The Sin of Cynara (14 page)

  'Oh, don't !' Carol flung up a hand, as if to ward off his tortured anger. 'You don't know what you're saying—'

  'You think not?' He gave a cynical laugh and strode to the sideboard, where he replenished his wine glass. 'Your lip rouge is smudged, and I would prefer that we be looked upon as the usual sedate couple going through the first stages of a Latin courtship. If you were an Italian girl, I should have kissed your hand and nothing more.'

  Carol, her knees tremulous, turned aside from him and taking her face-compact from her bag she looked at her lips in the tiny circular mirror. Her hand shook I slightly as she wiped away the smudge which his lips had caused ... his lips, hard, warm and so incredibly sensuous that the memory brought a wave of heat to her body. Oh God, what had got into her? Was she so love-starved that she actually wanted a man who had been hurt too deeply to ever feel anything more than a physical urge for a woman?

  'It certainly won't worry me to have everything on a formal footing,' she said, and she drank her wine with as much composure as she could muster after that shattering experience in his arms. He certainly wasn't the statue he made out to be, and she hoped to heaven he hadn't realized the real truth ... that his kisses had gone to her head with more potency than the wine. At eighteen, in the arms of Vincenzo, she had not felt this disturbed.

  She lowered her eyes and felt the sting of a blush in her cheeks. How devastating Rudolph must have been when his looks had been unmarred and he had felt sure of his physical power over women. Even Vincenzo paled to a callow boy by comparison, and it occurred to Carol that she might have been completely bowled over by the baróne had she known him before another woman had ruined his face and made an embittered man of him.

  'Now you do look suitably demure,' he drawled. 'What do you think of your ring? Does it feel as if it fits you all right?'

  She looked down at the ring and was fascinated by the dense beauty of the gems. 'I've always liked the look of rubies,' she said. 'These are real, aren't they?'

  'Of course they are. It's an old-old-fashioned ring, but I felt that you were not an ultra-modern young woman, not from the way you wear your hair and the way you dress.'

  'I hope you don't think me a frump,' she protested, and glanced down at her long velvet skirt in some alarm. 'I - I haven't a large stock of dresses, but I hope that what I have is reasonably smart.'

  'Perfectly charming,' he said, running his eyes up and down her figure.'You dress to suit your style, and that is the essence of being soignée, is it not? I find short skirts and frizzy hair far from attractive, and you can rest assured, madam, that I find your appearance quite in keeping with the position of being my wife. Your stock of clothes will be enlarged, of course, and I am sure Gena will enjoy going with you to Rome to the dress houses.'

  'Oh, but that isn't necessary,' Carol protested. 'I don't need any new things—'

  'Perhaps not, but a trousseau is the accepted thing, and you might as well enjoy what you can of our marriage.'

  'You make it sound a very cold-blooded arrangement, signore.' Carol studied the ruby ring and thought to herself that such lovely, glimmering gems should belong to a love match. 'Have you quite given up hope of finding some sort of happiness?'

  'What makes you think that I'm unhappy?' He raised an eyebrow as he looked at her, his eyes sheer amber and quite impenetrable. 'There is more to life, madam, than the idolatry of love between a man and a woman, if you are referring to that kind of happiness. No doubt you are.'

  'I suppose so,' she admitted. 'Do you intend to hate all women because you were unfortunate enough to be hurt by one woman?'

  'Hurt?' He raised a hand to his cheek, almost as if he felt the pain again and was shielding himself. 'As I told your son, a person recovers from physical pain, but there is another sort.'

  'I - I realize that, signore. I gave my love to Vincenzo and he maltreated it, and it's hard to forget and forgive.'

  'Then we are two people with something in common, eh?' His lips twisted into a smile that was quite cynical. 'We both find it hard to forget what has happened to us in the past, and because of that we are safeguarded from making fools of ourselves in future. At least married to me you won't be on your own and likely to attract another Lothario whose promises are like piecrust. There is substance to what I offer you even if there isn't any glamour.'

  'Oh, I wouldn't say that, signore.' Carol glanced around the salotto with its beautifully carved furniture, its voluptuous Tiepolo ceiling, rich tapestry chairs and sofas, and these wine glasses with coiled serpent tails supporting the flared bowls. 'You have no idea how glamorous your house is by comparison to the cramped quarters Teri and I are accustomed to living in. You're used to living in a palazzo, but I find it altogether stunning... out of this world.'

