Hostage of Passion

by Diana Hamilton

  The idea that Piers might have brought his newest mistress to this isolated but obviously magnificently maintained place wasn’t so unbelievable as she had first thought. His enormous talent, not to mention his larger-than-life personality, had earned him many friends all around the globe, some of them in distinctly exalted positions. She now had little doubt that the exalted personage who actually owned this overwhelming place had handed over the keys, no questions asked—and probably with the high-class equivalent of a nudge-nudge, winkwink—so that the undisputed genius could enjoy his latest sordid peccadillo in splendid isolation.

  The very idea made her stomach churn. She might be able to save Piers from a physical whipping at the Spaniard’s hands but no way would he escape the scathing tongue-lashing she fully intended to deliver when she got him on his own.

  Emerging from the arch, which, because the outer walls were so thick, had seemed more like a tunnel, Sarah took stock. It was early evening now, but the acreage of stone-paved courtyard was still bathed in sunlight. Even so, she slipped her arms into her jacket—the fewer things she carried the better—and carefully eyed the Ferrari which was crouched in front of what surely had to be the main entrance door.

  She had the uncanny feeling of being watched but the massive building looked deserted—apart, that was, from the unoccupied scarlet symbol of machismo.

  There was nothing to get goose bumps about, she assured herself. And, although the fortress-like structure might give an initial impression of keeping a stern and watchful eye on the tiny village which shimmered whitely in the heat haze down in the narrow valley, the martins nesting in crevices in the walls helped to create a delicate, swooping counterpoint and the stone of the castle itself was a lovely delicate honey tone, adding an air of almost fairy-tale fantasy.

  Definitely not forbidding at all, she chided herself, then, as hovering in the shadow of the enormous archway making foolish assessments of the architectural atmosphere wasn’t getting her anywhere, she squared her slender shoulders and set resolutely out across the massive courtyard.

  She was here for a purpose and the sooner she got on with it the better. Once she’d taken a project on board she allowed nothing to deflect her from her purpose; that single-mindedness had helped make her agency the success it now was. Francisco Casals would soon find out that he wasn’t dealing with an empty-headed female who was too feeble to stand up for herself!

  The Spaniard had known exactly where to find her father, and even now the elderly man might be sampling a knuckle sandwich. Or worse. Her heartbeats quickened. She began to run. If the main door was locked it could take her quite some time to find a way in. And time was something she was short on.

  She was dragging the warm dry air into her lungs in painful gulps by the time she reached the intricately carved stone arch that surrounded her objective—the main door.

  It was thick and unyielding, studded and strapped with iron, and she twisted the great iron ring with misgivings, only to hear the infinitely satisfying click of the heavy latch, feel the great door swing inwards as if on oiled hinges. She barged straight through to the dim cool silence of the vast space beyond, adrenalin scudding through her veins, then stopped, disorientated, as the door closed silently behind her, making the dimness almost dark. And all she could hear was the rapid thud of her heartbeats. And the sound of someone breathing.

  Her breath clogged painfully in her throat then emerged on a foolish squeak as that unmistakable dark, smoky voice said from directly behind her, ‘What kept you?’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TOO shocked to speak, Sarah stood frozen as her emotions went into a state of riot, while her stunned, wide-eyed stare took in the glorious, olivetoned features that gave absolutely nothing away. That almost frightening inscrutability increased her whirling sense of dangerous disorientation. Then, thankfully, common sense gained ascendancy and she gathered her mind together. Fast.

  His totally unexpected appearance had startled her, naturally enough, making her heart leap up into her throat with shock. But that moment was well and truly behind her and she could breathe a big sigh of relief, congratulate herself on achieving her aim.

  Not stopping to wonder why he hadn’t already begun his search of the huge premises for the missing Encarnación and the man he had vowed to beat to a pulp, she did nothing to hide the smile of sheer complacency that curved her soft lips as she suggested, ‘We’ll go and look for them together, shall we? And don’t even think of asking me to wait outside until the shouting’s over.’ She gave him a glittering triumphant look from beneath her eyelashes. ‘No one ever underestimates me twice in one lifetime, Señor Casals, so take my advice and don’t try it again.’

