Captive in His Castle (10 page)

‘I suppose you think I should only read highbrow novels by classical authors such as…’ She frantically searched her mind for an author she had heard of whom he would deem suitable. ‘Dickens.’ It was the only name she could come up with. ‘Actually, I bought that magazine because it mainly has photos of celebrities’ houses, and I’m interested in interior design. I can’t read it because I don’t understand Italian. But don’t think that I read literary stuff at home, because I don’t. Unlike you, I wasn’t born into a wealthy family and I don’t have the advantage of a good education.’

Jess could not hide the tremor in her voice. Drago
was highly intelligent and had an extensive knowledge of many subjects. She felt embarrassed by her lack of education, and he clearly thought she was a brainless bimbo. ‘At least I’m not a snob, who criticises other people for their tastes,’ she finished hotly.

Drago raked a hand through his hair. ‘I wasn’t trying to insult you.
Dio
, you are such a firebrand.’

His exasperation faded and he felt an unexpected tug of tenderness when he saw the glimmer of tears in her eyes. He was unwilling to explain that the photograph of a beautiful socialite on the front cover of the magazine was an unwelcome reminder of his past. Nor could he explain to Jess that watching the little boy in the café had evoked an ache in his gut. Some things were best left buried. He had never before felt inclined to talk about his past to any of his lovers, and there was no reason why he should do so with Jess, he told himself.

He gave a frustrated sigh when he saw Fico’s burly figure heading towards them across the square. What he wanted to do was take Jess back to the
palazzo
and make love to her but, as always, duty to his family prevailed. He was concerned about his cousin, and had promised his aunt that he would speak to the consultant and find out whether Angelo’s headaches were an indication of something more serious.

W
HERE WAS DRAGO
?
Jess glanced at the clock for the hundredth time, and her tension escalated when she saw that it was ten to eight. Any minute now the party guests would begin to arrive, expecting to be greeted by their host. Instead they would be met by a hostess whose social skills were sadly inadequate, she thought, feeling another stab of nervousness at the prospect of the evening ahead. Fortunately Drago’s butler Francesco was his usual unflappable self, and had informed her that the household staff had completed all the preparations for the party.

Leaving her bedroom, which she had never actually slept in during her stay at the
palazzo
but used as a dressing room, she walked back to the master suite and felt weak with relief when Drago strolled into the sitting room from his bedroom.

‘There you are!’ Her relief gave way to anger as she watched him calmly adjust his cufflinks as if he had all the time in the world. ‘Where have you been? I’ve been worried sick.’

His brows lifted. ‘Why,
cara
, I didn’t know you cared,’ he drawled.

‘I meant I was worried you wouldn’t get back in time.’ She fell silent, puzzled by his attitude, and by
the strange feeling that he was avoiding her gaze. ‘Were you delayed at the hospital? How is Angelo?’

‘He’s fine.’ Perhaps realising that he had sounded curt, Drago finally looked at her. ‘We’ll talk about him later,’ he said obliquely.

He smiled suddenly, and Jess felt a familiar knee-jerk reaction as he roamed his eyes over her.

His voice softened. ‘You look amazing,
mia bella
. The dress is perfect for you.’

She flushed, feeling stupidly shy. ‘It’s a beautiful dress. I’ve never worn anything like it before.’

The full-length royal blue satin gown that Jess had discovered in her room when she had gone to change for the party was exquisite; the deceptively simple design flattered her slender figure and the crystal studded shoulder straps and narrow belt gave the dress extra glamour. One of the maids had helped her with her hair, and had swept it up into a sleek chignon. Three-inch sliver stiletto sandals gave her additional height, and when Jess had studied her reflection in the mirror she had been shocked to see herself looking so elegant.

‘Is the dress from the Cassa di Cassari range of clothes?’

‘No. I asked the designer Torre Umberto to make it especially for you. This will be a perfect accessory for the dress.’

As he walked towards her Drago took something from his pocket. Jess gasped when he held it up and she saw that it was a strand of glittering diamonds interspersed with square-cut sapphires.

‘I don’t think I should wear it. Supposing I lose it?’ she said nervously. A little shiver ran through her when she felt his warm breath on the back of her neck as he fastened the necklace around her throat.

‘Of course you won’t lose it.’ He turned her towards the mirror and she caught her breath at the sight of the diamonds sparkling with fiery brilliance against her skin.

‘I feel like I’ve stepped into the pages of a fairy tale,’ she whispered, staring at the reflection of the beautiful woman whom she hardly recognised as herself, and the dark, dangerously attractive man standing behind her. She gave another shiver when Drago bent his head and trailed his lips down the length of her slender white neck. In the mirror she watched his eyes glitter with a look she knew so well, and his hunger for her made her insides melt.

