Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (32 page)

She could tell that Serafina had finally given up from the way the poor
woman had started to finger her rosary.

"The door is in that direction, signorina. To the right, you can't
miss it, with the seal of the family on the door handle. But I hope that the
signorina will change her mind. II - the signer would not like — '

'Why wouldn't he be flattered to discover that I'm so impatient to see
him?' Sara gave one of her sweetest smiles. 'Thank you, Serafina -I promise I
won't let him blame you in any way. Grazie.'

'Prego . . .' Serafina muttered under her breath as she watched that
straight young back and long slim legs move purposefully in the direction of II
Duca's private apartments. Povera! Did she really know what she was letting
herself in for, poor little ex-virgin who already bore the mark of the Duke's
cynical view of women? Ah, that mother of his - to leave such scars on her son!
He appeared to hate women and mistrust all of them, and yet... Serafina could feel
that there was not something quite right here. Why exactly had II Duca brought
her here - a virgin, supposedly affianced to Carlo his brother? And why had he
violated her and made her one of his mistresses? That part of it hardly seemed
possible! No matter what faults he possessed, the Duca di Cavalieri had
hitherto shown himself to be a proud man who took care to protect his family's
honour. Mistresses he had — several, if his personal chauffeur Bruno was to be
believed. But always discreetly kept, never flaunted in the public eye. And
certainly not flaunted here! What had got into him?

With her mouth pursed, Serafina gave a sudden shrug. Who really
understood the ways and whims of the nobility, anyway? What was in the blood
came out. . . She watched the young woman she had grudgingly learned to like
pause before the frowning, iron-banded door for a few moments before she
reached up to knock on it sharply. Poor thing! And she was a real lady too,
always polite, always considerate. A pity.

At just about the same time that the housekeeper turned away to go back
to her duties, the door was opened roughly with an even rougher oath. Just when
she had almost lost her courage. Now, facing an angry face that was
half-lathered with shaving soap, it became a matter of self-defence.

'Buon giorno! I thought you wouldn't like me to be late, and I would
hate to miss my first riding lesson!'

He was looking at her as if he would gladly have consigned her to his
master the devil at this moment -his black brows drawn together in his usual
glowering frown.

'And how in the name of hell did you — '

'I persuaded Serafina - but you mustn't blame her! It was only when . .
. when I explained how things were between us that she relented. Can't I come
in?'

He gave her the definite impression that he would have enjoyed slamming
that heavy wooden door in her face, especially if she had been standing close
enough. Sara decided to push her luck. 'You didn't say buon giorno back,' she
pouted. 'Talk about a lack of manners . . .!'

'Please!' Obviously regaining control of himself he stepped back with an
overdone show of gallantry. 'Buon giorno. And as soon as I have this door
closed again you must tell me too exactly "how things are between
us".'

With only a slight quailing of her nerves, Sara walked in with her
bright morning smile still pasted doggedly on her face. And she didn't jump
when he slammed the door again -this time behind her.

'You'll pardon the fact that I was in the middle of shaving?' His black
eyes had mocking glints in their depths as he seemed to study her thoughtfully;
lingering over her breasts where the flame-red shirt outlined rather than
concealed — on the defiantly slim-fitting jeans that made her look almost as
slim as a boy. But she wasn't, and he knew that all too well. Why was he
standing around only half-shaved and with nothing more than an exceptionally
brief towel carelessly knotted around his hips when he had expected her to be
ready an hour ago?

The smile was proving to be too much of an effort, especially when he
kept staring at her in that very peculiar way he had some times, as if he
wished he could pick her brains apart and open up her every thought and feeling
to his inspection. Nervously, Sara turned away, fiddling with an ornately
carved paper knife with a gold-chased jade handle. Another ugly wolf 's head,
of course! What else?

'Please, don't let me hold you up any longer,' she said in what she
hoped was a casual-enough tone of voice. 'Do go ahead and . . . and do
whatever, and I'll just. . .'

Evidently he had decided not to play any longer. His voice came to her
in what was almost a snarl.

