Ivory Innocence Read online

  Ivory Innocence

  By

  Susan Stevens

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  "I Feel Like a Prisoner!"

  "Three weeks of work without a break," Ivory cried.

  Matthew glanced over her with an arrogant intimacy that made her flush.

  "A prisoner? Locked up? Totally in my power?" His cool blue gaze swept slowly across her face. "No, not yet, Ivory."

  She started to move away but his hand on her arm prevented her. "You wouldn't dare!"

  The devil gleamed at her from his blue eyes as he bent and touched his lips to hers.

  Everything inside of her protested, but Ivory's body refused to resist. "Wouldn't I dare, Ivory? Wouldn't I?"

  SUSAN STEVENS has been writing since she was eight years old; and it is still her favourite occupation. She lives in Northern England with her husband who, she says, is her greatest fan. She loves to travel and hopes to visit the United States soon!

  Dear Reader,

  I'd like to take this opportunity to thank all of you who have written in with your comments on Silhouette Romances.

  We are always delighted to receive your letters, telling us what you like best about Silhouette, our authors, or indeed, anything else you want to tell us. This is a tremendous help to us as we strive to publish the best contemporary romances possible.

  All the romances from Silhouette Books are for you, so enjoy this book and the many stories to come. I hope you will continue to share your thoughts with us and invite you to write to me at this address:

  Jane Nicholls

  Silhouette Books

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  Dunton Green

  Sevenoaks

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  Copyright© 1983 by Susan Stevens

  Map by Ray Lundgren

  First printing 1984

  ISBN 0 340 35112 8

  Chapter One

  "Your mother was a Meldrum, Ivory. That makes you a Meldrum, too. Never forget it."

  The words her grandmother had repeated so often rang like a litany in her head as she left the main road and turned off among the rolling hills of South Lincolnshire. It was a place of sturdy farmhouses, of fields hugging the contours of the undulating land in swathes of tender green and bright yellow, with yarrow making drifts of white under the roadside hedges.

  Driving up a familiar rise, Ivory braked as she came in sight of the village of Hedley Magna. It lay in a hollow, its houses built mainly of pale limestone interspersed with newer brick dwellings. The red of the pantiled roofs, mellowed over the years, contrasted softly with the greens of the late spring landscape.

  Just beyond the brow of the hill, a line of chestnut trees with their erect candle blossoms sheltered a sign that read TOP FARM. Ivory turned in beneath the trees, driving along a rutted lane between meadows where cows grazed, past barns and outbuildings to a yard where the farmhouses stood to one side.

  As Ivory stopped the car, a fair-haired young man wearing muddied overalls and Wellington boots emerged from the old stable block and came clumping over, greeting her with a smile.

  "So you got here, then."

  Tired from driving and tense because of what she had come to do, she bit back a sarcastic retort and instead forced a smile.

  "Hello, Rob. Yes, I made it. It took me longer than I expected, though. Would you mind taking my overnight case for me? I really mustn't stop or I'll be late for my appointment. I'm due at the Hall at three o'clock."

  She took her small case from the backseat and handed it to Rob Garth, nervously touching her silver-gold hair, arranged in a chignon.

  "How do I look?"

  He considered her carefully, his hazel eyes warm with affection as he took in the neat gray suit with its flared skirt lying smoothly across slim hips, and the little jacket that fitted closely to her curves. Beneath it she wore a navy blouse, with a floppy bow tied at her throat.

  "Wonderful!" he declared.

  Ivory sighed. "No, really, Rob. Do I look efficient and capable? Like a teacher?"

  "I suppose so. But when I was at school I never had a teacher who looked like you. I might have concentrated harder if I had."

  In no mood for flattery, Ivory opened the car door and slid back behind the wheel. "I want Matthew Kendrake to employ me, not seduce me," she said tartly; then, seeing the hurt in his eyes, "I'm sorry, Rob. I'm all on edge. Talk to you later."

  Aware that he stood watching her with the air of a puppy that had been slapped for something he hadn't done, she turned the car around, and drove back up the lane to the road. The chestnuts hid her from the farmhouse as she let the car ease down the lane toward the village, and she pulled up in a shady spot where trees hung over a wrought-iron fence and small gate. Beyond it she could see the golden walls of Hedley Hall. But her attention was on the building opposite— the cottage that had once been her home.

  Her gray eyes grew bleak as she stared at the scaffolding that surrounded the place. New windows had been cut, but the blackened marks of fire remained smudged across the light stone and the roof was a maze of joists where once there had been thatch. The weeds grew tall in the garden her grandparents had tended so lovingly.

  After a year haunted by nightmares of fire, the memories still brought pain that choked her throat with tears. She silently renewed her vow to find out the truth and repay the Kendrakes for what they had done.

  She put the car into gear again and drove on down the curving lane to where, at a junction with another road, she came face to face with the church. Here on the corner she came to the main driveway of Hedley Hall. The big house hid behind woods of beech, lime and field maple, and among the thick undergrowth ground ivy crept round patches of bluebells and forget-me-nots.

