The Man Behind the Mask (6 page)

A little crease appeared in the coffee-coloured skin between Ricardo's dark brows. ‘You have to understand something about Eduardo De Souza. He is a man who—' He glanced briefly upwards, as if searching for the right words and how to say them in a language that was not his native one. ‘A man who does not welcome
people looking into his private life. If he chooses not to explain something…then he has his reasons. I ask that you respect those reasons even if you do not know what they are.'

‘And I
do
respect them! I see that he doesn't want his privacy invaded, and God knows I under stand that, but I ask you—what's wrong with expressing concern if you see that someone is in pain or…or difficulty?'

‘You have a kind heart, and that is certainly not a crime, Marianne. You will just have to take things one day at a time and eventually…gradually…Eduardo will see that you are a genuine person and do not want to make trouble for him.'

Now Ricardo was smiling, and although Marianne was initially reassured, her stomach still clenched uncomfortably at the thought of facing her employer again and possibly seeing suspicion and mistrust in his eyes.

 

‘I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long. I've brought you some biscuits too.'

In the sitting room, with the fire cosily crackling, she laid the round patterned tray in front of Eduardo on the coffee table, waiting until he'd folded the broadsheet news pa per he'd been reading and laid it next to him on the sofa. He tunnelled his fingers through his hair, then rubbed a hand round his jaw. It was studded with five o'clock shadow and made him look slightly disreputable, Marianne noticed. The sleeves of his cable-knit sweater were rolled halfway up his muscled
forearms, and she saw the fine dark blond hairs that dusted his skin.

‘You haven't kept me waiting,' he said gruffly, helping himself to coffee and a digestive biscuit at the same time. ‘How are you getting on?' he added, before taking a sip of the aromatic brew in his cup.

‘Getting on?' Unprepared, Marianne's nervous glance collided into his, and her stomach jolted so violently at the sight of those searching blue eyes with their straight dark lashes that she could barely think straight for a moment.

‘The work is not too hard for you?' Eduardo elucidated.

‘Not at all. I'm enjoying it, in fact. This house is a joy! Every room I go into is a revelation.'

‘An
adventure
?' His serious, well-shaped lips formed the wryest of smiles and Marianne sensed hot embarrassed colour rush into her face.

‘I suppose you think that's childish?'

‘You think someone like me is incapable of understanding the appeal of adventure? When I was your age I would have equalled your desire for the unexpected…the turn in the road that might yield the happy unknown. Unfortunately, some times life yields the not so pleasant unexpected adventure too, and it can dampen one's youthful hopefulness…even destroy it for ever. Why don't you sit down for a moment and take a break?'

Pondering his surprisingly revealing comments, Marianne felt her body tense un com fort ably. ‘I'm sorry if some bad things happened to taint your optimism. I
know what that feels like. But ultimately—despite the things that go wrong and hurt us—we have to go on and try to make the best of our lives, don't you think?'

‘What if you are to blame for causing hurt to someone else?' Eduardo immediately came back at her, looking as if he genuinely wanted her answer.

‘Then there is always for give ness… Not just from the person you hurt but more importantly to
yourself
.'

‘Have you forgiven your father for being a drunk and not taking proper care of you?'

Hearing the bitter edge to his words, Marianne frowned, wondering if he had hurt someone who
hadn't
forgiven him, and was still living with too much guilt and regret over whatever had happened. ‘In my heart I honestly try to,' she replied care fully. ‘I pity him, if you want to know. Alcoholism is a disease, and when it gets a hold it's very hard to recover from it. He turned to drink in the first place because of the pressure on him to be a success—something our culture perpetually promotes. When we can't live up to it we call our selves failures. We don't need outside forces to punish us when we can do it quite beautifully on our own…my dad being a case in point.'

‘Are you going to sit down for a while?'

Still pondering their revealing exchange, and perhaps a little wary that she had said too much, she quickly declined. ‘I won't, if you don't mind. I need to go and prepare dinner. Ricardo has a pair of wild ducks a local farmer gave him. I thought I'd make a nice orange sauce
to go with them, and serve it with French beans and mashed potato.'

‘A culinary delight to be anticipated with much pleasure, I am sure.'

‘Are you suggesting that it's not refined enough for your taste?'

‘I was not being droll, Marianne. You forget I have already sampled your cooking and know that you are quite expert. I only meant what I said as a compliment.'

