The Padova Perals Page 10

  ‘Hard to say.’ Then crisply, ‘You’re quite sure there’s nothing missing?’

  ‘The only thing I brought that was of any real value was the jewellery box I had for my birthday, and that’s still there, thank heaven…’

  She wondered whether to mention her suspicion that someone had searched her flat in London, but after a moment she decided against it. He might only think she was paranoid.

  Instead she said, ‘I don’t understand why whoever it was decided to stay and hide rather than making a run for it.’

  ‘Presumably he was waiting for you to go to sleep so he could sneak out unnoticed. If he’d locked the windows and the gate behind him, no one would have been any the wiser. The only indication that anything was amiss would have been the fact that the lights had been tampered with.’

  ‘How did he manage that?’ she asked, her vulnerability making her shudder.

  ‘By the simple expedient of removing the bulbs.’

  So, if he hadn’t been disturbed, all he would have needed to do was replace the bulbs and no one would have been any the wiser…But what could he have been looking for…?

  While Stephen sat quietly watching her, trying to follow her train of thought, he ran lean fingers over his jaw, which was slightly roughened by the beginnings of a golden stubble.

  Hearing the faint rasp, she glanced up and, watching the seductive movement, felt an almost overpowering urge to touch him, to trace the outline of his mouth and the fascinating cleft in his chin, then to follow her fingertip with her lips and let them linger there…

  ‘More brandy?’

  Huskily she said, ‘No, thank you. I’m starting to feel distinctly fuddled now.’

  ‘Then I think it’s high time you went to bed. You must be absolutely shattered.’ Rising to his feet, he added, ‘Just give me a minute or so to replace your light bulbs…’

  After a comparatively short time, he returned to say, ‘There…All set.’

  Her habitual caution, her self-control, her pride, even her common sense, had all been thrown into the melting pot by what had happened, and the last thing she wanted to do was to go back to her own suite and sleep alone.

  Strong emotions were said to trigger off and strengthen other emotions and, when her fear had faded, the torment, the longing, the sweet desire, had returned, more powerful than ever.

  She wanted to be with him, to lie in his arms, to sleep with him. But, after the way she had treated him earlier, there was no way she could let him know how she felt.

  When she pushed aside the blanket and stood up, as though sensing her unspoken reluctance, he asked, ‘Any problems?’

  ‘Not really.’ She turned away.

  He caught her wrist, holding it lightly but firmly, refusing to let her go. ‘Come on, you may as well tell me what’s bothering you.’

  Shaken to the core by his touch, wanting to tell him, but afraid to in case he was still angry enough to get his revenge by spurning her, she denied, ‘It’s nothing.’

  ‘Tell me,’ he insisted.

  Realizing he wasn’t going to let her go until she’d told him something, head bent, so that the light cast the shadow of her long lashes on to her cheeks, she mumbled, ‘Earlier you said that the intruder might have keys…You don’t think he’ll come back tonight?’

  ‘I very much doubt it but, to be on the safe side, I’ve a couple of men out there waiting.’

  ‘That’s a relief,’ she said hollowly.

  ‘Look, if you don’t fancy going back to your own suite, and I wouldn’t blame you in the slightest if you didn’t, you can sleep in my bed.’

  Her breath caught in her throat and for a second she was utterly still.

  Misinterpreting her reaction, he said with an edge to his voice, ‘Don’t worry, I wasn’t planning to be in it with you. What I meant was, we’ll change rooms, if that’s what you want?’

  Her voice scarcely above a whisper, she said, ‘I don’t want to sleep alone.’

  ‘Now there you might have a problem. I’m only flesh and blood, and if we share a bed I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my hands off you.’

  Made bold by the knowledge that he still wanted her, she said, ‘That’s just it; I don’t want you to.’

  There was a moment of utter stillness, then he asked, ‘Are you quite sure you mean that?’

  ‘Yes, I’m quite sure.’

  ‘Isn’t it a high price to pay to feel safe?’

  ‘I don’t want to feel safe.’