He turned her to face him, but instead of kissing her, as she longed for him to do, he stepped away from her and ran a hand through his hair.

‘Jess…we need to talk.’

Puzzled that he seemed uncharacteristically ill at ease, she said quietly, ‘What about?’

He cursed at the sound of a knock on the door, and strode across the room to open it. After a brief conversation with the butler he glanced back at her, his frustration that they had been interrupted revealed in his taut voice. ‘Francesco says that some of the guests have arrived. We had better go down and greet them.’

Her foster-mother had had a habit of quoting proverbs, and one in particular—You
can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear—had
never seemed more appropriate, Jess brooded later in the evening. Thanks to the
haute couture
dress she was wearing she did not look out of place among the glamorous women party guests. But it had quickly become apparent that she did not fit into Drago’s rarefied world of the sophisticated super-rich.

Dinner had been a nightmare; she hadn’t known which cutlery to use for each course, and she’d managed to knock over a glass of wine belonging to the guest sitting next to her. One of the waiters had calmly mopped up the mess, but she’d felt everyone’s eyes on her and wanted to die of embarrassment.

The fact that she did not speak Italian had not proved a problem, as most of the guests spoke English, but while they’d discussed a range of subjects including politics, current affairs and the arts, Jess had struggled to find something to say. She knew nothing about opera, she had never skied in Aspen—or anywhere else for that matter—and enquiries about her chosen career were met with surprise followed by an awkward silence when she revealed that she ran a decorating company.

It would have been better if Drago had hosted the party on his own, she thought dismally. And from the way he had avoided her all evening it seemed he thought so too. While cocktails had been served he had mingled with his guests and hardly spoken a word to her. Now, during dinner, although he was sitting opposite her, he focused his attention on the two beautiful women seated on either side of him and paid her scant attention. As coffee and
petit-fours
were served he lapsed into a brooding silence, and his grim expression deterred anyone from approaching him.

‘Of course I’m not surprised that our host looks so dour,’ the woman sitting next to Jess commented in an undertone.

‘What do you mean?’ She cast a sideways glance towards the elegant wife of Drago’s chief financial officer, who had introduced herself as Theresa Petronelli.

‘I imagine any man would find it hard to see pictures of his ex-fiancée, her husband and two children looking
the epitome of the perfect family on the front page of a top-selling magazine. It must be a kick in the teeth for Drago—and a painful reminder of what he lost.’

Shock ran though Jess. ‘Are you saying he was once engaged to be married?’

‘To the lovely Vittoria—who I have to say looks simply stunning in this week’s edition of
Vita
magazine,’ Theresa confirmed. ‘Drago was engaged to her years ago, and Vittoria’s parents’ organised a lavish wedding. Then out of the blue the relationship ended. There were rumours that Vittoria was rushed into hospital, but no one from the family would say what was wrong with her, or whether her illness had anything to do with the ending of their relationship. The paparazzi hounded Drago for his side of the story but he remained tight-lipped about what had happened.

‘I’ve often wondered if he was more upset by the split than he let on,’ Theresa confided. ‘Vittoria’s father is a count. She is very beautiful and gracious, and would have been the perfect wife for Drago, but a couple of years ago she married a Swiss banker and she has just given birth to their second child.’

It was
Vita
magazine that had fallen out of her bag earlier, Jess thought. She hadn’t understood why Drago had seemed in such a bad mood when he had flicked through the pages, but from what Theresa had said he had clearly been dismayed to see pictures of his exfiancée who was now happily married to someone else.

Presumably Vittoria was the woman he had once been in love with. Was he still in love with her? she wondered. For some strange reason the thought caused a sharp pain in her chest, as if she had been stabbed in the heart. Her eyes were drawn across the table to
him, and she stiffened when she discovered that he was watching her with a curious intensity.

He leaned forward suddenly, his dark gaze trapping hers. ‘Are you enjoying the party?’

Hurt by his indifference towards her all evening, she saw no reason why she should be tactful. ‘Not really. I feel out of my depth among all these posh people. The kind of party I’m used to is a barbecue in the rain, burnt sausages and my team of workmen having a competition to see how much beer they can drink. I don’t belong here.’ She looked away from him, cursing the silly tears that stung her eyes as she added silently,
with you
.

Drago frowned. ‘That’s not true. Of course you belong here. You are my guest.’

‘I’m your prisoner, suspected of something I have not done,’ Jess said fiercely, thankful that Theresa Petronelli was chatting to another guest and not listening to her conversation with Drago.

He gave her a sardonic look. ‘I’m sure that someone as resourceful as you could have left Italy if you had really wanted to. Which makes me think that perhaps you wanted to stay with me,’ he drawled.

‘Of course I wanted to leave,’ she snapped, outraged by his suggestion. ‘But thanks to you my passport is at the bottom of the canal.’

