Moth to the Flame (15 page)

sun-bleached rock, 'that Mario will hate you for ever because of

what you've done?'

'I don't doubt he will be a little angry at first.' He sounded faintly

amused. 'But you flatter yourself,
cara,
if you imagine that you have

the power to start a vendetta between us. Mario will be

philosophical .eventually. You have made him a delectable

mistress, but all good things must come to an end, as he knows very

well. He has family obligations to fulfil, and I'm sure it will be a

weight off his mind to know that you are being—well looked after.'

'By you, I suppose,' she said, her voice shaking with anger. 'My

God, if you only knew how I hated you— despised you!'

He laughed. 'It doesn't particularly disturb me,
bella mia.
A little

hatred might prove a refreshing novelty. At least it means you won't

bore me with endless protestations of undying love that we would

both know were false.' He was silent for a moment, then he reached

out and gripped her shoulder, pulling the thin covering of

cheesecloth away from it. 'Don't let's fool ourselves, Janina,' he

muttered thickly. 'There was something between us from the

moment we looked at each other. I knew it and so did you, so we'll

forget the virtuous denials.' He bent his head, and she felt his breath

warm on her neck. He ran his tongue slowly along the smooth curve

of her shoulder and she felt a great shiver convulse the centre of her

being.

'You taste of salt.' His voice was husky and close to her ear. 'You

haven't a trace of make-up, and your hair is hanging in a hundred

rats' tails, and if we weren't surrounded by these accursed rocks, I'd

take you now.'

'Leave me alone!' she whispered wretchedly. She was close to tears

and even closer to panic. It would be so easy to turn to him, to

yield, to be drawn against the hard warmth of his body, but she

knew if she gave way to any of the warm, treacherous impulses

which had invaded her body then she would awake tie next morning

to shame and regret. Besides, if she gave herself to him, he would

very soon know that it was not Janina whom he held in his arms.

Juliet's painful lack of the kind of experience she had no doubt he

would demand would soon reveal the trick that had been played on

him, and although he had to find out eventually what she had done,

she did not think she could bear for him to find out quite like that.

'Alone.' His tone was frankly sceptical. 'What is this sudden passion

for solitude? Annunziata tells me you've insisted on having a bed

made up in the guestroom. Are you afraid that she'll be shocked that

you turn to me after my brother. She knows nothing of your

involvement with Mario. She reads no newspapers—at least not the

kind you feature in—and no gossip reaches her ears.'

'In fact to her I'm just another in a long line of your lady house,

guests—only not quite so accommodating,' she said flatly. 'Believe

me, I'm not simply trying to make the situation acceptable to

Annunziata. I'm trying my hardest to prove to you that it isn't

acceptable to me.'

'Not acceptable?' His voice hardened. 'When I've felt your body

tremble in my arms longing to yield me its last secrets?
Dio,
Janina,

do you take me for some naive fool on the brink of his first affair?'

'Oh, no,' she said bitterly. 'Not that—never that. But hasn't it ever

occurred to you that simply wanting something—or being able to

buy it even—isn't always sufficient justification for having it?'

For a moment there was silence, then he said grimly, 'You are a

mass of contradictions,
mia,
as I indicated earlier. Very well—we

will play the game your way, but the result will be the same in the

end, and when I kiss you awake in my arms I defy you to tell me

that you are sorry or— unjustified!'

'You make it sound utterly ridiculous,' she said wearily. 'I just can't

convince you that I'm in earnest.'

'But so am I,
cara,'
he said very softly. 'So am I.'

She got to her feet, half afraid that he might detain her, but he

remained where he was while she scrambled down from the rock

and began to make her slow way back across the tumbled stones to

the road. With every step she took, she was conscious of his eyes

watching her, and it was much as she could do to stop herself from

running.

She didn't want to look back at him, in fact she was determined not

to, yet somehow, as she gained the uneven surface of the road

which led to the
castello,
she found her .steps faltering, and her

head turning almost in spite of herself. He was still in the same

place, a dark almost sinister figure stretched out on the rock,

bleached white by the sun. As he saw her hesitation, his hand came

up in a half-mocking salute and he rose to his feet.

For a moment Juliet thought he was coming after her and with a

gasp, was poised for flight. Then she realised, as he tugged his shirt

over his head, and unzipped his pants that he was only going for a

swim.

He .walked to the edge of the rock and stood motionless for a

moment before diving in, and Juliet realised for the .first time that

he wasn't wearing trunks or in fact anything at all. She turned away

hurriedly, feeling that betraying blush stealing into her face again,

and began to walk, far more quickly than the heat of the day

demanded, up the steps towards the
castello.

Juliet stood looking at herself in the full-length cheval mirror that

stood in the corner of her room, a faint cloud of doubt shadowing

her face. In just a few minutes it would be time for her to go

downstairs to dinner, and she wanted to be sure that her appearance

was exactly right.

She'd dressed with a great deal of heart-searching that night,

choosing after some hesitation an evening dress she had herself

bought back in England and which by chance had been included in

the wardrobe that Santino had so hastily assembled for her.