  Just to further impress on him that he didn’t have the monopoly on tough-talking arrogance, she straightened her mouth to a cool, firm line and glared haughtily down the length of her nose but his expression was still a total enigma and for some reason shook her all over again, because there was something behind it, a heavy, steely force that could confuse and frighten her if she didn’t keep the upper hand.

  And then a slow, beautiful smile spread over his face and that really worried her. She’d outwitted him, after all, so surely he had nothing to smile about! But she refused to step the few paces away from him that all her instincts were urging her to take because she didn’t back down for anyone, certainly not for him.

  ‘Together. Yes, I like the sound of that.’ Genuine satisfaction honeyed the dark, smoky voice but the sudden trap of his fingers as they closed punishingly on her upper arm was a cruel contrast. ‘Come, little fly. You walked into my web so prettily, and now we will wait. Together, as you said.’

  Suddenly, the huge space seemed airless. Those dark, inscrutable eyes rested on her, seeming to map the way her brain was working as it tried to make sense of what he had said.

  Wait? Surely he couldn’t be saying that during the relatively short time he’d spent here ahead of her he’d had the opportunity to search the warren of rooms that must make up the interior of the castle? That he’d found someone—one of the staff maybe—who’d told him that Piers was out somewhere, that he’d turn up again if they waited?

  It made no kind of sense at all.

  She frowned, making a determined effort now to pull away, but that only made the punishing pressure of his steely fingers more intense as he began to urge her across the stone floor. She tried to dig her heels in but it was impossible and she had the horrible feeling that if she resisted further he would pick her up and toss her over his shoulders like a rag doll.

  ‘Don’t hustle me,’ she snapped, doing her best to sound fully in control and formidably stern. ‘If you’ll show me where we’re supposed to wait, I’ll go without being manhandled, thank you.’ She injected a fine note of sarcasm but it made not a jot of difference, except that she imagined she saw a pitying smile flicker across his lips.

  ‘And how do you know they’re not in residence?’ she persisted doggedly, doing her level best to keep her breathing nice and regular, to ignore the manacle of his strong, lean, inescapable hand. ‘Dad’s neighbour told you they were here but you only arrived ten minutes before me, so you can’t possibly have had time to make a proper search, and for all you know the owner might be here too, and have us thrown out as mannerless intruders. I don’t suppose you’ve thought of that!’

  She might have been talking to thin air for all the response she got and by this time they had emerged through another massive door, out of the dim shadows and into the brilliance of an interior courtyard, open to the deepening sun-shot early evening sky. There were fountains, she noted agitatedly, a single massive fig tree, masses of tubbed exotic flowers and shady arcades surrounding what she took to be the main living quarters.

  Whoever owned this place was obviously a man of considerable substance, not to mention clout. But the relentless Spaniard hadn’t taken her warnings on board. He had simply, and with insulting arrogance, ignored every word she had said.

>   Or so it seemed until he strode into the shade of the nearest pillared arcade and informed her, almost indifferently, ‘I am the owner. And I can assure you that apart from a skeleton staff of two there is no one else in residence. Come, through here.’

  Without giving her time to draw breath, let alone gather her thoughts coherently, he steered her through a deep archway into a cool, stone-walled apartment and up a narrow flight of twisting, banisterless stone stairs that clung to one of the inner walls. And her hair, hastily secured back in a makeshift knot with the few clips remaining following the slippery, silky descent in Arcos, flopped down all over again, obscuring her vision, and she could do nothing about it because the arm he wasn’t clutching was hanging on to her bits and pieces. She felt hatred bubble up inside her, vicious and violent and quite unlike her.

