Desire Has No Mercy (3 page)

Julia
gazed
back into his eyes, so astoundingly grey and luminous in all that darkness. Darkly tanned skin, thick black hair, lashes like soot that spread shadows on his face. A striking man she might have admired for his looks had they met in different circumstances; she was a person who was sensitive to physical beauty, but he had unforgivably flawed her as a person and she felt she could have put a knife into him.

'I couldn't live with you,' she said distinctly. 'It would make me ill to have to see you night and day for the next seven months. Haven't you got it into your arrogant head,
signore
? I despise everything about you, the look of you, the sound of you, and especially the touch of you. I can hardly bear it that I have inside me something you have put there. I hate the baby! I don't want it and I am perfectly in the right to have it terminated. I shall tell the doctor I was raped.'

He flinched when she said that, and if it were possible went pale under the darkness of his skin. His facial bones seemed to stand out with additional clarity and the pupils of his eyes expanded until their incandescent grey was almost obscured by the dark centres. He looked as if she had lucked him in the throat, for he seemed unable to speak for several long moments.

Julia felt a thrust of pleasure that she had actually bruised his pride. She didn't care that they had actually struck a bargain, her sister's IOUs in exchange for her intimate company for a night. Julia knew he had assumed she was a woman of the world; her background as a Van Holden, her manner, her soignée style of dress and grooming, all these would have led him to such a conclusion. It was now forlornly too late to wonder if his intentions had been really serious when he suggested they go upstairs to his private apartment. She had been frightened but determined not to beg for his charity. Tearing a leaf out of Grandma Van Holden's almanac of arrogant manners she had called him lowdown, and that was when he had laid down his cigar and backed her through the door of his bedroom.

The terror of the moment sprang back into Julia's eyes and with a sudden tearless cry she turned to the balcony parapet and buried her face against the stone.

'Don't do that.' His hands swung her around and pulled her to his shoulder. 'I know how you feel and I want to make amends. Come, stop trembling like that or you'll injure the baby.'

Deep spasmodic, tremors that she found impossible to control, his hand moving up and down her spine in an attempt to help her overcome them, her body pressed to his as if he tried to give her some of his strength.

'You're frightened, Julia,' he murmured. 'You know what it means to go to one of those places where they lay you on a table and treat your body with indignity. Believe me, child, I never meant to make you pregnant—it happened—it happened, but we can put it right. I can put it right if you'll let me. I'll stand by you and shield you. You can think of me as a guardian and no more than that. The fact that I am a husband will be no more than a necessary formality. When the child it born you will never need to see it ever again. Julia, are you listening to me?'

Before she could answer, a voice spoke from the long windows leading out to the balcony.

'Julia, my dear, whatever is wrong? Who is this man?'

At the sound of the voice Julia jerked her head away from Rome Demario's shoulder and her eyes met the dark ones of Paul Wineman, standing there looking at her with a great deal of puzzlement, and a hint of anger.

The man referred to, Rome Demario, swung round in his supple way to confront Wineman. 'I am Julia's fiancé,' he said deliberately. 'She and I have decided to be married as soon as possible. Have you any objections?'

Wineman stared at the tall Italian who stood so close to Julia. 'Is this actually true?' he demanded of her. 'Is this fellow really telling me that you've become engaged to marry him?'

No! Julia wanted to cry out the word, to protest that such an idea was ludicrous, that she wanted an ordered, gracious marriage with a man of her own choosing whose interests were similar to her own. But stark in her mind was another image… that of a clinical room where a white-gowned figure leaned over her body with a gleaming instrument in his hand. Unaware she clutched at Rome Demario, her fingers digging into him.

'Yes,' she heard herself say, 'I'm going to marry this man.'

'I see.' Paul Wineman slowly took a thin gold cigarette-case from his pocket and opened it. As he tapped a cigarette against the gold his eyes flicked from Julia to Rome Demario as if noticing how fair and somehow delicate she looked in contrast to the Italian's darkness. 'This is all very sudden, isn't it, my dear? On the occasions you have dined with me, I can't recall that you ever mentioned that you were seeing another man, least of all with the serious intention of becoming his wife. Neither can I recall that I have ever seen this young man until today.'