'I don't like your coming here to look for me! And I'd like to know
exactly what you told Serafina! Per amor di Dio -haven't you learned any
discretion?'

'Discretion? What's that? And don't you agree that it's a strange word
coming from you?'

Unable to keep her temper, she swung around to face him with green fire
in her eyes.

For a long, considering moment he seemed to weigh what he should do
next. What was there left? beating her? And surely even he would not go that
far!

She couldn't have known that it was the almost shocking sight of the
ugly bruise staining her cheekbone that held him back from another explosion of
primitive rage. Yes -primitive, unfortunately! And, just as unfortunately,
there was something about her that seemed to get under his civilised armour and
turn him into the brute beast she'd accused him of being.

What a bisbetica — a spitfire she was to be sure - his brother Carlo's
little Delight of the wanton, teasing body who was now his delight for as long
as he wanted her, in spite of the fact that her tongue could sting like a
viper. He really shouldn't allow her to undermine his usual self-control.

'We will discuss this matter later!' Marco said curtly, with a look that
warned her to try his patience no longer. 'That is -unless you had in mind some
sport other than riding?'

Sara opened and then closed her mouth as he seemed to wait an instant
for her reply. She really did want to ride, and he did have beautiful horses.

'Bene' he announced when she didn't reply but stood there with her lips
tightly pursed together. 'Then I will finish shaving and get dressed — if you
don't mind.' His hand gestured briefly at an uncomfortable-looking chair in
heavy dark wood, with a high back. 'Please sit down.'

How formal he could be when it suited him, Sara thought resentfully as
she watched his retreating back and heard the decisive slam of his bedroom door
as he closed it behind him.

And there was yet another example of his unfairness! He had doors with
locks on them and was openly displeased at her intrusion on his privacy,
whereas he allowed her no privacy at all, with his casual comings and goings in
her rooms that were permitted no locks. How very convenient for him that his
mistresses were never given the opportunity to refuse him!

The fact that he appeared to be in a much better mood when he finally
emerged from his room freshly showered and shaved and dressed for riding didn't
make her any less angry, although she managed to conceal it creditably enough.

'There now, mia diletta! I didn't take too long, did I?'

Sara put her clenched fists behind her as she made a pretence of
matching his mood. His Delight, indeed! Conceited, arrogant bastard! But she
was going to hang on to her temper this time, even if it choked her. He had to
let her go! How else could she ever exact her revenge?

To cover her real feelings she made a casual gesture that encompassed
this rather austere room with its ugly dark furniture where he had kept her
waiting as if she'd been a petitioner for his ducal bounty. 'I have been
studying your room and it surprises me, you know. I had rather expected ,..
well, something a little more magnificent, I suppose. But this room reminds me
of an office, with its stark furnishings.'

He raised a slightly mocking eyebrow before he indulged her by replying.

'So it's not opulent enough for you? Well, you were right - I do use
this room as an office, and as such, it suffices. I don't need any distractions
when I have business to attend to.' His voice carried a sardonic undertone,
especially when he emphasised the word 'distractions' for her benefit.
'Actually, so as not to disappoint you too much, tesoro mio, this is not the
official bedchamber of the Dukes di Cavalieri, which is overpoweringly
magnificent enough to suit even your expensive tastes.' His eyes dwelt
significantly on her tiny diamond ear studs before he shrugged the subject
away. 'However, it's really too much for one man with its enormous four-poster
bed and echoing corners! This little suite suits me perfectly until the time
when I must share the other with my wife. And now, come — I thought you were
impatient for a ride?'

For his wife, he had said in that indifferent voice - and for t he life
of her, Sara couldn't resist her sharp question. 'Your wife? You're married?
While he was speaking, Sara had not been able to resist shooting an inquisitive
glance through the bedroom door he'd left open — her eyes going straight to the
portrait that hung above his bed. 'Your poor wife! I suppose that's her
portrait over your bed?'

For the first time since she had known him his burst of laughter sounded
genuine, and not merely a harshly ironic sound.

