Desire Has No Mercy

by Violet Winspear

  'Temper in a woman is like garlic in food, fine so long as there isn't too much of it.' His eyes were amused through the smoke of his cigar. 'I think I'm able to control your temper, carina. If it gets too shrewish, then I'll put you over my knee and apply a little paddling to your backside.'

  'You wouldn't dare,' she gasped. 'Don't forget—'

  The smile in his eyes deepened at the way she bit her lip, the colour rising from the neck opening of her blouse to the smooth curve of her cheekbones.

  'Pregnant women aren't all that fragile until the final few weeks,' he said. 'I have a stretch of beach at Domani and you'll be able to swim, and I daresay ride. You're a very fit girl. Most of the activities of a bride will be within your scope, so there should be no need for either of us to feel deprived.'

  Julia felt an alarming throb of her pulse when he included himself in the activities she could enjoy until her figure became too ungainly. There seemed a double meaning in his words and she saw the little glint in his eyes when she searched them, as if he mocked her for an innocent fool.

  'Can't the master of Domani swim and ride and enjoy some dancing?' he asked. 'The terrazza of the villa is above the beach and it's quite romantic there on a moonlit night and wide enough for two to dance to the music of the stereo. I know you learned to dance as a child. Then, of course, you were partnered by polite little boys wearing kid gloves. I wonder how you'll like me for a partner? I'm told I dance quite well.'

  The lean grace and suppleness of his body gave proof of that, but it wasn't curiosity about his dancing that occupied Julia's mind. There had been some other meaning in his words, and the acceleration of her pulse made her feel breathless. She twisted the rings on her finger, symbols of his status as a husband… a man who had already proved conclusively that he could be deaf to a woman's pleading when passion held sway over him. Now he had a legal right to her, and it was there in his bold features that he would hardly live with a woman on any basis but a fundamental one.

  She had been foolishly innocent to believe his talk about behaving like a guardian to her! A naive fool to accept his word that it was only the child he wanted!

  'Are those rings hurting you?' He reached out and drew off her glove, the sun through the window catching the facets of the emerald and making it glow as he studied her hand. 'They seem to fit all right, but you've been twisting them about as if you would like to wrench them off. I'm not going to allow that, Julia. You are now my wife and you'd better make the best of it.'

  'You were stringing me along,' she said tensely. 'You never meant to be a—a sort of guardian to me. It was your intention all along to have your money's worth when you bought me these rings. Damn you, Rome! I didn't dream I'd ever come up against a—a devil like you! I truly didn't think it possible to despise a man so much—you're everything I thought you, every name I called you that night in Naples. You schemed to have Verna lose money at your gaming tables and if I hadn't come to the casino on her behalf I expect she'd be the one paying the price I'm now paying!'

  'No, my dear.' He held her gaze as firmly as he held her hand. 'I saw you one day in the market place at Naples buying a wickerwork bag from a vendor and right away I knew who you were. The girl in the rose-coloured dress, shyly holding out a strawberry ice to a boy who couldn't believe the dandelion hair was real but whose raging pride made him drop the ice-cream all over your best shoes. Great big tears filled your eyes and I was about to swallow my pride and say I was sorry when your grandmother came storming out after you and made my mother pay for those tears—tears I was suddenly angry about because I knew you must have lots of shoes in your closet. Because of those shoes my mother had to get down on her knees and scrub the corridors in an office building and come home at night with pains in her bones from all that kneeling on cold damp floors.'

  He drew a deep breath, his nostrils tightening and looking chiselled. 'I used to watch her taking off her thin-soled shoes and peeling off her damp stockings and I felt a hatred of the Van Holdens in my bones. They had so much and we had so little—it seemed to me an enormity of injustice that my pretty mother should have to work so hard while your grandmother and two small girls were waited on hand and foot, every whim and fancy catered for, with ice-cream to eat whenever you wanted it. So try to understand a little what I felt, Julia, when you came to my casino that night and asked me to give you those IOUs as if they were your due because you were a Van Holden. You stood there, a grown-up version of the little girl in the big house, looking at me with eau-de-nil eyes, telling me I had purposely allowed your sister to gamble and lose.'

