Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (34 page)

Sara sucked in a deep breath of the clean, faintly scented air and
sighed. At least he hadn't suggested going back.

'Do our mountains with their rough and jagged edges frighten you,
Diletta?' He was riding very close to her when he spoke, and the sound of his
voice was like those mountains he described. His nearness disturbed her
suddenly and made her as jumpy as a cat. Especially when he had used the
Italian word for her sister's name.

'What? I was thinking, I – '

'I asked if fierce, frowning mountains frighten you.'

Her half-laugh came from nerves before she said, almost without
thinking, 'How well you describe yourself! But since I'm not afraid of you, why
should I fear your mountains? After all, you're here to protect me, aren't
you?'

There was a moment of sheer, frozen horror soon after she'd said it that
almost made her heart stop as her dilating eyes watched his hand drop with
amazing swiftness to his gun; wrenching it free to raise it in the same fluid
movement. He was going to shoot her?

But, oh, thank God he was pointing it at someone else! Relief made her
sag before she straightened up with a jerk. Someone else?

Her eyes swivelled to a smiling face she recognised as well as the voice
as he raised one hand in a placating gesture.

'Ola, Marco!' Angelo said mildly. 'You surely wouldn't shoot your own
dear brother?'

Would he? She was holding her breath . . . Sara realised it only after
she saw Marco almost slam his gun back into its holster.

'()la, yourself, Angelo!' Marco's voice was as expressionless as
 
his face had become. 'You might have said it
earlier, and I would not have come so close to shooting you.'

'Well — I guess I can understand!' Angelo said expansively, and his eyes
came to rest directly on Sara's flushed, fearful face.

She knew an instant of despairing anticipation before she saw
 
that Angelo was openly looking her over with
the admiring air of a man checking out a woman he had just met. Thank God he
pretended not to recognise her!

'Well, .. what a happy coincidence that I happened to be riding this way
myself. Only on a motor cycle. I left it back there up the trail while I walked
down to stretch my legs. But then life's full of chance meetings, isn't it,
brother?'

For once, Sara thought as she observed the byplay with curious
fascination, for once Marco had actually managed to keep both his temper and
the evenness of his usually harsh voice.

'I'm sure it is - some times.'

'You're not going to introduce me to this vision? Central Park, New
York, right here in the dangerous wilds of our mountains? But I'm good at
guessing. Let's see . . . there's no mistaking that she's one of the
incomparable Mona's daughters of course, but which one?' During his slight
pause that made her hold her breath Sara could have sworn she caught a glint of
pure devilry in his eyes before he said musingly, 'Let's see ... oh, but it has
to be Miss Delight Adams of course — and who else would be daring enough to
venture here? I've read that the other daughter is quite a mousy little thing
who developed religion or something equally dull.., maybe it was relief work in
Bangladesh - am I right, Miss Adams?'

'Angelo . . .!' Marco's voice might normally have struck terror into her
if Sara hadn't become indignant enough to flare up.

'She's not a poor dull mouse of a girl by any means! Where could you
have read something like that?'

'Oh, I'm sorry! And don't think I don't know how the newspapers can get
things twisted around!' He gave her a grin that was somehow like Marco's,
except that Marco never really did smile. 'But hello there, anyway, and I'll
make this short because my brother here looks jealous enough to shoot for real
now!'

'Oh!' Sara turned an alarmed look on Marco and saw that his face had
hardened into an impenetrable mask, for all that he seemed to have relaxed some
of his tension as he stared measuringly at Angelo, and from Angelo to her. And
then he shrugged, as if the note of rising fury in his voice had been
meaningless.

'Che importa? If Delight enjoys your conversation, please go right
ahead. Our horses need resting before we turn back in any case.'

'Hey - that's real big of you, brother! Isn't he the greatest, huh, kid?
And being a real Duke, no less. I used to boast to everyone back in New York
about my older brother being a Duke and all, but nobody'd believe me!

Ain't that something? Guess there are advantages to being born on the
right side of the blanket! But in case you

wondered about me — I'm the local colour, you might say. Tourists love
it - especially the women who are afraid I'll offer them a ride on my new
Honda. But would you be afraid? Ah - Marco knows he can trust me, don't you,
brother?'

