Moth to the Flame (6 page)

busy doing sums in your head?'

She made herself smile at him. 'Actually,
signore,
I was just

thinking I find your low opinion of women in general and myself in

particular rather distressing.' She strove for lightness of tone. 'I'm

wondering what I can do to redress the balance.'

His brows rose sardonically. 'So the little bird has decided to sing a

different tune. Bravo! And yet you are very charming when you're

angry,
cara,
or at least when you're pretending to be. No wonder

you've had such a devastating effect on my gullible brother. But that

little game's over now—or was when you decided to break the

rules, so let's not waste any more time.'

'I'm sorry,' Juliet shrugged, and felt the towelling robe slip away

from one shoulder. Her immediate instinct was to drag it back into

place and it took all the self-command of which she was capable to

leave the revealing folds of fabric where they were. She could feel

his eyes on her, frankly assessing, lingering over the exposed line of

her throat and the creamy skin of her bare shoulder, and she could

feel a tight knot of fear in her chest—fear and something perilously

approaching excitement. Her hands began to ball into fists at her

sides and she made herself relax. Jan, she thought wryly, would

never tie herself into a mass of tensions just because a man was

looking at her. Besides, she was supposed to be a successful model

who was used to being looked at. And to be fair to herself, she

wouldn't be fighting this strange sort of panic under normal

circumstances. Only these were not really normal circumstances, '

and this was not just any man.

She rallied herself defensively. 'But I don't quite understand you,

signore.
What game are you referring to and what rules am I

supposed to have broken?'

'Quite the guileless innocent, aren't you,
cara,
when it suits you to

be. The game is love, for want of a better word, and the rule is that

a woman like you does not expect the man to marry her.'

She had half expected what he was going to say, but the shock of

hearing it brutally spelled out was sickening. She felt as if a fist had

been driven into the pit of her stomach, and her breathing quickened

perceptibly.

His words did not apply to her—she knew that, and that should

have lessened their impact, yet that was impossible because they

applied to Jan instead. How dared he? she thought as hurt and

bewilderment fought with the anger inside her. How dared he say

such things—make such insinuations about Jan?

. Clearly he must know that she and Mario had been living together,

at least on a casual basis, and this was the reason for his

condemnation. That was the traditional viewpoint after all. The man

could be as wild as he chose, but the girl must be pure, jealously

guarding her virginity for her wedding day. And because Jan had

transgressed this unwritten law with her future husband, she was

regarded as an outcast. The colour rose faintly in her cheeks as she

realised that Santino had probably recognised the bathrobe that she

was wearing at that moment as Mario's and drawn his own

conclusions.

She remembered too Jan's bitter remarks about his hypocrisy. It was

the ultimate in male chauvinism, she thought angrily, to use women

for his own cynical pleasure and then despise the woman who had

been his partner in that pleasure. Besides, Jan and Mario loved each

other. Didn't that enter into the reckoning? She found her own

resolution hardening. She and Santino Vallone would play a whole

new game, and this time she would invent the rules.

She smiled at him, her long lashes brushing her cheeks. 'Your

argument should be with Mario,
signore.
After all, it was he who

proposed marriage to me, not the other way round.'

'But I only have your word for that,
cara,'
he said softly, with a

sting underlying every word.

She pretended to wince, laughing a little as she did so, controlling

her own rage and contempt. 'Ouch, you play dirty,
signore
, and

that's not in the rules either.'

'I write my own,' he said quite pleasantly, and she believed him.

Quite inconsequentially she found herself wondering how he would

react when he discovered the truth about her deception, but she

comforted herself with the reflection that by the time that happened

she would be safely back in England and Jan and Mario would have

to bear the brunt of his wrath together. Besides, she reasoned, Jan

could always say with perfect truth that she'd had no idea what her

sister had been up to in her absence.

'You seem nervous,' he observed.

'Is it any wonder?' She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue.

She had not intended it to be provocative— her lips were genuinely

dry—but she saw his slight reaction to it and her confidence grew.

'You—you disturb me.'

'I'm flattered,
cara
.' He sounded amused. 'And you, I need hardly

say, would disturb any red-blooded male.'

'Do you include yourself in that category?' she asked impudently.

'Need you ask?' He was drawling again.

She shrugged. 'I'm intrigued, that's all. I understood that it was

because blue blood flows exclusively in the veins of the Vallone

family that my candidature was unwelcome.'

She'd drawn a bow at a venture, but she knew she'd hit the target.

She sent him a demure glance and saw that he was laughing openly.

'Poor Mario,' he said. 'He never stood a chance, did he? And where

is he? Skulking in the bedroom perhaps, afraid to show himself?'

'Oh, no.' She was startled by the unexpectedness of the question and

came close to faltering. Naturally he would expect her to know

Mario's whereabouts, but could she manage to stall him on that as

well? 'I—I haven't seen him today.'

He was no longer laughing, his brows drawn together in a dark

frown.

'That is curious. I missed him at the office and was told that he was

meeting you here.'

'Well,' she shrugged, 'perhaps he changed his mind.' She walked

away and began to fiddle aimlessly with the roses. 'Perhaps he's

changed his mind about everything and you don't have to worry

anymore. Have you considered that,
signore?'

