The Arrogant Duke (12 page)

'You didn't answer my question,' the Duque remarked lazily, drawing on his cheroot. 'But no matter. How long do you expect to stay here?'

She lifted her shoulders. 'I - well, as long as I'm needed, I suppose,
senhor.'

The Duque buried the stub of his cheroot in the sand impatiently. 'You deliberately refuse to use my name, do you not, Juliet?'

Juliet felt the heat sweep over her body at the husky note in his attractive voice. 'I - I do not think it is a good idea to use your Christian name,
senhor
. After all, I am only an employee!'

The Duque flicked a sand fly from his arm care- iessly. 'Then,
senhorita
, as such, you should obey my commands.'

Juliet got jerkily to her feet. This had got to stop. These kind of conversations were provocative and dangerous, particularly as she was so vulnerable, and they were so isolated here.

'I - I think it is time we returned to the
quinta, senhor.'

'Do you?' he got slowly to his feet, big and powerful, in whose hands she would be as helpless as a mouse with a tiger.

Juliet turned away from him, bending to lift a rug preparatory to folding it. As she straightened, she was aware of him close behind her, his breath fanning her neck, moving the tendrils of hair which had escaped from the braids bound round her head.

'I do not like this,' he said, pulling a strand of her hair so that she winced in pain.

'What,
senhor
?' she asked, still not turning.

'Your hair in this style. I prefer it loose. Loosen it!'

Juliet could hardly get her breath. 'Please,
senhor,'
she said chokily, 'let us go!'

She felt his fingers on the side of her neck, caressing her skin for a heart-stopping moment, and then he gave a harsh exclamation, and gathering up the picnic hamper and the airbeds, he strode away, up the incline towards the car.

Juliet could not move at once. Her legs felt like water and the palms of her hands were damp with perspiration. Oh God, she thought, sickly, I love him,
I
love him!

Closing her eyes for a moment in agony, she felt a wave of absolute misery sweep over her. She had thought she had troubles in England, she had thought she could escape from her father's possessiveness, only to find herself trapped in her own net. The Duquewas an honourable man, Estelle Vinceiro was his future wife, there could be no deviating from his path, and the attraction he felt for her was the usual physical chemistry of a dark man for a fair woman.

She opened her eyes, saw him stowing the hamper in the car, and hastily gathered up the rest of the things and followed him. She slid into her seat silently, praying her composure would last until they reached the
quinta.

The Duque got into the car, his thigh brushing hers, causing an electric current to run up her spine at the touch. Then he looked at her and said:

'I apologise,
senhorita.
Forgive me!'

Juliet shook her head, and said: 'It was nothing,
senhor
,' and then looked out of the side window of the car for the rest of the journey home. She was holding back the tears that trembled on the rims of her eyes with fierce concentration, and she knew then, for certain, that there is no escape from life.

W
HEN
they arrived back at the
quinta
, Juliet went straight to her room. Just now, she felt she couldn't face another human being, and the possibility that Teresa might question her in detail about the day's events terrified her. She didn't know how her precarious, newly-discovered emotions would stand up to such a strain.

In her room she stripped off her clothes, and going into the bathroom took a cooling shower. Then, wrapping herself in a bathrobe, she returned to the bedroom, lifting her basket-bag, and beginning to empty its contents. It was then that she came upon the letter.

All day it had lain there, but she had been so occupied with Felipe that its arrival had completely slipped her mind. With trembling fingers she slit open the envelope, and sinking down on to the side of the bed, she began to read.

Rosemary had begun the letter 'Dear Rosemary' as
a
cautionary measure, should the letter have fallen into the wrong hands. Although, as Juliet progressed through its three pages, she wondered why her friend had bothered. There were so many more implicating things in the letter that her name began to seem less than important.

It seemed that Robert Lindsay had indeed been absolutely furious when he received the letter that Rosemary had posted after Juliet's departure from London. He had, as they had both assumed, beaten a track straight to Rosemary's door, and demanded that, had she any knowledge at all of his daughter's whereabouts, she should give it.

