'Did you ask Uncle Anton about going to Gordon's Bay for the holidays?' Sally asked expectantly when she got up from the breakfast table and picked up her school bag.
Laura smothered her feeling of guilt at having forgotten her niece's request, and shook her head. 'He was hardly home last night when he had to go out again,' she replied, thankful that this at least was the truth.
'We'll ask him this evening, then,' Sally stated firmly, hugging Laura briefly before running off to where Eddie's bulky figure stood leaning against the bonnet of the long black limousine with the DeVere family crest on its doors.
Through the window Laura saw Eddie smile and salute respectfully as he took Sally's bag and helped her into the back seat, and moments later the car disappeared down the long, sweeping drive. Laura could no longer hear the car's engine, and during the ensuing silence she became acutely conscious of her growing loneliness, and a longing for— she knew not what. Sighing heavily, she poured herself a second cup of coffee, and swallowed it down quickly, but, in the process of returning her empty cup to the saucer, her glance inevitably travelled down the length of the table, almost as if she expected to see Friedrich's portrait hanging against the cool white wall. Drawn as if by an unseen magnet, she left the breakfast-room and walked quickly down the passage towards the dining-room. There it was, Friedrich's portrait against the panelled wall, and, seating herself at the end of the table, Laura stared at it with a deep frown of concentration creasing her forehead.
The devil was in his eyes this morning, mocking and taunting her, and, quite suddenly, it was as if she were staring into Anton's eyes. They were coldly penetrating eyes; eyes that never displayed a fraction of warmth—not even when they were making love. There was desire, yes, but nothing more, and she shuddered at the memory of the times she had lain with his hard body against her own, hating him for the violent emotions he always succeeded in awakening in her, and despising herself for her inability to suppress her own desires.
Last night he had slept beside her without so much as touching her, proving conclusively, as he had done so often during the past weeks, that he could take her or leave her with equal unconcern. She was a plaything he could pick up, or discard at will, and the knowledge hurt like a fiery sword being driven into her very soul. His male independence had not suffered as a result of their marriage, and she imagined that he came and went very much the same as he had always done, but somehow he had succeeded in binding her to him with chains which were as strong as they were invisible. She was like a bird, with clipped wings, fluttering in his hands until his will had subdued her, and then, his desire for amusement satisfied, she would be set aside and forgotten until the next time. She hated him! Oh, God, how she hated him!
'Miss Laura?'
She came to her senses suddenly to find Jemima staring at her curiously. She felt the cold dampness of perspiration on her forehead, and her hands were clenched so tightly on the table that her nails were biting into the soft flesh of her palms.
'Are you all right, Miss Laura?' the Coloured woman questioned anxiously, her dark eyes taking in the pallor of Laura's cheeks, and the shadows beneath eyes which had a faintly haunted look about them.
'I'm fine,' Laura managed with a forced smile as she pushed back her chair and stood up, but she turned away hastily when her lips began to tremble. 'I think I'll go for a walk in the garden. I need some fresh air.'
She left the house through the side entrance and walked briskly but aimlessly through the enormous grounds. She was being stifled slowly but surely in that house with its antiques and its unhappy memories of the past. Anton's forceful presence lingered in every room as well, like an unseen shadow reaching out to engulf her, and she wanted to escape, to flee from his domination of her mind and her body, but where could she go without taking with her that feeling of guilt at having to leave Sally behind. The child needed her; needed to know that she would be there when she returned home from school in the afternoons, and heaven knew Laura could never do anything to hurt a child who had been hurt so badly already.
A dove called to its mate in the tree above her, and the sound was strangely soothing, making her shiver involuntarily as the tension uncoiled within her. Deep inside her a little voice warned her to take care, or she might find herself being hurt far more than she had ever dreamed of. Hurt by whom, or by what? she wondered curiously, but the answer evaded her like the disappearing mist on the mountain slope which was forbidden territory at Bella-vista.
