling in her stomach that didn't have anything to do with the motion of the boat, though, and her legs were beginning to feel horribly shaky.

  'Oh, please, let it be all right,' she muttered under her breath. 'This is a big boat, a safe boat. Nothing can happen.'

  The panicky feeling didn't go away, though. Instead, it kept getting steadily worse. A little desperately, she glanced at her watch. Even if the crossing went without incident, they were still going to be on this boat for well over another hour. And, since die couldn't get off, she just had to stick it out, no matter how bad she felt.

  She could feel her skin getting clammy and, when she lifted her hand to flick a damp strand of hair back from her face, she found her fingers were fumbling and unsteady. An unpleasant dizziness was sweeping over her, and she took a couple of deep breaths, trying to fight it off, but not very successfully.

  Then she felt a hand very firmly grip her arm, and haul her to her feet.

  'You need some fresh air,' Lewis Elliott said, without preamble.

  'No,' she muttered. 'I don't want to go up on deck. I don't!'

  He took absolutely no notice. Instead, he marched her acro
ss the lounge and out the door at the far end. A couple of sympathetic glances were thrown her way, but on the whole people took no notice. Too many of them were preoccupied with their own physical symptoms as the boat moved further out into the Channel, hitting still rougher water.

  Lorel was vaguely aware that she was going up some steps. She was still trying to tell Lewis Elliott that this wasn't going to do the slightest good, but he wasn't taking any notice. A typically overbearing man, she thought to herself resentfully. Then she gave a small gasp as a gust of fresh air hit her face.

  'There's no point in staying cooped up below if you're feeling seasick,' Lewis told her briskly. Then he added a little impatiently, 'If you're a bad sailor, why on earth didn't you take those tablets they handed out on the train?'

  Lorel was hanging rather grimly on to his arm by this time, and she had her eyes tightly shut so that she wouldn't have to see the grey, heaving expanse of the sea.

  'I'm not a bad sailor. And I'm not seasick,' she somehow managed to get out through lips that had gone quite rigid with tension.

  'Then what the hell's the matter with you?' demanded Lewis.

  'I don't like boats!'

  She opened her eyes just a fraction, and saw that he was looking at her with a mixture of irritation and bafflement. Right now, though, she didn't particularly care what kind of expression he was wearing. All she knew was that he was the one firm, solid thing in this shifting, tossing world, and she had no intention of letting go of him. Her fingers dug still harder into his arm, and she didn't even hear his small grunt of pain.

  This may seem like a particularly stupid question,' Lewis remarked. 'But if you don't like boats, what on earth are you doing on this trip? You knew we'd be crossing the Channel. Why not fly, if you hate the sea that much?'

  'I thought it would be all right,' she muttered. 'I mean, I knew I wasn't going to enjoy this crossing, but I didn't know it would be this bad. I thought I'd be able to get through it OK. And—and I didn't think the sea would be this rough.'