Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (15 page)

'I've always loved beautiful things,' he told her. Perhaps that was why
he had adored Mona so. 'And then - there's that Gainsborough that your father
has tucked away; such a waste with no one to admire it. You couldn't persuade
him to sell it to me, could you?'

'Of course I wouldn't — and especially since I persuaded him to give her
to me. She's hanging up in my bedroom right now!' Sara responded heatedly, and
then could have bitten out her tongue. But Uncle Theo, bless his heart
 
merely gave vent to a meaningful 'Hah!' and
said no more than that.

He took her out to the poolside patio at one of the tables in the shade,
and chilled -wine flanked by crystal glasses seemed to appear as
 
if
 
by
magic.

'Well - have some wine. You've been a good audience -made me realise I
actually tend to get lonely sometimes! What do you think of that?' And then,
without giving her a chance to say anything at all, he said without further
preamble: 'Speaking of that - why don't you think about spending some time
here? You could have your own separate wing - come and go as you please. You
don't have to say anything now, just think about it.'

He had taken her by surprise, and her words stumbled over one another as
she said: 'That... that would have been so wonderful... you're a love to
suggest such a thing, but... I'm going to be working again on Monday you know .
. . the movie . . . Garon's movie . . .'

His voice was matter-of-fact. 'Oh - I'd meant to tell you before. Had a
call from Garon this morning, and they're not going to be needing you again.'
He held his hand up as if to ward off her protests, although Sara could not
have spoken a word right then. 'Of course you'll be paid according to your
contract, and it's nothing to do with you - Garon asked me to tell you that
you're a great little actress and he'd like to use you again in his next film.
But they're having to do a lot of editing because the chase sequences are
running longer than anticipated. So one of the writers came up with the idea
that the one scene between you and Garon was all that was needed. Cut to your
"suicide" - and the fall from the roof is going to be done by a
professional stunt-woman.'

He looked at-her quizzically, gauging her stunned lack of response.
'You're not imagining you're in love with Garon are you? Didn't think so -
you'd be too sensible for that! And as for ... well, never mind! I've promised
myself I'm not going to meddle. And I'll give you that promise too, my dear, if
you decide to keep a lonely old man company.' He added craftily, 'You could
dust the pictures in my gallery if you insist on keeping busy, you know. And
you must remind me to show you my collection of snuffboxes. Not to mention -

By this time Sara had recovered herself sufficiently to interrupt.
'That's also known as bribery. And moreover — lonely old man indeed!'

He chuckled delightedly. 'Aha! That's the Nanny Staggs coming out in you
now, isn't it? Did you think you really had me fooled?'

'I... couldn't be sure. But you won't give me away, will you? Not to
anybody, please!'

He snorted explosively. 'And why in hell should I do that and spoil the
show? Believe me, my girl, I'm having more fun watching the little game you've
been playing than I've had for years. You're not doing too badly, either! Got
everyone else fooled that you're really your half sister, haven't you? Well,
good for you — whatever crazy scheme you two females have cooked up between
you. Mostly Delight's pushing, I can guess . . . But as I said before, I'm not
going to meddle!'

Thank goodness for Uncle Theo! What would she have done if they hadn't
rediscovered each other? Sara returned to her room thoughtfully; part of
herself tempted to stay and be a lotus-eater for a while - the other half not
wanting to drop a challenge. And besides, she had promised Delight. What did it
matter what she did with the time she had left? Delight should be safely in
India by now, and if Carlo was as resolute as her sister believed, he should be
on his way to join her there. All Sara had to do was buy them as much time as
she could — for as long as she could continue her masquerade.

She had almost made up her mind to surrender and be coddled in luxury
when a telephone call disrupted her brittle sense of serenity. 'This is di
Cavalieri.'

Her heart had started thudding unpleasantly, and her fingers curled and
tightened around the phone. Please — let her voice sound calm!

'Oh . . . hello! I hadn't expected to hear from you . . .'

His voice was as harshly uncompromising as she remembered. 'No doubt.
However, there is something that we must discuss. All these articles in the
newspapers, for instance.'