  The untrammelled mass of hair, tumbling to her shoulders and falling over her face, put her at a distinct physical and psychological disadvantage. She could barely see to put one foot in front of the other, was actually having to rely on that iron-hard hand to guide her. She loathed the sensation of having to rely on this over-privileged boor for anything and the conclusions she was beginning to draw did nothing at all to ease her state of mind.

  At the head of the stairs he paused long enough to tell her, ‘I phoned your father’s agent from the hotel and gave him instructions to track BouverieScott down and let him know that I would make an exchange. My sister for his daughter. Once contact is made I will tell him where he must bring her. In person. And then unfinished business may be conducted.’

  His tone was conversational but that didn’t take away the numbing shock of what he’d said. Sarah weakly allowed herself to be blindly led until he stopped before an ornately carved door and she squealed at him, ‘That’s kidnapping! You can’t keep me here—it’s illegal!’

  ‘So arrest me,’ he retorted drily. ‘Through here, please, señorita.’

  ‘Get lost!’ she spat, kicking out frantically and trying to squirm away as he pushed open the door to what he obviously intended to be her prison for the duration. But he overcame her frenzied attempts to get away by placing both hands on either side of her slender waist and lifting her with contemptuous ease over the threshold.

  As a prison cell the enormous, opulent bedroom came with a five-star-plus rating, she decided wildly. Medieval splendour successfully married with tasteful modern-day luxury. But that didn’t make a scrap of difference: The principle was the same.

  His hands slid from her waist and she rubbed her fingers down her sides, desperately trying to erase the raw, stinging sensation that his touch had left behind. She watched him shoulder the door back into its solid frame, saw him lean idly back against the carved panels as if negligently underlining her captivity, and dragged oxygen into her burning lungs.

  ‘You phoned Miles from Arcos?’ Her brows pleated. ‘How could you be so sure I’d come here? You said you knew where they were, but you refused point-blank—Oh!’ The shameful truth

  dawned at last and she felt a great tide of burning colour wash over her face. She felt such a fool, and hated it.

  ‘Exactly,’ he said drily. Then, his tone reeking of boredom, he admitted, ‘I left out some of the truth when I translated what the helpful señora was happy to tell us. She keeps an eye on the house when your father is absent—it’s an arrangement they have. He left a few days ago for an unspecified length of time and didn’t say where he was going. But a young woman exactly answering Encarnación’s description was with him.’

  He held up an imperious hand when she opened her mouth to tell him exactly what she thought of liars, his sudden ferocious frown pushing the words back down her throat. ‘I am a reader of souls, señorita. You have a cold, suspicious mind. Had I offered to drive you here on the pretext of confronting your wretched father with his sins, you would have immediately suspected my change of heart and removed yourself. My plans for your father don’t involve having you running round loose, free to warn him.’

  One dark brow shot up to his hairline. ‘And you would warn him, help him avoid the justice he deserves—perhaps, even for you, blood is thicker than water, I couldn’t take that chance.’

  He shrugged minimally, the tiny dismissive gesture making Sarah’s blood run cold. ‘I decided that you were the best bargaining counter I had in my quest, and decided to help you to follow me. I allowed you to know how I’d kept track of you, just to sow the seeds of the idea. Made sure you knew which receptionist spoke your language, gave you ample time to make your arrangements—’

  ‘How did you know I wouldn’t see through it?’ she blustered, furious with herself because he’d led her by the nose. She’d been too busy congratulating herself over outwitting him to notice the obvious ‘help’ he’d been giving her. And his drawled answer didn’t raise her bruised self-esteem any higher.

  ‘There was a risk,’ he conceded, tacking on drily, ‘But not a very large one. Your arrogance outweighs your intelligence, señorita. You set out to do something and you achieve it, coldly believing that no one will stand in your way. As I told you, I’m a reader of souls.’

