by Tessa Radley
“Didn’t your mother object when he took you away?”
Zac glanced at her sideways. “My mother had an addictive personality. She was in and out of rehab—she had enough alcohol problems without worrying about me. She was hardly more than a child when she married my father at seventeen and fell pregnant with me soon after.”
Pandora’s heart went out to the little boy he’d once been. But when she started to say something, Zac interrupted, “With the exception of my father, the Kyriakos men have always been associated with wealth and acumen. And beautiful women.” He shot her a hooded look and Pandora bit back her instant derogatory response. “Orestes was rumoured to have rescued his princess from the Bolshevik revolution, although there were some who said he stole her from her father—she brought a fortune in jewels as her dowry.”
“She was beautiful.” Pandora had seen the painting that hung in the entrance hall to Zac’s house.
“Before that there was an English heiress and a shah’s daughter, as well as—”
“And were all these beautiful paragons virgins?” Pandora interrupted.
Zac gave her a long look. “Yes. It was their innocence that initially attracted a Kyriakos male and their purity of spirit that kept him faithful all the years of their marriage.”
“Oh, please.”
“It’s true,” he insisted. “Kyriakos men do not stray from the marriage bed.”
“What about your playboy father?”
“He was an aberration. A disgrace to the Kyriakos name and my grandfather disowned him. But even my father never dared divorce my mother and he failed to live up to the family name. There is no divorce. Ever. The sacredness of the marriage lies at the heart of the prophecy. A woman pure of body and spirit means a faithful man, sufficient heirs and wealth forever.”
“You believe all this?”
His eyes flickered. “It doesn’t matter whether I believe it. It’s the legend. It is what is expected. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy that no Kyriakos heir worthy of the name has seen fit to disturb for nearly a thousand years since the Fourth Crusade. That was when the first documentation appeared about the legend—in the journal of an ancestor who rescued the daughter of a silk merchant, a woman who was reputed to be as innocent as a lamb, more beautiful than Helen of Troy and more wealthy than Croesus.”
“What happened to your ancestor during the Fourth Crusade?” Despite herself, Pandora’s interest was tagged.
“He came to live in Athens—on the same piece of land where my home stands. Byzantium did not take part in the crusades. There were issues with Rome.” Zac’s jaw was tight. “War is a cynical business, and the lure of instant wealth in Byzantium caused a few of the Venetian nobleman to end their crusade long before they reached Syria. The pickings were easy, the people less fierce and the rewards didn’t mean facing an army. My ancestor saved the young woman from a marauding Venetian knight who treated her as little more than a slave—her only use to him was for ransom.”
“So your ancestor stole her for her maidenhead and her wealth. What makes you think she grew to love him?”
“When he settled in Athens—a village then compared to Constantinople—he built her a castle. And beside the castle had a church erected. The castle no longer exists, but the church that he built for her in 1205, according to the family journal, still stands. It’s now a national monument. And an inscription in the church records their love for each other.”
Infuriated, Pandora cut across him. “And because your Kyriakos ancestors abducted their brides you think that gives you justification to kidnap me? Guess what? You’re dead wrong about that. You had no right—”
“Pandora…” He moved to sit on the couch beside her. “You’re right. This is not about my ancestors. We need to talk about us.”
She froze as he came closer. Shaking her head so that her pale, long hair flew around her face, she said, “No, I don’t want to talk about us. And it is about who you are, where you come from.”
“Hell.” He raked a hand through his hair and leaned back. “You make me sound like an alien from another universe.”
“Perhaps you are.” Annoyed and frustrated, she frowned at him. “I need to understand why a modern man gives credence to ancient superstition and waits years to find a virgin bride.”
“I would never have married you if you weren’t also—”
“Tell me one thing, Zac,” Pandora interrupted him as she perched on the edge of the sofa, tension humming through her as she scanned his features. “Would I ever have merited a second look if I hadn’t been a virgin?”
There was silence. “No.” His reply was subdued. “I heard about this heiress who lived at the end of the world who was beautiful and innocent and I hoped—”
“That’s why you came down to New Zealand instead of sending a minion? Not to see my father to broker some business deal?” Pandora could hear her voice rising again and she forced herself to speak calmly. “To look me over?”
Another hesitation. “I came to meet you, to get to know you.”
“Oh, God!”
“But I would never have taken it to the next level, asked you to marry me, if I hadn’t been sure—”
“I can’t believe this!” Pandora threw her hands into the air. “It’s the twenty-first century. Most people marry because they want to get married. For love, to have children—for a whole host of reasons. And I manage to find the one guy on earth who’s not after love. He’s searching for a virgin bride because that’s what his forebears did. You know what? It’s downright archaic!”
“Stop.” Zac held up a hand and straightened beside her.
Stop? She hadn’t even begun. She opened her mouth to protest his high-handedness. “I—”
“Stop right there,” he cut across her. “Let’s talk about why you think I don’t love you.”
“Oh, come on, Zac.” She pushed up off the sofa and took a couple of steps away. “There’s no need to pretend anymore.”
“Isn’t there?” he asked enigmatically, watching her through half-closed eyes, his legs stretched out in front of him.