Laura returned to the house eventually and slipped into the daily routine she had planned for herself, not giving herself time to think until she could help Sally with her studying when she returned from school that afternoon, and then the hours passed swiftly until it was time to sit down to the dinner she had planned that morning with Jemima.
Sally lingered at the table that evening after dinner, and she cast a quick glance in Laura's direction before she turned to Anton and said: 'The school closes on Friday for the Easter holidays.'
'So it does,' Anton replied evenly, pushing aside his cup and lighting a cigarette. 'Do you have anything special in mind for the holidays?'
'Could we go to your cottage at Gordon's Bay, Uncle Anton?' Sally asked with a pathetic eagerness that touched Laura's heart.
'I'll arrange for Eddie to drive you and Laura there on Friday afternoon.'
'Oh, but—' Sally's face clouded. 'But I want you to come as well.'
'I'm afraid that's out of the question,' Anton announced with bruising abruptness. 'I'm far too busy at the moment.'
'But, Uncle Anton—' Sally paused and glanced beseechingly at Laura. 'Tell him, Aunty Laura. He'll listen to you. Tell him it won't be any fun without him.'
'Forget it,' Anton snapped before Laura could open her mouth. 'I can't get away at this moment.'
Sally cast a bewildered glance from Laura back to Anton. 'But—'
'That's enough, Sally,' he ordered sharply, and the child's lips quivered.
'Oh, very well. I just thought—' Sally paused hopefully, but when Anton maintained an adamant silence, she got up from the table and said unhappily, 'I'm going up to my room.'
Steel-grey eyes captured Laura's glance as Sally left the room, and she knew instinctively that this was not the moment to pursue the subject. She drank her coffee quickly and excused herself, but when she left the dining-room she felt those cold eyes boring into her back.
A few minutes later she knocked briefly on Sally's bed-room door and entered without waiting for a reply. Sally was lying on her bed staring darkly up at the ceiling with her hands locked behind her head, and Laura closed the door softly behind her before she crossed the room towards the bed.
'May I sit down?' she smiled tentatively.
'I suppose so,' Sally muttered, making room for her on the bed beside her.
'Oh, come on, darling, don't look so glum about it,' Laura insisted in a lighthearted attempt to shake the child out of her mood. 'You and I could still have a lot of fun together, couldn't we?'
'I know that, Aunty Laura, but—' Sally removed her hands from behind her head and sat up, her lips curling petulantly. 'It would have been so much fun with Uncle Anton there as well.'
'I'll talk to him again, Sally, but I can't promise anything.'
Dark eyes regarded Laura intently. 'Will you really talk to him about it?'
'Yes, but—' Laura hesitated, not wanting to push her hopes up too high. 'If he really can't make it, Sally, will you promise to accept his decision?'
Sally considered this for a moment, and then nodded. 'I'll be disappointed, but I'll accept it.'
'Good girl,' Laura smiled, pinching the soft cheek affectionately between her fingers. 'Now, stop looking so unhappy, or you'll have me believing my company isn't good enough for you.'
'That's not true, Aunty Laura. I just love you to bits,' Sally exclaimed, and demonstrated this by flinging her arms about Laura's neck and hugging her effusively.
'And I feel the same about you,
darling,' Laura assured her sincerely as she hugged the child against her and smoothed the dark head with a gentle hand. 'I think it's time you had your bath and went to bed, don't you?'
'Yes, Aunty Laura.'
Laura kissed her goodnight and prepared to leave, but Sally's voice halted her when she had opened the door, and Laura turned to face her unsuspectingly. 'Yes, darling?'
Brown eyes surveyed her intently across the room. 'You do love Uncle Anton, don't you?'
Momentarily taken aback, Laura stared at her, then she pulled herself together with an effort and, as convincingly as possible, she said: 'Of course I do.'
Sally frowned and fingered one of her long plaits. 'You never show it.'
'Your aunt and I aren't demonstrative by nature,' a voice said behind Laura, and her cheeks flared hotly as she swung round to see Anton standing there, but he barely glanced at her as he added, 'If you want a demonstration, however, I'm sure we could oblige you.'