'I doubt it,' he said drily. 'For one thing, you don't find the prospect

nearly worrying enough,
cara.
No woman sees a potential

meal-ticket vanishing without making at least some effort to recover

it. If you had any fears of Mario's deserting you, then you'd have

come to terms with me long ago.'

She pretended to yawn. 'Well, the meal-ticket is elsewhere just

now,
signore.
Which is a pity really, because it's past time for

dinner, and I'm starving—so if you'd excuse me ...'

He consulted his watch. It was platinum, she noticed, and so were

the elegant links in the cuffs of his silk shirt.

'Go and pretty yourself,
cara,'
he said almost brusquely. 'I'll take

you to dinner.'

Juliet was frankly taken aback. She hadn't intended him to react like

that. The strain of this play-acting was beginning to tell on her, and

she had hoped he would take the hint and leave.

'But you don't want to dine with me,' she said uncertainly. It was

Juliet's peaking now, all the assumed bravado dropping from her

like a cloak.

'I didn't, it's true, but I find it an idea that gains in appeal with each

minute that passes.' His lips curled in apparent self-derision. 'Hurry

and dress,
bella mia
, while I phone and book a table for us.'

She was about to protest again, but she hesitated. He was going to

find it acutely suspicious, if, having led him on as she had to admit

she had been doing, she now displayed a genuine reluctance to be

in his company.

She groaned inwardly. She was hungry all right. She'd made do

with a simple lunch of fruit, but the thought of another couple of

hours in his company, this time in the. secluded intimacy of a

restaurant, was calculated to destroy her appetite. Jan would have

carried the whole thing off without a tremor—she'd wanted after all

to beard the lion in his den, but she—all she wanted was some

peace. She had no real confidence that she would be able to

continue with her self-imposed charade over the next few days. If

she had to, she would leave the flat and trust to luck that she would

find a cheap hotel somewhere, and that Santino Vallone wasn't

having her watched, a course of action she was certain would not

be beyond him.

She gave him a cautious glance beneath her lashes. That terrifying

anger she had glimpsed seemed to have subsided for the moment,

but she sensed that it was still there just beneath the surface and she

had no wish to unleash it again.

She managed a breathless little laugh. 'Well, thank you,
signore.

But I wonder what the gossip columnists will make of you dining

tête-à-tête
with your future sister-in-law?'

He had the telephone receiver in his hand and was in the act of

dialling, but he turned slightly and looked at her over his shoulder.

'I imagine they'll draw the appropriate conclusions,' he said softly.

'And allow me to remind you yet again, Janina
mia,
that you have

no future as my sister-in-law.'

He turned his attention back to his telephone call and Juliet fled.

Once in the bedroom, she gave a swift glance along the brief line of

clothes hanging in her section of the wardrobes, and shook her

head. They were all strictly Juliet dresses, and none of them

appropriate for the role she was playing. She gave a longing glance

at one new dress she had brought for this holiday—white with

bands of delicate Swiss embroidery, cut in an Empire style which

showed off her slenderness and gave her an air of fragility.

But for an evening in a smart Rome restaurant with Santino

Vallone, fragility was the last effect she wanted to achieve. She

pushed the sliding door along and stared at the racks of clothes

belonging to Jan. There was bound to be something here that she

could use. She wondered where Santino was taking her, and hoped

fervently that it would not be a restaurant where Jan was known.

She couldn't hope to keep the deception going with someone who

would recognise Jan on sight, although she supposed there was

enough of a superficial resemblance to pass at a distance; They

were about the same height and build and their colouring was

similar, and she supposed this was why Santino Vallone had not

questioned her identity. He had expected to meet a red-haired

English girl at the apartment, and his expectations had been

fulfilled, although not quite in the way he thought.

She seized a dress at random and held it against herself, looking at

her reflection in the full-length mirror. It was black and

ankle-length, the skirt of a silky crepe, and the long-sleeved bodice

in exquisite black lace. It was far more
décolleté
than anything she

had ever worn, but she just had to hope it would give her the air of

sophistication that she needed.

Her hair was another problem. Although it was almost dry again, it

would not be appropriate to tie it back in her usual simple style, and

she supposed the most sensible thing to do would be to twist it into

a smooth knot at the nape of her neck. Nor could she hope to

imitate Jan's expertise with cosmetics, just make sparing use of

eyeshadow to accentuate the green in her eyes, and relieve some of

the pallor in her cheeks with blusher. She was not dissatisfied with

the result when she had finished, and her hairstyle was very

becoming, she thought, showing off her small ears and the delicate

line of her jaw. No matter how tremulous she might feel, outwardly

she looked poised and in control of the situation, and that was as

much as she could hope for. She gave herself one last look and

turned to reach for her dress which she had left lying across the

bed.

From the doorway, Santino said coolly, 'Charming. My respect for

Mario's judgment, if not for his common sense, increases by leaps

and bounds.'

Juliet couldn't suppress the startled cry that rose to her lips. All she

was aware of were his eyes appraising her, as she stood there