Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (23 page)

Better forgotten by her too, Sara reminded herself firmly after Serafina
had left her alone to sort things out. Secure in the knowledge that her bete
noire was not around to stride upsrairs to torment her, Sara let herself relax
in her sunken marble tub, enjoying the silken feel of the scented water against
her skin.

Poor neglected Duchessa, dying of neglect of a different kind in the
end; a sadly ironic way to end her short,unhappy life. And what a difference in
the lives of the two sons of the Duchessa - the first Duchess di Cavalieri!

'They' had taken care of poor Angelo by exiling him to New York and
trying to forget about him. Sweep the dirty scandal under the rug and hope no
one finds it. Or hope that Angelo, in the tenement jungle of New York, might
not survive. But Angelo had fooled them all, hadn't he? Good for him. And as
for Marco - he was probably the shadow of his father. Brought up to hate his
mother and despise all women, except for one.

'What a fierce, unhappy little boy he was, to be sure!' Serafina had
remembered. 'But after the second Duchessa came - the signor Carlo's mother -
things became different. Better for everyone. The Duchessa Margharita is from
northern Italy, and her son is blond like her, though of course you know that,
signorina! Ah, but the new Duchessa changed everything here. And she became a
true mother to the present Duca - he worships her like the Virgin and would do
anything for her.'

Typically Freudian of course! All her anger came back whenever she
thought of him! Sara towelled herself vigorously. And of coarse she wasn't
wasting any pity on him either! No matter what he'd been as a boy, she detested
the man he had grown up to be. So damn sure of himself, so confident of
manipulating everyone and everything in his path in order to suit himself!
Except for her. Sara squared her chin belligerently at her steamy reflection.
At this point of the game, knowing as much as she did about him, while he knew
nothing about Sara, the advantage certainly lay with her.

The smug feeling of self-assurance carried Sara downstairs later,
feeling poised and newly confident. And since she had spent quite a long time
in front of her mirror, she was reasonably certain she looked that way too. She
was confident enough to be able to ignore the curt rudeness of the note that
had informed, instead of asking her, of an engagement he had made for them both
this evening. He had returned from his mysterious trip of'a few hours' and now
planned to take her to the Costa Smeralda for an evening of entertainment, as
she had requested. It had been enough of a concession to raise her eyebrows,
and keep her wondering.

'Good — I am glad that you're almost on time!' Marco glanced impatiently
at his watch. 'The helicopter .has already been refuelled and is waiting.'

For the first time since he had taken her hand at the bottom of the
staircase, raising it perfunctorily to his lips in a casually polite European
gesture, Sara saw him look at her.

She'd taken a long time choosing a dress to wear, and even longer with
her make-up, trying to remember the carefully detailed instructions she'd read
in the book she'd found in Delight's apartment. Now, meeting his narrow¬ing,
unreadable black eyes, Sara clung to her feeling of self-confidence and
performed a slow, coquettish pirouette for him; smiling her newly practised
teasing smile.

'Well? Do I pass? I mean, is this dress okay for a disco over here?'

The dress was a Halston - layers of sheer flame-coloured tissue that
bared one shoulder and most of her left thigh. It was really Delight's dress,
but then Sara had already decided that this was to be Delight's night; and the
trophy, when she won it, would belong to her sister.

His dry voice seemed especially designed to grate along her nerve-ends.
'It seems to suit your personality. Do you have a wrap or a shawl?'

It was much cooler once they had taken to the air and Sara was secretly
glad that he had forced her to bring along her opulent Spanish shawl with the
long tassels. They were both silent — she because she didn't quite trust a
helicopter, and he ... why would she know or care what his moods were as long
as he kept the distance between them?

