Dark Ransom (13 page)

But it was futile—impossible. The heated pressure of his hard body

against hers was a reality she could not ignore. And his kiss was

deep and totally sensual, draining the moisture from her mouth and

the breath from her lungs. His hand sought her breast through the

thin fabric of her dress, bringing her nipple to a throbbing peak of

shameful excitement under the mastery of his fingers.

Head reeling, Charlie had to cling to his shoulders to stop herself

collapsing on to the floor at his feet. The swift inrush of desire, as

unwelcome as it was unexpected, was making her whole body

pliant, fluid as he held her against him. This time she found she

could recognise the power of his arousal without fear, and a sob,

raw with need, rose in her throat.

'Do you want me,
carinha?
The caress of his voice seemed to

splinter on her jagged nerve- endings.

Yes, she thought, fiercely. Oh, yes, damn you. And you know it...

But the only sound to escape her was a tiny, aching sigh.

Riago pushed her against the wall, his hand tangling in her hair as

he brought her mouth to his once more.

Whatever he asked, she thought as his hand smoothed the slight

curve of her hip and moved downwards in flagrant demand.

Whatever he asked, she would give. Nothing else existed in the

world but Riago, and this ecstatic promise of pleasure.

Or nothing they were aware of until a scandalised voice cut across

the sensuous spell which enfolded them, and shattered it.

'Senhor.'
Rosita was standing a few yards away, her brown face a

mask of outrage.
'Basta.'

With a groan Riago let Charlie go, and stepped backwards.

Trembling, hot with embarrassment, Charlie stumbled away towards

her room as Rosita embarked on a lengthy tirade of shocked

expostulation.

Clearly he was no longer the respected
patrao
in the eyes of his

former nurse, but someone who'd once again betrayed the family

notions of honour, Charlie thought as she closed her door thankfully

behind her.

She threw herself across the bed, burying her burning face against

the coolness of the linen sheet, pummelling the pillow with clenched

fists, raging inwardly, despising herself for her own weakness.

What was happening to her? she asked in silent despair. Weren't

things bad enough already without offering herself to him like

that—in a passageway where anyone might have seen them? Where

someone, in fact,
had
seen them, and thank God it was Rosita, who

would scold and then be discreet.

If she hadn't interrupted, Charlie thought, shivering... if she hadn't

arrived when she did... he might have been here with me now on

this bed. Oh, God, how could I have been such a fool?

It was shattering to realise how near she'd come to complete and

utter surrender. She'd never realised she could be capable of such

overwhelming sensations, or that her body could be such a traitor.

And all this for a man who'd admitted openly that he loved another

woman, and that he would never love again.

But then men did not have to be in love to satisfy their physical

appetites, she reminded herself sadly. Riago could take and enjoy all

she had to give while remaining emotionally aloof.

Yet, for her, passion without love would deteriorate into a soulless

nightmare. And this was why she had to escape from Riago while

she still could—before her heart and mind echoed her body's

betrayal.

She stayed where she was for the remainder of the day, and was

sorely tempted to ask for dinner to be brought to her there.

But pride demanded that she get up, bathe and change, as she had

done each evening so far, when the maid came to knock on her door.

Riago must not be allowed to think she was afraid to face him, she

told herself with steely determination. She had nearly made a fatal

mistake, but there would be no more moments of weakness.

Slowly but surely she was transforming Fay Preston's wardrobe, and

the black dress she chose for the evening bore little resemblance to

its former self. Now it flattered her slender curves without clinging,

and the knee-length skirt showed off her slim legs. The plunging

neckline too had been reduced to more discreet proportions.

When she arrived at the
sala de jantar
she found to her

astonishment that Philip Hughes was already there, pouring himself

a whisky. He was wearing cream cotton trousers and a bronze silk

shirt, both of which hung on his thin body.

'Cheers.' He raised his glass to her with exaggerated courtesy.

'You'll have to forgive my appearance, but these are my host's

clothes, and he's built on somewhat larger lines.'

'Are you sure you're well enough to get up for meals?' Privately

Charlie thought he looked dreadful, pale, haggard and sunken-eyed.

'I'm a bit wobbly, but otherwise fine. And I don't enjoy playing

invalid.'

'Is that something you've remembered?'

He shrugged easily. 'Pure instinct, I guess. There are some things

about yourself that you just... know.'

And others that shake every preconception you ever had to its

foundations, Charlie thought with a little inward sigh.

She said, 'We have to talk.'

Philip flung up a hand in alarm. 'No way, sweetheart. I saw the

warning light when your boyfriend interrupted us this afternoon.

You didn't mention the fact you were engaged.'

'We're not,' Charlie said shortly. 'He's asked me to marry him. I've

refused. End of story.'

'I've got amnesia, darling, not brain damage.' He gave her a brittle

smile. 'That isn't the whole truth by any means—not as far as he's

concerned, anyway, and you know it. He's hardly the type to take no

for an answer.'

'And what about me?' Charlie demanded bitterly. 'What if no is the

only answer there is?'

He shrugged again. 'Go with the flow, Carlotta. That's my advice. If

he's not your idea of Prince Charming, just sit back and enjoy the

money.'

'That's a disgusting suggestion. I need to get away from here, and I

can't do it alone. I've got to have help.'

