Emerald Mistress (16 page)

‘I like the dress.’ Although conservative in style, the garment enhanced her lush figure with a quiet
good taste that impressed Rafael. The silk organza feathered hat was so feminine it charmed him. The colours she wore set off the glossy fall of her rich copper hair and creamy skin to perfection. ‘I’ll enjoy introducing you to the rest of my party.’

Her smile tensed a little, for she had not appreciated that she would be spending the day as one of a crowd. ‘Business guests?’

‘And society acquaintances. It was arranged weeks ago, to return the hospitality I have enjoyed abroad.’

Samson once again settled in her bag, Rafael took her into the Pavilion, a vast glass-fronted building, which offered a selection of entertainment venues as well as private suites for the use of the crème de la crème of racegoers. From the instant she emerged from the limo and stood by his side she was aware that she was attracting notice, in terms of downright stares and sidelong glances.

‘Do you get photographed by the press at events like this?’ she asked him abruptly.

‘If one of my horses wins. Will you enjoy that?’ Rafael spoke with an innate cynicism that expected a positive answer, for he had yet to meet a woman who did not relish seeing her face in the newspapers.

‘No, I wouldn’t. If you don’t mind, I’d much prefer to stay in the background.’ Harriet was very reluctant
to risk attracting the interest of the paparazzi, because she knew they would not rest until they had identified the mystery redhead and her miniature dog on Rafael Cavaliere’s arm. Unfortunately that could prove to be a very embarrassing development, she thought worriedly. Her broken engagement and her half-sister’s part in it might well be dug up and aired to enliven her otherwise boring history; Alice was very photogenic, and did at least enjoy a public profile. Unfortunately, that kind of muck-raking publicity would offend and embarrass Harriet’s entire family.

An ebony brow quirked. ‘Ashamed of me?’

‘Don’t be silly!’ Harriet laughed, and explained her concern. But for some reason what had seemed so simple appeared to become very complicated when voiced beneath the questioning onslaught of Rafael’s cool, dark scrutiny.

‘I can read you like a neon sign…and the message is sad.’

Harriet gave him a look of astonishment. ‘I beg your pardon?’

‘You are reluctant to be photographed in my company because you don’t want Luke to know that you’re with me now,’ Rafael framed with icy derision.

‘That’s total nonsense!’

‘I don’t think so. You’re still hoping to get your ex-fiancé back—’

‘Of course I’m not!’

‘I don’t believe you,
a mhilis
,’ Rafael admitted very drily. ‘But let’s leave it there. I see no need to involve myself with your private concerns.’

Squashed by that lofty assurance of uninterest, Harriet breathed in deep, annoyed that she had been denied the chance to rebut his suspicions, but concerned that a too robust defence would make her look very uncool and unduly keen to please. At the precise moment that she was inwardly wrestling with such uneasy concerns they entered the private suite he had hired to entertain his guests. Within twenty seconds of their entrance a crowd was jostling for his attention, with waves, loud greetings and a physical pushiness that saw Harriet elbowed out of the way so fast she found herself sidelined by the wall without quite knowing how she had got there. Resigned to being ignored, or at the very least overlooked in that excited melee, she was not the only person surprised when Rafael swung round in patent search of her and waited pointedly for her to move back to his side.

The crush around him slowly parted to allow her a clear return avenue of approach. Aware that the gesture on his part had made her very much the centre
of attention, her face burned. But at the same time she was secretly pleased that in spite of that crazy difference of opinion minutes earlier he had immediately noticed her absence and set about remedying it.

Rafael then dealt her a wonderfully cool appraisal that ensured she was in little danger of his attention going to her head. Within an hour her mind was a whirl of extravagant impressions and slices of conversation in several different languages. He introduced her as, ‘Harriet’, but only when someone pushed for that information—and few took that strong a lead in the conversation. She talked happily about horses at every opportunity, and soon picked out the social butterflies from those to whom breeding, training and running horses was a source of all-absorbing interest. She got on with the latter section of the guest list like a house on fire, and several admirers spoilt Samson rotten.