She had not been able to resist the dress when she saw it in the

boutique, but she had never imagined that she would wear it under

quite these particular circumstances. It was made of a soft silky

fabric, rather like chiffon, in an entrancing shade somewhere

between blue and green. The neckline was low and boat-shaped,

and the sleeves full and transparent, and the full skirt billowed

round her slender legs as she moved. There was a long matching

scarf, and she had used this to tie back her hair.

The severity of the hairstyle and the fragility of the dress combined

to increase her air of vulnerability, and it was this that disturbed her

as she surveyed herself. She did not want to look fragile and

vulnerable. She wanted to look composed—totally in command of

the situation.

The dress was wrong for this too, of course, but the alternative had

been to wear, yet another of Janina's, and none of them appealed to

her. They were all glamorous, and clearly expensive, but their

glamour was an obvious one— designed to take the eye, and

capture a man's attention. The perfect clothes for the transient,

brittle world that Janina occupied, Juliet thought rather sadly.

And what was the point of attracting a man if you knew at the same

time that once his desire was satisfied there would be nothing left

but contempt?

Besides, she was by no means sure that she could continue acting

the part of Janina even for a few hours longer.

The whole charade had become steadily more distasteful to her, and

not even the thought that she was getting the better of Santino on

her sister's behalf could alleviate that unhappy awareness.

She was coming to the conclusion from Santino's remarks—from

his whole attitude—that there was a great deal about Jan, and about

her life since she had started work in Italy, that she did not know

about, and would have preferred to remain in happy ignorance of.

Now that her eyes had been opened to a certain extent, she could

only be thankful that Mim was still living in blissful innocence

about Jan's lifestyle and general morality, All she could hope was

that Santino was prejudiced enough against Jan to have exaggerated

everything he thought and said about her.

Often, Juliet owned to herself rather dazedly, it was as if he was

talking about a complete stranger, not the girl she'd been brought up

with and thought that she knew.

She shook her head and saw the ends of the long scarf float out

behind her as she did so. A little sigh broke from her lips. It was

such a lovely dress—charming and romantic. A dress in which to

dream dreams—a dress for love.

Only there was no love awaiting her downstairs in that lofty room

which seemed to have been hewn out of the solid rock that the

castello
stood on. Instead there was a transient passion—a casual

gratification of the senses, if she chose to accept it; a few hours, she

knew, of a delight that she might never know again. But when it

was over, what would remain? The commitment which could have

transmuted that passion into a deeper, more lasting emotion was

totally lacking. After Santino had possessed her, he would despise

her, and when he discovered that she was not even the girl that he

had intended to tame, to bring to heel, then he would despise her

even more.

Juliet turned away from the mirror, her heart sick within her, but

she felt she could delay no longer. The last thing she wanted was

for Santino to come up to this shadowed room to seek her. It was

altogether too intimate a setting for such an encounter, she thought,

her pulses beating wildly, her eyes widening as they fell upon the

bed, immaculately gleaming with freshly laundered linen, with a

nightgown—one of her own, not Jan's—lying across the coverlet

like a drift of snow.

She went slowly out on to the gallery and down the spiral stairs,

lifting her skirt carefully out of the way of her feet as she

descended.

Santino was standing by the window, gazing out into the gathering

darkness, a glass in his hand. Juliet could have sworn she made no

noise as she came down the stairs, but his head came round and he

stared at her as she reached ground level.

'Would you like a drink?' he asked abruptly, his eyes going over her

frowningly, as if he was having difficulty in registering who she

was.

'A fruit juice, please,' she said, adding hastily as his frown

deepened. 'I—I'm rather thirsty. It's been so hot today ...'

He fetched her the juice in a tall glass without a comment, and she

sipped it, clasping her damp hands gratefully round the coolness of

the ice-filled tumbler. She was conscious of a feeling of

disappointment, and realised that childishly she had been hoping

that he would tell her that she looked beautiful, or even that he

would look more closely and know that she wasn't Jan, and that

somehow all explanations would be unnecessary. Fool, she thought

unsteadily.

The room was lit by lamps, and in the dining alcove Annunziata had

set the candles burning in a magnificent candelabrum.

'It looks so right,' she murmured, half to herself, and flushed slightly

as she encountered Santino's questioning gaze. 'The candles, I

mean, in that particular setting.'

'Are you a romantic, Janina?' His smile was slightly twisted. 'I

wouldn't have thought it. Next you will tell me that you have started

to fall in love with your prison.'

She wanted to say, 'Not with my prison, but with my jailer.' Instead

she heard herself saying in a prim little voice, totally unlike her

own, 'I've always been interested in history. I suppose the
castello

is very old.'

'Si.'
The tawny eyes were mockingly alight, as if he knew why she

was deliberately avoiding any subject of conversation which could

be interpreted as personal. 'It was built originally by the Saracens, I

believe. Since then it has been destroyed and rebuilt several times,

of course.'

'And have you lived here long?' She took another refreshing sip of

her fruit juice, avoiding his direct glance.

'Long enough,' he said rather drily. 'It changed hands several times

before I came on the scene. It needed a lot of work, and I think the