The Sin of Cynara (15 page)

  'The tiger rubies!' Gena exclaimed. 'Rudi has started to give you those - a whole set, you fortunate girl, brought from India aeons ago by one of our ancestors. They always go to the bride of the baróne ! Look, everyone, isn't it a perfectly beautiful ring?'

  Carol felt the stare of dark eyes and when she glanced up she found Bedelia looking at her with sheer hatred in her gaze. Her heart lurched and now she was quite certain that Bedelia had wanted the baróne and all the material things he could give a woman. Now Carol stood in her way ... Carol and Vincenzo's son.

  'Have the rubies a story?' Saul asked. 'They sound as if they might have, and my writer's curiosity is aroused.'

  'They belonged to an Indian prince,' said Gena, trailing a smile from her brother to Carol. 'This ancestor of ours was out there in this feudal region in the hills, on a tiger hunt, and one day he and the prince were riding together when one of the great cats leapt from a rock and would have brought down the lordly Indian if the sporting Italian had not been quick on the draw. He saved the prince's life and the rubies were given to him to be made up into jewellery for his bride when he took one — he was at that time a cynical bachelor like Rudi. He remarked that they glowed just like the tiger's eyes as it leapt to kill, and from then on they had that name attached to them. Thrilling enough for you, Saul? And for you, Carol?'

  At once Carol was the centre of attention, and only too aware of what was going through the minds of those who looked at her, her blonde looks giving her an outwardly cool look, hiding the turmoil that was going on inside her.

  'Come, let us forget the saga of the rubies and proceed with dinner,' said the baróne, coming to her rescue in a suave voice. She didn't dare to look at him and turned gratefully to the manservant in order to serve herself with vegetables; delicious sauté potatoes, broccoli spears, courgettes and carrots to accompany baked veal with gravy. She was a little too churned up to really taste the food, the proceedings a vortex of voices, the swing of golden earrings in Gena's ears, a subtle aroma of ambergris, and the gleam of silverware. She was glad when they left the table to return to the salotto, where they drank coffee and a very old brandy in cut-glass bowls.

  'Play for us, Rudi.' Gena was wandering about restlessly, her brandy bowl in her hand, a chain of tiny golden hearts glistening at her throat. 'I'd offer to sing, but I feel rusty after so many months away from the stage, and you were always better at everything than poor little me.'

  Saul gave a laugh at that. 'Do you ever-stop acting?' he asked her.

  'Darling, if I ever stopped acting then I might start crying,' she rejoined, and as the light caught her face Carol wondered how much truth there might be in her words. Gena obviously adored her brother, and would have grown up thinking him a dashing dark knight. Had she not said that he had spoiled all other men for her?

  Carol watched him as he walked in his supple way to the grand piano and sat down on the long padded bench in front of the keyboard. Gena touched a switch and immediately only the piano candles gave light to the room and deep shadow lay in pools, hiding the gold-brocaded chairs and their occupants.

  Near where Carol sat the salotto windows were open and the night air that blew into the room was filled with the scent of syringa and nicotine-flower.

  The strong, lean hands moved on the keys and the Liebestraum music filled the night with its nostalgia. Somehow it didn't surprise Carol that the baróne could play so well; music lay in the Italian soul, along with a certain strain of sadness that was very Latin. She felt moved, and she felt afraid. Was it possible that she was growing to care for the man... caring for someone was so dangerous, for it made you so vulnerable.

  A shiver ran through her slender body; a combination of emotions ranging from apprehension to that of being deeply moved by the music. The pianist played on her feelings with the same firm touch with which he played the piano ; sure of what he wanted and sweeping her along with him as he swept his strong, slim hands along the keyboard.

  When the silence came she must have gasped aloud, for at once she caught the flash of his eyes, transfixing her own across the room, compelling her to do as he wished like some dark magician, with the power to make her go to him like a sleeper in a dream, until her hand was at rest upon his shoulder.

  'You play like a master,' she said shyly. 'A man like you shouldn't be marrying a woman as ordinary as I am.'