  'Yes,' he agreed, looking around him, 'I do probably take it for granted, and it will be good for the place that someone can appreciate its quaint attractions. It is very old and often the plumbing makes noises and goes wrong, the servants complain about the stairs and the size of the rooms and keeping the furniture well polished. The palazzo needs a mistress to care about it, so now you have a purpose and need feel no compunction that our relationship will not be intimate. You'll be free to enjoy the house without any need to entertain the master.'

  'You enjoy being sardonic and scornful, don't you, signore? So your palazzo is to be my playhouse and the things in it my playthings, and like a child I'm to amuse myself and keep out of your way.' Carol gave him a candid look, a flicker of temper in her violet-grey eyes. 'If that is what you want, then it's all right by me. I'm not in the habit of imposing myself on anyone and I promise to keep my distance.'

  'Good. We understand each other, don't we?' As he spoke he turned to face the door an instant before it opened to admit Gena and a man who looked to be in his middle thirties, clad rather more informally than the baróne, with a long-eyed, bony face, and cropped hair of a dusky red colour. When his eyes found Carol they were as green as a cat's, and they took her in from head to foot with the rapidity of the expert flirt, the pupils sharpening and intensifying his feline look.

  'I'm thirsting for a Gimlet,' said Gena. 'May Saul shake them? He has the knack.'

  'Be my guest,' said the baróne sardonically. 'How is the work going, Mr. Stern? I hope our island isn't proving too much of a distraction?'

  'It has its distractions, but I'm being tough with myself.' The American approached the sideboard and began to measure out gin and lime-juice into a silver shaker. As he moved it gently back and forth he again looked at Carol.

  'Don't I rate an introduction to the British guest?' he drawled. 'Gena failed to tell me that she was the regulation cool blonde beauty from those fabled shores.'

  When he said this Carol instinctively glanced at the baróne and she saw his nostrils contract. But in a level voice he made the introductions, and then he added, quite deliberately : 'You might as well know, Gena, and you also, Mr. Stern, that Carol is going to be my wife.'

  There was a breathless sort of silence, broken by Gena. Are you kidding, Rudi?' she exclaimed. 'You hardly know each other !'

  'What is there to know?' he asked. 'Beyond that Carol has a son who needs a father; a boy so much a Falcone that no one need look at him twice without realizing that he is one of us. The marriage will ensure that Terence gets his due from the Falcone estate.'

  'That part of it is immaterial to me, Rudi.' Gena shrugged her shoulders, partly bare from the cut of her smart evening dress. 'But marriage is such a serious step - a binding one for an ultra-Latin guy like yourself. Carol is British and her upbringing has been very different from yours, Rudi. You've always known that when it came to marriage - let's face it, you are titled and rich.'

  'Circumstances are not what they were,' he broke in, his voice a trifle curt. 'Carol and I understand each other. We know what we want.'

  'Well, it's your funeral.' Gena was looking at Carol as she spoke. 'As long as you know what you're taking on.'

  T think I do.' Carol tried to speak in a normal voice, and to behave as if she took all this in her stride. Inwardly she was as nervous as a kitten plucked out of its warm bed of straw to stand shivering in the middle of a vast, bright room full of strangers. She wanted to run out with a cry of fright, but had to control the urge and set her lips in a brave smile.

  'Thanks, honey.' Gena took her Gimlet from Saul Stern. 'I need this more than ever.' She took a deep swallow, her eyes upon her brother's unrevealing face. 'When do you actually take the plunge?' she asked,

  'As soon as everything is settled.' He spoke with perfect naturalness and stood there with the chandelier full on his face. Carol could see the American writer staring at him with those cat-green eyes, and she could almost read his mind. Everyone would assume the marriage to be a normal one, and she knew that Saul Stern, with his lean and lazy unscarred face, was wondering how a woman would feel in the arms of a man who had been hideously hurt by having vitriol flung at him.

  They were standing like that, each of them testing the situation and its implications, when Bedelia entered the salotto. Tonight she had obviously set out to prove that the English girl couldn't hold a candle to her when it came to being seductive. She wore a classic dress of burgundy crushed-velvet and gold bracelets gleamed on her arms. Her eyelids were shadowed and she had the skin to be seen on Latin patios, pale and silky like the magnolia flowers growing there. Her silky hair was piled high on her head and secured by jewelled pins.