‘Oh.' She had been un consciously twirling a long strand of her hair round and round her finger, feeling increasingly on edge at not knowing what to expect from this man from one moment to the next. At the reassurance in his words she released the soft tendril she'd been toying with and at tempted a smile. To the side of her, in its impressive marble surround, the fire hissed invitingly, and if Eduardo's company had been
less
likely to put her on her guard Marianne would gladly have accepted his invitation to sit down and take a break. But, perversely, she was also looking forward to cooking her first real dinner in this lovely old house, and putting her worries and concerns aside for a while.

‘Well, I'd better carry on, then. Dinner will be ready around seven. Is that all right with you?'

‘That is fine. We need to talk about your remuneration. We have not discussed it yet. Perhaps after dinner you would see me in my study?'

‘Okay.'

It was as if the door of informality Eduardo had opened earlier when he had cordially invited her to join
him had been shut firmly in her face. In its place formality suddenly reigned, and as she walked back down the long echoing corridor towards the grand stair case that led down stairs Marianne silently admitted that she didn't like it. She didn't like it one bit…

E
DUARDO
had wanted to mention the fact that he regretted his earlier outburst when they had been walking together in the grounds. But then he'd considered that if he set a precedent he could well be apologising to Marianne the entire time she worked for him. Better that she quickly learned how to adapt to his mood swings and cope with them as best she could. But perversely it also
irked
him that she hadn't accepted his invitation to sit a while and talk.

With the excellent dinner she had cooked behind them, Eduardo now faced her across the polished expanse of the impressively large desk in his study.
Was he deliberately putting up barriers between them?
It would not surprise him. Not when he sensed himself becoming more and more captivated by her and apprehensive of where that might leave him.

‘This is the figure I had in mind,' he said out loud, pushing the piece of paper he had scribbled on towards her.

Peering at what he had written, Marianne leaned back silently in her chair.

‘Well?' Impatiently Eduardo tapped his pen on the blotter.

‘It's too much.'

‘We are not going down
that
route again, are we?'

‘I'm not being deliberately difficult, Mr De Souza—'

‘Eduardo.'

She flushed a little. ‘Is it right that I call you Eduardo when I'm an employee of yours…not a friend? It wouldn't seem right. Anyway…what I meant was what you're offering seems far too generous. Especially when you consider that I'm living in, and all my meals are included as well.'

Looping some soft strands of dark honey hair round her small ear, Marianne lifted her chin. All of a sudden Eduardo's entire attention was commanded by her mouth…her pretty, sweetly shaped lips in which he'd just detected an intriguing tremble. Erotic heat poured violently through his blood stream, and never had he known such instantaneous torrid desire grip him with quite such commanding force before. It took him a moment to collect himself enough to speak.

‘There are not many employees, I am sure, who would protest about being paid too generously,' he commented dryly. ‘You are certainly one of a kind, Marianne.'

‘That may be so. But, like I told you before, I'm not a charity case. You should pay me the rate you would normally pay someone taking up this position.'

‘How do you know that this is
not
the rate I would normally pay?'

‘I don't. But I think it's in your nature to be kind…to help those you see as less fortunate. All I ask is that you pay me the true rate the post commands. That will be more than good enough.'

She believed it was in his nature to be kind.
The idea almost froze Eduardo in his seat. After all that had happened, kind was the
last
word he would have used to describe his nature. Peevishly, and to prove her wrong, he snatched the paper towards him and wrote down a different figure—deducting at least five per cent from the usual house keeper salary Marianne had suggested he pay her. He pushed it back to her and got up from his seat.

Examining what he had written, he heard her softly murmur, ‘Thank you.'

Watching her stand, he let his gaze hungrily scan her slender upright figure, noticing that the neck of the too large cream sweater had slid tantalisingly down over a pale smooth shoulder…a perfectly
edible
and bewitchingly feminine shoulder. Eduardo stared, his heart thudding. Not only did he feel aroused, but his body
and
mind were suddenly consumed with one passionate, compelling idea—a need and a desire he seemed to have no control over. And he was quite aware that made him vulnerable in an area where he had actively sought to protect himself—
feelings and emotions.

Marianne started to walk towards the door. ‘Ricardo is going out to the woodshed to get some kindling for the morning. I need a breath of air, and I said I'd go and help him. Excuse me.'

