Authors: Sara Craven
'I'm glad to see your recent ordeal has not completely destroyed your spirit,
signorina
.'
Joanna swung round, her face flaming as if she had spoken aloud. How long had he been standing in the doorway? she wondered almost hysterically. That cool, arrogant voice had been the sole advertisement of his presence.
He came forward into the room, moving noiselessly. He had changed his clothes since their earlier encounter, and he too was wearing black—slightly flared velvet pants and a matching tunic top, the neck severely slashed to reveal his brown chest. It was an outfit that Joanna might have found slightly effeminate on anyone else, but on this man it merely underlined his aura of totally virile masculinity.
He saw her looking at him, and smiled a little.
'I felt it would place you at an unfair disadvantage if I dressed for dinner,' he drawled, and again Joanna experienced that curious tingle across her nerve-endings at his awareness of her near-nakedness. She seethed inwardly at his mocking implication that a minor matter of dress was the only point at issue between them. He had her at a total disadvantage already, and he knew it only too well. 'Oh, let me get the better of him—just once!' she thought furiously.
He walked to the table which held the decanter and poured himself some sherry.
'I hope this short period of solitary confinement hasn't robbed you of speech,' he remarked. 'You had enough to say for yourself when we met earlier, and I had anticipated an entertaining evening.'
Joanna subdued a schoolgirlish impulse to poke her tongue at him, forcing herself to smile politely instead.
'I'm sorry if you find me a bore,' she said with a slight shrug. 'It's just that I'm rather at a loss for words. I'm not used to entertaining a complete stranger in quite such intimate surroundings.
'An admirably demure reply, but totally out of character, I suspect. Why don't you damn my eyes and tell me to get the hell out of your bedroom, if that's what you want to say?'
'Would it make any difference if I did?' -Try it and see.' He took another sip from his glass, his eyes glinting at her from under their heavy lids.
It was certainly a temptation, Joanna thought with annoyance, and yet if he went she stood no chance at all of persuading him to allow her some freedom, or of discovering any hint of what was going on at the
palazzo
, and though she realised it was a pretty forlorn hope, she could not allow it to slip through her fingers.
She allowed herself the slightest possible pout. 'Why should you be so sure I want you to go?'
'Because I'm a kidnapper and a forger,' he returned calmly. 'And because you are unsure that when dinner is over I shall simply kiss your hand and depart. After all, with so many sins to my account already, what's a seduction more or less—and the room was planned for it, as you've no doubt noticed.'
Joanna cursed the betraying colour which had crept into her face again. 'You're quite wrong…' she began, but he interrupted with an impatient snort.
'Don't lie to me,
bella mia
. I've already told you that it's a mistake. You've had several solitary hours to wonder in that woman's mind of yours just what fate I'm planning for you, and that bed will have figured largely in your calculations.' He laughed sardonically as her flush deepened. 'You see, you can't fool me,
cara
. Well, I won't spoil your appetite for dinner by leaving you with your fears. You're quite safe. I don't intend to outrage the laws of hospitality any further.'
'I'm relieved to hear it,' she managed, her fingers clenched so tightly round the slender stem of her glass that it threatened to snap. Oh, he was so unbearably, impossibly sure of himself, so convinced that he was in control of the situation I It would be so satisfying to see that control slip, and know that he was at her mercy for a change.
She finished the sherry in her glass, her heart beating rapidly and unsteadily under the force of her emotions.
'If we're operating under the laws of hospitality, then perhaps you could tell me your name at least.' She held out her glass to be refilled with an assurance she was far from feeling. 'It's hardly fair that you should know so much about me and volunteer nothing in return.'
'I am flattered by your interest,' he said, busying himself with the decanter. 'My name is Leo Vargas. You may have heard of me.'
Joanna knew she was gaping at him, but she could not help herself. Of course she had heard of him. Meeting the financiers and business men, as well as the diplomats who visited her father's home, she could not have avoided hearing of the Vargas Corporation, the twentieth-century development of an ancient banking house that could trace its origins back to fourteenth-century Italy.