“No.” She threw him an assessing look from under her eyelashes. Straight talk? It was now or never. He’d have no choice but to let her go. She drew a deep breath. “Anyway, it would appear that you’ve been under a misconception.”
His gaze sharpened to a bright, brilliant green. “A misconception?”
“I was not a virgin on our wedding night.” Raising her chin a notch, she met his gaze and held her breath.
He went white. The shock reflected in his eyes made Pandora’s stomach clench. Any hope she’d had that he’d dismiss her lack of virginity with a wave of his hand disappeared.
No, Zac would never have married her if he’d known she wasn’t a virgin. That much was clear from the accusing glitter in his eyes.
He uncoiled and rose in a smooth, swift movement. The anger in his gaze devastated her. Suddenly Pandora felt tired and old and thoroughly disillusioned. “So now you see why there’s no point talking…or keeping me on this island.”
Zac’s jaw moved, but no words emerged from between his lips. And his face reverted to hard and blank. In his silence she had her answer.
“I’m right, then.” Her shoulders hunched and she drew a protective shield around the hurt inside her heart. “You don’t love me—you never did. You simply pretended that you did. You lied to me, Zac.”
“This is where I get to tell you that you’re not the only one who feels cheated.” His mouth twisted. “You haven’t been wholly truthful, either.”
“Where did I lie to you?” Pandora demanded.
“You had me believe you’d led a sheltered life—”
“I have! I spent half my life in St. Catherine’s—”
He rode over her. “And now you reveal you are not a virgin.”
“Oh, for goodness’ sake.” Pandora rolled her eyes to the ceiling. “How many virgins have you known, Zac?”
His gaze slid a
way from her, toward the darkening sky outside the vast sheets of glass. “That is not a question I’m prepared to answer.” A dark flush lay along his cheekbones.
“I’ll tell you how many—none.”
His head came around. “How did—” He paused, then shrugged.
“It’s obvious.” Pandora threw her arms wide. “That’s what this is all about, isn’t it? That’s why you’re in this fix. Because there aren’t any suitable virgins out there. Not unless you want to marry a fifteen-year-old and look like an utter pervert because you married a schoolgirl less than half your age. That’s why you picked me. For some reason, you thought I was the perfect candidate.”
The flush of colour drained from his skin and the pale flesh stretched tautly across his cheeks like alabaster. He stood unmoving, like the marble statue at the Acropolis Museum she’d thought he’d resembled, staring at her with those disturbingly empty eyes.
She held up an index finger and noticed absently that it trembled. “One lover. That’s all I’ve had before last night. One lover.”
And it had been a stupid mistake.
She’d been innocent, a silly little fool. But how could she explain that to Zac? He would never understand. She’d been so young and so darn gullible. Seventeen—nearly eighteen—and madly in love for the first time in her life. Pandora felt a stir of guilt. She hadn’t given a thought to what her crazy infatuation might one day cost her.
It was going to cost her Zac. What was the point of skirting around the issue? That was what was at stake here. Zac had expected to marry a virgin. And she bitterly resented that he couldn’t see past her lack of virginity to the woman who loved him with her whole flawed heart.
So when he took a step toward her, she backed to the door. In case her resolve melted and she dissolved into his arms, yearning for his love.
Her hands warding him off, she warned, “Stay away from me. You’re not touching me tonight. I don’t want to be in the same room as you.”
And then she spun away from Zac and hurried out of the room.
The gurgle of the last of the single-malt scotch running into his glass led Zac to the realisation that he’d drunk the whole bottle he’d unsealed several hours earlier. Lurching to his feet, he stumbled to the deck, where he hurled the contents of the glass far into the night, revolted by his excess.
His wife was driving him to drink.
But tonight there was no need for Dutch courage. Pandora would not be waiting for him in his bedroom. Hell, he didn’t want to remember the look on Pandora’s face when she’d rounded on him, making it more than clear he wasn’t to go near her tonight. So he’d arranged for Maria to prepare her a smaller bedroom down the other side of the corridor.
But not even his wife’s biting anger could stop him growing hard and hungry at the memory of their wedding night. Last night his beautiful bride had wanted, revelled in the passion he’d shown her.
Yet now she hated him. While he craved her.
He sank down onto the couch and shook his head to clear it of the alcoholic fog that hung over him.
His wife. He’d been so desperate to get his hands on Pandora in the lead-up to the wedding day, but he’d waited. Restrained himself because he’d wanted it to be perfect for his bride.
The wedding had been perfect. And his wedding night had been even more perfect. He dropped his hands into his head. Pandora had been so responsive to his touch but so obviously lacking experience. So tight when he’d penetrated her. There’d been no reason to doubt that she was a virgin. Hell, he hadn’t expected an intact hymen, not with the active, sporty lifestyle a modern girl led.
But he’d been floored by her announcement that he wasn’t her first lover. The whole dream had blown up in his face, scattering pieces of chaos everywhere. Zac gave a groan. And he didn’t know how to put his orderly world back together again. No wave of a magic wand would turn Pandora back into a virgin.