‘Marianne?'

‘Yes?' She stopped and turned.

‘You are getting on well with Ricardo, I take it?'

‘Yes, I am.'

‘You like him?'

‘What's not to like? He's a very pleasant young man, and easy to get along with.'

‘You talk as though you were twenty years older than him, instead of there being just a year's difference in age between you!'

She frowned and folded her arms, looking uncomfortable. ‘I expect I come across as older in the way I speak some times, because I'm used to taking charge of things. Habit, I suppose…'

‘Did he inform you that he is going to be away for a few days from tomorrow? He is due some time off, and is meeting up with friends in London who have travelled over from Brazil.'

‘He did mention it…yes.'

‘And you are not uneasy at the idea of being alone with me in the house while he is gone?'

Her eyes fixed candidly and unwaveringly on Eduardo's face. ‘Why should I be? You're my employer as well as—as well as a friend…I feel perfectly safe with you'

‘I am gratified that you admit to owning me as a friend at last, when earlier you seemed to discount that and refer to me only as your employer!'

‘We were starting to become friends before you of
fered to help me out with a job and a home…weren't we?' She visibly flushed as she said this.

‘Well…' His desire seeming in conveniently and almost
pain fully
to increase, Eduardo affected a dismissive shrug. ‘You had better go and find Ricardo, then, and get on with what you were doing.'

‘Do you need anything before I go?' Marianne asked innocently.

Eduardo almost prayed out loud to the Mother of Guadeloupe for strength at the vivid pictures that came into his mind following such a question, and his voice was gruffer than he meant it to be when he answered. ‘No. I do not need anything at all. If I do…Ricardo can attend to it when he returns.'

‘Okay.'

Stepping outside into the corridor, Marianne closed the door quietly behind her…

 

Having prided herself on surviving without too much mishap, providing meals and beverages through out the day for Eduardo and herself after Ricardo had left for London, as well as attending to the rest of the housework, Marianne fixed her sights on a long hot bath and then relaxing with a good book.
But she wasn't entirely at her ease.

Two things had unsettled her. Firstly, the realisation that for someone who seemed so interested in a photographic exhibition that he would visit it more than once Eduardo didn't seem to have any personal photographs of his own. There were certainly none on display in
the house, and that struck her as rather odd. Maybe for some reason Eduardo was trying to
lose
his past? she speculated. Or at least leave it behind? Secondly, earlier on that afternoon he had had a visit from his physiotherapist. The man had seemed pleasant enough, but after he had gone Marianne had knocked on the sitting room door to offer Eduardo a cup of tea, and the strain on his face and the faint beads of sweat standing out on his forehead had shocked her. She hadn't had to ask if he was in pain. The evidence had been staring her right in the face.

As she had been about to leave him to go and make the tea, she hadn't been able to help turning back and saying crossly, ‘I thought a therapist was meant to
ease
pain…not cause it!'

‘What do you suggest I do?' Eduardo mocked bitterly, lifting his injured leg onto the couch and barely suppressing a groan. ‘Fire him?'

‘I'm sorry,' she murmured, hurrying forward to help him, then felt redundant when she saw that he had already settled himself quite satisfactorily, without any aid from her. ‘I don't mean to interfere.'

‘You have appointed yourself my personal guardian angel I see,' he commented, and before Marianne knew what was happening he had captured her hand, held it, then stroked her knuckles with the slightly roughened pad of his thumb.

The sensual heat that ricocheted through her was like a ruthless thief, stealing every scrap of moisture from her mouth and making her heart hammer. Inside
her cotton bra, her nipples stiffened hotly and pain fully. Never before had she experienced such a torrid reaction to a man's touch. Her bones had turned fluid as a river, and it was hard to see how she remained standing she was so shaken.

Before she could come to her senses Eduardo released her hand to fix a cushion more securely behind his back. Then he smiled at her…
really
smiled…and it was like being miraculously treated to a stunning glimpse of the
real
man behind the aloof, pain-filled mask that he normally wore. Her reason bound and gagged for debilitating seconds, Marianne experienced an almost un controllable urge to touch the skin round his jaw. She instinctively knew it would be like rough velvet. She wanted to smooth back the tantalising lock of dark wheat hair that had strayed boyishly onto his brow. So stunned was she by the power of that desire, she had to bite her lip and clench her hands to stop her from following its forceful command.

