Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (16 page)

'Or until he comes into his inheritance? No doubt he told you that, too.
Very well, Miss Delight. Let us both come to the point. How much will it take
for you to promise to leave Carlo alone? I promise you that I could make it
much more worth your while than whatever you might earn for performing or
posing in the nude.'

It was her moment, and she took it. If she had stayed she would have
created a scene. With commendable self-discipline Sara set down her glass and
rose, her body slim and enticing in a Chloe dress that bared one gold-tanned
shoulder.

'I really don't care to sit here and trade insults with you. And get
this straight - I'm not for sale. Capisce? I'm going to marry Carlo - and
what's more, I'm going to issue a press release to that effect. I might also
mention how impossibly medieval you're being . . . And all the world loves a
lover, isn't that so? We're going to have a lot of sympathy on our side, Carlo
and I!'

To her surprise, he displayed none of the anger or chagrin she had
expected. He came to his feet in an easy, fluid motion that took her by
surprise, his hand going out to halt her. A somewhat unwilling smile twisting
his lips. 'Hold on! Perhaps I was... testing the strength of your love for my
brother. At all events, we're better off friends than enemies, don't you think?
Carlo would prefer it that way -he is rather spoiled and used to a certain
style of living. Haven't you noticed?'

Nonplussed, Sara stared at him suspiciously. He could change moods and
directions as quickly as the wind and, like the wind, he was completely
unpredictable.

'Delight . . .' he said almost coaxingly, his deep, rather grating voice
making a rough caress of the name. 'Shall we learn to be friends instead of
enemies? Wait here with me a minute until I have found our waiter, and I will
take you home - or to this favourite roller discotheque of yours, whichever you
prefer. Is it a bargain? I think we have a lot to talk about - and you have a
lot to learn about my family.Perhaps you might hesitate in joining it after I
have produced all of the skeletons out of the closets!'

That fast, he had managed to pierce her armour of self-righteous
indignation, leaving Sara bewildered and uncertain of her next move. What
should she do? All her own instincts urged her to run, cowardly or not - but if
she was supposed to be Delight, and she could help Delight and Carlo by winning
Carlo's big brother over . . . rationalisation certainly helped!

'Well . . .' she said uncertainly, and he seized on her hesitation. A
waiter materialised out of nowhere; and perhaps he didn't realise that he was
still holding her hand. After he'd made overtures of peace it might seem rude
to pull away.

She ought to feel relieved, Sara thought dully as she walked out beside
him, still all too conscious of the firm pressure of his fingers over hers. No
more conflict, no more tension. Delight and Carlo would be happy, and she -
well she could settle down to studying, which was why she was here in the first
place - and she could just hope fervently that he would never, ever find out
about the part she'd played in this masquerade. She'd never see him again, and
that thought should have made her glad. Why, then, did she feel so empty
inside? Why did she allow him to continue holding her hand, even after they
were waiting outside, with several pairs of curious eyes staring?

Chapter 14

'Request you fasten seat belts . . .' Fuzzily, the words penetrated
through the fog in Sara's brain. Surely she had already done so?

'Please fasten your seat belt,' Riccardo had said before he had turned
the key in the ignition of the sleek Lamborghini, making her thankful a moment
later that she had obeyed him. And then, from somewhere, he had produced a
bottle of champagne. The best, naturally. Nothing else would do to toast her
forthcoming wedding to his only brother and heir-apparent.

'Here's to an understanding brother-in-law!' Had she really said that,
or was that a part of the dream? How many glasses of champagne later had he
finally taken her back home?

Home - where was home, where was she? Why did her eyelids feel as if
lead weights had been attached to them? Very faintly, echoing emptily in her
ears, Sara heard a small moan she recognised as being her voice. She wanted to
wake up — and she didn't.

"Sleep, cara. You need sleep. I'll wake you up when we arrive.'

Dear God, even in her sleep she recognised that sand-under-silk voice.
Why was he calling her cara? She wasn't his love, she was supposed to be his
brother's fiancee.