'That's easily explained,' she said rather faintly. 'I— I knew Rome when we were children. We—we met again some time ago and realised—oh, you know how it is, Paul. These things can happen overnight.'

'Yet I wouldn't have taken you for the impulsive type.' The wheel of a gold lighter spurted flame at the cigarette between the rather thin lips of Wineman and as he narrowed his eyes against the smoke he was measuring Rome from head to heel.

'You aren't American?' he remarked.

'I live in Naples,' Rome replied. 'I am originally from Italy, though my parents resided in the States for some years. That was when Julia and I became acquainted.'

'So it was a boy-girl romance?' Wiseman drawled. 'You fell for each other in your infancy and now like Romeo and Juliet you've decided that you can't live without each other. You might have warned me that this was pending, Julia.'

'I—I'm sorry, Paul.' He was distinguished, with wings of silver at his temples. He was erudite and could talk so cleverly about so many things. So courtly mannered, and with a slight world-weary smile that crinkled his dark eyes. He was so exactly the type of man Julia had set her heart on that she just didn't know how she stood there with Rome Demario, his arm around her waist, his fingers pressing her body as if already he owned her and was letting the other man know that he no longer had any right to regard her as eligible for his attentions.

It was Paul's attentions she wanted, yet she had felt driven to commit herself to a man she despised. She was a coward. She had known all along in her heart that she couldn't submit to the instrument which would have set her free from Rome Demario. It wasn't that she felt a spark of affection for his child… it was that all her life she had been innately reserved, with a cool-skinned shining look of cleanliness that made the very thought of abortion a defiling and wretched procedure.

Because she couldn't face it she had to let Paul Wineman go out of her life… and she had to let Rome Demario into it. The only consolation was that when she gave him the child he would release her from their marriage. He had sworn to do that, and if he broke his promise… Julia looked at him, at his well-defined Italian profile and the shoulders he carried so well on the lean supple body.

Any other woman, she supposed, might have felt thrilled to be marrying such an attractive man, but all she felt was a burning hatred for him. He had used her like a toy without feelings and there wasn't a vestige of respect or admiration in her when he looked at her and she saw again the incredible beauty of his smoke-grey eyes. No doubt his child would have those eyes… no doubt it would be a lovely creature, but no spark of joy at the prospect lit up in Julia's eyes.

They were like green gems in her white face, hard and cool as if never again would they melt into a truly happy smile. She would go through with the marriage and lie birth, and then he had to keep his promise and let her go.

'Well,' said Paul Wineman, 'I suppose I'd better be the first to congratulate you, Julia. I wish you every happiness.'

'Thank you,' Julia said, outwardly cool… inwardly burning.

'Are you planning to have the full show, with all the trimmings such as Verna has just enjoyed?' Paul Wineman fingered the carnation in his lapel, as if he were trying to appear more casual than he felt. Julia sensed that he was distressed and hurt beneath his well-behaved manner, but there was no real comfort she could offer him. He had admired and respected her, and she knew their friendship had been mutually pleasing to both of them. Now she felt a bleak sense of loss and blamed everything on Rome' Demario. He had wrecked her chance of happiness with a man she respected and she would never forgive him for it.

'No indeed,' she replied to Paul. 'I couldn't go through all that again and I'll be perfectly satisfied to be married quietly by a justice of the peace. Verna wanted all the glamour and glory, but I certainly don't.'

'All the same,' it was Rome who spoke, 'I shall want the ceremony to take place in church.'

Julia looked at him and was about to protest when he laid a finger across her lips. 'A Catholic church, my dear. You needn't dress yourself up in satin and lace, nor invite half of New York's social register, but I must insist that a priest officiate at our marriage. I am Italian and I wouldn't feel that we were properly wed without a priest of my church. For the children's sake,
carina
.'

Julia could feel the furious protest clamouring at her lips, but apart from the fact that Paul was watching her, there was in Rome's eyes a look that warned her not to argue with him. On this issue he meant to have his way… his eyes glittered, reminding her that the child she carried was going to be his sole responsibility. He wanted her to be in no doubt that everything he did was for the child's sake.