'I was positively a nervous wreck by the time he left,'
Rosemary continued.
'There was a great deal of talk about withholding information, and calling in the police and so on, but I think he was only bluffing, as your father is the last man in the world to welcome unnecessary publicity, and once you call in the police, it's practically impossible to prevent the press from finding out.'

Juliet halted here, feeling an awful sense of anticlimax. Rosemary's letter brought back more vividly than any memories she could conjure up the whole miserable confinement of her life in England. How could any man in this year of nineteen hundred and seventy be so short-sighted? Couldn't her father see that her bid for freedom was a mental thing more than a physical thing? Didn't he understand his own daughter at all?

She reached for a cigarette, heaved a deep sigh, and then continued reading the letter.

'Anyway, after a few days without any apparent signs of success, he contacted Daddy. Daddy naturally knew nothing of our arrangement, and I felt an absolute fraud lying to him. I don't think at the time we made our plans we really truly realized just how many people your father might involve.

'Then the most awful thing happened. My mother, who is as you know terribly softhearted, grew very sorry for your father, and decided to do a bit of detective work herself. She suggested that if you were going abroad it was logical to suppose that you wouldn't use your own passport because of being traceable, and so on... /

Juliet's mouth felt dry, and she could hardly stop her hand from trembling, making Rosemary's writing dance undecipherably before her eyes.

'Don't ask me why this idea sprang to her mind! Obviously your father had exhausted his inquiries in this country, and he seized on the idea. A swift examination of possible flight lists around the time of your disappearance revealed that a certain Rosemary Summers travelled on a B.O.A.C. flight to Barbados!'

Juliet flopped back on the bed. Oh, lord, she thought desperately.

'You can imagine how I felt! Particularly when tackled by a combined force of my parents and your father. But have no fear! I did not reveal your ultimate destination, and even though inquiries have been made in Bridgetown, your island retreat seems safe for the time being. Apparently, this man you're working for has his own private means of transportation, and as there are many many people in the islands with that same happy responsibility, your father has not found any evidence of your whereabouts so far.'

Juliet allowed herself a small sigh of relief at this news, but even so, she was well aware of her father's dogged determination, and when roused in this way,
a
way he had never before experienced, he would not give up lightly. She turned to the final page of the letter.

'So now I'm in the doghouse. My own parents have been a little more understanding. They realize that I can't break your confidence, but you know your father's methods of getting what he wants better than I do, and I think they're afraid he may use his influence against them in an effort to hurt me.'

Juliet sat up. This was intolerable. She could not allow Rosemary and her parents to be persecuted in this way. Of course she was well aware of her father's propensity for using any method available to gain his objective. Hadn't this been the reason for her escape in the first place? Heavens, whatever had made her think he might be less cruel this time? It was she who was being stupid and insensitive now. By involving Rosemary and her parents she was behaving in a careless and cowardly manner.

But what could she do? This taste of freedom, even with its accompanying heartache, was more important to her than anything had ever been. But sooner or later she would have to face her father, and if he was in any danger of attempting to persecute the Summers then she must act now and act swiftly.

She finished Rosemary's letter first. There were no recriminations from her, and Juliet thought how loyal and trustworthy a friend she really was. She knew of no one else who would have taken such a responsibility.

She paced the floor wearily, turning the problem over in her mind again and again. There seemed little doubt that she would have to contact her father, and attempt, albeit perhaps uselessly, to make him realize her position, and to give her the credit for a little common sense.

A tap at her door heralded the arrival of Consuelo with a tray of tea. Juliet almost jumped out of her skin at the unexpected intrusion, still shakily aware of the tremulous state of her emotions. Momentarily those seconds with the Duque on the beach had been banished from her mind, but now they were back, their possible outcome thundering in her ears. Her own realization of her feelings for her employer seemed more terrifying than ever now when she was faced with the possible prospect of being forced to leave here immediately. Maybe she was insane; after all, most girls would have jumped at the chance to escape from such a state of futility, but Juliet could only imagine the emptiness of her life should she never set eyes on the Duque again.

Consuelo looked at her strangely, as she placed the tray of tea on the bedside table.