Rather than be forced to look at him, Sara looked down at blackness
broken by a few pinpoints of light that seemed to flicker feebly - peasant huts
or the piled-stone nuraghi that had been built by prehistoric inhabitants of
Sardinia and were still occasionally inhabited by the poor who could afford no
other shelter. But why should the aristocratic Duke bother about the poverty
that existed side by side with the wealth contained in his palazzo, his estates
and his bank accounts? He had been brought up by his implacable father who had
refused the last, desperate pleas of his Spanish child-wife; begging for the
medical care that would have granted her life. Yes, this Duke was moulded after
his, father and had none of the weakness and the humanness of his mother. He
had grown up idolising his virtuous stepmother and intolerant of all others.
Inside himself, he was probably as harsh and arid as the desert his ancestors
had come from to conquer half the world they knew of.

'You seem fascinated by the jagged teeth of the mountains below us. Are
you afraid they will chew you up?' His voice was as caustic as it usually was
when he addressed her, but this time, Sara thougnt, she would not allow herself
an argument with him.

Deliberately continuing to keep her eyes fixed on some imaginary point
on the ground, Sara lifted one shoulder carelessly. 'Why should I be afraid?
You're here too, aren't you? And I'm sure your pilot is as efficient as
everyone else you have around you.'

For some reason, her polite, innocuous-sounding answer infuriated him.
But this time, Marco thought as he gritted his teeth, he would keep a cooler
head and a tighter rein on his temper. Soon enough she would betray herself for
what she was ... a promiscuous, easy little tart who would fall into bed with
almost any man who offered himself; except, he had to remind himself grimly,
when she had her eyes firmly fixed on the main chance - in this case, Carlo and
marriage into a wealthy family. For her to hold out against him for as long as
she had, Carlo must have been stupid enough to tell her about his inheritance.

Marco fought his impulse to lose his temper and tell her exactly what he
thought of her. But no — the teasing little bitch in her flame-coloured
designer dress, which must have been bought for her by a rich lover, would
surely fall from her shaky pedestal tonight! He had arranged for everything -
his cleverly calculated idea born during the sleepless night he had spent last
night, while she no doubt had
 
closed her
eyes almost at once to fall into the slumber of the hypocritically righteous.
Tonight, he was cynically sure,she would probably not care to fall asleep at
all. He had made sure that she would be too busy.

Without knowing it, he smiled — more an ugly grimace that
 
was a travesty of a smile. He had already
wasted far too much time on her, and it was time for the moment of truth.

And it was this particularly unpleasant expression, which seemed to turn
his dark face into a devil-mask that threatened her with destruction, that Sara
happened to surprise on his face by accident.

She should have carried a rosary like Serafina, so that she could finger
the beads surreptitiously. But scowl or not, Sara was determined that this time
he would not coerce her. She would make sure of that!

Chapter 21

The lights of the yachts moored at Porto Cervo - the plush hotels, the
deceptively simple villas of the very rich - they seemed to get bigger and
brighter as the 'copter circled in preparation for landing,

Sara pretended a naive excitement she was far from feeling. 'Oh -
lovely! Civilisation at last, and I actually get to dance. How sweet of you to
be so considerate!'

'We are going to the villa of a friend of mine who is giving a party,'
he said with harsh abruptness. 'But don't worry , it'll be more than lively
enough for you, I'm sure,and he has his own disco — the whole set-up, including
the flashing
 
lights. It's his hobby.'

'Ooh! What a great hobby! He sounds like a character.'

And she was going to stick firmly to her role tonight. Careful what she
had to drink or eat. She really didn't trust Marco's mood tonight, or his
caustic insistence that she was about to have a Night to Remember. Lasf night
had been strange enough, thank you, Sara told herself, brushing, away as she
had all day the questions that last night had left in her mind. There would be
time later to rationalise, but for the moment she must stay on guard.

Her host's name was Vince something and he had a very recognisable face.
As had most of the beautiful people clustered on his terraces and beside his
enormous pool with scented, heavy-petalled flowers floating on its surface.

'Ah - Delight! So lovely!' Vince had murmured as he floated her around,
introducing her to everyone. Never very good at names, Sara couldn't remember
half of them, and if the names were famous enough to be popular, she couldn't
fit the right faces to them. Nursing her Perrier-and-lime she managed (she
thought) to give a creditable imitation of an ingenue having a good time. In
Delight's sexy red dress she was soon surrounded - without wanting to be - by
men who offered to replenish her drink while they sized her up, with special
emphasis on the legs and the breasts; and men who didn't offer her another
drink but did offer her almost everything else.

