by Anne Mather
‘Jaime!’
Rafaello speaking her name brought her to an unwilling standstill, and she turned at the head of the stairs to find him striding after her. In the cotton shirt and jeans he had worn to go riding, he exuded an air of raw masculinity, and away from the unpleasant atmosphere of his apartments, the heated male scent of his body was unmistakeable.
‘I want to talk to you,’ he said, glancing back over his shoulder. ‘But not now.’ He brushed a careless hand across his thigh. ‘I need a shower, and a change of clothes. Meet me in the library in fifteen minutes.’
‘Oh, really—–’ Jaime put her hand to the back of her neck, under the silky weight of her hair, ‘is this necessary? I—er—I’ve got a headache. Couldn’t it wait until later?’
‘I do not think so.’ Rafaello was uncompromising. ‘Your headache was not so great that you could not go walking with Lorenzo in the hot sunlight, or sufficient to deter you from encouraging Nicola to drink spirits before noon.’
‘Now, wait a minute—–’ Jaime was indignant, but Rafaello was already turning away. ‘Fifteen minutes: you will wait fifteen minutes,’ he declared, his dark eyes chillingly determined. ‘The library, signorina. Any of the servants will tell you where it is.’
Jaime’s lips pursed mutinously as he walked away. It was her first experience of Rafaello’s arrogance, and her state of mind was such that she resolved not to obey him. She was not one of his employees; she was not a servant; and he had no right to treat her as one, just because he resented her friendship with his wife.
She decided to go to her own room. Although she would have much preferred to go outside, there was less likelihood of Rafaello finding her indoors, and she had not been lying, her head was aching quite badly now.
It was not so difficult to find her tower as she had half expected. Now that she was learning her way about the castle, it was possible to calculate her whereabouts, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she reached her own apartments.
Her bed had been made in her absence, and the room tidied and put to order. With the windows open, as she had left them, the room felt delightfully cool, and she pulled off her bandanna and collapsed on the bed, with a feeling of utter abandon. Oh, Martin, she thought wistfully, if you could see me now, you wouldn’t approve at all! Somehow this warm and passionate land had infected her with its urgency, and the cool collected Jaime he had known in England had given way to a girl who was suddenly and irresponsibly governed by emotion.
Jaime had been nineteen when she first saw Rafaello di Vaggio. Unfortunately, as it turned out, it had been at the home of Nicola’s parents that she had met him, and she knew Mrs Temple had never forgiven her for thwarting all her plans; albeit temporarily.
Jaime hadn’t seen Nicola since they had both left Abbotsford nine months previously, Nicola to attend a finishing school in Switzerland, and Jaime to take up her position in the typing pool at Helena Holt Cosmetics. It was Christmas, and when Nicola discovered that her friend intended to spend the festive season in her bedsitter in Earl’s Court, she had insisted that Jaime came to stay with her parents in Windsor.
‘We’re having a house party,’ she said. ‘One or two business colleagues of Daddy’s and their wives, my aunt and uncle and my two cousins, and a rather super Italian count, who Mummy is hoping will take a fancy to me.’
Jaime had hesitated about accepting Nicola’s generous invitation, but Mrs Temple herself had endorsed her daughter’s sentiments. ‘You can’t possibly remain in that dreadful little room all over the holiday,’ she had declared firmly. ‘We’ve got plenty of room, and one more or less won’t make any great difference.’
Nevertheless, Jaime had arrived at the Temples’ spacious house in Windsor feeling totally out of place. Everyone else had friends or family to talk to, while apart from Nicola and her parents, she knew nobody. Until Rafaello singled her out …
Rolling on to her side now, Jaime traced the damask pattern of the quilt with an unsteady finger. Rafaello, she thought tautly, Raf—who had taken pity on her at once, and made it his business to ensure that she enjoyed herself.
And she had. Closing her eyes now, she could remember every moment of that magical weekend. From the moment Rafaello was introduced to her as a friend of Nicola’s, until the night after she returned to London, when Rafaello had made love to her …
She supposed, in his way, he had been as much a stranger as she was. His own family was back in Italy, he said, except for his mother, who was visiting relatives in San Francisco over Christmas, but business had brought him to London, and he had been happy to accept Mr Temple’s invitation.
