Dark Ransom (14 page)

certainly hadn't shown any eagerness to believe her.

Her heart sank when Riago gave orders for coffee to be served in the

sala de estar,
making it clear at the same time that he expected

Charlie to be there to pour it, a formality he'd never insisted on

before. But then, they'd never had a guest before.

Charlie, who'd hoped to slip off to her room, leaving both men in

the dining-room, cursed under her breath.

When she got to the sitting-room she found that Rosita had already

brought in the tray. The pot was old-fashioned and cumbersome,

and she found it difficult to lift without burning herself as she filled

the cups.

Philip followed her into the room and stood watching. 'Nice gear,'

he remarked. 'Silver—and a couple of hundred years old, by the

look of it.'

'I wouldn't know,' Charlie said shortly. She was beginning to find

his preoccupation with money obsessive. She handed him his cup.

'When are you going to tell Riago who you are?'

'I'm not,' he said. 'I'm not going to claim someone's name on the

strength of a photograph I haven't even seen, and the say-so of a

woman I've only just met. Supposing you've made a mistake?'

'I'm sure I haven't,' Charlie said roundly. 'For one thing, your aunt

actually mentioned Laragosa when she was telling me about you.

And, although they say everyone has a double, I don't believe yours

would turn up in the same region of Amazonia.' She paused. 'I don't

understand this. I thought you'd be pleased that I'd recognised you.

That you'd be reassured to find out who you are.'

'It's a label, that's all,' he said dismissively. 'And until I know to my

own satisfaction that it's the correct label I'd be glad if you said

nothing to anyone—especially your autocratic fiance.' He gave a

slight shrug. 'Besides, with a mind that's a complete blank, I find it

hard to be pleased about anything,' he added sullenly.

He began to wander round the room, stopping occasionally to pick

up a carved wooden figure or pottery bowl, and staring at the few

pictures on the walls, most of which were portraits of men dressed

in the clothes of bygone eras.

'Presumably those are some of the da Santana ancestors, all busily

engaged in robbing the Indians, and grinding the faces of the poor

generally,' he commented. 'They've done well for themselves out of

it.'

She said quietly, 'Perhaps that's why Riago is trying to give

something back by providing the
caboclos
with their own

processing plant, and then finding markets for their latex.'

'Let's hear it for the great philanthropist,' Philip jeered. 'I didn't know

you were one of his fans—in fact, I got quite the opposite view, but

I suppose, now the wedding-day's actually been fixed, you're going

to lie back and enjoy it.'

'On the contrary,' she said. 'I still haven't the slightest intention of

going through with the marriage. But I can still appreciate what

Riago's trying to do here, and the respect the local people feel for

him.'

Philip turned, and she had the oddest impression that he was going

to say something but had stopped himself at the last minute.

It's as if he knows more about Riago and the da Santana family than

he's letting on, she thought. But how can that be possible if he's lost

his memory? If...

She knew nothing about amnesia cases, or how easy one would be

to fake, but she was beginning to suspect that that was exactly what

Philip Hughes was doing. Her affection for his late aunt had

prompted her to give him the benefit of the doubt at first, but every

moment she spent in his company was increasing her distaste, and

making her more and more dubious about him.

This could be why he'd reacted negatively to the idea of medical

treatment, she realised with a shock. Because a doctor wouldn't be

so easy to fool as they'd been.

If he's faking, she thought uneasily, it must be because he has

something to hide. Something serious. But what?

Her sobering train of thought was brought to a halt by the arrival of

Riago.

'How silent you both are,' he observed as he closed the door behind

him. 'Compatriots in a foreign land—I expected to find you

chattering like parrots.'

'We've been talking about your wedding,' Philip said. 'Your lady

seems to be suffering from bridal nerves.'

'I am sorry to hear that, but perhaps I have a cure.' Riago crossed to

where Charlie was sitting. 'Here,
querida,
a gift for our betrothal.'

Something cold touched her throat, and found a resting place just

above the valley of her small breasts. Charlie looked down in

astonishment, her lips parting in a silent gasp of wonder. She was

looking at a pendant—a single large diamond cut in the shape of a

tear. One drop of frozen flame caught on a slender gold chain, she

thought, touching it with the tip of an incredulous finger to make

sure it was real.

She said, 'Riago—no. I—I can't accept this. It's too valuable.'

'It pleases me to see it against your skin,' he said quietly. 'I wish you

to wear it always.' He paused. 'There are other stones, which I will

have made into earrings for you—perhaps when our son is born.'

The colour flamed in her face and she pressed her hands to her hot

cheeks with an incoherent little murmur of embarrassment, glancing

across at Philip Hughes, but he was oblivious, his eyes fixed openly

and greedily on the pendant.

'My God,' he said hoarsely at last. 'Where on earth did you find a

stone like that?'

'On my land.' There was sudden steel in Riago's voice. 'The

garimpeiros
do not get them all,
amigo,
I promise you. I had it cut in

Manaus.'

'Well, whoever it was did an incredible job.' Philip gave an uneven

laugh. 'Once in a lifetime you come across something like that. Your

wife is a fortunate lady.'

'I hope she shares your opinion,' Riago murmured.