  She wanted to love and feel loved. But of course he didn’t love her. She would have to make do with loving him.

  ‘What’s happened to the cautious woman who said it was too soon, we didn’t know one another?’

  She looked up at him, her big, doe eyes asking him to take her with him to bed. ‘Perhaps it’s due to the fright I had, but that woman no longer exists.’

  With a little laugh of triumph, he swept her into his arms and carried her through to his bedroom.

  Setting her down by the handsome four-poster, the duvet of which was turned back ready, he said softly, ‘Let me look at you.’

  She stood in a pool of golden light spilt by the bedside lamp, tall and gracefully proportioned, with straight shoulders, a slim waist and long legs.

  Her ivory satin nightdress, cut on the cross, clung lovingly to her slender figure, focusing his attention on the curve of her hips and the shadowy hollow between her breasts, until the gleaming spaghetti straps drew his eyes up to the smooth creamy skin of her shoulders and throat, and beyond.

  Her beautiful almond eyes were glowing and a faint flush of colour lay along her high cheekbones. A tendril of dark silky hair curled against her cheek and, as he studied her, the tip of a pink tongue stole out to moisten her dry lips.

  It was unconsciously provocative and, taking her face between his palms, he let his tongue-tip follow where hers had been, before kissing her with an unbridled passion that sent her up in flames.

  When she was limp and quivering in his arms, he stripped off her nightdress and laid her on the bed.

  Then sitting beside her, he ran his hands over her naked flesh, bringing every nerve-ending in her entire body to life.

  Murmuring how beautiful she was, how much he wanted her, he caressed her neck and shoulders and her firm, surprisingly full, breasts, before taking one of the dusky pink nipples into his mouth and suckling sweetly.

  Hearing her indrawn breath, he intensified the pleasure by teasing the other nipple with his finger and thumb.

  When she began to gasp, he stripped off his short robe and, stretching out beside her, continued the exquisite torment until quivers of delight were running through her.

  Then, his free hand stroking down her flat stomach to the triangle of dark silky curls and the smooth warm skin of her inner thighs, he used his long fingers to drag all sensation downwards. Until, like a finely balanced orchestra, a combination of the two produced such exquisite sensations that she began to shudder and make soft, inarticulate sounds deep in her throat.

  When he lowered himself into the cradle of her hips, she felt his weight with pleasure. This was her man, her love, the moment of truth she had been waiting for.

  Then all thoughts ceased and only feeling remained as, his mouth on hers, he made love to her ardently, skillfully, with a tenderness and passion that brought them to a shattering, and shared, climax.

  When the heavens righted themselves and she floated back to earth, his legs entwined with hers, his fair head pillowed on her breast, she had never felt so joyous, so complete and fulfilled and utterly happy.

  Now she knew why love inspired poets and musicians, writers and philosophers, why people averred that it made the world go round.

  After a while he lifted himself away and kissed her tenderly. Then, switching off the light, he drew her close and settled her head on his shoulder.

  She gave a sigh of pure contentment and snuggled against him. At last she was home and—in the country phraseology her fath
er had remembered from his childhood—where she belonged to be.

  For the first time since his death, rather than making her sad, the thought of her father added to her warmth and gladness.

  He would be pleased for her. Happy that, by some miracle—a miracle she still didn’t understand and which, looked at objectively, seemed utterly incredible—she had found the man in his portrait, the man of her dreams.

  It was mid-morning when she awoke and sunshine was streaming in. She was alone in the bed, but that wasn’t surprising. The small oval watch she always wore showed it was almost ten-thirty.

  In spite of feeling just a bit guilty, she smiled to herself. A little like the cat who got the cream.

  Not once, but twice, during the night, as though he couldn’t get enough of her, Stephen had kissed her into wakefulness and they had made love again.

  She had thought it couldn’t possibly get any better but—as though her body had now fully awakened to feelings it had previously never known—it did.

  The first time, when she’d stirred and opened her mouth to his kisses, after satisfying himself that she was fully aroused, he had made love to her hard and fast, without mercy, as though he’d enjoyed hammering home his mastery.