‘A bachelor uncle is of no value at Christmas,’ he confessed with a smile. ‘My brother and sisters all have children—bambini—while I can only be relied upon to produce an extra present.’
Jaime laughed. ‘I expect that will change when you get married and have children of your own,’ she said, and Rafaello nodded.
‘When I do,’ he conceded lazily. ‘When I find someone who will take me. Until then, I am considered—how do you say it?—the black sheep of the family.’
Jaime, aware that there must be many of his fellow-countrywomen who would take him without hesitation, gave him an old-fashioned look. ‘I hope you find what you’re looking for,’ she replied, conscious that the length of their conversation had not gone unnoticed by the Temples. ‘But now, if you’ll excuse me, I promised Nicola I’d help her sort out some records for dancing. It’s Christmas Eve, and I believe there’s to be dancing after dinner.’
Rafaello’s lean fingers caught her wrist as she would have moved away. ‘And afterwards?’ he asked, disconcerting her by the seriousness of his gaze.
‘Afterwards?’ she echoed, not understanding, and he inclined his head.
‘Will you come to Mass with me?’ he requested, his eyes on her mouth, and Jaime gave a troubled shake of her head before pulling her hand away.
She guessed he went to the nearby Catholic church to attend the midnight service. He disappeared soon after dinner was over, and Nicola, who had been expecting to dance with him, pulled a sulky face.
‘Imagine it!’ she exclaimed. ‘Leaving the party to go to church! Mummy’s absolutely furious. She thinks it’s a rejection of her hospitality.’
‘I believe Italians are quite devout Catholics,’ Jaime consoled her uneasily, aware that she would have enjoyed attending a religious celebration tonight of all nights. But judging by Nicola’s reaction, it was lucky she had cried off. Whatever her motives, she could never have convinced the Temples that her reasons were innocent.
Christmas morning had dawned sharp and frosty. There was no snow to speak of, but the rime frost gave the illusion of a wintry scene, and in spite of her late night, Jaime was up soon after seven.
Bella, the Temples’ housemaid, was already up and about, cleaning out fire grates and vacuuming the debris from the previous night’s festivities. When Jaime appeared and offered to help, she at first voiced her objections, but when the girl proved to be so willing, she eventually accepted her assistance with gratitude.
So it was that when Rafaello come downstairs he found Jaime Hoovering the huge carpet in the drawing room, her hair secured beneath a shower cap Bella had provided, her creamy skin flushed with colour.
‘Oh—–’ Jaime snatched off the cap at once, but not before Rafaello had glimpsed the delightful picture she made with moist silver tendrils curling beside her ears. ‘Good morning,’ she added, in some confusion, switching off the vacuum cleaner. ‘I—er—if you want breakfast, you’ve come to the wrong place.’
‘I am not hungry,’ Rafaello replied huskily, tall and disturbing, in dark red corded slacks and a matching silk shirt. ‘I would much prefer to watch you. Go ahead—do not let me interrupt you.’
Jaime hesitated, but she had told Bella she would do it, and she could hardly back out now. With a shrug of her slim shoulders, she switched on the Hoover and then gasped in surprise when he took it from
her.
‘I will do it,’ he declared, brushing her objections aside. ‘I may find I have missed my vocation.’
‘But you can’t!’ exclaimed Jaime helplessly, unable to do anything to stop him. ‘If Mrs Temple saw you—–’
‘Mrs Temple will not see me.’ Rafaello swung the Hoover back and forth with superlative ease. ‘There—it is done, is it not? You may put the machine away, and I will permit you to take all the credit.’
Jaime sighed, bending to wind the flex around the plastic lugs. ‘I think you ought to go and see if anyone else is up,’ she mumbled unhappily. ‘Bella is serving breakfast in the morning room. Nicola might be there. She was looking for you last night.’
Rafaello’s response was to stroke his hand across the provocative curve of her rear, and she came up with a start to find him close beside her. ‘Count—–’ she protested, as his fingers slid along her waist to draw her nearer to him, and then her objections died beneath his lips when his mouth sought and covered hers.