For the first time since she had got to know Rafael, however, Harriet was hugely conscious of his vast wealth and status. In his radius people often talked in hushed, respectful tones. He was approached with extreme caution, exaggerated humility or a grandiose male jocularity that made her squirm. But Rafael remained impassive, and although his manners were flawless the depth of his
reserve intimidated his guests. He was often silent. He did not try to entertain people. His guests instead worked hard at entertaining him.

She was also quite astonished by the manner in which some women blanked her while offering Rafael languorous looks of invitation, suggestive
double entendres
and flattering, flirtatious remarks. He did not respond. It was like it wasn’t happening—as if he was so accustomed to those constant encouraging female signals that he no longer noticed them. Then she caught the glimmer of contempt in his screened gaze as yet another man’s wife appraised his darkly handsome features with flagrant longing, and she blushed for her own sex.

After a leisurely sit-down lunch served by caterers, the guests left the table to mingle. Harriet was helping herself to coffee when she became aware of a conversational exchange taking place somewhere behind her.

‘Now I think I know why Rafael doesn’t even flirt with me. It’s quite obvious that he goes for girls with generous hips,’ a woman was saying, in a meaningful undertone that her very precise diction made clearly audible.

A wave of dismayed incredulity gripped Harriet. A couple of feet closer to that dialogue, but concealed by the door that opened on to the
balcony, Rafael turned his handsome dark head with the efficacy of a laser beam locking on to its target.

‘She’s definitely not small, is she?’ a second female voice remarked in answer to the first, and Harriet breathed in so hard she almost burst. ‘Not shy about displaying her advantage either. That silk emphasises every voluptuous curve.’

‘Rear cheek implants are all the rage in North America. It would certainly make me take a fresh look at my hip profile,’ the first woman countered, with deadly seriousness.

Vibrant enjoyment burnishing his eyes, and an outrageous smile on his firm mouth, Rafael strolled back to Harriet’s side. He was very much amused. Her face was a feverish shade of pink. He drew her back against him and lowered his head to murmur huskily, ‘Is this the perfect moment to tell you that I
do
think that you have the most fantastic derrière?’

‘When you say anything of that nature you’re more likely to get told off!’ Harriet warned him in a waspish whisper, trembling slightly in the strong circle of his arms, but determined to maintain as much dignity and composure as could be grasped after being forced to eavesdrop on such an embarrassing snatch of dialogue.

‘Harriet…the secret of your attraction lies in the
truth that nothing about you is fake,’ Rafael confided, angling her head back against him.

He let his lips drift down the vulnerable curve of her neck and she quivered in sensual shock, her entire body coming alive. He brushed her throat with the tip of his tongue in a contact so fleeting she almost thought she had imagined it when he straightened again. She blinked rapidly and registered that absolutely nobody had noticed, yet her every nerve was singing at high frequency, and her legs did not feel quite strong enough to support her.

‘Let’s go down to the track,’ Rafael urged lazily. ‘When I have a horse running I don’t watch from the balcony. I like to be at the sharp end.’

Having released her from his hold with the same underplayed lightness of touch, Rafael directed her towards the exit.

CHAPTER SIX

R
AFEAL
’
S HORSE
, Fearless, was a handsome chestnut with a white star on his forehead, and the jockey engaged to ride him was a champion. While Rafael talked to his trainer, Harriet watched the horses break from the starting gate. In spite of every intention to the contrary, she got caught up in the thrill of the race, and when Fearless pulled ahead she surrendered to frantic excitement and cheered him on.

‘Brilliant, brilliant horse…he was really flying there!’ she carolled, starry-eyed with satisfaction when the chestnut romped over the finish line, a clear winner by several lengths.

Rafael reaped almost as much pleasure from Harriet’s innocent enthusiasm as from seeing yet another of his thoroughbreds triumph. ‘You really do appreciate a winner. I’ll buy you something special to mark the occasion.’

Harriet flung him a dismayed glance. ‘No, thanks. You don’t need to buy me anything.’

‘Need…no. But want—
yes
,’ Rafael declared immovably.

‘Rafael, I—’

‘If you still don’t want to be photographed with me, I would advise you to stay out of the winners’ enclosure.’ With that smooth warning, he concluded her protest with his own departure.