  'If you hadn't called me names, Julia, the outcome might have been different, but when you revile an Italian you take the good name of his parents as well, and mine were very dear to me. You asked for what happened—'

  'Asked for it?' she gasped. 'Is that the excuse you've made for yourself, that I made you misbehave yourself and now like a proper Italian you've done me the honour of marrying me! And being so honoured I'm now to expect endless repeats of what took place in Naples?'

  Tormentedly she tried to break his hold on her, but it was unbreakable and her hand twisted and turned in an impossible effort to be free of him.

  'You'll only hurt yourself,' he warned. 'When we reach Campania you'll feel differently about all this. There's something in the air, especially at night when the sea below the villa window is filled with whisperings and the lanterns of the fishing boats bob on the water. Then you can smell the lemon trees and the tang of camphor and cypress. We'll take supper on the terrazza and you'll feel the romance of it all getting into your blood. You aren't as cool as you pretend to be. You need affection, for your own sake and for the child—'

  'Affection?' She gave a bitter little laugh. 'You can't possibly imagine that I'm panting for your kisses?'

  'Not right now,' he agreed, 'but Campania isn't called the place of romantic passion for nothing. Wait until you've been there a while and the soft warm air and the southern music get to you. There are sleeping fires in you, Julia.'

  'But not for you,' she said fiercely. 'Whatever you do to me, Rome, you can't touch my heart. Whatever you get from me, you'll have to take. I'll just be paying for my bed and board and whenever you come to me, you'll be collecting your rent money.'

  'Santo Dio,' he smiled thinly, 'I would never have believed that such a soft pair of lips could say such acrimonious things.'

  'I have my pride,' Julia tilted her chin, 'and you won't drag that down to your scugnizzo level!'

  He caught his breath and suddenly his grip was like a vice that threatened to crush her fingers, pressing the rings into her flesh and bone until her lips whitened with the pain. He watched her as she endured the pain, then he slowly relaxed his grip, releasing her hand so it dropped limply into her lap.

  A stewardess appeared at his side, smiling into his eyes as she informed him that lunch was about to be served and what did he and his wife fancy to drink with it. He asked what was on the menu and ordered an appropriate wine without consulting Julia, who sat there feeling the ebbing pain in her fingers. Body and soul she throbbed with resentment as the deep timbre of Rome's voice mingled with the girl's lighter tones. Resentfully she didn't want to eat the food and drink the wine that would nourish his child. She wished she could be rid of it… that way she'd really hurt Rome Demario and his almighty Latin pride in making a Van Holden girl pregnant. He liked the idea of being father to a child in whose veins was elite American blood… it combined vengeance with the egotistical pleasure of taking with him to Campania a wife who was obviously a lady.

  At that moment Julia's feelings were less than ladylike. She surged to her feet and pushed past Rome. 'I need to go and wash,' she said icily. 'I feel grubby.'

  It was the emphasis she laid on the word that made him narrow his eyes as he rose to his feet and made it easier for her to reach the aisle.

  'Don't take too long,' he said. 'Lunch is about to be served and you must be feeling hungry.'

 
'Must I?' she retorted. 'How clever of you to be always so sure of my feelings!'

  She swept away from him, head held high as she made for the powder room, not unaware that several male heads turned to watch her progress. It was her hair which attracted attention; being natural in its fairness it had a shining look that combined with the fine silken texture of her skin and the Nile green of her eyes made her a very attractive young woman. Her ivory suit was also in good taste and her long slender legs and fine-boned ankles were encased in cobweb silk and two-toned lizard shoes. Her handbag matched the shoes and altogether she was eye-catching, though it was doubtful if anyone guessed she was a bride.

  A bride, she knew, was expected to look starry-eyed, but when she gazed at herself in the mirror of the powder-room she saw that her eyes were shadowed within the frame of her lashes and the arch of her brows, which were naturally darker than her hair. The only radiant thing about her was the emerald on her hand, shooting its green fire as she ran a comb through the wings of hair that smoothly up-curled on her shoulders.