Before Laura could utter a syllable in protest, she found herself draped across a muscled arm, and a hard mouth was pressed against hers in an impersonal, yet shattering kiss that left her clinging to him in a dazed fashion when he finally raised his head and glanced at Sally who had been observing them closely. 'Satisfied?'
'Yes,' the child nodded happily. 'Goodnight.'
Moments later, in the privacy of their bedroom, Laura turned on Anton angrily. 'That display was unnecessary.'
'On the contrary, I thought it extremely necessary for Sally's peace of mind. Besides…' a humourless smile curved his mouth, 'you enjoyed it.'
A wave of hot colour surged into her cheeks and, swinging away from him, she said furiously, 'I loathed it, and you damn well know it!'
He followed her into the bathroom with long, angry strides, and she shrank against the rose-coloured tiles as he towered over her menacingly before her shoulders were taken in a bone-crushing grip. Her cry of pain was stifled when he pulled her up against him with a force which temporarily robbed her of breath, then feather-light kisses tantalised her lips until, with a shuddering moan, they parted to offer him the sweetness within. His hands left her shoulders to move down the length of her back to her hips in a possessively sweeping caress, and her treacherous body went limp against him as a sensual fire was lit within her. Her hands crept up his broad chest to become locked behind his strong neck, but at this point he drew back, and his taunting laughter penetrated her drugged senses to fill her with such intense shame and self-disgust that she cringed from him as well as her inner self.
'If that was a demonstration of your loathing, then loathe me all you want,' he continued to taunt her, his eyes like lasers burning into hers until it felt as though her very soul was being scorched.
She fell away from him to lean against the tiled wall, the quick rise and fall of her breasts beneath the silk of her blouse indicating her distress, and then the colour drained slowly from her face to leave her paper-white. The room swayed about her momentarily, but just as quickly it righted itself, and, closing her eyes tightly to shut out his twisted, cynical features, she whispered brokenly, 'Leave me alone, please.'
She would not have been surprised if he had ignored her request, but a few moments later she heard the bathroom door close, and when she opened her eyes again, she was alone.
A leisurely, scented bath did much to restore her equilibrium, out it did nothing for the deep-seated ache in the region of her heart. During those brief moments, while the room had swayed about her, she had discovered the reason why she had feared Anton ever since their first meeting on Robert's yacht. Physically, Anton had made a shattering impact on her senses, and something must have warned her, even men, that her heart would not escape unscathed if she should be foolish enough to tangle with him. With Robert and Elizabeth no longer there, fate had taken over in the cruellest way, and she had been thrust into the very hands she had wanted to evade. She could not put a label to her feelings—not yet—but she knew, without doubt, that the day would soon come when she would have to admit that Anton DeVere meant more to her than any man ever could or would in future.
She sighed unsteadily as she slipped her arms into the sleeves of her blue satin dressing gown, and she tied the belt firmly about her slim waist before leaving the bathroom. Relieved to find the bedroom empty, she seated herself in front of the dressing-table mirror to remove the pins from her hair. Long, firm strokes with the brush blended a sheen of honey into the soft brown, making her look young and vulnerable, and somehow appealing when Anton entered the room a few minutes later.
Her wide blue eyes took in his appearance from the sheen of dampness on his dark hair after his shower, down to the brown towelling robe which accentuated the superb physical fitness of his wide-shouldered, lean-hipped frame, and her heart hammered against her ribs as he came towards her. She was on the verge of panic when she noticed that he was carrying two mugs on a tray, and her questioning glance swept upwards once more to meet his.
'It's cocoa,' he told her abruptly with the faintest smile touching his lips as he placed the tray on the dressing-table and pulled up a chair for himself before handing her a mug.
Laura murmured her thanks unsteadily and frowned down into the cocoa as if the reason for this thoughtful gesture lay hidden in its milky depths.
'I haven't slipped poison into your drink, if that's what you're thinking,' he mocked her, and a flush stained her cheeks as she looked up sharply.
