Moth to the Flame (18 page)

wouldn't have uttered a protest.'

His hand closed over the thin folds of material she was still

clutching to her breast.

'Such a pretty dress,' he said pleasantly. 'Don't make me tear it off

you, my lovely one.'

It took every ounce of strength that she possessed to enable her to

step backwards, striking his hand away from her as she did so. His

face darkened with anger and he took a quick stride towards her,

then halted, obviously puzzled by the look of open desperation in

her pale tear-stained face.

'What is it?' he demanded. 'Janina
mia,
I won't...'

'Don't call me that,' she interrupted. Her voice was low but it

throbbed with an angry sincerity which brought his dark brows

together in an incredulous frown. 'And don't touch me either. In

fact, once I've said what I have to say, I only pray I'll never have to

see you or speak to you again.' She paused and took a deep breath.

'I've—I've been lying to you,
signore,
right from the first. I'm not

Janina Laurence. I'm Juliet, her older sister from England.'

Juliet stood waiting tensely for the inevitable explosion of wrath.

She had totally convinced herself that this was how he would react

when at last she had to tell the truth, so his shout of laughter, harsh

and jeering, was a shock which sent her startled gaze flying in

disbelief to his face.

'Your fairy stories are no doubt delightful,
mia cara
,' he said. 'But

this is neither the time nor the place to indulge in them. Yon are

beginning to try my patience.'

He took another step towards her. There was menace in every lean,

muscular line of his body and Juliet felt herself cringing inwardly,

aware of a cowardly desire to turn tail and run. Yet at the same time

she knew she had to stand her ground and convince him somehow

that she was speaking the truth.

'No, you must listen,' she said rapidly. She had backed away from

him as far as she could and was now trapped by the high back of

one of the sofas just behind her. 'I deliberately misled you. I knew

you thought I was Jan, and I let you go on thinking so because I

didn't want you to go after her. But my handbag was in the bedroom

with my passport in it. That will convince you that I'm speaking the

truth.'

He paused, and for a moment she thought it was to consider what

she had said. But it was only to remove his stained velvet jacket

and toss it over the back of a convenient chair. His tie followed it,

and he began to unfasten his shirt, his mocking eyes observing her

sudden pallor and the unsteadiness of her breathing.

'And I suppose I am to rush off to Rome immediately to. check on

this—fabrication?' He shook his head as he tossed his shirt to the

floor. 'I'm sorry,
bella mia,
I have—better things to do. Now stop

cowering there like a frightened nymph, and come to me,' he added

with a touch of impatience. 'It's what we both want, so why

pretend?'

He held out his arms imperatively, his brows drawing together in a

deepening frown when she made not the slightest attempt to move.

'Don't make me fetch you, cara,' he spoke almost lightly, but the

underlying threat was unmistakable.

'You've got to believe me,' Juliet said desperately. 'I am not my

sister. Surely you must have seen photographs of her in magazines?

And that—party you mentioned. You saw her in person there.'

'Very much so,' he commented derisively, his tone bringing the

colour flooding back to her face. 'But your own common sense must

tell you, Janina, that when you dance for a man wearing nothing but

one small triangle of lace, he is unlikely to be studying your face.

As for magazine photographs'—he shrugged—'once the make-up

artists have done their work, you could be anyone. No, you don't

convince me,
cara,
and my tolerance of these maidenly shrinkings

is decreasing by the minute.' His eyes went over her, and she shrank

back against the sofa, terrified at the frankly sensual appraisal she

saw in them. She heard him laugh softly.

'Give yourself,
cara
,' he said almost gently. 'Don't make me take

you.'

'Santino—please!' Frustrated, helpless tears were welling up in her

eyes. 'Don't—don't do something we will both regret...'

He smiled. 'You mean that I'll hate myself in the morning? How

very old-fashioned—and also untrue. I shan't hate myself, my lovely

one, and you won't hate me either.'

Without haste he cancelled the remaining distance between them

and drew her shivering body against the warmth of his. With casual

mastery he detached the folds of the dress she was still clutching

from her shaking hands and let it fall to the ground. For a long

moment-he looked at her, and then with an indrawn breath he slid

to his knees beside her, pressing his face against the satin-smooth

skin of her stomach.

'Call yourself Juliet if you wish,
carissima,'
he whispered, as his

lips plundered a trail of kisses across her body. 'Tonight, such a

name for you will not be inappropriate.'

A little moan that she could not suppress rose in her throat. In spite

of herself, his hands and mouth on her body were arousing desires

and emotions that she could not hope to deny. Even his lightest

touch was enough to set slow fires burning all over her, and her

brain refused to work coherently as his slow, lingering, utterly

expert caresses reduced her into compliance.

Somewhere deep inside her, a little voice was crying out in agony

that she wanted to be his—yes—but for her own sake, not because

he had mistaken her for Jan. But then his fingers, exploring the

smooth curve of her slender hips, slid downwards with new urgency

to rid her of her last remaining scrap of clothing and even that small

voice was mute, silenced by the tide of totally mindless longing

which engulfed her.

Somewhere in the distance, in another lifetime perhaps, she could

hear a strange noise—far-off thunder, maybe, or even the pounding

of her own heart. It didn't really matter very much as her arms slid

up past his shoulders to wind round his neck and she waited for the

moment when he would lift her in his arms and carry her up to that

big shuttered room upstairs with the wide bed.