She was brought close against his body, close against the taut muscles of his thighs that moulded her length against him. His lips, exploratory at first, soon demanded a deeper response, and her mouth opened helplessly under his. No man had ever kissed her as Rafaello was doing, no man had ever been permitted to hold her as Rafaello was holding her, but feeling his cool fingers sliding beneath her sweater, Jaime rapidly came to her senses.
‘No!’ she choked, tearing her mouth from his and putting two feet of space between them. ‘I don’t,’ she added, rubbing the back of her hand across her bruised lips. ‘That is—I think you’d better go.’
Rafaello regarded her steadily, making no move to leave her. ‘What is wrong?’ he asked flatly. ‘There is someone else? Forgive me, but last night I thought you were free.’
‘I am.’ Jaime made an impatient gesture. ‘That’s not why I stopped you. I—just don’t go in for this kind of thing.’
‘What kind of thing?’
‘You know.’ Jaime sighed. ‘I know it’s Christmas, and you probably think I’m a prude, but it’s not that. I just—don’t want you to touch me.’
Rafaello pushed his hands into the hip pockets of his pants. ‘That was not my impression.’
‘No—well, perhaps you’d better confine your advances to Nicola. I don’t think her mother would appreciate your spreading yourself around.’
‘Nicola?’ Rafaello frowned. ‘What has Nicola got to do with this?’
‘I think you know,’ retorted Jaime unevenly. ‘Now, please excuse me. I promised Bella I’d Hoover the hall, too.’
She left him then, refusing to respond to the look of blank bewilderment in his eyes. He knew perfectly well why the Temples had invited him here, she told herself fiercely. And if he thought he could play the field, then he was very much mistaken.
On Christmas afternoon, various other members of the family arrived, and Jaime was pleased to be given the opportunity to melt into the background. As the daughter of the house, Nicola attracted most attention, and although her male cousins gravitated in Jaime’s direction, there were plenty of other distractions. Nevertheless, Jaime noticed Nicola seldom allowed Rafaello far from her side, and in spite of what he had said that morning, the young Italian seemed quite content to play court.
Dinner was a long and festive meal, with plenty of good food and wine, and the pleasurable prospect of a lazy evening ahead. Only the younger members of the party joined in the dancing afterwards, and Jaime made the most of emptying ashtrays and collecting empty glasses to evade the amorous attentions of young men who had had too much to drink.
Bella went off duty at half-past nine, and Jaime was alone in the kitchen when Gavin Temple, Nicola’s cousin, cornered her there. ‘So this is where you’ve been hiding yourself,’ he remarked, advancing across the wooden tiles on unsteady legs. ‘Cinderella to the life, only Cinderella was never so sexy,’ he added, his voice thickening ominously. ‘C’mon and dance with me, Jaime. You can’t stay out here all night.’
Jaime sighed, and wiped her hands on a tea-cloth. ‘Go back to the party, Gavin,’ she urged him quietly. ‘I’ll join you shortly. I just want to finish these glasses.’
‘F’get the glasses,’ muttered Gavin, reaching for her aggressively. ‘C’mon on, stop being a spoilsport!’
‘Gavin, please—–’ Jaime moved round the table that stood in the middle of the floor, ‘I wish you wouldn’t do this. Do you want me to have to call for assistance?’
‘Who from?’ demanded Gavin carelessly. ‘No one would hear you—they’re all too busy getting drunk.’ He lurched round the table towards her. ‘Hey, stand still, there’s a good girl.’
Jaime looked about her helplessly, searching for a weapon, but all she could see were empty bottles and she was loath to use anything so dangerous. ‘Gavin—–’ she persisted, still glancing urgently about her, and then let out a cry of protest when his fingers grasped a handful of her hair.
‘I said come here,’ he grunted, pulling her towards him, and Jaime struggled furiously as his slobbering mouth descended towards hers.
‘Let her go, Temple.’
The quiet command arrested Gavin in mid-flight, his eyes wobbling round unsteadily to identify the intruder. ‘Clear off,’ he muttered, using an ugly expletive, but when he would have resumed his previous assault, a surprisingly agile hand shot out and dragged him back.