  'You sell yourself cheap, my dear,5 he drawled, gazing up at her in the soft glow of the electric candles. 'We are Beauty and the Beast, as in the classic tale of magic ... as it should be, perhaps, for two strangers who have come together in a strange way. Have you a favourite piece of music? I might know it.'

  'I - I don't go in for modern music, if you were wondering, signore.' A smile quivered on her mouth. 'Didn't you call me an old-fashioned girl?'

  'So I did.' His eyes swept over her glimmering halo of hair, and she no longer felt calm or shy but stormily aware of him as a man who had touched her hair, stroking those lean fingers down over the silky length of it. She drew away from him, afraid of feelings that were quite unrelated to what she had felt whenever she had been close to Vincenzo. There was a power to Rudolph that she had never felt in any other person; he had plumbed the depths of pain and she was awed by him and out of her depths when it came to dealing with him.

  She glanced over her shoulder and saw that Gena and Saul had slipped away into the garden, and deep in a silken chair Bedelia was watching the two of them at the piano, the glitter of her eyes matching the gems on her hand as she raised her wine glass to her lips. Carol felt herself at the centre of storm currents whose full force she had yet to endure. It took courage to stand there and defy Vincenzo's widow, a woman who had waited years to secure the baróne, only to see him become engaged to an English girl he hardly knew.

  'I'd hardly have thought it the trait of an old-fashioned girl to have a child by a married man,' Bedelia purred. 'Or were you such an innocent that my Vincenzo had only to look at you in order to make you his plaything? Terribly handsome, was he not? Women spoiled him, ruined him, and you were one of them for all your wide-eyed air of injured innocence. I hope you are grateful to Rudi for giving your child such a chance of a lifetime. You should kiss his boots, you little slut !'

  The softly played music ceased abruptly and the silence had thunder in it. Then Rudolph towered to his feet and at once his face and its expression were shadowed.

  'I will only say this once more to both of you,' he said harshly. 'If and when you fight over the dead bones of Vincenzo, then do it away from my presence. No one pretends that Carol is marrying me for any reason but to give my brother's child a name - the reason is understood and accepted, but by the devil, I won't have my future wife and my sister-in-law at each other's throats in my house. The pair of you can get out if it persists, but I will keep the boy, and that isn't a threat but a promise !'

  As he said this he slammed down the lid of the piano and gripping Carol by the elbow he marched her from the salotto and across the mosaic tiling of the hall to the stairs. She was forced to mount them until they arrived at the door of her suite, and there he paused and glowered down at her, his scars standing out with devilish clarity.

  'Alive or dead, my brother still possesses the pair of you,' he gritted. 'But the boy I mean to have. I'll do my utmost to see that he isn't possessed by the devil !'

  'You - you talk of devils,' Carol gasped, too shaken to choose her words. 'Look at you, signore ! What do you think you are like in a temper - a saint?5

  His brows blackened and he actually bared his teeth at her. 'I don't look at myself if I can avoid it, madam, but you will have to. It's the price you pay for making good that sin of yours.'

  'My sin?' Her heart almost stopped beating, and then she felt the intolerable ache of having to hold back the truth. 'I — I was incredibly innocent — more than you'll ever know.'

  'Doubtless.' He said it with great sarcasm. 'Always the excuse after the deed—'

  'He married me,' she gasped. 'I told you—'

  'Then why,' the baróne lowered his voice and bent his head so that his face came closer to her, 'do you always look so guilty when we speak of Vincenzo? The acid burned my flesh, not my eyes, and I see that look on your face right now. The look of a guilty woman !'

  'Oh - let me go!' Carol tried to tug her hand from his, but his fingers were steely and unsparing, holding her at his mercy. 'You — you enjoy tormenting people, don't you?'

  'It's one of the few pleasures I have left.' His lips twisted into a smile. 'If I was ever gentle, then the acid made away with it as it destroyed half my face. Look well at me, Carol. This is the face you will be living with.'

  She looked ... Beauty and the Beast, he had said. The beast secure in his kingdom of fear, and not to be overcome until someone dared to be unafraid of him.

  With sudden defiance Carol stopped pulling away from Rudolph and throwing her free arm about his neck she reached up and pressed her lips to his scars. They felt strange and unreal, and any sense of shock was held in abeyance until he suddenly caught his breath, then crushed her to him and kissed her mouth with a savagery that left it bruised and stung.

