Moon of Aphrodite (20 page)

island?'

Her breasts were rising and fal ing too quickly within the confines of her low-cut bodice,

and she forced herself to steady her breathing, knowing that Damon was watching her,

and noting her agitation.

She hoped very much that Grandfather wasn't tel ing her they had discovered a second

Parthenon on Phoros, because she wasn't real y listening to what he was saying. His

voice was in the background of her mind, while al her concentration, al her being was

focused on the silent figure of the man who sat opposite her, and whose hooded

enigmatic
gaze gave no clue to his thoughts.

The very mention of the temple was enough to fil her mind with the memory of the

sun-warmed stones, and the spare graceful columns against the vivid sky. Their beauty

had seemed total y unreal, an encapsulated part of the pleasure
Damon had forced her

to experience in his arms. It was impossible for him not to remember too, wasn't it,

unless it had al just been part of a cynical charade on his part? She sent him a look

under her lashes wil ing him to return her glance, to let the hard lines of his mouth

soften into a reminiscent curve if only for a moment.

But he was a stranger
,
cool and remote in his faultlessly cut evening clothes, and never

the pagan who had aroused her almost to a sensuous frenzy in the burning heat of the

afternoon.

And it was at that moment that he turned his head slightly and looked at her across the

table. His smile was neither a sharing nor a promise. It was a cold triumphant twist of

the lips, indicating that he had assessed her vulnerability and scented his ultimate

victory, and Helen found herself shrinking.

The meal was at an end, and Thia Irini was rising from her chair. Helen was thankful to

be able to push back her chair. The dining room wasn't smal by any means, but tonight

it felt positively claustrophobic.

In the saloni, the long windows had been opened on to the terrace, and the floor-

length curtains moved in the slightest of breezes. Thia Irini was already instal ed on one

of the low sofas pouring the dark and rather bitter coffee that Michael Korialis liked

from a tal silver pot.

She held out a cup to Helen with a vinegary smile.

'Tomorrow we shal have a visitor,' she said.

'Yes, I know. Madame Stavros is coming.' Helen took the coffee with a word of thanks.

'No, another visitor. My—goddaughter.' Thia Irini had to hunt for the English word. 'Her

name is Soula, and she has your age.'

Which must constitute the longest speech Thia Irini had made to her since her arrival,

Helen thought. If it was the
prospect of the unknown Soula's arrival which had caused

this thaw in the ice, then she could only wish she had come two weeks before.

She smiled rather more warmly than she felt. 'That wil be lovely. I look forward to

meeting her.'

Thia Irini accepted this was a gracious condescension of her head, and Helen seized the

opportunity to escape with her coffee out on to the terrace, murmuring something

about fresh air.

The night was so warm, she did not need a wrap, and the air was heavy with the scent

of citrus from the nearby lemon groves. Helen put her untouched cup of coffee down

on the stone balustrade. She didn't need coffee, she didn't real y
need air, but she did

need to be on her own for a while to regain her sorely tried equilibrium.

Just for a moment back there she had let Damon see her without her defences. She

had let her mask slip, and a far less experienced man than he was would have seen the

wanting and the yearning naked in her eyes. She had succumbed to a moment's folly,

and now of course he would think he had won, that the prize was his for the taking.

She heard a footstep on the terrace behind her and tensed. She had been a fool to

think he would leave her alone for long.

She leaned on the balustrade and stared unseeingly into the
darkness.

'I want to speak with you, Eleni,' he said abruptly.

She swal owed. 'We—we'l talk tomorrow. Grandfather wil be wondering where I am.

He likes me to play backgammon with him and ...'

'I wish to talk to you alone, now.' He took her arm, detaining her as she tried to move

past him towards the lighted windows of the saloni.

She gasped and pul ed herself free. 'Don't touch me!'

'You sang a different
song a few hours ago, Eleni mou. But no matter. I want to know

why you left me as you did.'

She shrugged, trying to maintain at least a facade of insouciance.

'Wasn't it obvious? Your careful y planned seduction scene had failed, and I didn't want

to risk a resumption once the coast was clear. You—you didn't seem prepared to take

no for an answer.'

'I was not,' he said bleakly. 'And do you honestly believe that I planned what happened

between us this afternoon?'

'Didn't you?'

'If I had done,' he said slowly, 'there would have been no unwelcome interruptions, and

that I promise you.' The dark eyes were suddenly bril iant as they went over her, and

Helen took a hasty step backwards, her retreat impeded by the balustrade.

'Don't you dare come near me!' Her voice sounded young and rather breathless, and he

smiled suddenly, some of the grimness going out of his face.

'And risk another interruption?' he enquired sardonical y. 'I think not—I ache too much

already. No,

I can wait, matia mou. At least on my wedding night I can be sure of privacy.'

His words, the tone of his voice, the way he was looking at her were al binding her in a

spel which for sanity's sake she knew she had to resist.

She said, like a blight schoolgirl, 'Then I hope you and your bride wil be very happy.

And now, if you don't mind, I real y must go indoors. Grandfather wil be wondering

where I am and ...'

His smile stil lingered. 'He knows exactly where you are, Eleni, and he knows that I am

with you.'

'Another little plan?' she queried scornful y.

'If that is the way you wish to describe it.'

'Wel , I have other plans.' She looked longingly towards the saloni.

'The game of backgammon? Forget it. I'm sure Michaelis has. He is probably ordering

champagne to be put on ice at this very moment.'

Helen echoed, 'Champagne? I don't understand ...' her voice tailing away as she saw

the amusement in his face.

'And I don't believe you. You're not a fool, my little one.'