There had never been a divorce in his family in a thousand years. Not even his failure of a father had committed that sin. Zac rubbed a hand over his face, mentally recoiling at the idea of all that ugliness.
His head ached thinking about the choice. A sullied bride? Never! The scandal of a divorce? He could not let Pandora go.
If he flew her to the airport tomorrow, he’d never see her again. Never hold her, never touch her. He closed his eyes at the wave of nausea that swept him at that thought. Pandora was not going anywhere. Not until…
Until…what? He shook his head and another wave of nausea swirled around him. Hell, he couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t think what to do next. The sheer lack of clarity shocked him. With a wretched sigh, Zac reached for his glass—then remembered he’d tossed the contents over the edge of the deck and groaned. Collapsing sideways, he slid full length onto the couch and closed his eyes.
And wished that the room would stop spinning around him.
Five
The following day, a tentative knock roused Pandora from the doze she’d floated in for ages since dawn. Instantly awake, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, intensely aware of the slither of the pale gold satin nightgown against her legs.
Could it be Zac? Her pulse picked up. Could he be coming to apologise for not loving her, for misleading her, for all the grief he’d caused her?
“Who is it?”
Her query was overridden by another—louder—knock.
Annoyed, she called, “Go away, Zac.”
But the knocking continued to staccato against the door. Pandora leaped across the room, her heartbeat racing in anticipation of the battle to come. She turned the key in the lock and yanked the door open.
But it wasn’t Zac who stood there. Instead, Pandora found herself facing an elderly woman balancing a breakfast tray on one hand, the other poised to knock again. Pandora recognised the bag and scarf slung over the woman’s shoulder as her own.
This must be Maria, Georgios’s wife. Pandora hid her exasperation and the twinge of disappointment that it wasn’t Zac. “Oh, thank you. I must have left them downstairs last night.”
Maria said nothing. Pandora tried not to let the woman’s lack of welcome get to her. Instead, she scanned the teapot and cup, the bunch of dark purple grapes, the toast and conserve prettily arranged on the tray and said, “That looks delicious,” before reaching for the tray.
Maria held on to it. For a moment Pandora thought the old woman intended to keep possession of it, then unexpectedly she relinquished it. Backing into the room clasping the tray, Pandora smiled her thanks.
Setting the tray on the chest of drawers beside the window, Pandora turned to find Maria in the room. The handbag had been set down on the bed. Pandora’s silk scarf lay across Maria’s hands, and the old woman’s crooked fingers moved in little circles against the brightly hand-dyed silk.
Pandora warmed to her. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? My favourite scarf.”
Maria ignored her, her fingertips continuing to caress the fabric.
“Did Zac instruct you to give me the silent treatment? Is this another part of his kidnap plan? Isolate me? So that I fall into his arms?”
Nothing. Not even a glance from the other woman.
Pandora gave a sigh of impatience. “You know, a little politeness goes a long way.”
At last Maria looked at her.
Pandora shook her head in disgust. “You’re very rude,” she said clearly. Shrugging when she didn’t get a response, Pandora stalked to the door and pointedly opened it fully. There was no mistaking the message, and Maria’s expression clouded over. She gave the scarf one last stroke before draping it on the post at the bottom of the bed. Then she shuffled past Pandora, her dark eyes veiled.
“Have a nice day.” Pandora pinned on a wide smile.
But Maria didn’t look at her again—nor did she deign to reply.
Shutting the door behind the rude old crone, Pandora locked it for good measure. Only then did she unzip her bag and realise that her cell phone was missing
. She remembered Zac suggesting seductively that she spend her time on the island making love. She’d dropped the phone and he’d picked it up. The frustration simmering inside her notched up another degree.
Zac had kept her cell phone.
Seething, Pandora pushed open the curtains and blinked against the bright September sunlight. The absence of shadows made her glance at her watch. It was already midday, so she hastened to the en suite to wash and afterward pulled a floaty white sundress from the wardrobe where someone—Maria perhaps?—had hung her clothes.
Once dressed, she dragged an armchair from the corner of the room and placed it squarely in front of the window and settled down to tackle the fruit Maria had brought. She had just finished the grapes when a new volley of knocking thundered against the door. A moment later the doorknob rattled, but the lock held.
“Unlock the door.” Zac’s voice held a dangerous edge.
“Go away, Zac.”
“Open it now,” he demanded.
She stared mutinously at the door. A heavy thud rocked the door. But the wood held. His shoulder? Probably. She hoped it hurt like blazes. “Stop it, Zac.”
“Open the damned door or I’ll break it down.”
At the thought of Zac’s breaking the door down a forbidden flare of excitement stirred. God, what was she becoming? “If you use any force on that door, I’ll lose the last tiny shred of respect I have for you.”
There was silence. Then she heard him heave a heavy sigh. “You’ve hurt Maria’s feelings.”
The totally unexpected attack took her aback. “I’ve hurt Maria’s feelings?” What about her feelings? Slowly she rose from the chair and went to unlock the door.
Her eyes widened as she took in Zac’s appearance. He looked haggard. His normally tanned skin held an unhealthy yellow tinge, and his eyes were red-rimmed.
