Love Play by Rosemary Rogers (26 page)

Strategy - advantage - weapons . . . Thoughts tumble-tossed in her mind
as she continued to pace about the room like an angry young feline until,
impatient at herself, Sara stopped in front of the long, gold-framed mirror,
seeing her reflection frown back at herself. Weapons! The green of her eyes
seemed to deepen as they narrowed slightly. Delight, of course, would have
known how to fight him by instinct. Just as Mama-Mona would have known. But I'm
learning! Sara thought fiercely. I'm learning. Stepping back, she studied
herself measuringly and a trifle critically.

Her eyes and hair were, of course, by courtesy of Mona, who had made
hair of that particular shade popular. Hers was natural, like her mother's and
was growing quite long -long enough to brush her shoulders and her breasts . .
. Staring,at herself as if she had been a stranger Sara flushed, remembering
what had driven her here into her room seeking sleep and seclusion. Just like a
frightened rabbit! With a deep breath Sara continued her mental catalogue of
plus and minus. The breasts were okay, but not nearly as... opulent as
Delight's. Supposedly, men felt that the bigger the better. But the rest of
her, too thin or not - impulsively her fingers undid the knotted silk bow of
her silk robe, letting it slip to the ground. Small waist - thank God for that
and a flat belly. And if her hips, like her breasts, lacked a certain lush
curvaceousness, at least she had long firm legs and her bottom didn't
droopl,Not too bad, Sara. Not a bad arsenal for an amateur.

Beyond her shoulder as she looked in the mirror, the eyes of the
enigmatically smiling lady in the portrait seemed to watch her, making Sara
whirl around, snatching up her robe as she did. The minute she'd done so she
was annoyed at herself. Honestly! She was getting almost as bad as Serafma. She
remembered her strange words, 'I do not know what it is, signorina, or why some
feel certain things and some don't. But it's said that the stones here are very
old and have absorbed many feelings along with the heat of the sun.'

At the time, preoccupied with other things, Sara had merely shrugged
noncommittally. Well, with all the research being done into parapsychology
these days she supposed almost anything was possible. Strong emotions — leaving
their imprint on the very air; their vibrations echoing in wood and stone. Or
perhaps I'm a little bit psychic! she had thought then, without any feelings of
fear, before she dismissed the whole thing from her mind.

But now ... good heavens — giving herself a mental shake -this was only
a portrait, after all! And the poor silly woman who was its subject had died in
poverty and misery -and all for love! Walking deliberately closer Sara gazed up
at the ortrait. Had she, at the very last, regretted all that she had given up,
the poor young Duchess? When she ran away, had she actually been running to her
lover or just away from her despot of a husband who left her alone so much and
had forced her to wear his wolf medallion to remind her that she was his
property? The woman in the portrait kept her smile and her enigma. She was
Marco's mother, and he had been just a few years old when she had left him, the
ducal palazzo and this very room where she must have
 
cried herself to sleep
 
many nights as
 
she wondered what to do. How men had enjoyed
keeping women dependent and subservient. They still would, no doubt, if women
hadn't decided to throw off the yoke. And there were some men who still
continued to act as if they lived in the Dark Ages! Sara's face darkened. Had
Marco's attitude towards women anything to do with his mother?

No doubt he was just like his father, who had brought him up to treat
women as domestic pets or casual playthings; easily bought and discarded. A man
who probably sneered at the word 'love' and when he married would do so for all
the 'right' reasons except the one. He had expected the same of Carlo and had
shown no scruples in trying to ensure that his wishes would be carried out.

'Only,' Sara whispered aloud, 'I stopped him there, even if he doesn't
know it yet!'

Strategy - she had been thinking earlier. There was one kind of strategy
for love and one for war, and since between her and Marco there was certainly
no love . . . Sara began to smile wickedly. Research was one of her strong
points; and was she ever going to do some research. On Marco, to find out what
made him tick. Everything about him, like what were his weakest points (if he
had any that was!), his likes and dislikes and his taste in women . . .
grimacing as she remembered the blonde. He might be an animal, but at least he
was a human one with dents in his armour. Which she would find. And use; with
no more scruples than he had shown yesterday.

