Moth to the Flame (7 page)

defenceless in the lacy black waist slip, and the half-cup bra which

lifted her rounded breasts without covering them. Her face flamed

and she snatched up the dress, holding it in front of her.

'How dare you walk in without knocking!'

His brows rose. 'Why the pretence at modesty,
cara?
You've worn

more revealing garments every day, I'm certain, on that catwalk at

Di Lorenzo with more eyes upon you than mine, not to mention that

more private performance that I was privileged to glimpse at the

Contessa Leontana's party a few months ago.'

She was too embarrassed to heed his words closely. She knew that

Jan would have outstared him, and it was true that girls wore less

than she had on now every day on the beaches of the Mediterranean

and the Adriatic, and if she herself had been sunbathing in a bikini

she could probably have borne his scrutiny. But this was not a

beach, it was a bedroom, and she'd never been in this kind of

situation half-clothed with a man before. It might be utterly

ridiculous in this day and age, but it was true. In some ways she

was as old-fashioned as Mim herself.

She said with as much ice as she could manage, 'I prefer to keep my

private and my professional lives strictly apart, if you don't mind,

signore.
Perhaps you'd be good enough to return to the
salotto
and

wait for me there.'

He stared at her for a moment, frowning a little as if she had

bewildered him, then he gave a low laugh and turned away.

Well, hurry then,' he tossed at her. 'You surely don't take this long

to change at Di Lorenzo?'

Her hands were shaking so much she could hardly adjust the zip of

the dress, but at last she was ready. She bit her lip as she saw for

the first time just how revealing the bodice really was, but she told

herself that it was too late to change again, and anyway it was

exactly the sort of dress that Jan would have worn. She snatched up

the black velvet purse she had found wrapped in tissue on one of

the wardrobe shelves and went towards the door.

Santino Vallone was sitting on one of the sofas glancing through a

magazine as she came along the gallery, and for a moment she was

afraid. Suppose it was one of the magazines that used Jan for their

fashion spreads? From what she knew of her sister, she would be

quite narcissistic enough to have them lying round the apartment.

She hesitated slightly as she reached the top of the steps, wondering

whether he would jump to his feet, his face grim and accusing, and

what she would be able to salvage from the wreck if he did, but he

merely laid the magazine aside and got to his feet. He stood looking

at her for a long moment, and there was an odd expression deep in

the tawny eyes. Then he strolled forward, pausing to break off one

of the deep crimson roses as he came.

He walked slowly up the steps, his eyes effortlessly holding hers.

She found herself thinking desperately that it was as if she had been

mesmerised. She could not look away, and she felt that betraying

blush rising again. He reached her side and before she could guess

his intention, he leaned forward and slipped the rose into the

revealing vee of the deeply slashed lace bodice, between the

shadowy cleft of her breasts, and for one heart-stopping moment

she felt his fingers brush against her flesh.

Then he stood back critically to view his handiwork, a faint smile

lifting the corners of his mouth.

'An enchanting contrast in textures,' he remarked with a coolness

she was not capable of emulating. 'The velvet of the rose against the

silk of your skin. You are worth waiting for, Janina
mia?

And while she was still breathlessly taking in what he had said,

including his last enigmatic remark, he put his hand under her arm,

and led her to the door.

He was an expert driver, but then naturally he would be, Juliet

thought crossly as the low-slung sports car purred its way almost

noiselessly through the evening traffic.

She wanted to ask where they were going, but felt it was better to

pretend that she knew, and she tried not to look too eagerly around

her as they drove through part of the city she had never seen before.

Jan, she was sure, would take her surroundings very much for

granted.

Her companion seemed silent as they drove and she was thankful

for it. All sorts of snags which she had not previously taken into

consideration were now beginning to occur to her—the major one

being that she would probably be expected to be quite conversant

with any number of intimate details about Mario and his immediate

family, not to mention his friends. What on earth was she going to

say if Santino began to question her on the subject? She would be

bound to make all sorts of glaring errors, and his suspicions would

be aroused at once. He was no doubt already thinking that it was

odd that a girl who worked in Rome should .have next to no

knowledge of the Italian language, unless he had simply concluded

that she was too lazy to learn it.

Juliet found herself wishing that she had made her identity known at

the very start, and steadfastly denied all knowledge of Mario and

his involvement with her sister. She could have pretended that Jan

had sub-let the apartment to her—all kinds of explanations and

excuses, some more convincing than others, were coming to mind.

Anything, she thought ruefully, would probably have been better

than the web of deceit she had started to spin. It would only take a

little judicious probing from the brooding man beside her, and her

whole fragile fabrication would come tumbling down.

She hoped apprehensively that the restaurant would not be too

fashionable. The fewer people she was seen by the better. And the

darker the restaurant was the better too, she told herself. By

candlelight, in a secluded corner, she might just be able to pass for

Jan if she was seen at a distance by someone who actually knew her

sister.

But her hopes were dashed when they finally reached their

destination. Santino had chosen a restaurant right on the outskirts of

the city. It was large, popular and quite clearly expensive, and their

table, far from being hidden in some dark corner, was almost in the

centre of an enormous terrace, overlooking exquisite formal

gardens, and with a panoramic view of the city itself.

