Free Stranger by the Lake by Jennifer Wilde Page A

curled his fingers around my chin, tilting my head back.
    â€œWe’ll see,” he said quietly.
    He pulled me into his arms, holding me loosely, and I didn’t make any attempt to struggle. He looked deep into my eyes for a moment before leaning down and fastening his mouth over mine. The kiss was casual, not at all passionate, but it was effective nevertheless.
    â€œLesson number one,” he said.
    I drew my arm back and smashed my palm against his cheek, putting all I had into the slap. He looked stunned, eyes wide, mouth parted. Then he threw back his head and burst into gales of hearty laughter.
    â€œYou’ve got good reflexes,” he said.
    Locks of dark brown hair had fallen forward, almost covering his forehead. He brushed them aside and rubbed his cheek.
    â€œNow if I were one of your” heroes,” he said, “like Norman, for example, how would I react? Let me see—ah, yes——”
    He took hold of my wrist and swung me into his arms again, holding me in the curve of his arm. His second kiss was as casual as the first, and as effective. I gathered his hair in my fingers, intending to jerk his head back. Instead, I slipped my hands down, placing the palms flat on his back. I could feel his muscles tense under the bulky sweater. Craig Stanton got the response he wanted, and then he released me, smiling a smug smile.
    â€œI hope you’re satisfied with yourself,” I said angrily.
    â€œOh, I am,” he replied lightly. “You’re not laughing. You’re supposed to laugh in my face, remember?”
    He folded one arm across his waist, extending the other toward me. He leaned forward, executing a mocking bow, for all the world like an Edwardian dandy.
    â€œFarewell, fair maiden,” he teased.
    â€œGo to hell!” I cried.
    He walked away, heading for the house. I stood watching him, furious, of course, loathing his arrogance, yet disturbed by those other reactions that were as real as my rage. He was far away now, moving toward the terrace. He had an attractive walk, as though he owned the world, and the sun seemed to gild his dark hair with bronze highlights. He strolled on across the terrace and into the house through the opened French windows. I thought about the dinner party Aunt Agatha had planned for this evening. I wondered if I should wear my sexy violet-blue silk cocktail dress.

CHAPTER FOUR
    As it happened, I didn’t wear the dress after all. Aunt Agatha and I spent the remainder of the afternoon talking about things that had happened to us since our last meeting. I told her about my flat in London, my friends, my publisher, and she chatted volubly about the Gordon papers, describing the search she and Craig were making. By the time I finally got to my room, my whole attitude about the incident in the maze had changed. I realized that I had acted like a bloody fool and decided that cool dignity would certainly be the best policy to employ towards Craig Stanton. I fingered the sexy dress for a moment, rubbing the violet-blue silk between my fingers, then took down a dress of crushed golden-brown velvet. It would be far more appropriate.
    Nevertheless, I took great pains with my appearance, spending almost half an hour on my hair. I arranged it in an elegant French roll, a string of pearls entwined in the carefully stacked waves. The result was extremely flattering. Applying subtle brown shadow on my lids and a suggestion of coral to my lips, I stood back to examine myself. The dress had a modest neckline, long sleeves and form-fitting bodice, the full skirt falling in velvety folds to my knees. I looked quite unlike the hysterical ninny who had acted such an idiot this afternoon. In the warm golden glow of the oil lamps, I looked, in fact, frightfully sophisticated. Craig Stanton wasn’t going to think me an inexperienced schoolgirl tonight.
    Taking one of the oil lamps, I left the room. It was after seven thirty, and we would