'I was thinking,' she told him coldly, 'that it was kind of you to make us something to drink.'
'It was thirst, not kindness, that made me do it,' he stated flatly, leaning forward to place a heavy hand on her knee. 'I'm never kind, and well you know it.'
She stared down at his hand in a hypnotic fashion, un-able to move when he slid it up along her thigh in a sensually arousing caress that made her quiver responsively before he released her and sat back in his chair to drink his cocoa.
There had been nothing casual about his touch. It had been a deliberately taunting gesture to prove to her that he controlled her as completely as he controlled everything else in his life, but, for the first time, this thought did not repel her.
She felt his eyes on her while she sipped at her drink, and cursed herself for not having put on something beneath her gown. After almost two months of marriage to Anton she did not have to be told that his tanned, muscular body was clad in nothing but his towelling robe, and her cheeks went pink at the thought.
'Is there no possibility of your going with us to Gordon's Bay?' she asked hurriedly, attempting to steer her thoughts along a less disturbing avenue.
'No possibility at all.'
'But couldn't you—'
'Dammit, Laura,' he interrupted bitingly, placing his empty mug on the tray with a thump that made her flinch visibly as he got to his feet, 'I'm up to my ears in work, and you sit there nagging like a child!'
'I wasn't nagging,' she insisted calmly. 'I merely asked if—'
'I know damn well what you asked, and I've told you before that it's impossible at the moment.'
'We're supposed to be a family, you know.'
A tense silence followed her quietly spoken remark, and he turned to face her with barely concealed anger in the taut line of his jaw.
'Are you suggesting that I'm shirking my responsibilities?' he demanded with a dangerous calm that sent a shiver up her spine, but she sustained his glance unflinchingly.
'I'm not suggesting anything of the kind, Anton, but you have been away rather more than you've been home during the past weeks.'
His eyes narrowed, and that hateful cynicism curved his hard mouth. 'Are you pleading Sally's cause or your own?'
Laura's back went stiff with resentment and anger, and she rose to her feet jerkily to place her mug on the tray beside his. 'You know very well that Sally has been looking forward to spending this holiday at your cottage, and her plans have included you.'
'And you, Laura?' he mocked her. 'Did your plans include me as well?'
'I don't give a damn what you do!' she lied, turning her back on him for fear of what he might see in her eyes, but Anton reacted swiftly, and steely fingers snaked about her wrist, swinging her about roughly to face him.
'I think you do give a damn!' he said through his teeth, his eyes glinting steel-like down into hers.
'Let me go!' she cried, attempting to free her hand, but succeeding only in having the other captured as well as he dragged her up against him and rendered her helpless by pinning her wrists behind her back.
The hard contact of his body against her own, and the clean male scent of him, attacked her senses like the affect of a drug, but as she threw her head back to glare up at him, he lowered his lips to her exposed neck to explore the sensitive column of her throat where every nerve and pulse quivered responsively.
'I've had the distinct feeling lately that, each time I've been away, you've welcomed my return with a certain eagerness.'
'Only your egotistical mind could think up something so absurd,' she argued, shutting her eyes in her desperate effort to fight against the tremors of delight that rippled through her.
'Is it so absurd to think that you miss my lovemaking when I'm away?'
'It's more than absurd,' she contradicted his taunting re-mark. 'It's ludicrous! I hate you to touch me!'
He raised his head suddenly and something in his eyes made her renew her frantic efforts to escape, but he merely laughed that cruel, harsh laugh while he gripped both her wrists in one large hand, leaving his other hand free to brush aside the wide collar of her gown to expose one smooth shoulder.
'Is it hate that makes you tremble when I touch you like this?' he asked mockingly, the deep timbre of his voice thrilling her while his warm hand moved in a sensually arousing caress from her shoulder to her breast, and despite her efforts to keep a tight rein on her emotions, she could not prevent her limbs from weakening against him as a shudder of ecstasy shook through her to prove, humiliatingly, how effortlessly he could arouse her emotions.
Season of Shadows Page 8