Sara allowed herself to become fascinated in a rather sick way by this
new game she was learning to play - all the better not to wonder where her
black-browed 'escort' had disappeared to. Forget him - she was going to play
Delight to the hilt! And, of course, this was the best chance she'd ever have
to prove to everyone that Delight Adams just liked to flirt, and that was all.

'Listen - why don't you let me take you on a tour of the place? Vince
won't mind.' A pair of hot, piercingly blue eyes that reminded her too vividly
of Garon lingered significantly somewhere just below Sara's navel, and she
almost looked down to make sure she hadn't developed a run in her ultra-sheer
panty hose.

'Thanks, but I'm enjoying it out here right now.' The brilliance of
Sara's emerald green eyes met and matched his. 'Maybe later...?' The smiling
half-promise was enough to keep him at her side along with the others.

And was this what it felt like to be a femmefatale, a woman absolutely
sure of her fascination and power over men? Sara felt a sudden, heady rush of
sheer exhilaration that the more pragmatic part of her mind couldn't fight off
any longer. Couldn't - and didn't want to! Oh, but this was fun! She felt
witty, amusing, brilliant — and of course, irresistible. Womanpower!

'No, thank you. I really don't need another drink. See how much I have
left?' Still sparkling, diamond-bright, Sara held her glass up for inspection.

'So here you are!' His casual air of ownership irritated her almost as
much as the arm he had slipped around her waist, his fingers brushing the curve
of her breast. 'What are you drinking, cara? As he must have known it would,
his casual term of endearment irritated her even more than his possessive
attitude.

'Vodka, of course!' Sara said brightly. With what she hoped seemed an
insouciant movement she turned to face him, her clinging fingers over his
managing to detach his hand from her. 'Marco, sweetie, would you mind very much
bringing me a refill? Very chilled, please!'

'I thought you were drinking nothing but Perrier!' one of her swains
grumbled sulkily.

'Just in between the real thing, darling! How else is a girl to stay
straight with all you fascinating guys around?'

'Hell — nobody stays straight at one of Vince's parties!' That was
blue-eyes, with another burning look that seemed to strip away what little she
had on. 'Didn't Marco tell you? Listen, you can relax here, baby. No need to
worry about getting busted or anything like that. Everything's real cool.'

She had placed him now; he was a boy-wonder television newsman who
specialised in taking risks that usually paid off, making him one of the
highest paid in his field.

'Would you really like another drink?' Marco's harshly grating voice had
lowered to a panther's purr, coming from deep in his throat. "Or would you
prefer something else that would do more for you than vodka? My friend Glynn is
right - you can do whatever you wish here, without worrying about raised
eyebrows or officious public officials. Yes, why don't you relax?'

'Here - have a toot!' A muscular, solidly built man with reddish brown
hair held out a little bottle that was filled with white powder. 'Go on - it's
okay,' he urged, mistaking her hesitation. 'It's really great stuff-I get
it-pure and cut it down myself. No speed.'

'Go ahead - you're among friends. And I'm here to make sure that you
will be all right.'

The Devil in Velvet, Sara thought irrelevantly, feeling a trap closing
about her. Title of a book she had read very long ago - and how it fitted him,
this fierce dark Sardinian Duke who wore the emblem of a crouching slavering
wolf! By all means, she must never let him see through her deception of him
until she was good and ready.

She improvised, feeling too many eyes on her. 'You go first! And in any
case I'm high enough already - I had an early start on the rest of you.'

With a shrug, the redhead twisted the cap of the little bottle he
carried before he closed one nostril - inhaling deeply with the other.

'Je—sus! This is good stuff!' He repeated his action, while Sara watched
closely, all too much aware now that Marco had irritatingly decided to massage
the back of her neck with dangerously insidious gentleness; his long fingers
moving from her neck to her shoulders with a casually familiar air.