  'Never play with fire,' he almost snarled against the side of her neck, his breath arching warm against her skin. 'Getting burned is never very pleasant, take it from me.'

  He swung away from her and strode off along the Italian gallery, watched by the painted eyes in the portaits along the panelled walls. He vanished, leaving a silence loud with the harsh mockery of his words ... his kisses.

  Stifling a sob, Carol flung herself into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

CHAPTER SIX

  IT seemed like ages, pressed there against the closed door, until Carol felt calm enough to go into Teri's room to ensure that he hadn't moved about in his sleep and pushed off his bedcovers. He lay in a small half» moon, fast asleep in the soft glow of the night-lamp, his long lashes dark on his cheeks. Carol bent to him and gazed intently at his dreaming face ... yes, there it was again, that strange resemblance to Rudolph in the fine bone chiselling of the childish face. The man had seen it for himself, and he knew that as Teri grew older he would grow to resemble him more and more.

  A son at second-hand for the baróne of the island, who had put love out of his life, living almost like a monk even though he kissed a woman with the savage passion of an experienced man.

  Very gently Carol drew the covers around the boy, and then she returned to her own vast bedroom and stood there in a rather lost way. She gave a start when the clock chimed, and when she saw how late it had grown she began to prepare for bed.

  She was in her robe, her long hair down about her hips, when the silence of her room was broken by a brief rapping sound on the door. She almost dropped the hairbrush, and there in the mirror she saw the look of alarm in her eyes. Her heart hammered. Oh God, was this Bedelia, defying the baróne in her bitterness, unable to stop making those venomous remarks that left their sting?

  Carol stood there tensely, watching the door through the mirror and hopeful that whoever stood there would presume that she was in bed and go away again.

  It wasn't to be ! Abruptly the door swept open and a tall figure stood in the aperture, clad in a robe of some rich dark material. Carol stared at him, so suddenly nerveless that she couldn't have moved or spoken had she wanted to. She had to suffer his eyes upon her, raking over her face and down over her hair that glistened like a pale gold cape around her.

  'It isn't good for people to part in anger,' he said, and his voice seemed extra deep in his throat. 'The morning may never come and then it's too late to ask forgiveness. May I come in?'

  'Aren't you in, signore?' Carol forced a smile that felt as if it were pinned to her face - it hurt.

  'It is better to close the door,' he said, 'in case someone should pass by and see me.'

  'My reputation is already in shreds,' she rejoined. 'And you are the feudal lord of the isola, aren't you, with power over all of us who live on your land?'

  'That is the romantic exaggeration of a woman.' As he closed the door his eyebrow quirked, and Carol saw from the look in his eyes that he was reading her mind. 'Have you yet seen me going around with a whip in my hand?'

  'You don't need a whip, do you, signore? A look from you can be enough.'

  'Oh, yes, quite enough to make anyone flinch,' he agreed sardonically.

  'I refer to your inherent power,' she said, her fingers clenching on the hairbrush as she remembered her own feeling of utter helplessness in his arms. It wasn't just physical strength that he possessed; a feeling of steel in the taut muscles and hard flesh of him. He had an iron control over himself, and it extended to other people. He wasn't a man who lived on his senses as Vincenzo had, but neither was he cold, without feeling. He was something of a tiger and he knew how far to let out the leash on himself.

  Carol watched him and knew that shining threads of excitement were woven into her terror of this man. He had kissed her and now they were aware of each other as man and woman. They couldn't ignore the fact that his lips and body had left their mark on hers, and standing there facing him she still felt the bruises left by his savage grip on her.

  'Are you afraid of me?' he asked, almost casually. 'The room doesn't seem cold, and yet I saw you shiver just then.'

  'Let's say, signore, that I'm afraid of the position I find myself in.'

  'A woman alone in her bedroom with a man, eh?' His eyes taunted her. 'One would think you still a virgin, untried in the ways of a man.'

  'I'm referring to being married to you. You might expect me to be at your feet - like a peasant woman. Or trailing at your heels. As your sister implied, you are marrying out of your class.'