This is becoming unbearable, Sara thought wildly. Such a lot of
 
hate and resentment and a tension that kept
building and building until even she felt it; between the two men who were as
alike and as different as she and Delight were. It seemed to quiver in the air
like the waves of heat from the hot, dry soil of this place that bred hard and
harsh men with quickly flaring, volatile tempers that could easily explode,
catching her in the middle!

In this instance she blamed Angelo, with his friendly smile and his
incongruous accent that never failed to shock her when she heard it. Why was he
doing this? And how had Marco contrived to keep his temper in check for all
this time?

'I hadn't noticed any tourists in this area myself. What would they come
to see? You're going to make Delight think this is one of the resort areas
she's trying to escape, isn't that right, cara?

And now he was doing it to her too. Making her the drawn battle line.
Not on her life! Suppressing a shudder at his grisly choice of words, Sara
squared her shoulders and divided her smile equally between them as she
prepared to give her best-ever Miz Scarlett performance. Even if Angelo did get
another dig in first.

'You hadn't noticed, brother? Ah — but I guess I keep forgetting that
you don't stick around these parts too often. Must seem dull when you could
have fun anywhere in the world - meet all kinds of people, like this lovely
young lady

here...'

'Now, now boys!' Was that really her voice, dripping with honey and
magnolias? 'You know, I get the feeling that you two aren't getting along! And
I think that's terrible, for brothers. Why, my sister and I have never had a
cross word for as long as we've known each other, and we're half sisters too.
Can't we all cool off? I mean, it's really getting too hot for anything else,
isn't it?' She shone the full brilliance of her smile on Marco's glowering face
for an instant. 'Come on, darling, can't we go back now? I'd practically die
for something long and cool!' And then to Angelo, who was watching her with
speculation in his eyes, she said teasingly: 'And as for you, Mr Local Colour,
no, neither bikes or bikers have ever scared me- or aren't you keeping up with
the right gossip columns? Sure, I'd love to take a ride with you some time, if
you'll be sure and ask me again! Maybe in a couple of days — or whenever you're
not too busy to be bothered with entertaining me . . .' She turned to Marco.
'Would that be okay, darling?' Avoiding those glittering black eyes that seemed
to try and burn into her flesh Sara turned back again to the ebullient Angelo,
who had started to watch them narrowly for all of his beamingly genial smile.
'You see? Marco doesn't believe in jealousy, he's too sensible. And besides,
he's really awfully sure of me - aren't you, caro?

Just for a moment her last teasing endearment seemed to hang in the air
while Sara's mind kept telling her that if nothing happened right now it
wouldn't happen at all, please God.

Afterwards, Sara remembered hardly anything about their almost
recklessly swift journey back, except that her knees had stayed treacherously
weak for a long time and the sweat kept pouring off her body until her shirt
was soaked right through. Marco had been ominously silent since his last curtly
uttered words had finally broken through the tension, cutting them loose.

'And now that you have gained your introduction and your answer, I think
it's time for us to go back. You'll excuse us?'

'Sure, sure! Didn't mean to hold you up! Well, as we say around here -
arrivederci! I'll be seeing you, Miss Adams!'

It was really Angelo's jaunty farewell that kept ringing in Sara's ears
as Fiametta carried her down the tortuous path with a swift, sure-footed gait
that told of her impatience to regain the comparative coolness of the stables.

They reached the clearing with the stone guardhouse and this time Marco
didn't dismount. He had already begun to unbuckle his gunbelt some moments
before and now he merely tossed it at one of the impassive guards before he
rode on, with Sara following in his wake as usual. They'd been riding for what
seemed like a very long time, and he hadn't spoken a word to her, not one! Sara
began to think resentfully that at least he might appear grateful. After all,
she'd extricated him from what might have turned out to be a really ugly
situation. The scandal would have been terrible if he'd shot his half brother,
with the newspapers and dredging up the whole, old story. And suppose Angelo,
who was certainly no angel, in spite of his name, had been carrying a concealed
weapon himself? And if he had been and had provoked Marco into reaching for his
gun so that he could claim self-defence, then . . . Sara's logical, practical
mind that she had always been proud of gave her a perfectly logical, perfectly
obvious answer that she recoiled from.