‘Thanks to me? I had nothing to do with your crazy climb down from a second-floor balcony—except to save you when you fell. You’re kidding yourself,
cara
. You stayed because you love the way I make you feel,’ he stated, in his deep, sexy voice that caressed her senses like crushed velvet.

She stared at him and felt her stomach dip. He looked incredibly handsome in a dinner suit and white silk shirt. The candles on the table cast a flickering light that
accentuated the hard angles and planes of his chiselled features, and his dark hair had fallen onto his brow. Jess longed to run her fingers through it.

She’d stayed because she had fallen in love with him
.

Jess swallowed as the shocking realisation hit her and quickly lowered her eyelashes, terrified that he might be able to read her thoughts. She cautiously examined the idea and gave a silent groan at her stupidity. Images flashed into her mind of walking hand in hand with him through the streets of Venice, of the candlelit dinners they’d had at Trattoria Marisa, where he was always able to relax after a hectic day at work and they’d talk about nothing in particular, in the way that lovers do. And underlying their easy companionship was the simmering sexual attraction which ignited the moment he took her in his arms and always culminated in him making love to her with hungry passion and an unexpected tenderness that somehow eased the loneliness inside her.

To her relief one of the guests stood up and proposed a toast to Cassa di Cassari’s chairman. This apparently signified the end of the party, and Jess took advantage of the bustle of people getting up from the table and preparing to leave to slip upstairs. Out of habit she went straight to Drago’s suite, but as she walked into his bedroom she stopped and stared at herself in the mirror. She looked lovely in the fairy-tale dress, but she didn’t look like the Jess Harper who ran a decorating business and was more used to wearing painting overalls. It was time to end the madness. She had thought she could have an affair with Drago without her emotions getting involved, but now that she had committed the ultimate folly of falling for him she had to end her relationship with him.

The headache that had started earlier had developed
into a thudding sensation in her skull and she felt nauseous again. Maybe she had picked up a virus and that was why she had felt sapped of energy for the last few days. Releasing her hair from the chignon lessened the pain in her head a little, and after running a brush through her hair she unfastened the diamond necklace, wondering where she should put it. It must be worth a fortune. She guessed Drago probably stored it in a safe, but for now she decided to slip it into his bedside drawer.

His passport was lying on top of some papers. She carefully placed the necklace in the drawer, her attention still on the passport—which, to her surprise, was an English one, not an Italian passport. Curiosity got the better of her. After a moment’s hesitation she opened it—and a bolt of shock ran though her. It was impossible! Her passport had been in the rucksack that was now at the bottom of the canal. Staring at the photo of herself, she felt utterly confused.

The click of the door being closed made her swing round. Clutching the passport, she said helplessly, ‘I don’t understand. Why is my passport in your drawer?’

‘I removed it from your bag when you first arrived at the
palazzo.’
Drago gave a laconic shrug. ‘It seemed the best way to ensure you stayed in Italy until I was ready for you to leave.’

‘But you know I’ve been worrying about how I can get a replacement.’ Jess’s temper ignited. ‘How dare you deceive me?’ She gave a bitter laugh. ‘But why am I surprised? I should be used to men lying to me. You’re just the same as Seb—devious and controlling…’ Her voice cracked as the realisation of Drago’s lack of trust in her sank in. How stupid she had been to believe that they had become friends as well as lovers while she had been in Venice. To her horror, she felt a tear slide
down her cheek. Angrily she dashed it away. Pride was all she had, and she lifted her chin and glared at him. ‘You have accused me unjustly and treated me unfairly. I know nothing about your cousin’s missing money—’

She broke off as Drago strode across the room towards her, his eyes blazing with an expression she could not define.

‘I
know,’
he said roughly. ‘Angelo has regained his memory and he remembers everything. That’s why I was delayed at the hospital.’

It was one shock too many. Jess sank down weakly onto the bed. ‘You mean he remembers what he did with his inheritance fund? Why didn’t you say something earlier instead of avoiding me at the party?’ she demanded, unable to hide the tremor in her voice.

Drago exhaled slowly. He prided himself on his good judgement, and was rarely wrong, but he had been very wrong about Jess and had no idea how he was going to make amends for the way he had jumped to conclusions about her.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said roughly. ‘I did not know what to say to you. I have so many things to apologise for that I don’t know where to begin. ‘Angelo invested his money in a gold mine,’ he continued after a moment. ‘It sounds crazy, I know,’ he said when he saw the startled look on Jess’s face. ‘Apparently while he was at college in London he met some people who told him about an investment opportunity at a mine on the west coast of Australia. The owners had proof that there was a lot of gold underground, and were looking for investors to put up funds to start mining it. Angelo was convinced that the investment was sound, and was assured that once the mine was running he would triple his investment, so he went ahead without first discussing it with me.