Oh, well - it probably didn't matter. Didn't everyone know that all
Italian men were inordinately promiscuous? They all had wives as well as
mistresses - and what would she be? Wife, mistress, or a combination of both?
Good old multiple choice! Thinking became too much effort and Sara snuggled
back against her comfortable seat again, letting herself drift.

When she did wake up, Sara found herself shocked into groggy awareness.
Someone had taken her by the shoulder and was shaking her.

'Come — we have landed. We have an hour until they have refuelled and
checked everything mechanical.'

She could open her eyelids after all! Sara stared up into a dark,
saturnine face that wore a caustic expression, and blinked her eyes again to
make sure she wasn't seeing things.

'Riccardo?' Her voice sounded like a croak. What on earth was wrong with
her? Had she passed out? Had he brought her home and then stayed? She should
say 'where am I?' but that would have sounded too corny. Where was she? .

He leaned over impatiently to unfasten her seat belt (she was wearing a
seat belt!), pulling her to her feet in almost the same motion. His arm went
around her, steadying her when she swayed uncertainly.

'Come - you probably need something to drink. Perhaps some repairs to
your make-up. There's not much time, so we had better hurry.'

'I ... I really don't understand! What am I doing here? What are you
doing here? And where is here?'

'So you don't remember anything, eh? I suspected as much. If you want to
remember things, you should not drink so much champagne.' He was leading her
down the aisle of a comfortably furnished plane. Sara tried to hang back and he
propelled her forward, his arm about her waist becoming as hard and inexorable
as a steel band.

'But. . .' There was a little door that said Toilet and Sara pointed
towards it desperately. 'Stop! I have to ... you had better let me go in there,
or you'll be sorry!' she ended darkly.

For a long, unpleasant moment she thought he might continue to drag her
onwards, but after a long, considering look he released her, pushing the door
open for her with an off-hand gallantry that almost smacked of contempt.

'Very well, then. But I will only allow you five minutes. I have a key
to that door — you might remember that.'

Resentfully, she slammed the door shut behind her, clicking the bolt
into the locked position. How dare he? Who did he think he was? And worst
thought of all, what was she doing with him, alone on an aeroplane?

She had no answers to her questions. Sara exited with as much dignity as
she could muster, wishing she could sweep past him without acknowledging his
presence. He gave her a sarcastic inclination of his head.

'You are refreshed? Good. I am glad to find that you are a woman who
does not waste time in unnecessary primping.Come - you might also wish to
stretch your legs. We have a long flight ahead of us.'

She managed, at last, to catch her breath, pulling against him
indignantly.

'Stop dragging me along! And would you mind telling me what I'm doing
here? What you're doing here? Where are we going?'

'Very good -' He ushered her down two steps and into a plushly furnished
office whose occupant, a young brown-skinned woman, disappeared soon after they
had entered. 'You are obviously reeling better - well enough to ask questions.
Although I'm surprised that you do not remember.'

'Remember what, for heaven's sake?'

'Why.. .' He had led her to a couch, almost forcing her to sit, and now
he looked down at her with his mouth twisted in a travesty of a smile. 'Why -
we're going home, of course. Last night you expressed a desire to visit Carlo's
ancestral home, which happens to be mine as well. You are going to wait for him
there - surely you remember something

She had the feeling that he was mocking her, taunting her, but her head
had started to pound, hurting her so badly that nothing mattered but the
alleviation of the pain.

'I don't remember anything at all!' Sara whispered, not wanting to
remember now. Oh, no - she wouldn't have. She couldn't have! She pressed
suddenly clammy fingers against her temples, willing the pain to go away,
willing this all to be nothing more than another bad dream.

'Perhaps you should cut down on your drinking!' he said harshly and
without sympathy. 'Does Carlo know, or have you hidden this side of your
character from him?'

Now was surely the time to tell him he'd made a mistake, that he had the
wrong girl. And then she would have the last laugh . . . wouldn't she?