Juliet found herself the cynosure of all eyes as she walked to the

table, and she had not been in Rome long enough to be untroubled

by the frankness of some of the masculine glances and
sotto voce

remarks which pursued her. She sank rather thankfully into the

chair the waiter was holding for her, and hoped she had managed to

mask her embarrassment at the small ordeal. It was the kind of

situation that Jan would have revelled in, she supposed, being

escorted by someone as dark and devastating as Santino Vallone. It

was quite a relief to shelter from prying glances behind the huge

menu that she was handed. She wondered with dismay if she was

supposed to appear knowledgeable about the choice of food being

offered, and heard her companion give a low-voiced order to the

waiter for two dry Martinis to be brought to them.

He leaned back in his chair and gave her an enquiring look. 'What

do you wish to eat, Janina? A simple steak and a salad, perhaps?'

'Certainly not,' she denied indignantly, her eye focussing on a

magnificent trolley laden with
hors d'oeuvres
which a waiter was

steering between the tables.

He raised his eyebrows slightly. 'You do not fret perpetually about

your weight?
Meraviglioso!'

Juliet suddenly found herself thinking of the idle remark she had

made to Jan—a lifetime ago, it seemed. Could it really be only

twenty-four hours? She flushed a little.

'No,' she said with constraint, 'not at the moment.' She glanced

about her, casting round for a change of subject, wanting to get

away from any personal element. 'What a magnificent view!'

'Have you never been here before?'

She lifted one shoulder casually. 'I don't think so. I don't

remember...'

'One goes to so many places,' he finished for her, rather mockingly.

'You are a true Roman, Janina. I am surprised that you still find the

skyline romantic.'

'I didn't say that,' she said stiffly.

'No,' he agreed. 'You said "magnificent", but I saw a dream in your

eyes.'

She looked down embarrassed at the polished wood of the table in

front of them. It seemed she would have to guard her eyes now, as

well as her tongue.

He went on rather drily, 'I see what you see, and yet my vision is

filled with roofs and towers and domes. They do not belong to my

own concept of magnificence.'

'Which is?' The drinks arrived, and it was in some ways a relief to

have the coolness of the glass in her hand and be able to run her

fingers down the slender stem.

He shrugged. 'Many things, but none of them to do with cities.

Perhaps—a fortress, half in ruins oh the edge of a cliff, looking

across a violet sea to an island all greens and amethyst in the

evening light.'

'A particular place?'

'A particular place,' he agreed. He lifted his glance. 'To what shall

we drink?'

Juliet was emboldened by this sudden unexpected glimpse behind

the mask of worldly arrogance. 'To our better understanding?' she

suggested shyly.

'I think not.' His voice was cool and edged again. 'I understand you

quite well enough as it is,
cara.'

She felt quite absurdly hurt, although what more had she expected,

for heaven's sake? She lifted her glass in turn. 'Very well,
signore.

To—absent friends.'

'You said that with a certain relish,
mia.'
He was watching her

through half-closed eyes. 'I presume, however, that you refer to

Mario. Perhaps it is as well that he is absent. What would he say,

do you suppose, if he knew we were here together?'

She sipped her drink and set the glass down before answering. 'This

is hardly a private rendezvous,' she said. 'He wouldn't object.'

'You imagine not?' He smiled unpleasantly. 'You seem to forget that

Mario is from the South as I am. We may pay lip service to

present-day manners and morals, but it is a veneer, nothing more. In

our hearts is an older, more savage tradition, as you may find out to

your cost,
cara.
We Southern men can be jealous, both of our own

honour and that of our women.'

'But that can't apply here and now. You're his brother,' she said.

'And that gives you some kind of immunity?' His mouth twisted.

'You deceive yourself,
mia.
But Mario would not be deceived.' He

gave her a long look. 'Perhaps you, should remember that.'

Jan had spoken of threats, she thought, and she had been right. His

whole attitude was a threat. She had been quite mad ever to get

involved with such a man. She could flounder irretrievably at any

time, and it would be no good then to protest that she had meant

well.

Her voice was subdued as she told him what she wanted to eat, and

she sat gazing down at her clasped hands as he gave the waiter their

order.

In other circumstances, it came to her, this evening could have been

the culmination of her lifetime's dreams. As they had walked to the

table, she had seen how the other women were watching Santino

Vallone, and she would not have been human if their envy had not

given her a slight sense of exhilaration. But it had brought home to

her as nothing else could have done just how tepid the relationships

were that she had enjoyed up to now, and this was a viewpoint that

she found both disturbing and dangerous under the circumstances.

Santino Vallone might make her feel very angry, and very bitter on

Jan's behalf, but she had to admit she had never felt more alive

either, and it would be very hard to return her borrowed plumes and

return to her normal placid routine when this strange evening was

over.

One thing was certain. Even if circumstances had not decreed that

they could never meet again, he was a man she had to avoid

anyway for her own peace of mind. Their worlds had collided

briefly, that was all. It was strange to think that even at this moment

they might be related by marriage—strange and disturbing too. She