  The second time his love-making had been slow and lingering, drawing out the pleasure, making her writhe and gasp and moan with frustration before he drove deeper to give her the satisfaction she craved.

  How had she lived all those years without him? Without really knowing what love could be like?

  A love that combined the spiritual and physical, that filled her heart and mind and soul, had to be the most wonderful boon that life could bring.

  The only gift greater would be the knowledge that he felt the same kind of love for her.

  He had told her she was beautiful, had told her how much he wanted her and, while that was a far cry from loving, it was a start.

  In the meantime, she had a job to do.

  Her nightdress had been placed over a chair and, climbing out of bed, she pulled it on and, her heart singing, made her way into the living-room.

  Finding no sign of Stephen, she hurried through to her own suite.

  Perhaps her sunny mood coloured everything because even the sight of the oriental screen and the memory of that dark, lurking figure, no longer held any terrors for her.

  Happiness bubbling inside her like a hidden spring, she showered, cleaned her teeth and put on a light cotton dress and sandals. Then, having decided it was much too hot for make-up, she took her hair up in a dark gleaming coil and went in search of Stephen.

  The suite appeared to be deserted except for a young maid who was vacuuming the living-room carpet. In answer to Sophia’s query, the girl told her that, having breakfasted some time ago, Signor Haviland was in his office.

  When she went along and tapped at the door, he called, ‘Who is it?’

  Just the sound of his voice making her go weak at the knees, she answered, ‘It’s Sophia.’

  A second later the door opened and he was there, wearing well-cut casual trousers and a white shirt open at the neck. He looked bright-eyed and fit in spite of his own lack of sleep.

  Smiling down at her, he said, ‘Good morning, sleepyhead. Or should I say good afternoon?’ Then, dropping a light kiss on her lips, he observed, ‘You look happy.’

  ‘I am happy,’ she said simply.

  ‘No lingering terrors?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Certain?’

  ‘Quite certain.’

  In fact she had a great deal to thank the mysterious intruder for, she thought with a touch of irony. If it hadn’t been for him, instead of sharing a night of utter bliss that had turned her world into a glorious place, she would have slept alone and been utterly miserable.

  And this morning, instead of being warm and close, her relationship with Stephen would no doubt have been distant and chilly.

  And that didn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘So the therapy worked,’ Stephen remarked with a wicked, sidelong grin.

  ‘Therapy? Is that what it was?’ Sophia did her best to sound indignant.

  ‘Amongst other things.’ He bent and kissed her again, gently at first, then with a growing ardour.

  After a moment or two, his lips still clinging closely, he drew her into the office and shut the door. Setting her back to the panels, he ran his hands over her while he deepened the kiss until every bone in her body melted.

  When he’d finally freed her lips, he said huskily, ‘I’ve been wanting to make love to you again ever since I first woke.’

  Amazed at her own boldness, she said, ‘You could have wakened me.’

  He kissed the tip of her small straight nose. ‘After keeping you awake half the night?’

  Watching the colour creep into her cheeks, he added, ‘To be honest, I almost did, but in the end I hadn’t the heart to disturb you. You looked much too beautiful, all tousled and dewy with sleep…

  ‘It was as much as I could do to tear myself away, but I had some business that wouldn’t wait…’

  After another lingering kiss, he murmured softly, ‘I thought if you were still in bed when my business was completed, I might come back and join you.’

  Stifling the feeling of regret and trying to sound stern, she said, ‘Then it’s just as well I’m up, otherwise the best part of the day would have been—’

  He stopped the words with a finger to her lips. ‘Don’t say wasted, or you’ll hurt my feelings.’

  As she gazed up at him, he traced the outline of her mouth before removing his finger.

  Her voice not quite steady, she told him, ‘I was going to say, over before I’d got any work done.’

  ‘Who cares about work?’

  He sounded light-hearted, almost as if he were in love.