  Julia wondered what Verna's reaction had been when she received in Paris the wire which informed her that she was now related by marriage to the Italian gambler who she innocently believed had presented her with the IOUs which could have had an adverse effect on her own marriage. Verna might find the situation rather romantic, Julia thought, seeing reflected in the mirror the cynical twist of her lips, but her husband and his family would hardly be delighted. A man such as Paul Wineman would have suited them as an in-law, but not Rome Demario. He was so obviously foreign and involved not in law, banking or the arts, but in a more blatant form of commerce.

  Julia recalled the women she had seen playing at the casino, heavily painted, the sparkle of their jewels rivalling the gambling lustre in their eyes. It wouldn't trouble Rome's conscience if such women lost money at his tables, but Julia found unforgivable the way he had used Verna in order to lure herself into his trap.

  That was what her marriage felt like… she was so firmly caught in the trap he had laid that there seemed only one way of escaping from it, and that was to try quite deliberately to lose this child he had set his heart on.

  She placed a hand on her midriff, pressing upon herself until she felt the slight swell that betrayed the presence of the infant. Rome was the only one who wanted it… the spoils of the battle fought in the luxury of his bedroom above the gaming rooms of the white-stoned casino set in a palm court on the Neapolitan waterfront.

  Rome had said that when they arrived at the Villa Domani she could swim and ride; both were energetic activities and this was her first pregnancy. Being a man he probably didn't realise that a first baby was more easily lost than a second or third, especially if the mother was psychologically opposed to bearing it.

  Julia dropped her compact and comb into her handbag, smoothed the jacket of her suit, and emerged from the powder-room. As she made her way back to Rome there was a defiant little flame burning in her eyes. She heard the intake of his breath when she pressed past him into her seat; he had caught the scent of her freshly applied face powder and as she sat down Julia smiled quietly to herself. He was vulnerable in his own way, this tawny Italian with his southern sensuality, and the next time they battled he would be the one who got wounded.

  Lunch was served and Julia suddenly found that she was hungry. She tucked into butterfly steak with baby peas, potatoes and gravy. She enjoyed the individual pudding with syrup which followed, and had two glasses of red wine. She was aware that Rome sat there looking suavely amused by her appetite, a lazy droop to his eyelids. He made no comment, but when coffee was served he remarked to the stewardess that his wife had very much enjoyed me cuisine on board the aircraft. Julia noticed the way he said 'my wife', a definite note of possessiveness in his voice.

  'That's nice to know, sir.' The girl's eyes flicked Julia's hair and face and the orchid on the lapel of her suit. Her gaze dropped to the emerald which sparkled its facets on to the smooth suiting, and it was obvious to Julia that she was envious and would have liked to be possessed by a man whose looks and style made him seem the epitome of Latin charm.

  'When is touchdown?' he enquired.

  The girl glanced at her wristwatch and said they would be landing at Naples in exactly one hour and twenty-five minutes. 'I'm pleased you've enjoyed the flight, sir. Will you be returning to New York?'

  He smiled and shook his head. 'We have a villa in Campania and at this time of the year it's very pleasant there. The sea is very blue and it will be good for my wife to get away from the tall buildings of her native city, where to me the air always feels as if it's been put through a pressure steamer. I couldn't live anywhere else but in Italy.'

  'It is very exciting.' The girl was looking at him as if she really meant that he was. 'Things Latin do have that certain charisma.'

  'Do they?' He drew Julia's left hand towards him and enfolded it in his own. 'I wonder if my wife agrees with you? Do you, my dear?'

  He looked into her eyes and she gave him back a cool look. 'Whatever you say, Rome. I know Italian husbands like to have their opinions supported and their instructions obeyed. It oils their ego and makes them smooth, I expect.'

  The stewardess looked as if she didn't know whether to disapprove of the remark or smile at it. Her eyes went automatically to Rome, as if to take a lead from him.

  'My wife has a droll sense of humour.' His expression was sardonic. 'She's also a little shy and likes to hide her feelings from people. I'm the only one permitted to know exactly what she thinks of me.'