But the pounding noise was still there, and there were voices now

intermingled with it, and she heard Santino curse swiftly and coldly

before he put her from him none too gently.

He picked up her crumpled dress and tossed it to her. 'Cover

yourself,
cara
,' he ordered as he found his shirt and thrust his arms

into it. 'It seems we have visitors.'

For one dazed, incredulous moment she stared at him before sanity

returned, and the devastating realisation of what he had said. With a

little gasp of shame and panic, she huddled into her clothes,

fumbling for the long zip on the dress with hands that would

scarcely obey her, her face crimson as she realised the exact extent

of her self-betrayal.

He was already at the door, turning half-impatiently to make sure

she was ready before he drew back the heavy iron bolts .which

fastened it. She found the scarf for her hair, but she was trembling

too much to replace it, and she sank down on the nearest sofa,

winding it round her shaking fingers.

'Santino!' It was a woman's voice, and Juliet flinched involuntarily

as it came to her ears. Was she to be spared nothing? she

wondered.

But the woman who erupted into the room only a second later was

certainly not of an age to have been Santino's mistress. Her black

hair was liberally streaked with grey, and her figure though not

without dignity was short and inclined to be plump. She was

elegantly dressed in black and diamonds glinted on her fingers and

in her ears, and it only needed Santino's amazed 'Mamma?' to make

her identity more than clear.

A flood of excited Italian burst upon Juliet's ears as she sat on the

corner of her sofa, wishing that the floor would open and swallow

her. But there was no chance that she could make her escape to the

stairs unobserved. In spite of her impassioned monologue which

Santino was listening to as if he had been turned to stone, the little

lady's eyes were darting all over the room and they had already

sharpened as Juliet came under their scrutiny. She had also been

seen by the man who had accompanied her into the room, a tall man

with a calm rather distinguished face and iron-grey hair who was

staring at her with a puzzled frown as if she reminded him of

someone.

Juliet bit her lip. She knew what he must be thinking, and she did

not even have the saving grace of a denial. But for their arrival,

Santino would be making love to her at that moment.

Even as she acknowledged silently the truth of this realisation, she

heard Santino say impatiently,
'Si, Mamma, ma un momento.

Aspetti, per piacere.'

He turned away abruptly and came over to where she was sitting.

His dark face was harsh as he looked down at her. 'Mario is in

hospital,' he said. 'He was injured when his car crashed near

Naples.'

Her lips parted as she registered what he was saying, and an

anxious gasp escaped her. 'Jan,' she got out. 'Was Jan with him? Is

she all right?'

His mouth curled contemptuously. 'Is that all you can say?' he

demanded. 'More lies, more fairy tales?'

Before she could reply, the Signora walked across the room and

stood staring at her.
'Chi e lei?'
she demanded curiously.

'Speak English, Mamma,' Santino advised. 'It's the only thing

Signorina Laurence understands.'

'Laur-ence?' The Signora pronounced the name thoughtfully, then

recoiled.
'Santa Madre,
it is the name of that one!' She swung on

Santino. 'What you do with a girl who has the same name as that

one?'

'Mamma,' Santino took her arm pacifically, 'this is the girl that

Mario was involved with, but you don't have to worry any more

because ..,'

'This girl?' The Signora gazed long and hard at Juliet, her eyes

narrowed. 'No,' she said at last. 'Is like. Is very like. But is not that

girl.'

'Mamma, what are you saying?' Santino's voice was hoarse.

'I say is not that girl,' his mother replied reasonably. 'How she come

here, anyway, when she in hospital, same as my Mario?'

Santino paid no attention to the serene logic of her argument. He

said half to himself, 'But it can't be!' Then he took Juliet's arms in a

grip that hurt and drew her to her feet. He said harshly, 'Who are

you, and this time it had better be the truth.'

Juliet flung back her head defiantly. 'I told you who I was,' she said.

'My name is Juliet and I'm Janina Laurence's older sister. I'm a

schoolteacher and I come from England.'

'A schoolteacher?' he echoed with a mirthless laugh. He released

her and turned away.
'Dio,
what a mess!'

The Signora laid a beautifully manicured hand on his arm. 'What

does she say? That she is the sister of that other one—that...'

'Si,
Mamma,' Santino hastily cut across, the clearly

uncomplimentary description his mother was about to give. 'She is

her sister.'

'Holy Saints!' The Signora tottered to one of the other sofas and sat

down, producing a lacy handkerchief which she pressed to her

mouth. 'How I am cursed,' she announced to the room at large.

'Some mother have sons who marry and give them grandchildren. I

have sons who play around with women no one will ever marry. Is

it not bad enough that Mario who is young and a fool runs off with

such a one? Have you learned no more wisdom than he has?'

She made no further effort to speak English, but broke into a flood

of impassioned Italian which Juliet was thankful she did not

understand, judging by the fulminating looks the Signora kept

casting in her direction. Santino made no attempt to stem the flow

of words, but stood quietly his head slightly bent. Juliet saw that he

was very white under his tan.

It was the other man who came to the rescue. Strolling forward, he

laid a hand on the Signora's shoulder. His English was good but

heavily accented. 'Peace,
cara.
Santino understands your feelings.

There is no need to continue.' He turned towards Juliet and made