  The gravel drive curved around through the trees until the house came into sight behind sweeps of lawn. It was built of Lincolnshire limestone that glowed golden in the sunlight, and its formal Georgian lines, with tall windows and balustraded roof, were softened by drapes of clematis leaves.

  Pulling up on the broad graveled area that fronted the house, Ivory left the car and smoothed back her hair. The style left the lines of her face uncluttered: wide-spaced gray eyes fringed with dark lashes, high cheekbones and generous mouth.

  At the moment that mouth was set in stubborn lines, and her eyes glinted like steel as she surveyed the waiting house. For generations the Hall had belonged to the Meldrum family—her family—until a Kendrake had robbed her grandfather of his heritage. As the last of the Meldrums, she was embarking on a quest to avenge the wrong that had been done long before she was born.

  With her navy handbag swinging from her shoulder, she crunched across the gravel to the wide stone porch, where a wooden tub of flowers stood beside a doormat. She pressed the bell and heard faint chimes sound somewhere in the depths of the house.

  After a few moments the door was opened by a middle-aged woman in a dark dress. She regarded Ivory inquiringly.

  "My name is Andersen," Ivory said. "I have an appointment with Mr. Kendrake."

  "Oh, yes, Miss Andersen." The woman smiled, stepping back to open the door wider. "He's expecting you. Please come in."

  Ivory walked into the hall, glancing around at its spacious proportions. It was furnished with quiet good taste; framed watercolors graced the walls, and a line of oval miniatures followed the curve of the stairs. Somehow, it wasn't quite what Ivory had been expe
cting.

  "I'm Mrs. Barnes, the housekeeper," the woman said with a smile, "If you'll come this way, I believe Mr. Kendrake's waiting for you. He'll be pleased you're on time. He doesn't like to be kept waiting."

  She led the way down the hall and threw open a door to announce, "Miss Andersen is here, sir."

  "Show her in," a deep male voice replied, and Mrs. Barnes turned to give Ivory another encouraging smile.

  Head held high, she stepped into what turned out to be a sitting room, furnished in gold and blue with much rich brocade and gleaming mahogany. Sunlight streamed in, darkening the tall figure who stood by the open French windows. Beyond him, Ivory glimpsed a terrace and a stretch of daisy-starred lawn; then the man turned, drawing her full attention.

  Although her face showed only polite interest, she was startled by her first sight of Matthew Kendrake. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, a lean, rangy man wearing tailored slacks and a thin woolen sweater. As he walked toward her, away from the bright sunlight, she saw a deeply tanned face with hard contours, topped by dark hair that seemed windblown into tousled waves. But it was his eyes that most surprised her, eyes of an amazing forget-me-not blue—like the flowers that grew in his woods.

  No, not his woods, Ivory amended the thought: Meldrum woods. By rights this whole estate was Mel-drum property. But she kept her expression noncommittal and her eyes steady on the dark-faced man.

  He paused a few feet away to look her over from head to foot, then said, "You're younger than I expected."

  "I'm almost twenty-two," Ivory replied levelly. "In your letter, you didn't specify any age."

  "No, I suppose I didn't," he said, a crease forming between his dark brows. "I don't suppose it matters, if your qualifications are as good as you claim."

  Opening her handbag, Ivory drew out the large envelope that contained her certificates and letters of recommendation from college. She had no doubt they were impressive; she had been a good student and gained high marks in her final exams less than a year before, despite the fact that she had been numb with grief.

  Matthew Kendrake took the envelope, gesturing her into a chair. "Have a seat, Miss Andersen."

  "Thank you." She sank down among brocade cushions, coolly surveying the bent head of the man who was her adversary. He sat opposite her, perusing her documents as if trying to find some flaw, and Ivory wondered what he would do if he guessed her purpose. She viewed him with detachment. Broad shoulders filled out the sweater that was the same bright blue as his eyes; long legs sprawled across the deep carpet, clad in slacks with knife-sharp creases; and his hair was so dark brown as to be almost black, curling untidily round his ears and down his neck.

  She almost flinched when he suddenly lifted his head and fixed her with his forget-me-not eyes.

  "These are very good," he said. His voice was a deep drawl, and Ivory wondered where he came from. Not that it made any difference. By the time she had finished with him, he would gladly slink off back to the place that had been his home before.

  "Thank you," she replied, lowering her eyes so that her thoughts wouldn't show.

  "But you still haven't been able to find a job?" he asked.

  Sighing, she allowed her candid gaze to meet his again. "I'm afraid not. Things are very difficult for teachers at the moment. I've been filling in by working for some friends who own a restaurant, though that hasn't stopped me from applying for teaching posts."

  "Which is why you want to tutor my daughter," he said.

  "I'd rather use my training than do other work," Ivory replied. Her grandmother had struggled to allow her to attend college and to waste those years seemed a betrayal. The fact that this particular job meant living at Hedley Hall was a bonus she had not planned for.

  "I'm intrigued to know how you found out I needed a tutor for Janey," Matthew Kendrake said, lounging back in his chair.

  Ivory sat primly, her knees together and hands folded in her lap, her severe hairstyle and sensible clothes making her the picture of the perfect teacher— formal, correct, and just a little old-fashioned. It was an image she had chosen carefully.