‘You clear off,’ declared Rafaello grimly, ‘or would you like to continue this argument outside?’
Gavin pulled himself away from the other man, brushing the shoulder of his jacket as if to remove any lingering creases Rafaello’s fingers had made. ‘No need to get offensive, old man,’ he protested, aware of his slight height disadvantage. ‘You know how it is—one minute they’re all over you, and the next they’re shouting rape!’
‘Raf, don’t!’
The words were torn from Jaime as Rafaello’s fist clenched in anger, and taking advantage of the momentary distraction, Gavin stumbled towards the door. ‘Better luck than I had,’ he grunted, putting himself safely beyond reach, and Jaime shook her head rather hysterically as the door swung to behind him.
‘Are you all right?’
Rafaello came towards her as Jaime endeavoured to recover her composure. Happily, her hair had not been too badly mussed, and the low round neckline of her fine wool dress only briefly exposed the rapid rise and fall of her breasts. With a jerky nod, she turned back to what she had been doing at the sink, and glanced at him unwillingly as he came to prop his hips against the unit beside her.
‘Wh-where’s Nicola?’ she asked, pushing back the long sleeves of her gown so that they would not make contact with the water. ‘You seemed to be having a good time.’
‘You do not,’ remarked Rafaello drily, nodding at the glasses. ‘Do you get paid for this, or is it simply that you are avoiding me?’
‘Oh, Count di Vaggio—–’
‘It was Raf, a few moments ago.’
‘I can’t call you that.’
‘Why not? It is my name.’ Rafaello turned and firmly drew her hands out of the water. ‘Come, I want to dance with you. I promise I will not do anything you do not wish, but you cannot deny me one dance.’
Jaime sighed. ‘Nicola—–’
‘Nicola is already dancing,’ declared Rafaello steadily. ‘Now, will you come?’
She couldn’t resist him, even though she knew she would probably regret it in the morning. But for now, it was enough to feel him draw her into his arms, for his hands to slide about her waist, and to feel his breath fanning her temple. The music was slow, a languid refrain that had brought some of the older members of the party on to the expanse of polished wood exposed by rolling back the carpet in the dining room. In consequence, there was little room to move, and as the minutes passed, Jaime gave up trying to remain aloof. With a helpless little sigh she allowed her body to rest against him, and Rafaello unbuttoned his velvet dinner jacket to draw her inside its folds.
She felt his lips against her hair, moving along the curve of her cheek, nuzzling the sensitive hollows of her ear; but when she felt his tongue against her flesh, she flinched back from him.
‘E bene,’ he said flatly. ‘It is all right. I am sorry, I will not do it again.’
When the dance was over, Jaime made her escape, uncaring what the Temples might think about her behaviour. She went upstairs, washed in the basin in her room, and undressed for bed. No doubt Gavin’s loose tongue would give them a reason for why she had chosen to abandon the party, and she buried her head under the pillows, refusing to acknowledge what her sensitised flesh was evidence of.
In the morning, she was up before it was light, and putting a warm parka over narrow-legged jeans and a round-necked sweater, she left the house.
There was a park within walking distance, and she made for this, the grey dawn heralding a small army of dog-owners, all braving the winter chill to give their animals exercise. She wished the Temples had had a dog. Without any company she felt conspicuous, but happily no one seemed to take any notice.
She paused by a small lake, where a group of ducks had braved the ice to dive for food. They clucked about, ruffling their feathers, and Jaime propped herself against a tree to watch them, one booted foot raised against its bark.
‘Can I join you?’
The question, spoken in a low attractive voice, sent a shiver of excitement up Jaime’s spine. She turned to look at the man who had addressed her, and her pulses raced wildly at the disturbing sensuality of his mouth.
‘Raf!’ she breathed, her mouth dry, and he moved to stand in front of her.
‘The same,’ he agreed, his dark good looks accentuated by the fur-lined black jacket he was wearing. ‘I heard you leave your room.’
Jaime’s breathing was shallow. ‘You were awake?’
‘I have not been to sleep,’ he amended quietly. ‘Have you?’