'I-'

He swept on arrogantly, as if he hadn't heard her,

'I am not blaming you. I am sure you're used to whatever you do being
"news" ... I am not used to such publicity. But there is an article
that is to appear tomorrow, in one of the weekly scandal sheets, I understand.'
She could almost see his thin nostrils curling with disdain, even while she
looked down at her strain-whitened knuckles, clutching the receiver. She wished
she couldn't picture him at all, chauvinist brute that he was! But why on earth
had he bothered to call her? Something about an article in a scandal sheet. . .

'... And so I think it is important that we meet to discuss certain
matters. You will understand when I explain. And please - you need not worry
that there will be a rep¬etition of last night. You may pick as public a place
as you wish.'

'If there's anything you think I ought to know about that article you
say is going to appear tomorrow - and how do you know about it ahead of time,
by the way? — then you could just as well tell me over the telephone.'

His voice deepened to what sounded like an angry growl. "There are
some things that should not be discussed over telephones! Unless, for some
reason, you are afraid to meet me face to face . . .?'

It was both a challenge and a slap across the face with a velvet glove.
Oh, but he was a bastard! Knowing exactly what buttons to press. Afraid to meet
him — that was ridiculousl Afraid of what? Certainly not of herself. . .

'I'm not afraid at all!' Sara hated herself for sounding almost
defensive. 'It's just that I , . , I might be tied up this evening.'

'Think of Carlo. Your fiance. Is it fair to him, this date that may tie
you up all evening? At least, with me in a public place you could tell him
truthfully that it was all merely business. So - where would you like to go?
The Polo Lounge? El Padrino? Both places are usually quite crowded all night.
You will feel safe.'

Of course, she shouldn't go. She shouldn't subject herself to the anger
and the turmoil he aroused in her. And yet, Sara knew with a feeling of
fatalistic despair that she would go. Hear whatever it was he had to tell her
so urgently. Watch his dark, dangerous face across a table in perfect safety,
knowing he couldn't very well sweep her into his arms and carry her away this
time. Maybe seeing him again was exactly what she needed to rid her of her
stupid fixation. She'd look at him, and listen to him tell her that he really
couldn't afford any more gossip. He was probably married, why hadn't she
thought of that? All the better - she would be haughty and aloof. Listen to
him, sipping her Perrier-and-lime with a bored air. And then she would leave,
to be driven back in Uncle Theo's chauffeured Rolls. Finis.

Hanging up, Sara stared blindly at the telephone. Hopefully, she'd
sounded casual enough - even slightly distracted and impatient. Hopefully,
she'd be able to act that way when she was faced with him- II Duca di Cavalieri
- custom-tailored clothes masking the feline ripple of muscles underneath.
Somehow, she could more easily imagine him in the past, as a pirate or a
mercenary with a dagger at his belt, rather than in the role of a modern-day Italian
aristocrat, moving in polite circles.

Stop it, Sara! You're becoming quite silly, my girl. Better straighten
yourself out! The mental admonishment helped. What Nanny Staggs would have
recommended was a bracing cold shower, 'to clear the mind.' Determinedly, Sara
jumped off the bed and headed for the bathroom. She had two whole hours in
which to make herself presentable enough for the Polo Lounge.

She was fifteen minutes late, in the end, but her make-up was
understated and flawless; and he would never know how many dresses lay
discarded across her bed, and at least, thanks to the smoothly effortless
efficiency that surrounded Uncle Theo, she now had her entire wardrobe here to
choose from.

She was shown to a table by the windows, and Sara hoped that her smile
was as brilliant as the bright red lip gloss she had used tonight. He stood up,
the lean, dark length of him dwarfing her - his perfunctory kiss not even a
lip-brush across the back of her extended hand.

'It was good of you to come.' Even his words were politely formal,
pushing her into exclaiming:

'Oh, that's all right! But I really do have to rush, you know. I've
promised some friends of mine to go roller-skating tonight. 'Flippers' - you
know where it is?'

'I've heard of such a place.' His voice dismissed it and her attempt at
coolness.