Charlie was lost for words—incapable of rational thought. It wasn't

just the value of the gift which she found bewildering, but its

timing— and the reasoning behind it. If Riago thought that

showering her with diamonds was going to make her any more

amenable to being forced into a loveless marriage with him then he

was wrong. Surely she'd never given him the impression that she

could be bought, she thought wretchedly. If so she would have to

disabuse him of the notion, and fast—attempt to make him see one

last time that marriage between them was impossible, that it could

never work on the terms he was offering.

He should marry for love, she thought painfully, and not because of

some outdated idea of family honour. And the girl he marries should

become the centre of his world, not some unconsidered trifle on its

perimeter. He doesn't deserve to settle for second-best.

But then, neither did she.

And it would be agony beyond words to belong to him, knowing

that she was not, and never could be, what he really wanted, and that

he would never love her. No diamond in the world could assuage the

hurt of that, she told herself desolately.

And stopped dead as she realised, with a kind of fascinated horror,

the path her thoughts were taking.

It's as if I'm in love with him, she realised incredulously. It's as if I

want him to be in love with me. But it's not true. It can't be true—it

can't...

She must have made some kind of sound, because Riago said

sharply, 'What is it? Do you feel ill?'

Charlie shook her head and got to her feet, forcing a nervous smile.

'I—I feel rather overwhelmed, that's all. Perhaps you'll excuse me.'

She was aware of his eyes on her as she made her way to the door.

She made herself walk without haste, giving no clue to the inner

turmoil laying her emotions waste. She even turned at the door and

smiled again, and lifted her hand as both men wished her goodnight.

Once in the hallway, uncaring who might see, she ran like some

wild, hunted thing to the safety of her room.

The bed was turned down, waiting for her. Moving like an

automaton, she undressed and put on the amethyst robe, now almost

a familiar friend, but she couldn't rest. Instead she extinguished the

lamp beside the bed and began to walk up and down, pacing out the

length and breadth of the room in the starlit darkness.

She was completely stunned by the revelation that had come to

her—could hardly bear to give it credence. But she knew that she

must.

She had told herself so loudly and so often that she hated Riago. She

had allowed believing in that hatred to become a habit, and had not

bothered to examine the ambivalence of her real feelings towards

him.

She'd always visualised falling in love with a man as a sweet arid

steady progression. Safety, she thought, and stability, leading in

time to a lifelong commitment. Yet Riago had swept her away with

all the power and force of a jungle storm. When he'd taken her body

he'd also devastated her mind and senses. She supposed it was

inevitable, bearing in mind his attraction and her own inexperience.

Even that first night, he'd been able to make her respond to him—

and ever since she'd lived on the edge of torment.

I love him, she thought, and I need him to love me—to share his life

with me. But it has to be his whole life, not a few fragments of it,

spared out of some misplaced sense of duty. And that will never

happen.

'I laid my life at her feet.' The words stung at her brain. 'I shall take

care never to make the same mistake again.'

He could not have made it more chillingly plain that she had nothing

to hope for from him.

She drew a deep, trembling sigh. She couldn't pretend indifference

any more when he held her in his arms. She'd betrayed herself too

deeply for that already. And sooner or later she would speak the

words that must not be said, and give herself away completely.

And that was why she had to leave—to escape from him, however

much it might hurt. Because to stay—loving him, yet not having that

love returned—would be a kind of slow death.

Instinct told her that that kind of feeling was encountered only once

in a lifetime. And the pinnacle of existence would be to have it

returned in full.

But I'm too late, she thought sadly. All Riago's passion and

commitment were destined for another woman. And now there's

nothing left.

I was so afraid I was being kidnapped when I came here, but that

would have been the easy option—to hand over money for my

ransom and go.

Unrequited love is so much worse—a dark ransom I could go on

paying for the rest of my life.

She stood for a moment, staring at the window, where a moth

almost as large as the palm of her hand was fluttering against the

mesh screen as if trying to gain access.

Then she squared her shoulders, and went out of the room and down

the shadowy hallway to the room that Riago was now occupying.

She opened the door quietly, and slipped inside.

She thought she'd made no sound, but in an instant he was awake

and sitting up in bed.

'Que quer?'
he demanded harshly. 'What do you want?'

'I need to talk to you.'

There was a silence, then he said more gently, 'You should not be

here, Carlotta. It must be late. Go back to your bed, and we will talk

in the morning.'

'No, now—please.'

He sighed. She heard him reach for the matches and light the lamp

beside the bed. Against the white sheet his skin looked like

burnished mahogany.

She moistened dry lips with the tip of her tongue. 'I've come to ask

you for the last time to let me go.'

'And you already know my answer.'

She folded her arms across her body. 'Listen to me—I beg you.

There was a mistake—a misunderstanding,' she said quietly. 'That's

all it was, and we don't have to ruin both our lives because of it.'

'You talk of ruin—I speak of marriage.'

'So do I—for both of us—some time in the future, when we both

meet other people we could... love.' The word hurt her throat, but

she said it.

'But I have already met the woman I shall love all my life—and she

doesn't want me.' His words sounded as bleak as the half-smile

which accompanied them, and Charlie felt her heart twist inside her.

'For God's sake, Riago.' She spread her hands in entreaty. 'We can't