Dark inheritance (16 page)

"But surely if you loved her you "

Tin not in the habit of buying my women," he said with sudden violence. "It isn't that I didn't have the money and to spare—I could have bought her a play, a theatre, a name—but I loved her too much to want to share her with anyone else and my pride suffered when I discovered that was why she was marrying me. We had a bitter scene and I went away. But I couldn't live without her and after a couple of months I went to sec her again and begged her to marry me on whatever terms she chose. Her answer was to hold out her hand and show me Charles Gilderstein's engagement ring. I implored her to change her mind—told her she didn't love him, that she was merely marrying hi out of pique. But she just laughed. I lost my temper and we had a terrible quarrel." He fell silent for a moment. "I never knew a woman could be so vituperative, or that beauty like hers could hide so much beastliness. Looking back on it afterwards I saw many things I'd never realized before—things I'd been blind to, or if I had caught a glimpse of them through my blindness, had never admitted to myself." He turned and moved back towards the girl on the bench, his face obscured in shadow. "There's only one thing I know now, Barbara, and that is that it wasn't love at all."

"I'm glad," she said quietly. "Glad you needn't go on
regretting what happened any longer."

He sat down beside her. "Is that the only reason you're glad?"

Nervously she pleated her skirt. "Regret is so wasteful/'

"So is life without love. But perhaps you're too young to realize that yet."

"I'm not as old as you, Dominic, but I'm a woman none the less, and although I haven't had any great love behind me it doesn't mean I'm not capable of understanding someone who has."

With a suddenness that took her by surprise he cupped her face in his hands and looked into her eyes. "What ore you capable of, Barbara—what would a man find in you?"

"That would depend on what he wanted."

"If he wanted your understanding, your loyalty, your courage, and above all your love—if he wanted everything a man can ask of a woman—what then?"

"If I loved him I'd belong to him so completely that he would never need to ask."

He closed his eyes for an instant, but his hands did
not leave her face. "And what would you say if / asked
you?"

She stood up quickly and moved away from him, standing on the sloping grass verge, her skirts spreading around her in a pale arc. "Before I could tell you that I'd have to know whether my answer would mean as much to you as you'd want it to mean to me."

He moved swiftly towards her, but she warded him off. "No. Dominic, don't touch me. You must answer
first. You've just told me what Gina meant to you, and
you've explained a great deal about yourself that I've never understood before. But I still can't fit it all in. If your behaviour last night had been different it would have been easier to believe all you've said, but the
memory of your face when you saw Gina come into the
Casino has haunted me ever since." She paused. "It wasn't the look of a man who has got over an unhappy love affair."

"I see. Perhaps in a way you're right." She made a
gesture and he said hastily: "But not in the way you're
thinking, Barbara. You see, one can quickly forget words uttered in love, but words uttered in hatred are not so easily dismissed. They have a habit of recurring
long after the person who said them has ceased to mean anything, and when I saw Gina last night I wasn't re
membering my love for her but only the hatred that grew
out of it. I didn't see her eyes looking at me with desire, I saw them flashing with venom; I didn't see her lips soft and passionate, but twisted with vituperation, mouthing words meant to hurt and destroy. I didn't run away because I still loved her and couldn't bear to see her again, as you obviously thought, but because I
couldn't bear the sight of her!" He moved a step nearer.
"You mustn't forget I hadn't seen her for five years and it was a shock when she walked into the room. But
tonight I was prepared and could meet her as if she bad
always meant to me what she means now. Nothing." He was silent for a moment, then: "I didn't sleep much last night, Barbara—not only because I was reliving the past but because I was trying to decide how to live the future.
It was a difficult decision to make—I don't think you'll ever know quite how difficult, although perhaps one day I shall be able to tell you." He took another step forward. "I love you, Barbara—there, without any fancy words or flowery phrases I've said it. I love you as I've never loved anyone before and as I shall never love anyone again."

She swayed towards him and next instant they were in each other's arms, their lips coming together in a kiss of passion all the more intense for having been restrained for so long.

"Oh, my dearest darling, I need you so!" He held her close, as if her nearness could assuage the memories that tormented him, as if from her trembling mouth he could draw the peace and comfort he wanted so desperately. With a shaking hand he stroked her hair and Barbara looked up at him, adoration in her eyes.

"When did you first know, Dominic?"

"That I loved you? When you came running on to the boat at Naples, I think. Your championship of my poor
old aunt aroused my interest to begin with, but it wasn't
until you came racing along the quay that day, hot and tired and dirty, that I realized it was more than interest. And you? When did you first know you loved me?"

"When you spoke so glowingly about the Acropolis.
I knew then that anyone who loved beauty so intensely
couldn't be the ogre he tried to make out."

He threw back his head and laughed. "So you thought I was an ogre?"

She smiled. "A very nasty one. Fierce and proud and stem. Not to mention arrogant and masterful."

"Do you mind my being masterful now?" he whispered against her lips.

Her reply was stifled as his mouth closed over hers and his hands caressed her bare shoulders, awakening her to a tumult of desire she had never believed it possible to feel.

"My love, my love, I adore you!" he murmured huskily.
"F' 'anwylyd 'nvyf yn dy addoli!"

He held her as if he would never let her go, as if her
response could make up for the aching years of emptiness that had gone before, afraid that even now something might come between them. There was such ardour in his embrace, such unhappy longing, that Barbara's only desire was to give everything she possessed to help him find peace and it was Dominic who drew away at last.