Sara's eyes were drawn to his hands - strong fingers unadorned except
for the one ring she had noticed before. It was all she could do not to shiver,
giving herself away. 'Well, it's really a young people's place, I suppose.'

This time she was rewarded by a flicker of flame beneath the surface of
those night-black eyes. But instead of retorting sarcastically he inclined his
head. 'I suppose that is true. Certainly it is not the kind of place I would
choose if I felt like going out to dancel But what does Carlo think of your
going out without him?'

Sara couldn't help the angry flush that heated her cheeks. 'That's
really none of your business, is it?' She really did detest him after all!

He had already ordered a bottle of white wine, and his ringers had been
toying with the stem of his glass as he studied her. Now, without asking, he
poured her a glass.

'On the contrary,' he said slowly, his words without inflection, 'it is
very much my business. Carlo happens to be my younger brother.'

'Your ...' Sara thought for one horrible moment that she was going to
choke on her wine. His flat, unembellished statement kept repeating itself in
her mind. Repeating, while she stared at him over the rim of her glass. Until
the meaning of what he'd just said sank into her consciousness.

He made the mistake of pressing home his advantage, his voice coldly
sarcastic. 'You knew, surely, that Carlo had a family? And did he neglect to
tell you that he works for me and has no money of his own yet?'

The wine she was finally able to swallow went to Sara's head with a
rush, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since brunch in the early afternoon.
But it helped her look him in the eye.

'Carlo has told me everything she exclaimed with dignity. And then, not
able to resist it: 'So you're big bad John! I'm sorry - it's really Giovanni,
isn't it? How do you prefer to be called, though? Riccardo - or is that just
your
 
alias? — Marco . . .'

'That's enough!' His voice cut across hers like a whiplash, and if she
hadn't been so angry she might have flinched.

'Oh, is it? I don't really think so. You started this, remember? You
asked me to join you here for a drink because you had to tell me something.
What made you decide to drop your cute little masquerade - Riccardo?'

He reached his hand across the table to take hers, and though it might
have looked like a gesture of affection to anyone who might have been watching,
Sara had to bite back a cry of pain at the hard pressure of his fingers over
hers. And yet, in spite of the violence she sensed in the studied cruelty of
his grip, his voice remain coldly warning. 'Please try to keep your voice down.
A public scene here would certainly do nothing to help your . . . career.' The
pause before he pronounced the last word was deliberately insolent, making her
want to scratch at his black, mocking eyes.

She fought for control, trying to remember that he, at least, still
believed she was who she said she was. He still thought she was Delight!

'Please let go of my hand. You're hurting me. You don't have to try and
prove what a big strong man you are!'

'I'm sorry.' He withdrew his hand, and Sara rubbed at her fingers. It
gave her an excuse not to have to look at him.

'Well? What else did you have to say to me? And what was all that about
an article that's supposed to appear tomorrow? Another phony story?"

'Unfortunately not.' She had the feeling that he was speaking from
between gritted teeth. 'The story is appearing, and it says something to the
effect that you must like to keep it in the family. First the younger brother,
and then - when he's gone - the elder. I thought it best that you hear the
truth from me before you heard the version of the press.'

Sara was still rubbing at her fingers. 'How very considerate of you!'
she uttered coldly. 'And was that all? The car's waiting for me - and as I
said, I have a busy night ahead of me. Want to come along to make sure I don't
misbehave?*

She stared at him challengingly, observing almost impersonally the
muscles that bunched along his jaw, giving him an even more dangerous look than
usual.

'No - that was not all. Why don't we stop playing games? Now we are
unmasked. You know who I am, and I know .. . what you are. Carlo may be
infatuated by you but he will never marry you - did he tell you that he was
engaged already?'

'You sound like something out of feudal times!' Sara snapped at him, her
temper rising again. 'Carlo and I have been completely honest with each other
from the beginning, and I happen to know that he's not engaged -except to me!
You'd like to push him into some loveless marriage that you think is suitable,
wouldn't you? Well, it's not going to happen that way. Carlo and I are going to
be married, and we don't need your blessing. I can support Carlo until he ...
he finds himself.'