Sara opened her mouth, and closed it again, sullenly deciding to ignore
him instead. She didn't dare. He was capable of anything, she believed Delight
now. He was capable even of killing her to save his own pride.

'Oh -I do wish you'd stop nagging!' she murmured, still massaging her
throbbing temples. 'Can't you find me some aspirin? And some iced water,
please, that might help.'

He wasn't used to waiting on anyone — she could sense that. But perhaps
in order to keep her acquiescent he brought her what she had asked for before
he seated himself behind a desk with a phone on it, immediately becoming
engaged in a low-voice conversation that Sara strained her ears to understand
and could not. She could speak Italian, but the dialect he used was beyond her.
She closed her eyes and leaned against the back of the couch, trying to muster
her wits - and courage. What had she got herself into now?

The aspirins had helped her headache, but she still felt unaccountably
drowsy. Sara let herself be helped back into the sleek Lear jet without a
battle, too tired even to wonder where they had stopped to refuel.

Her seat reclined backwards into a bed
 
- how marvellous. Once they were airborne and the Fasten Seat Belts sign
had been turned off, a young man appeared to bring her a blanket and made her
comfortable, disappearing again soon afterwards. Riccardo, she noticed from
under her lashes, was reading from a thick folder, his slanting black brows
drawn together in a frown of concentration. He seemed to have forgotten her
presence until, without looking up, he said in his grating voice: 'There is a
curtain that you can draw for privacy if you wish it. You have only to pull the
cord — or press the buzzer that will summon Damon again. Try to be comfortable
- it will be about eight hours until we are there.'

Without a word, Sara yanked the curtains closed. Eight hours! He was
actually taking her to Italy - to 'the ancestral home' — wasn't that how he'd
put it? And he still thought she was Delight. Now she could shiver without
being afraid of giving herself away. What did he really plan to do with her?

When she had been a child - even as a teenager — she had always secretly
dreamed of embarking on an Adventure. In her fantasies Sara had always been a
Princess - or at the very least the daughter of a Duke. Kidnapped by a
gentleman-pirate or carried off by a highwayman who was a Duke himself, all her
fantasies had had happy endings. In all of them she had been almost ravished —
but never quite violated.
  
The
  
innocent
 
maiden
  
always
 
overcame
 
the rakehell hero-villain
 
and had
him worshipping
 
at her pedestal in the end.
A passionate embrace - and fadeout. What
  
happened
  
after
  
the
  
fadeout?
  
Sara
  
shifted
  
un¬comfortably, trying to still her over-dramatic imagination. All she
had to do was to keep her head, remembering that she was buying Delight and
Carlo more time. And by now she was
 
fervently
 
on
 
their
 
side.
 
What an
 
impossibly arrogant, overbearing man! How she
would enjoy seeing his face when he learned the truth - that he had gone to all
this trouble to carry off the wrong girl!

She must have slept - as improbable as it would have seemed. And slept
heavily, her sleep laced through with dark dreams.

'Please fasten your seat belts . . .' Wasn't that how this particular
dream had begun? Still drowsy, Sara appreciated the help of the young man who
now made sure that her seat was back in position, her seat belt securely
fastened. With the concealing curtain drawn back again, she could not help
noticing the man she still thought of as 'Riccardo'.

The thick folder he had been studying so intently had been set aside,
and he was studying her instead, his eyes heavy-lidded and enigmatic. She
looked away immediately, pretending to peer out the small window. In a short
while they would be landing in Italy. If not for the circumstances she would
have been thrilled.

Dante and Beatrice. Romeo and Juliet! Fountains and light, a timeless
place. She had always wanted to visit Italy, but Daddy wouldn't hear of it.
Whenever she'd tackled him about it he'd always blame the communists, although
his prejudice was probably based on Pietro, one of her mother's ex-husbands.
Pietro had been the one to follow Daddy. Almost guiltily, Sara had always liked
Pietro, who had been warm and affectionate and had carried her hoisted up on
his shoulders, pretending to be a fierce stallion. Delight had liked Pietro
too.