Holding her at arm's length he tenderly smoothed
her dishevelled hair and placed his fingers against her
trembling lips.

"Mar hardd yw'r ferch yn ei thraddodiad"

"What docs that mean?" she asked softly.

" 'How lovely the maiden in her surrender.' I can see I'll have to teach you Celtic, my darling. It's a wonderful language, Barbara, sometimes I think the most expressive in the world. I use it whenever I'm deeply moved, so I'd better teach it to you or you won't know what I'm talking about half the time." He smiled unsteadily. "Come along now,
back,
we must go back."

Confidently she placed her hand in his and together they walked up through the garden.

CHAPTER NINE

FOR the first time since she had known him there was no uncertainty in Barbara's mind when she went to meet Dominic the following morning, no fear that she might find him changed or regretful that he had opened his heart to her.

She had slept fitfully, hugging to herself the memory
of his kisses and the burning avowal of his love, and was
eager only to sec him again and hear him avow it once
more. Even Aunt Ellie seemed to sense the girl's secret happiness, for she kept casting sly glances at her and
repeatedly asked what had happened the previous
evening, refusing to believe her casual account of their
dinner and dance. But Barbara felt it was not for her to tell the old lady what the evening had brought—that would be reserved for Dominic himself, a right she had no wish to usurp.

Perversely Aunt Ellie was even slower in dressing than usual, and it was nearly ten-thirty before she was ready to leave the cabin and go up on deck. Although the boat was not leaving until four o'clock, Dominic ha decided that two days ashore was more than enough for
his aunt, and had arranged for them to spend the day
sun-bathing on the boat itself. Most of the passengers had gone ashore and the sun deck was deserted when they went up to meet him.

Dominic saw them instantly and came towards them.

"Good morning to you both! I'd nearly given you up."

"I'm afraid it's my fault," Aunt Ellie said hastily. "I was even slower than usual this morning."

"Never mind, can't be helped. Come along, I've put three deck chairs ready for us by the stern."

He walked between them chatting casually, and
although he said nothing to Barbara personally, his hand
was warm on her arm and he glanced down at her intently.

"Here we are. I've put your chair in the shade, Aunt, but Barbara and I will sit in the sun and get brown."

He sprawled himself full length on the canvas chair and watched with a gleam of amusement as Barbara made his aunt ready for her morning doze, fixing the out-moded straw hat firmly on the grey head and making sure the sun-glasses were within reach in case the light became too bright.

"Come on. Barbara," he called impatiently, "you've been fussing quite long enough. Leave Aunt Ellie in peace and come and sit with me."

She complied and sat down by his side. "If I hadn't made her comfortable she'd only have kept calling me, and that would have made you crosser than ever."

"You can't blame me for begrudging every minute you're not with me." His voice was low,

"I'd hardly call three feet of deck away from you." Her tone was light, but her heart leapt at the ardour in his voice.

"Even so, I'm jealous of anyone claiming your at
tention. I think I shall have to engage you as my com
panion instead!"

Barbara laughed. "I'd love to have a chance to boss
you, although I don't think you'd be half as amenable as
your aunt. Bui don't begrudge her my attention. If you hadn't wanted a companion for her in the first place we'd never have met,"

He caught her hand and held it to his lips. "How right you are, my dearest! It's ironical to think I met you through Aunt Ellie."

As Barbara opened her mouth to reply a child's shrill cries rent the air.

"Good God, what's that?" With an exclamation Dominic got to his feet and Barbara followed his gaze to where a little boy was lying on the deck.

"Oh, it's little Teddy Polerick! He must have fallen down." She ran to the child and picked him up. "There now, Teddy, don't cry. You haven't hurt yourself, have you?"

The little boy stopped crying abruptly and snuggled against her giving small, sobbing breaths. He was a small, thin lad of about four, with a round face now blotched from tears and a mop of fair curls.

Barbara took him up in her arms and carried him back to where Dominic was standing. "We'd better let him sit with us for a little while. Then he'll get over it"

He walked beside her silently as she set the little boy on a deck chair and proceeded to wipe his eyes and smooth back the ruffled hair from the damp forehead. Then taking out a handkerchief from her pocket: "Come on, Teddy, have a blow." The little boy complied and Barbara patted him fondly. "That's a good boy. Now then, where's Mummy?"

"Downstairs sleeping," the little fellow said unsteadily. "She's not very well."

"Does she know you're up here alone?"

"Oh ycah. Mummy told me I could come up and play. She's got a headache."

"So will a lot of other people if you go around yelling like that," Dominic muttered.

Teddy looked at him reproachfully, then turned back to Barbara. "Man's cross," he said.

Barbara hid a smile. "He's not really cross, dear, he's only pretending. Aren't you, Dominic?"

The man sat down. "You shouldn't be up here alone, young man. If your mother has a headache she's no business to send you to play without someone to look after you. Anything might happen on a boat."

Teddy clambered off his chair with difficulty and went
and sat on Barbara's lap, turning back to the man from the safety of her protection.

"Hate you," he said severely.

Barbara bit her lip. "Now that isn't a nice thing to say, is it? You mustn't talk to people like that. Say you're sorry and didn't mean it."

The child threw chubby arms around her neck.
^"
I love you. You're pretty."

Barbara hugged him. "And I love you—or I will if you're a good boy and say you're sorry."