'The Senhorita Teresa is waiting to see you,
senhorita
,' she remarked, her usually cheerful features rather solemn. 'But the Senhor Duque said you would prefer to take your tea in your room.'

Juliet felt the hot colour surge into her cheeks. 'Oh, did he? Well, thank you, Consuelo.'

Consuelo nodded, gave a shrug of her ample shoulders, and departed. Juliet frowned, and then poured herself some tea, and sipped the hot, weak liquid gratefully. She despised herself for her own indecision. After all, why had she come here in the first place? Apart from her own selfish reasons of escape, of course.
To help Teresa!
And this was one item she was taking into little consideration. Was she so like her father that she could only think of herself and no one else? Unless her father was capable of buying and selling the Duque de Castro, which seemed highly unlikely, why need she feel afraid of him? He couldn't force her physically to return to England,
could he?
She was over twenty-one and her own mistress!

Even so, as she descended the staircase later, her fine words mocked her a little. When faced with Robert Lindsay would she collapse before his verbal barrage as she had done so many times before? Tonight she must decide the best method of approaching him.

But for the present there was Teresa, and the immediate prospect of explaining her day out with Felipe, which Nurse Madison had no doubt exaggerated out of all proportions.

In the hall, she encountered Miguel.

Ts the Senhorita Teresa still in bed, Miguel?' she asked, as casually as she could.

Miguel nodded.
'Sim, senhorita
. I understand the Senhorita is very poorly.'

'Very poorly!' echoed Juliet, frowning. 'But this morning she had a bad cold, that was all. In what way is she very poorly?'

Miguel shrugged his shoulders eloquently. 'Nurse Madison says she is very concerned about her condition,' he replied, and continued on his way out to the forecourt of the
quinta.

Juliet bit her lip, heaved a sigh, and walked with forcedly determined steps towards Teresa's suite of rooms. It seemed inconceivable that within the space of half a day Teresa's condition which had seemed so slight this morning should have deteriorated to 'very poorly'.

Reaching Teresa's sitting room, which was deserted, she crossed it and knocked firmly on the door of her bedroom. The door was opened at once by Nurse Madison who came out, a finger pressed warningly to her lips.

Juliet felt rather impatient. 'What is the matter, Nurse Madison? Has something happened to Teresa? This morning she had a cold, nothing more, and yet now I hear that she is very poorly. Why?'

The older woman looked rather smug. 'As you must be aware, Miss Teresa is rather delicate, and while you might not find a cold a particularly trying occurrence, my patient is a slightly different matter.'

'Can I see Teresa, then?' asked Juliet, restraining any impulse she might have felt to vent some of the frustration she was feeling on Nurse Madison.

'She's sleeping at the moment,' replied Nurse Madison, with some satisfaction. 'I've advised her to stay in bed for the rest of the day at least. One should never take chances with invalids.'

Juliet twisted her hands behind her back. 'Teresa is hardly an invalid, Nurse Madison. The Duque has told me that her confinement to the wheelchair is not wholly a physical thing.'

'I suppose you mean that nonsense about psychological blockages, and so on,' exclaimed Nurse Madison scornfully.

'It's not nonsense,' returned Juliet, a little more sharply. 'Such paralyses do occur!'

'Indeed!' Nurse Madison stiffened her back. 'Well, I can only say that in my opinion, Miss Teresa will never walk again, without some form of support.'

Juliet compressed her lips. Her initial reaction was to have a verbal battle with this annoying creature whose methods of nursing were completely out of date, but a kind of inner instinct warned her that that was not the way. It was not inconceivable that Nurse Madison enjoyed her leisurely occupation here in such idyllic surroundings, and Teresa's improvement and possible subsequent recovery formed no part of her plans. Was it possible that she was deceitful enough to imagine she could get away with keeping Teresa an invalid as long as she wished her to be so? Obviously, Teresa's attitude and state of mind greatly assisted any plans of this kind, and her deliberate fostering of the girl's maliciousness towards anyone who genuinely tried to help her were not motivated by any real sense of vocation, with her patient's good health at heart, but rather by more personal desires.