The incongruously businesslike telephone on the stand beside her bed
shrilled suddenly, making Sara jump. Who . . .? And then, remembering that
there were no outside lines and this was an internal phone only, she scowled at
it. Was it...? Should she or shouldn't she? But if it was him and she didn't
answer he would be just as likely to come bursting in on her without
announcement.

Sara snatched up the phone, pausing a minute to make her voice
sufficiently sleepy.

"He - hello?' Not bad at all, Sara, she thought smugly.

'Don't try to pretend that you're asleep. I know what time Teresa left
and I've seen your light from the tiled courtyard.'

How she hated that harsh, mocking voice! Sara's fingers clutched tightly
at the receiver. 'Had you thought that I might like to sleep with a ... a night
light on?'

His studied pause was designed, of course, to point to the irrationality
of her statement. Then he said curtly: 'I was about to go for a swim in the
indoor pool and thought you might wish to join me.'

Very carefully Sara managed to sound arch. '''Alone?'

'Does the prospect scare you so much?' She could almost see the
sarcastic lift of a black eyebrow before his voice continued smoothly, 'but I'm
afraid that the servants have all gone to bed - and since their quarters are on
the other side of the main courtyard we are the only two people in this whole
section of my palazzo.' Sara caught her breath in his infinitesimal pause, and
he said: 'I merely wished, of course, to reassure you that there should be no
embarrassment for either of us when we go swimming.'

Now he had lost her. 'What on earth are you talking about? What's so
embarrassing about going swimming together?'

'I suppose I should have realised that swimming in the nude - or
"skinny-dipping" as I've heard it called in America - would hardly
embarrass you, no matter who was around! But here in Sardinia we tend to be
rather old-fashioned, as I'm sure you've discovered.'

'No!' She had uttered it explosively and instinctively. The . . . the .
. . there was a word she'd heard used that perfectly described a man like him,
although she wasn't about to use it out loud.

'And what do you mean by that? I can't recall having asked you a
question.'

The heat of her anger overcame the coldness of his voice.

'You asked if I'd want to swim with you and the answer, again , is no!'
Sara said clearly. And then, to make it even more clear: 'I'm not a little
puppet bound to you by strings you'd like to pull. And I don't trust you - nor
your so-called word of honour!'

The harsh steel in his voice could have killed her had it been a
tangible thing. 'And . . . what was this promise I made to you that you do not
trust me to keep?'

Ha! she thought elatedly, game and set! Aloud she said with false
candour: 'Why . . . why that you'd never . , . rape me or... or do anything by
force. Or do you choose not to remember?'

'I happen to remember very well indeed.' His voicce was a snarl before
he smoothed it out. 'Why did you think I sent you on your chaste way to bed?
And what did you imagine from the fact that I happened to kiss you on a wager?'

'A . .. a wager.. .!'

'Yes — a wager that I made and you accepted, little liar!' His taunting
growl of a chuckle made Sara clench her jaws with silent fury. 'I didn't rape
you, did I? And believe me, I've no intention of exerting myself to such
extremes - why should I? Perhaps it is yourself that you're afraid of, dear
Delightl Don't you trust your own emotions if you were swimming naked, with a
naked man? Might you find yourself wishing, longing for... the act you choose
now to call "rape"?' He made a sound of contemptuous disbelief from
deep in his throat before he added briefly: 'But all this is a waste of time!
I'm going for my swim - and you are welcome to join me or not, as you wish!'

Chapter 24

Both fireplaces at either end of the huge marble chamber had been lit.
Unnecessarily, surely, but the leaping, flickering flames provided an effectively
flattering light that lent even Sara's fair skin a tawny, golden glow. As she
walked barefoot down the marble stairs with their wide, curving balustrades,
Sara became more and more aware with every step she took that she was doing
something she had never done before; taking risks she had never dared run
before in the safely prosaic life that had been hers until just a few months
ago. And yet she refused to let her steps falter, even when the sounds of
splashing in the pool stopped and she knew he was watching her.