Helen stood very stil . She said clearly, 'Not now, perhaps, but I have been. I was a fool

ever to come here—to fal for al that glib talk about family and reconciliation. Because

that isn't the name of the game at al , is it?'

'Not entirely.'

'That's what I thought.' She smiled with her lips only. 'I—I didn't know until this evening

what sort of a deal you and Grandfather had going, but I'd realised it must be pretty

important if you were stil trying to finalise it after over twenty
years. Wel , I've no

intention of becoming
just another clause in a contract any more than my mother had.

And this afternoon's demonstration hasn't affected my decision at al .'

'What is this talk of clauses and contracts?' he asked slowly. 'I'm asking you to become

my wife, Eleni.'

'Oh, I'm quite aware of that,' she said. 'And I suppose by your reckoning and

Grandfather's, I should be grateful even to be consulted. Of course, if you'd succeeded

in seducing me this afternoon, I wouldn't even have been asked for my consent. It

would have been taken for granted.'

'Perhaps,' he agreed. 'But the question does not arise. You did not give, I did not take.'

'Oh, please let's not talk about giving or taking,' begged Helen. 'It's buying and sel ing,

and we both know it. You want the Korialis hotel chain, and I happen to be part of the

package. Lovely for me, of course, because you're quite a bargain yourself—wealthy,

good-looking and a superb lover. Quite irresistible. Only I'm not looking for bargains at

the moment- Thank you for your very romantic proposal, Mr. Leandros, but no, thanks

—I have no plans to get married for at least the next five years. I'm having far too good

a time as a single girl,' she ended on a defiant note.

For a moment he stood staring at her in silence, his brows drawn together in an

incredulous frown. Then he said with a quiet and deadly courtesy, 'I see. May I ask if

that is your final word?'

Helen swal owed. 'Yes, it is. Quite final. So we don't need to pretend any more—either

of us. You—you don't have to play the great lover where I'm concerned any more.' She

was being deliberately wounding, hurting herself equal y by the insolent words. 'I'm

sure you have far more rewarding ways of spending your time, and people you'd rather

spend it with. That dark-haired beauty who was in your car that day in Athens, for

instance. She would probably be more than glad of some attention. You've been

neglecting her lately.' She stopped, hearing the authentic ring of the jealous woman in

her voice and terrified that he would recognise it too. But he was too angry.

'Thank you for your gracious permission,' he bit back at her. 'I shan't hesitate to avail

myself of it. What a pity you didn't accept my proposal, Eleni mou. What an

understanding wife you would have made!'

'Men like you don't take a great deal of understanding,' she said with cold bitterness,

and held herself rigidly waiting for some kind of storm to break. But after a moment

Damon turned away, and she closed her eyes in sheer relief, sagging back against the

balustrade.

She had sent him away, which was what she had known she must do, so why did it

hurt so much? But she knew the answer to that, almost before the question had formed

in her tired brain. It hurt because he hadn't even bothered to deny what she had said.

Al the time she had been speaking, accusing him, her mind had been screaming

silently, 'Tel me it's not true, and I wasn't just the "Korialis girl". Tel me the past never

existed, and that you love me, and I'l believe it because more than anything in my life,

I want to believe it.'

But he had Said nothing, and his silence confirmed everything she had suspected and

feared, everything that rumour had suggested.

But the knowledge that she was right gave her no satisfaction, only a pain as deep and

abiding as the dark and whispering sea itself.

HELEN was wan and weary-eyed when she awoke the next morning. And Josephina, after

a swift, tactful look at her pale cheeks and shadowed eyes, rustled off to bring back her

breakfast, with the insistence that she should remain in bed to eat it.

Helen was only too glad to accede to the suggestion. She even managed a smile for

Josephina as the tray with its complement of coffee pot, fresh orange juice, and oven-

warm bread with redcurrant preserve was laid across her knees. She wanted none of it,

but she had to make a pretence of eating as Josephina bustled round the room, clicking

her tongue in slight reproof as she bent to pick up the discarded crepe dress from the

floor. Helen felt guilty as she watched. She wasn't usual y so untidy, but last, night she

had been total y uncaring as she had pul ed off her clothes and tumbled into bed. She

hadn't even bothered to clean her makeup off properly.

I'm a mess, she thought candidly, as she sipped the refreshing tartness of the orange

juice, both physical y and emotional y.

It had taken al the courage she possessed to walk back into the saloni the previous

evening, but to her relief the room's only occupant was Thia Irini, hunched over her

everlasting tapestry work. She had sent Helen a sly darting look as she entered, but

had said nothing. Helen didn't need to enquire where her grandfather had gone. He and

Damon had obviously withdrawn to somewhere more private to discuss this new

obstacle to their plans, and she had no wish to wait around and hear what conclusion

they had come to. Not that she had any il usion that it would concern her; she had

made herself more than clear on that point.

She stil ed a groan as she remembered just how clear she had been. Damon's face, his

eyes had frozen as he looked at her. He was an arrogant man, used to succeed. Her

rejection of him would be a blow to his pride that he would never forget or forgive.

She crumbled a piece of bread roll in her fingers. But it had been that or the total

surrender of her own pride. And Damon would soon find consolation, she told herself

desolately.

Josephina was chatting cheerful y and inconsequential y as she tidied the room, and

Helen forced herself to listen to what she was saying and respond suitably. The

servants at the vil a must have a shrewd idea of what was in the wind. Servants always

did have, she suspected, and she didn't want the chatter to say that she was quiet and

lovelorn.

Last night, as she tossed and turned, trying to sleep, she had decided the best thing

she could do was ask for a seat to be booked for her on the next London plane out of

Athens. But now, in the clear light of day, she was not so sure of this. On purely