Watching from a discreet distance, Harriet received no satisfaction whatsoever from having excluded herself. A curvaceous blonde in a white suit so short and tight that it should have carried a government health warning flung herself at Rafael with giggling gusto. Harriet’s eyes widened. Rafael did not push his beautiful assailant away. Indeed, he curved an arm round her while the cameras flashed like mad. Harriet gritted her teeth, wondered who the blonde was, and decided that she would not sink to the revealing level of asking that question.

Following victory there was great celebration in the private suite. The drinks flowed. A recording of Fearless’s race was run and re-run, and every detail of his performance and that of his competitors eagerly dissected and discussed. When the party was at its height, Rafael took her to one side and suggested that they leave for his stud farm. Having recognised
his increasing boredom as high spirits and alcohol loosened his guests’ inhibitions, Harriet was not surprised.

‘Don’t you like parties?’ she asked on the way out.

‘When I was a child, Valente partied every night. I picked up a preference for sobriety and rational conversation,’ he confided softly.

Harriet turned an embarrassed pink. ‘I can imagine what you must’ve thought when you found me by that bonfire, swigging from a wine bottle and talking a lot of nonsense.’

Rafael studied her with intense amusement. ‘That you’re in a class of your own.’

He piloted the helicopter to Kildare, flying with the same assurance with which he drove. He landed the craft a hundred yards away from a gloriously symmetrical Queen Anne house set in formal gardens.

‘You didn’t tell me you had
two
stately homes!’ Harriet exclaimed, with barely concealed incredulity at such a crucial oversight.

‘This was the first Irish property I bought, and the house was secondary to the location and included with the land. It’s not a stately home; it’s tiny.’

Tiny? Harriet reckoned the house might well have a good ten bedrooms. She fed Samson, who was an
instant hit with the housekeeper. Already exhausted by the surfeit of attention he had received from female fans at the racecourse, and with an appetite much impaired by the numerous titbits he had enjoyed, the tiny chihuahua settled down for a snooze.

Rafael offered Harriet a tour of the stud. It was a big operation, with orderly lines of neatly painted buildings, extensive all-weather gallops and beautifully tended lush green acres of land with smart fences and gates. She could not help being impressed to death. He appeared to employ a large staff, for the stables were spotless and the horses perfectly groomed. It took enormous wealth to maintain such high standards. She quite saw why he would find it a challenge to view the livery yard they shared as a serious business venture.

‘Are you staying with me tonight?’

In the quiet of one of the barns that direct question took Harriet unawares. Her colour warming, she collided involuntarily with smouldering dark golden eyes.

Rafael closed lean brown hands slowly over hers and drew her to him with measured assurance. ‘When Fearless crossed the finishing line I wanted to celebrate alone with you. Never has the role of host been less welcome.’

Her throat was tight with nerves and her breath was feathering in her throat. She wanted him to kiss
her. She wanted him to kiss her so badly her body ached with ferocious tension. Driven by an impulse stronger than she was, she leant forward. He looked down at her with intoxicating intensity and then, without any further warning of his masculine intent, he hauled her close and tasted her readily parted lips with explicit urgency. She was breathless with surprise, but exhilarated by his unashamed passion. Her fingers sank into the springy depths of his luxuriant black hair, making it all the easier for him to swing her back against the wall. As always unpredictable in his approach, his initial fervour was abandoned for a deliciously provocative exploration that melted her like honey on a hot griddle.

Lifting his tousled dark head, stunning eyes glittering like diamonds in sunlight, Rafael vented a roughened laugh. Every time he touched her he was startled by the raw charge of lust she roused in him. ‘We’re acting like teenagers.’

Her hands, which had dropped of necessity to his shoulders, sank down to the lapels of his designer suit jacket and tugged him closer again.

Her silent rebellion made his sensual mouth quirk. He wanted her there and then. He didn’t want to wait. But his innate self-discipline triumphed. He was exasperated by the very strangeness of that momentary desire to act on a foolish impulse. Closing
one of her hands in his, he eased her away from the wall. ‘The grooms are waiting in the staff room to celebrate Fearless’s arrival home.’