  'Oh, am I the last down?' she asked, in a voice whose texture matched her skin and hair. 'How naughty of me to keep all of you waiting !'

  'We're only having dinner,' Gena drawled. 'We aren't on our way to a ball.'

  'Yet I took this for a special occasion,' Bedelia replied, and her eyes flicked across Carol's face. 'I thought I should dress up for such a momentous evening, for I had quite given up hope that dear Rudi would ever find himself a woman.'

  'Damn you—' Gena raised her glass as if to throw its contents in Bedelia's face, but Saul caught her by the wrist.

  'Don't waste good gin, Gena mia,' he grinned. 'Sticks and stones can't hurt your brother. He's what they call one of nature's gentlemen.'

  'I know,' said Gena, giving her sister-in-law a murderous look. 'But I'm no lady.'

  'No, dear.' Bedelia was quite unruffled as she played with one of her bracelets and smiled at her own thoughts. 'And you've no need to advertise your liberation, for we all know that you don't follow the Latin principle of a woman keeping her purity for the man she marries. I am sure the entire population of the isola is aware that you spend entire nights at the beach house - perhaps you do typing for Mr. Stern? If so, then I do apologize for my naughty thoughts.'

  'You're about as naughty as a damned python,' Gena retorted. 'And you can mind your own business about what I do - in fact a few sessions of slap and tickle might make a human being of you. Santo Dio, no wonder Vince ran out on you ! You and Vince ! It was always good for a laugh !'

  "That will be enough.' The baróne's voice was controlled but as cutting as a rapier edge, honed fine and sharp on his personal suffering at the hands of a woman. 'This is, I hope, a civilized household and not the fish market where women hurl abuse at each other. All of you are here at my invitation, but my patience and so-called instincts of a gentleman are not so reliable as you might assume. Do I make myself clear?'

  'As crystal, brother dear.' Gena went to him and took him by the arm with beguiling affection. 'If I were you I'd have thrown the lot of us out on our ears a long time ago. Because you're a cynic you are curiously tolerant, aren't you, Rudi? You know that people aren't angels, so you don't expect them to behave as if cowed down by their haloes. I think you are the man who has spoilt other men for me - and that includes you, Saul, honey.' She shot an impudent smile at the American. 'You should have known Rudi in his heyday. Now he hides himself away because he thinks women only go for pretty faces.'

  'I don't hide away,' he growled. 'I prefer a quiet life to a rowdy one. The island suits me and I can work here without getting involved in the managerial side of things as in Rome. My imagination takes flight in my falconiere.'

  'I envy you, signore,' said Saul, as they began to make their way into the dining-room, where an oval-shaped table was beautifully laid under another of those crystal-hung chandeliers, throwing its sparkling light down on to lace and fine old china, and pink Tuscan roses spilling from a silver centrepiece among feathery green ferns.

  'Do you, Mr. Stern?' The baróne looked with absolute irony at the writer, who was so obviously a man who strolled through life, taking his pleasures as they came and not concerned what the next day might bring. Catlike he would charm and be friendly, and then stroll away without looking back. That was how Carol summed him up as she took her place at the table and opened a lace-edged napkin on to her knees.

  'Why not?' Saul smiled so that his eyes narrowed to emerald slits in his lean face. 'It's every man's dream to have an island of his own, and yours has solitude and beauty without being miles from the civilized world.'

  'I am gratified that you're enjoying your stay on the isola.' There was a dry note in the deep Latin voice, and Carol saw the way Rudolph glanced at his sister, as if he knew all about her without having to learn the details from Bedelia. Yes, a cynic was more inclined to be tolerant than a man who had faith in his fellow creatures. Most people had a clay heel, and Rudolph would be painfully aware of it. Carol caught at her lip with her teeth as she recalled the way he had induced her to unbind her hair for him, yet he told her that intimacy was ruled out of their life together ... their married life.

  Lost in her thoughts, she gave a start as a hand touched her wrist. 'Has Rudi given you a ring?' It was Gena reaching for her left hand and showing it off to the others at the table. The light shone in the rubies, exquisitely carved and.gleaming with a deep lustre that was unbearably lovely.