There was nothing to be afraid of! There was nothing wrong or
objectionable about the unclad human body - and nakedness was much less
prurient or ... or enticing than a scantily clad body that kept some mystery
about it. Be brave, Sara. Think about the Cause for which you're baring your
virgin body — which really isn't a bad body at all!

'Well? Now that you're here, have you perhaps remembered that you cannot
swim? Are you going to run back upstairs to your room to hide from the big bad
wolf?'

He looked different with his thick black hair plastered closely about
his head; but the rasping voice and the sardonic darkness of his face were the
same as she remembered. To hell with him!

'And who's afraid of the big bad wolf?' Sara paraphrased smartly as she
tossed aside her brief Japanese robe and dived in.

Oh, but this felt good, and she certainly needed the exercise. Both
mental and physical exercise, she reminded herself as she swam half the length
of the pool under water and came up blinded for an instant by heavy strands of
her dripping, clinging hair.

'Please allow me . . .' Long brown fingers brushed her hair aside and
Sara looked up, treading water, to realise that she had almost cannoned into
him.

'Thank you!' Taking a deep breath she practised her crawl - in the
opposite direction. Unfortunately, she found him there already as she clung to
the side.

'So you can swim almost as well as you play tennis! You make me wonder
what other sports you excel at!'

How much of her could he see under the water? Oh, hell! Now she was
beginning to think like a mid-Victorian herself! With a deliberately
flirtatious gesture Sara pushed her hair back from her face. Now that crack
deserved two barrels!

She said coyly: 'But that's for you to wonder and me to know, isn't it?'
And was rewarded by the tightening of the muscles in his face as he looked at
her as if he'd like to drown her.

Without waiting to find out if he'd really try, she took off again, much
more smoothly this time as habit and training took over. She could play tennis,
she could swim, and she could ride. All very well. She could even play the
piano in a mediocre fashion, strum an accompaniment on the guitar if she had
to. Daddy had insisted that she have all the accomplishments of what be
considered 'a lady'. And what would poor Daddy think now, if he knew what she
was up to? Surfacing at the other end, the very thought made Sara shudder.

'Surely you can't be cold?' This time his biting voice came from a safer
distance away. 'But if you are, I could put more wood on the fire.'

That would mean his getting out of the pool, and he obviously wasn't
wearing swimming trunks!

'I'm just _fine, thank you!' she said cheerfully.

Obviously, he had now decided to ignore her. Doing leg exercises with
her hands clinging to the rail that ran around the inside of the pool, Sara
could hear him go back and forth in cutting, vicious swathes, feeling the
ripples and vibrations of his passing against her body.

'Well - I've had enough!' When Sara turned her head he was sitting on
the side of the pool with his legs crossed as nonchalantly as if he'd been
wearing a pair of one of those impeccably cut pants he owned.

Quickly, she turned her head away, saying in a slightly muffled voice:
'Does that mean that I have to come out too? That isn't fair, because I've only
just got here!'

'Then of course you must do as you will. And since I too forgot a towel
I will lie here in front of the fire to dry myself off. I wouldn't want to
leave you alone, looking so little and defenceless in this great marble
bathtub. It would be too easy to slip on the wet floor or to develop a cramp.
I'll wait for you.'

Calm announcement of tact - and of course he would. Courage, Sara! She
swam three lengths of the pool before she was ready to face him nonchalantly.

"That was - wonderful!'

Sara raised herself out of the water and sat for a while with her back
to him, wondering whether he had actually fallen asleep or was — watching. A
small shiver ran through her like a tremor under her skin. Could she really carry
this off?

The fire at her back flamed up suddenly, sending misshapen shadows
leaping and prancing against the wall. She recognised bis shadow, his lean
height exaggerated so that he might have been looming over her. Was he?

She felt relief when his voice came to her from a safe enough distance
away.

'You are obviously cold and I have put more wood on the fire. Unless you
intend to sit there staring into space while you catch a chill, I suggest that
you do as I did and dry yourself by the fire's heat. Even the floor is warm
over there, and —' his voice became caustic — 'of course, you have my word that
I will not. . . coerce you in any way!'