  Sarah’s palms burned to hit him. How dared he make such snap judgements? He barely knew her, much less what made her tick. She would honestly have admitted to being single-minded, with clearcut views about the way she wanted to run her life. But arrogant? Never! And if she’d allowed him to make a fool of her then it was only because she’d been too worried over what might happen to Piers if that black-hearted monster got his hands on him.

  ‘You can’t keep me here against my will!’ she reiterated shrilly. ‘What do you take Miles Hunter for? A fool?’ Her eyes blazed with blistering, nearly hysterical scorn. ‘After getting such a threatening message concerning one of his clients, he will have already been in touch with the police—and they’ll track you down and lock you up and throw away the key. Which is what criminal oafs like you deserve!’

  ‘Not if he has any thought for your father, he won’t.’ He sounded almost bored again and thinly veiled impatience glinted in his black eyes as he added insultingly, ‘Compose yourself, señorita. Try to find some self-discipline from somewhere. After all, I’m quite certain you believe you’ve cornered the market in that commodity. Treat this apartment as if it were your own. You may be here for some time, so you might as well settle in and get used to it.’ He shot her a last, contemptuously dismissive glance. ‘I’ll be back when you’ve had time to control yourself.’

  With that, he spun round on his heels and walked out, closing the heavy door quietly. Which was worse, she thought disjointedly, than if he’d slammed it. She heard the key turn in the lock and shuddered. Cold now, the heat of her panic and anger subsiding into a sick sense of inevitability, she wrapped her arms around her quivering body and squeezed her eyes tightly shut.

  She would not cry. She would not!

  And although Francisco Garcia Casals was obviously mad with damaged family pride, a throwback to the Inquisition, he had spoken the truth when he’d referred to her loss of control.

  His mention of her lack of self-discipline— though who could wonder at it in the circumstances?—had struck right through all that uncharacteristic and fruitless rage. It was something she had to remedy, and quickly. Willing the shakes out of her limbs, she forced herself to take several deep, calming breaths.

  Shrieking like a fishwife wasn’t the way to subdue an enemy, she reminded herself tautly. That her captor showed every indication of being utterly unsubduable—by anyone—was something she wasn’t going to think about.

  Barely sparing the opulent furnishings a glance, she walked purposefully to one of the many windows that marched down the length of the far wall, dragging open the louvred shutters. The interior courtyard they’d entered by was far, far below, the smooth, sun-warmed stone walls holding no viable footholds whatsoever. She turned back into the room, sighing disgustedly, and began to wrench open the interior doors.

  The first led to a beautifull
y appointed sitting-room, which didn’t interest her in the slightest, and the second to a bathroom, which interested her a lot. The third and final door opened on to a spiral stone stair which would lead, at a guess, to the battlements she’d seen from below. Closing the door on that impossible escape route, she gave up and marched into the bathroom.

  Since he’d locked the only entrance to the suite of rooms and she couldn’t get out through the windows or conveniently sprout wings and fly from the battlements, she would have to try to cultivate patience and forget any ideas of escape for the time being.

  She was almost completely sure that the wretched man meant her no physical harm, personally, so the only sensible thing to do was to try and reason with him. And she herself would be in a calmer state of mind, better able to persuade him that what he was doing was madness, if she could at least soak the stresses and stickiness of the day away in a nice soothing bath.

  And the surroundings could have been expressly designed with relaxation in mind, she decided, her mind freed now from the muddle of indecision and panic and sheer rage, enabling her to take stock for the first time since he’d manhandled her into the apartment.

  Misty, silvery pale marble lined the walls, ceiling and floor and glass shelves floated ethereally, looking too insubstantial to bear the weight of the crystal bottles of perfumed bath oils, rare essences and costly body lotions. The partly sunken bath looked big enough to swim in and the wide surround was bedecked with graceful ferns in alabaster pots.

  In a place this size the skeleton staff of two must have their work cut out maintaining such perfection, she thought as she turned on the dolphinshaped gold-plated taps and watched the water gush steamily into the bath before gathering her thoughts and stripping thankfully out of her wrinkled clothes.