  It was a heady thought and she was clutching it to her when he said prosaically, ‘Would you like me to ring for some fresh breakfast? You must be hungry.’

  She shook her head. ‘Considering how late it is, and the fact that I had an excellent meal last night, I think I’d prefer to wait for lunch.’

  ‘Fruit juice? Tea? Coffee?’

  ‘Coffee would be nice, if it won’t be too much trouble for the staff?’

  ‘No trouble at all. There’ll still be hot coffee in the morning room.’

  Seeing he was about to accompany her, she objected, ‘I don’t want to take you away from your work.’

  ‘I’ve done all that’s necessary for the moment. Anything else will keep until I feel like dealing with it. In any case it’s too nice to work…’

  He led her through to the attractive morning room where, on the sideboard, along with the remains of breakfast, was a hotplate with a glass jug of coffee.

  Filling two cups with the fragrant brew, he added a little cream and sugar to hers as he knew she liked it and, leaving his own black and sugarless, came to sit beside her.

  As they drank, he asked, ‘So where shall we go? All Venice is out there just waiting to be explored.’

  Taking a firm grip on her excitement, she said severely, ‘I’m supposed to be here to work.’

  ‘If you insist, I’ll let you work for an hour or so, then we’ll go out…So start deciding what you’d like to see.’

  ‘I don’t mind in the slightest,’ she told him happily. ‘I’ll leave it to you.’

  ‘Well, if you do think of anywhere, let me know.’

  A shade hesitantly, she said, ‘Sooner or later I’d like to see Harry’s Bar. I know it’s a very touristy thing to want to do, but—’

  ‘Not at all…It’s an experience that shouldn’t be missed.’ Pausing to take a sip of coffee, he went on. ‘It first opened in the early nineteen-thirties and some very famous people went there, including Ernest Hemingway and Maria Callas.

  ‘Even today you’ll find it isn’t just the haunt of tourists. There’s nearly always a fascinating mix of people—writers and artists, photographers and film stars, the rich an
d famous, the notorious and the flamboyant…Why don’t you change your mind about working and we’ll go now?’

  The coaxing smile, the mischievous gleam in his eye, made him almost irresistible.

  Sorely tempted, she hesitated. Then her normal self-discipline kicked into action, making her ask, ‘But didn’t you say the first viewing was in six weeks’ time?’

  ‘Yes, I did,’ he admitted ruefully.

  ‘Then, before I even consider going out, I ought to have a look at the paintings and get some idea of how much work will be needed to get them ready.’

  ‘A woman with principles, I see.’

  ‘They’re no rarer than a man with principles.’

  He held up his hands in mock surrender. ‘I’m not suggesting they are. I wouldn’t dare!’

  His voice serious, he added, ‘But I haven’t met too many of them…As you said yesterday, I must have been associating with the wrong kind of women…’

  She laughed ruefully. ‘You sound quite bitter.’

  ‘Not at all. A little disillusioned, perhaps…’

  She waited, hoping he would go on, but all he said was, ‘More coffee?’

  ‘No, thanks. I enjoyed that thoroughly, but I don’t need any more.’

  ‘Come along, then. We’ll go up to the Long Gallery first and have a quick look at the family portraits.’

  They were just leaving the room when Rosa appeared to clear away the remains of breakfast. ‘Buon giorno, signorina,’ she greeted Sophia with a smile.

  Smiling back, Sophia said, ‘Buon giorno.’

  ‘Would you like me to bring you some fresh breakfast?’ the housekeeper asked.

  ‘No, thank you, Rosa. I’ve had a cup of coffee and, as it’s so late, I’ve decided to wait until lunch time to eat.’

  Turning to Stephen, Rosa queried, ‘Will you be home for lunch and dinner, Signor Stefano?’

  ‘I thought we would have dinner here tonight, but we won’t be at home for lunch. In a little while I’ll be taking the signorina out to see some more of Venice.’

  Rosa nodded and beamed, before asking, ‘Do you like our beautiful city, Signorina Jordan?’

  ‘Indeed I do. In fact it was love at first sight.’