‘I think that cup of tea would be most welcome now,' Eduardo remarked, with just a hint of an amused curl of his lip, as though he was quite aware of the effect he had had on her and—shockingly—did not regret it in the least.

Once she had reached on the other side of the closed sitting room door, Marianne had gratefully breathed again with more ease, leaning back against the oak panelling to compose herself. But it had been quite a few moments before she had been able to move freely again. Eduardo's electrifying touch had all but set her on
fire, and had been an utter revelation. Closing her eyes, she'd put her hand up to her throat and dreamily relived it again. At last, willing herself to move, she had dazedly made her way back down stairs to the kitchen.

 

In the early hours of the morning, with the long shadows from the stately trees reflected into the room by the moon light and the ticking of the bedside clock for company, Marianne was wide awake, and about as far from sleep as it was possible to be. With a resigned sigh she switched on the pretty fringed lamp on the cabinet next to her. Punching her feather pillow a couple of times to re in state its plump ness, she arranged it more com fort ably behind her back, then reached for her book. But her gaze couldn't help straying towards her guitar, still in the same position against the wall where Ricardo had left it for her.

It seemed like eons since she had played.
Who would she disturb if she strummed a few gentle chords? Ricardo was away, and Eduardo's rooms were on the floor above Marianne's. Swinging her legs out of bed, her book discarded, quiet excitement gripped her at the idea of making music again. Perhaps if the snow started to disperse she could visit the folk club and get to do some singing?

Just as she was reaching towards the instrument a loud thud—much too loud to ignore in the haunting quiet of the house—sounded clearly from the floor above.

Turning rigid with fright, Marianne could swear she heard her own heart beat echo round the room. Then,
with all thoughts of three a.m. ghosts or departed spirits determinedly quashed, another far more frightening thought galvanised her into action. Hurrying back to the bed, she grabbed up her dressing gown, quickly pulled it on over her nightdress, then slid her feet into her slippers. Stepping outside into the dimly lit corridor outside her room, shivering now not at any
sound
but at the almost uncanny silence that enveloped her, she didn't linger. Moving like a will-o'-the-wisp to reach the imposing stair case, and with her heart in her mouth, she urgently ascended the carpeted steps to the upper floor.

Hesitating for the scantest second, Marianne rapped loudly on the door to Eduardo's rooms.

‘You may as well come in!' he answered, his voice definitely disgruntled.

Bracing herself, she entered. The fire that must have been blazing brightly in the marble fire place earlier on that evening had died to flickering orange embers, but even though all the lamps were turned off the heavy drapes had been left undrawn. Illuminating moon light helped Marianne locate Eduardo almost instantly. Sitting upright on a sofa, he was nursing what looked like a cut hand. Immediately she saw the cause. A broken lamp lay drunkenly on the heavy oak coffee table in front of him, and shards of glass from the bulb were every where. The moon light made them glitter like tinsel.

‘You've hurt your hand! Let me see.'

Not bothering with a greeting, Marianne flew across the room to his side, gently taking his bloodied hand in
her own. Withdrawing a clean folded handkerchief from her dressing gown pocket, she examined the perfectly neat long cut that was oozing blood for any evidence of glass, then care fully wrapped his hand in the white linen square. Hearing his ragged breath, easily sensing the tension in his body, she felt her stomach grip tight with concern. She glanced up enquiringly into his eyes. Eduardo stared back at her with a burning gaze hot enough to melt steel. It seared her soul with its almost
uncanny
power, the reddened rims round his eyes and raw pain that she witnessed there almost making her gasp.
He resembled a man who had not either slept nor seen daylight for weeks and had all but reached the end of his endurance.
Fear and concern flooded her insides.

‘I am sorry if I woke you,' Eduardo murmured, scraping his hand with frustration though dark wheat hair that had already received plenty of similar rough treatment, she saw. ‘I did not realise that you would have heard my stupid accident with the lamp. I got up too suddenly and my leg did not support me for a moment. I fell towards the table—my aim to sweep the lamp out of the way as I went down. Instead I landed on it, and—well…' His smile was both rueful and despairing. ‘You can see the result.'

‘The wound looks clean to me, and will probably heal in next to no time. Why don't you put your feet up on the couch, and I'll go and get a dustpan to clear up the broken glass?'