If it had happened'that way, then Angelo would call her as his witness.
And in spite of his joking comment about being born on the wrong side of the
blanket, hadn't Serafina said that . . . well, of course! There was no divorce
in Italy, especially not theny when all this had taken place. And if one looked
at it from a purely legal standpoint, then Angelo, no mutter who had actually
fathered him, was still legally the second son of the former Duca di Cavalieri,
and legal heir to the
 
title and the
palazzo with all its spreading acres of land — should something happen to
Marco!

Sara bit her lip, wondering why she was letting herself get upset about
any of it. Marco had already proved what a strong and utterly ruthless man he
was; and she was certain he was already aware of everything that had just
entered her mind. He was perfectly capable of taking care of himself— infact,
it was poor Angelo she should worry about. In spite of the innate danger she'd
sensed in him, and in spite of his smiling, jaunty manner, she had seemed to
sense a loneliness in him also that made her feel sorry for him. He was alone.
An exile from the country of his adoption and an outlaw of sorts in the country
of his birth. A man with no place of his own, born between two worlds and
really belonging to neither. Yes, it was Angelo she should sympathise with,
Sara reminded herself as Fiametta, who was tiring but still gallantly trying,
trotted her across the polo field. Clever, agile, helpful Angelo who had
offered her freedom with a flourish, and had, she knew, definitely received the
message her light, significantly worded little speech had given him. He knew
she wanted to see him, and she knew that one night he would come to talk
logistics and business. Brushing her hair back from her face, Sara felt the
coldness of the tiny diamonds in her ears. For her ear-rings and an
introduction to her mother, she was sure Angelo would be obliging — and a great
deal safer to travel with than his scowling half brother the Duke!

The great stallion and its rider had obviously reached the stables
several minutes before Sara did, and by then she was fuming. How blatantly rude
and unfeeling he could become at a moment's notice! Where before he had seemed
determined to watch her, now he seemed not in the least concerned whether she lost
her way or not! He was . . .

He was standing there with that same darkly glowering look she had begun
to know too well. Sara lost the thread of her thoughts as she tried to pretend
he wasn't there; but then he made it difficult for her by snapping an order at
one of the grooms who had run forward to help her dismount and now grabbed at
the reins she had dropped instead. It was II Duca himself who ignored her
grudgingly outheld hand and reached up to grasp her around the waist, his hands
strong and hurtful as he lifted her roughly out of the saddle, deliberately
letting her stiffly held body slide along the length of his as he lowered her
to the ground.

'And you were the one who preached about discretion!'' Sara hissed at
him with her eyes shooting angry sparks. 'Let go of me! They're all watching!'

'And you were the one, giocattolo mio, who first threw discretion to the
winds when you came to visit Bluebeard's chamber!'

'Don't call me your little toy - I'm not!' She tried to wriggle away
from the pressure of his hands that continued to hold her with almost
contemptuous ease - only stopping to make herself stiffly unyielding when she
realised that it would have seemed to any onlookers that she was wantonly
rubbing herself up against him.

' Aren't you, Diletta mia? Whose little toy would you like to be?'

' Please don't torment me! It certainly wasn't my fault that we ran into
Angelo!'

She could see nothing beyond the reflection of the slanting sunlight in
his eyes, but she could sigh raggedly when she felt the terrible pressure of
his hands relax.

' No - it certainly wasn't your fault, was it?' he said almost equably.
And then, 'Come, we'll walk together to the house,' offering no alternative but
to walk with him.

Chapter 32

Shouldn't she have guessed, even before they had reached shade and
coolness, where he would take her? Sara caught a glimpse of herself in one of
the mirrors he hurried her past, and she looked like another, different woman
with her wind-tangled hair and sun-flushed face and her sweat-drenched silk
shirt clinging to every contour of her breasts. She looked . . . she looked . .
.