'Well, you won't get it from me,' Philip said curtly. 'He's a powerful

man, darling, and I can't afford to offend him. I have troubles of my

own.'

'But I'm sure I could do something about that,' she said eagerly.

'Your aunt told me such a lot about you. I'm sure there'll be

something that will strike a chord... help you to remember...'

'Why? I've only got your word for it that I had an aunt.' He

swallowed the remainder of the whisky in his glass and turned to

pour himself another.

'But you don't have to believe only me. If you go back to England

you can get proof from her solicitor. Mrs Hughes left you

everything. Well, almost,' she added conscientiously.

He stared at her. 'What do you mean— almost?'

'She left me some money too—to be spent on travelling abroad.

That's how I came to be here. It was supposed to be the journey of a

lifetime up the Amazon.'

He went on staring. "These trips can't be cheap. She must have left

you a hell of a lot.'

'Yes, I was surprised too,' Charlie admitted ruefully.

'Lucky you,' he said. 'It was a good investment, for here you are,

about to be Senhora da Santana, with lots more goodies in the

pipeline.'

'But that isn't what I want.'

'Then that's your problem, sweetheart.' His voice was harsh, jarring.

'Because I have no plans to tangle with your intended.'

She felt sick with disappointment, and not just at his refusal. He was

so different, so very different from what she'd been led to expect,

she thought. There was a weak petulance about his mouth which

hadn't been evident in the photograph she'd seen, and his attitude to

her plight revealed an unattractively mercenary and grasping side to

his nature. Maybe the fact that he'd been Mrs Hughes's only living

relative had led the old lady to see him through rose-coloured

spectacles, she decided regretfully.

She heard Riago's step in the hallway outside and his voice calling

something in Portuguese to one of the servants, and a wave of

painful colour suffused her face.

I want to crawl away and hide, she thought desperately, but I've got

to stay and face him— I must...

Riago strode in, checking slightly when he saw them both, his

glance flicking swiftly between them.

'Good evening,' he said politely. 'I apologise for keeping you

waiting.' He took Charlie's nerveless hand in his and raised it to his

lips. 'But I think when you hear the reason,
querida,
you will forgive

me. I have been talking on the radio to Laragosa.'

Charlie stared at him, her heart beginning to thud harshly and

erratically. 'The river... ?'

Riago nodded. 'It has fallen at last. So Padre Gaspar will be arriving

the day after tomorrow.' He smiled a mocking challenge into her

frightened eyes. 'In only a few short hours,
querida
, you and I will

be married.'

'WELL
?' Riago's tone goaded Charlie as the silence between them

lengthened endlessly. 'Have you nothing to say?'

There was a great deal, but she was trembling so much inside and

her throat felt so tight that she was afraid to speak.

She had managed to convince herself that it would be weeks rather

than days before the Rio Tiajos was navigable again, and that she

would have time to make her plans accordingly.

Now she had something less than forty-eight hours in which to

accomplish her getaway.

Eventually she said huskily, 'Is—isn't there still some risk?'

Riago nodded. 'Normally they would wait a little longer, but, as an

emergency has arisen, they are willing to make the attempt.'

'Emergency?' she echoed bewilderedly.

'Your compatriot's amnesia,' Riago said gently. He turned to Philip

Hughes, who seemed equally stunned by the turn of events. 'You

will be glad to hear,
amigo,
that qualified medical assistance will

accompany Padre Gaspar.' He paused. 'No doubt, if it's necessary, he

will refer you in turn to a hospital in Manaus.'

'Oh, I'm sure there's no need for that,' Philip Hughes said quickly.

'Maybe when this headache wears off completely I'll start to

remember things.'

'I do not think we should leave such an important matter to chance.'

Riago's voice was softer than ever. 'It's a pity you have no idea how

that head wound was caused.'

'Perhaps I hit myself on the branch of a tree while I was delirious,'

Philip offered.

'Perhaps.' Riago smiled. 'But if I had to make a guess I would say

the branch in question was held in someone's hand.'

The other swallowed his whisky in one swift jerky movement of his

wrist. 'Are you saying I was attacked? By whom?'

'That is something you'll tell me, perhaps— when your memory

returns.'

An ugly flush rose in Philip's face. 'Just what the hell are you

implying?'

'Only that there are several questions which will remain

unanswered, alas, while your amnesia persists,' Riago said mildly.

'And if I were in your place, and had an enemy who had tried to club

me down, I would prefer to know his identity.' He paused, letting the

words sink in. 'Now, here comes our dinner. Shall we sit down?'

It was a wretched meal. Charlie found she was pushing the food

round her plate while she tried, feverishly, to think, to make some

kind of plan. What made it worse was the fact that Riago was

watching her, enjoying her discomfiture, she realised angrily. It was

little comfort to observe that Philip shared her lack of appetite.

Clearly he couldn't be feeling as well as he claimed, she thought

sympathetically. Nor had the news that the doctor was on his way

cheered him visibly.

Perhaps he was worrying over how he'd come by the wound on his

head, and if it had been obtained as Riago had suggested. All in all,

it hadn't been a very tactful theory to present to a sick man.

She'd been waiting all through dinner, too, for Philip to tell Riago

that he now knew his own name at least, even if all other details still

remained a blank. But, to her amazement, he said nothing. Perhaps

he was still sceptical about her identification of him, she thought. He