  "I have friends in the village," she explained. "They happened to mention that they had heard you were thinking of hiring a teacher for your daughter."

  "And how did your friends find out?" Matthew Kendrake asked. "I haven't yet got round to advertising the post. All I've done is talk about it, in the privacy of my own home."

  "Village grapevines are notorious, aren't they?" Ivory said demurely. "But you do realize we should have to ask the permission of the Local Education Authority? If a child has to be educated at home, they usually supply a teacher."

  "So I'd heard. But I want a little more than just a teacher who would come in for a few hours each day. My daughter needs a companion, too. She's not a strong child. Recently she has spent some months in the hospital; before that she missed a good deal of schooling for one reason and another, but the doctors tell me she's ready to take up school again. Unfortunately, my business interests take me away frequently, but it would be unfair to ask Mrs. Barnes to have charge of Janey on any permanent basis. If I can organize it with the Local Authority, I assume there'd be no problem from your point of view about coming to live here?"

  "No, none at all."

  "No family objections? Since I'm a widower, your parents may have their doubts about your staying here."

  "I have no family," Ivory said. "Besides, Mr. Ken-drake, if you're worried about gossip, your housekeeper will provide a perfect chaperon to preserve both our reputations."

  A glint of amusement hovered in his eyes. Ivory was aware that she was not quite what he had had in mind when he planned to employ a tutor-companion. Most probably he had visualized someone older, someone plump and homely to play nanny to his daughter. But at least he had not dismissed her as a candidate at first sight.

  "This would be a full-time job," he said. "More than nine to five, five days a week."

  "I'm prepared for that," Ivory said evenly. "Since I have no commitments elsewhere, it won't be a hardship for me."

  While they discussed salary—which was generous— and the further details of her employment, she could not help but notice the way Matthew Kendrake's blue glance kept roaming across her face and figure. Despite himself, it seemed, he found her attractive. But she was careful not to respond to the flattering perusal and rationed her smiles, keeping her voice impersonal.

  Eventually, he unfolded his long body from the chair and said, "Before we go any further, you'd better meet my daughter. Her opinion is as important as mine, since she's the one who will be spending all her time with you."

  "Yes, of course." Ivory gracefully got to her feet, and Matthew Kendrake took another sidelong look at the neat jacket that hugged her figure, his glance going down to trim calves and ankles set off by high heels.

  "This way," he said, and led her out through the French windows, onto the terrace.

  Ivy twined shiny dark leaves around the balustrade and edged the steps that led down to the lawn where pink-tipped daisies grew in profusion. As they walked up a slight rise, the hollow in front of them opened out, and Ivory was surprised to see a kidney-shaped swimming pool nestling behind a bank of shrubs. A path led down to the pool, and on the grass to one side a playhouse stood beneath a shimmering lime tree. There a small girl sat talking earnestly to a row of dolls.

  Matthew Kendrake had said that his daughter was eight, but she was small for her age, very thin, with a mop of brown curls.

  "Janey?" he called as they approached.

  The child looked round and got awkwardly to her feet, huge brown eyes almost eclipsing her face as she stared at Ivory.

  "This is Miss Andersen," Matthew Kendrake said.

  The little girl held out a hand and said faintly, "How do you do?"

  Even in that first moment, something about Janey touched Ivory's heart. The child looked lost, sad, and extremely vulnerable, appealing to a maternal instinct that Ivory had not guessed was i
n her. Of course she liked children, but she had never met one who made her feel so instantly protective.

  "Miss Andersen may be coming to look after you," Matthew Kendrake said, laying a hand on his daughter's shoulder. Ivory saw how the child flinched and then steeled herself to accept her father's touch, but all the time her liquid brown eyes were fixed on Ivory's face.

  "What are you doing with the dolls, Janey?" she asked.

  "Playing school," came the wary reply.

  "That's good," her father said, much too heartily. "Do you think you'd like having Miss Andersen help you catch up on some of the things you've missed?" He towered over the unhappy child. "She hasn't been very well lately," he added. "But she's much better now and raring to go. Aren't you, Janey?"

  "Yes," the child said.

  Ivory heard the irritable sigh that escaped him. Clearly he was annoyed with his own daughter, who seemed inhibited by his presence. He was too patronizing and heavy-handed, Ivory thought. No wonder Janey seemed half afraid of him.

  "Do you think Janey and I could have a few minutes together to get acquainted?" she asked.

  He lifted a questioning eyebrow, but there was relief in the brilliant blue eyes. "Good idea. Yes, do that. I'll ask Mrs. Barnes to make some tea. Come in when you're ready."

  Ivory watched as he strode away with athletic movements, the close-fitting slacks hugging the contours of slim hips and muscular thighs. He was, she thought, a man who would be more at home among other men than with his own motherless child, who stood obediently waiting for Ivory to make the next move.

  Smiling at the child, Ivory sat down on the grass, looking at the scribbles on a pink notepad. "What's the lesson today? Ah, sums. Are they any good at sums?"

  "They're only dolls," Janey said scornfully. "They're not really doing sums."

  "Well, I know that, but it's fun to pretend, don't you think? I used to play hospital and have all my dolls in bed. Do you do that?"