'Very well,' she gave a slight shrug. 'So long as it's quick and quiet. I couldn't possibly face all the fuss Verna has been through—long silk dress, bridesmaids, ushers and all the rest.'

'I'm not asking you to wear white.' Rome gazed directly into her eyes. 'A pretty suit will suffice, for we'll be flying off to Naples directly the ceremony is over. From there we travel to Campania where I live.'

'Campania?' she echoed. 'That's in the deep south, isn't it?'

He inclined his dark head and a slightly wicked smile came into his eyes. 'You didn't imagine I'd ask you to live above a gambling casino, did you? I have an estate in Campania and a house I think you might find interesting. I call it the Villa Domani.'

'Doesn't that mean "tomorrow"?' she asked.

'Yes,' he agreed. 'Because everything happens tomorrow, or we believe it is going to. The realities of today and what we anticipate for tomorrow are separated by a fine thread of excitement and longing. That's why I call my home Domani.'

'It's a romantic idea.' It was Paul Wineman who spoke. 'Yet do I understand you to say that you also run a gambling casino?'

'There are two side to my life,' Rome replied, giving the other man a slightly arrogant look. 'Julia won't be required to share the half that belongs in Naples. You look disapproving,
signore
. Do you take me for an Italian gangster? A man of the underworld who parries a gun, or to be more in keeping a stiletto up his sleeve?'

'To be quite honest with you,' Paul moved his glance from Rome to Julia, 'I wouldn't have taken you for the kind of man Miss Van Holden would be in love with.'

'Are you a great judge of these things?' Rome drawled. 'I knew Miss Van Holden when she was a small girl who liked strawberry ice-cream and blue buckled shoes. I always swore to myself that I'd marry her.'

Julia gave him a deeply startled look when he said this, erect and darkly graceful in his custom-made Italian suit.
Homme fatal
! The knowledge of what really inspired his wish to marry her was like a stiletto in her heart… he was Latin and long ago he had learned to hate the Van Holdens because at that time they had been rich and his mother had been poor enough to have to plead to be kept on as a cleaner in their house. Julia remembered how the Demario boy had stood there, grimly tugging at his mother's hand when she begged Grandma Van Holden not to dismiss her.

That incident, Julia knew, had given birth to a vengeance Rome was now enjoying. She saw the little pleased smile at the end of his mouth because he had so thoroughly humbled her Van Holden pride.

'And did you, Julia, wish to marry him when you were a small girl?' Paul Wineman gave her a rather quizzical smile.

'He was an arrogant boy who threw ice-cream all over my shoes,' she replied. 'Now shall we return to the reception? I expect Verna and her husband will almost be ready to start out on their honeymoon trip.'

Julia pulled free of Rome, walking away from him, back into the room where the wedding guests were chatting in animated, smartly dressed groups, the darkly clad waiters moving among them with trays of food and drink.

It was all very lively, touched by that air of excitement that a wedding creates in the hearts of most people. Verna looked radiant in her deep-pink going away suit and the smile on her face was Julia's only consolation. At least one of the Van Holden sisters would be happy in her marriage, and those damning IOUs had long since been destroyed.

Julia walked towards her sister in order to kiss her goodbye. Only a close observer would have noticed the irony in her smile. Had she really said to Verna when they burned those gambling slips: 'There, now we can forget about Naples and everything connected with the place. It's all gone up in smoke!'

'Darling!' Verna flung her arms about Julia and hugged her. 'Thank you for my lovely wedding and all the hard work you've put into it. You are the best sister any girl could have, and soon it will be your turn to walk up the aisle with a man you adore. There's nothing quite like it. I feel like a princess!'

'You look like one.' Julia kissed her sister and smiled at the man who would now be responsible for her. 'Always be as happy, Verna, as you are today.'

'I intend to,' Verna said with confidence, her ringed hand tucked around the arm of her bridegroom. 'I'm never going to do anything that will make this man of mine think less of me than he does today. Today he thinks I'm the icing on the cake!'