'Married! Why, cara — does the thought really upset you? You don't need
to worry, though - I've no intention of getting married until I must think
seriously about producing an heir, and that won't be for several years longer.
And as for the portrait — the lovely lady does happen to be the present
Duchessa, but she was my father's second wilt- and not mine. She is certainly
as beautiful and a truly loving person on the inside as she appears to be in
her portrait. My stepmother is truly a woman to worship and respect!'

Sara had opened her eyes wide in disbelief when she heard the strangely
softened tone of his voice; but it was more in order to cover her own warring
emotions that she made the flippant comment.

'Oh, well! 1 guess it's true that all Italian men are in love with their
mothers - and I suppose that stepmothers are no exception to the rule!'

She really hadn't expected the angry force of his reaction
 
as he snarled at her: 'And what, precisely,
did you mean by that nasty little innuendo?'

'Oh, for heaven's sake!' Sara despised herself for stepping back.
'Honestly, I didn't mean anything by it! I'm sorry if I've unwittingly rattled
any family skeletons!'

For a moment he looked as if he might enjoy breaking her neck - and then
his darkly dangerous face became as wooden as a mask that hid everything from
her.

'Please don't concern yourself any longer with my family or its
history.' He gestured her coldly to precede him out of the room. 'And I would
also appreciate your not exchanging titbits of gossip with the servants. And
now let's go before I change my mind and send you back upstairs again to
meditate in your room!'

There was a grimly threatening note in his voice that warned her into
silence even while all her instincts clamoured for biting retaliation against
his contemptuous relegation of her to the position he had forced on her.
Chattel. His amante, his puttana - and anything else he chose to call her.

Sara had to clamp her jaws together until they ached, and concentrate
very hard on her final victory — and her vindication! All the way out to the
stables as she tried to keep up with his long-legged strides that only pointed
up his lack of consideration for her, she tried to visualise the look that
would surely come to his face when he discovered the truth. That the real
Delight Adams was safely married to his precious brother in spite of all his
efforts, and he had made a public villain as well as a fool of himself by
carrying off Delight's older sister. Let him just try and talk himself out of
that one, especially when her father learned the whole story!

Chapter 3o

There was such strained tension between them that even the disgustingly
obsequious stable hands must have sensed it. Several times Sara would feel
darting black eyes upon her while she waited for her horse to be saddled while
his big brute of a stallion that matched its master stamped and snorted
restively. How she would have loved to have ridden II Malragio — probably aptly
deserving of being named the Evil One! But at any rate, she had been allowed to
pick out her own horse; that privilege accorded her because he probably hoped
she would fall off ignominiously. Well -what a lot of surprises II Duca had in
store for him!

'Do you think you can mount without taking a fall?' Hooded dark eyes
flicked over her with obviously angry impatience as he held his own mount back
with one sinewy hand. He wasn't bothering to hide the fact that he very much
regretted his invitation now. 'Ruggiero will help you up - please pay attention
and try to hold firmly on to the runs as you see me do.' His voice became a
drawl with a hidden sting that was meant for her alone. 'You will find, if you
still persist in wanting riding lessons, that a horse is very much like a woman
and needs to be made to understand who is the master! You might be sorry that
you did not take the safely placid animal I offered you in the first place.
Fiametta is a frisky little filly who needs discipline.'

'You don't have to be concerned,' Sara said as if she'd really believed
that he was. 'Playing tennis and racquet ball has given me strong wrists. And,'
she added brightly, 'Fiametta is such a pretty little thing, with her shiny
chestnut coat and the white star on her forehead! I'm glad you haven't yet
disciplined all the spirit out of her. Can you ac tually enjoy docile females
around you?'

Ruggiero boosted Sara up into the saddle at that moment, saving her from
his undoubtedly caustic rejoinder. Sitting astride on horseback again gave Sara
a lift of her spirits, and for a moment she forgot all about him as she lightly
tested the sensitivity of her filly's mouth;
 
remembering just in time that she was supposed to be a novice.