  'I'm sure she thinks you're—' The girl broke off, blushing. 'If you want more coffee, or anything, signore, just give me a call. I'll be only too happy to oblige you.'

  'I'm sure she would,' Julia laughed softly when the stewardess moved away to attend to her other passengers. 'That girl would love to be sitting here cuddled up real close to you. She thinks you're a charmer, with loads of machismo and such perfect manners. You really know how to put on a good act, don't you, Rome? With your talent for charm and your dashing looks you should have gone to Hollywood and taken over where Tyrone Power left off.'

  'You're such a sweet-faced bitch, Julia.' He said it with a smile, and bending over her put a kiss against her cheekbone. 'For the benefit of the stewardess,' he murmured. 'She's determined to believe we're a very romantic couple.'

  'If I'm a bitch, Rome, then take the credit for it.' Julia gave him a cool look, but his lips had left their warmth against her skin, reminding her of other kisses he had made her accept, of being helpless in a pair of arms whose bronzed strength could still send shivers up and down her spine. Her eyes dwelt on his shoulders in the grey suiting that was tailored smoothly to their power. Alone at the villa with him she would have little defence against whatever he desired of her, and neither her reluctance nor her lack of affection would prevent him from having his way with her, no more than they had done at the casino.

  Julia looked into his eyes and saw the devil fires burning there, lit long ago from his boyhood rage and now a hundred times more inflammable in the adult Rome Demario. She tried to remember the boy he had been, but the memory was lost in the man he had become.

  'Will you really enjoy being married to a woman who hates you?' she asked, with a cool politeness.

  'It could prove to be a fascinating experience,' he rejoined. 'It will provide me with the task of taming you, won't it, my lovely? After all, what fun is there in having a filly who accepts the bridle without kicking up her heels? And what kind of challenge is there in a sea without unpredictable currents and high tides? You know me for a gambler, Julia. I enjoy staking my bet on an outside chance.'

  'And do you always win?' she enquired.

  'Some of the time.' He drew his fingers down the smoothness of her hair. 'To think Rome Demario can do this to the little girl who always looked so neat and prim! There were times when I longed to take you into the back streets where I played so I could bring you back to your grandmother with stre
et dirt on your face and tangles in your well-combed hair, and maybe a hole in your white socks.'

  Julia jerked her head away from his touch. 'Eventually you managed to drag me through the dirt,' she said coldly. 'Had my grandmother been still alive she'd have had you bullwhipped.'

  'You mean you'd have told her?' He quirked a black eyebrow. 'Somehow that doesn't sound like you, Julia, When you left me that morning in Naples you meant to bury the memory of me deep as a stone dropped into the Long Island sound. You wouldn't have told a soul about that night. You just wanted to wipe it out as if it had never been. What did you do when you realised you had a memento from the bad-mannered Italian boy? Did you burst into tears, or toss your hairbrush through a window?'

  'I cursed the very thought of you.' Her fingers tensed and curled as she looked into his dark handsome face, wanting to make him bleed, wanting to make him curl into an agonised heap on the floor, where she had lain for a long time wishing that despair could lead quietly and quickly to death itself.

  Then as if he saw in her face some residue of the despair she had felt, he said quietly: 'You are safe now, Julia. Matters have been adjusted, and no one knows except the two of us that our marriage was a necessity.'

  'You promised me that our marriage would be—' She bit her lip, for the words would sound archaic and yet she had to say them. 'You promised it would be in name only.'

  'Have some sense, Julia.' He frowned and flipped open his cigar case. 'How can you expect a man to behave like a monk with a woman who has his name and is to bear his child? I know I'm every sort of villain in your eyes, capable of every sort of lowdown trick, but I had to make you marry me. No way was I going to allow my child to be removed from you as if it was garbage. That baby will be born, and I'm too much flesh and blood not to want the woman who carries it for me.'

  He shrugged and applied a flame to his cigar. 'Love is -good for a woman. It gives her a glow.'

  'Love?' Julia looked at him in total incredulity. 'Do you know what you are, Rome Demario?'