'Then you're—you're really Prince Vorghese,' she began, but he cut in.
'I don't use that name, or the title,
signorina
. It has little relevance to today, I find.'
'And yet you live here on Saracina, like a feudal lord.'
'Perhaps. The farming is poor here, and the fishing uncertain. I have tried to improve things for my people by setting up small industries which will reduce their dependence on the uncertainties of their traditional livelihoods. Is that so wrong? And if in return I ask their loyalty and obedience, do I ask too much?'
'You ask a lot if you expect them to live here without women,' she returned, and saw with a flash of triumph that she had momentarily disconcerted him.
'Many of the local women are at present enjoying a well-earned vacation on the mainland at my expense' he said after a pause. 'Their absence is a purely temporary arrangement, I assure you, otherwise I would be faced with a rebellion.'
'And the Princess Vorghese?' Joanna asked sweetly. 'Is she also enjoying a well-earned rest elsewhere?'
'My mother lives in a villa in Geneva,' he drawled. 'Why don't you ask me if I am married, just as you asked my name? This unnecessary deviousness is merely a bore.'
She could have kicked him. 'Well—are you?' she asked eventually, maintaining a precarious hold on her sweetness.
'No,
bella mia
, but I advise you not to raise any ill-founded hopes. I have no intention of marrying at present.'
She gave him a honeyed look. 'I was merely curious, Signor Vargas, nothing more. As you know so much about me, you must also know that I am already engaged.'
'Ah yes. To the fair-haired young man whose expressed wishes you were so anxious to flout last night in the bar.' His smile was satirical. 'An ideal match, and yet you wear no ring.'
'My father will be giving a party for us later in the year. The formal announcement will be made then.'
'How oddly cold these English courting rituals are,' he murmured. 'Do they reflect, perhaps, the kind of relationship involved?'
'You have no right to ask that.' she said unevenly. 'Tony and I are very much in love.'
'So much so that you ignore his wishes in order to spend a day alone on a beach. Don't glare at me,
cara
. How often have your thoughts turned to that fiancé of yours since you have been on Saracina? When you wept earlier, it was for yourself, not because you were separated from him, as I would want my woman to weep for me.'
'I cannot imagine any woman being fool enough to weep for you,' she said between her teeth, and he laughed softly.
'No?
Bene
. Now sheathe your claws or you will shock poor Josef, who is bringing our dinner.'
It would have been more dignified to have refused to eat with him, but the sight of the food which Josef pushed into the room on a large trolley table was Joanna's undoing.
There were cornets of smoked salmon, spilling over with tiny prawns, accompanied by dishes of salad, peppers, onions and olives. The main course was tender fillets of veal cooked in a rich Marsala sauce, with green beans and tiny potatoes, with the sharp exciting tang of lemon sorbets in tall frosted glasses to follow. Finally there was coffee, strong and sweet, accompanied by thick cream, and Joanna accepted a Grand Marnier while Leo Vargas drank brandy.
She sat back in her chair with a sigh of repletion.
'You have an excellent chef.'
'I am generally well served,' he said. 'My own people do not regard me as the ogre you seem to think. Although you are better off in my hands than you would have been with some of my ancestors,' he added rather drily.
Joanna's eyes went instinctively to the portrait on the wall and he gave a faint nod.
'Yes, you are right,
signorina
. In an age of cruelty and violence the first Leo Vorghese made his name a byword. Saracina was part of the dowry brought to him by the unfortunate girl he married, and he built the first
palazzo
here.'
'If he was so notorious, I'm surprised he chose somewhere so quiet and so far away from the Italian mainland,' Joanna said, pushing her table napkin to one side.
His lips twisted slightly. 'The choice was not wholly his,
cara
. He had offended an influential cardinal—by enticing away the affections of his mistress—and was forced to leave Italy while he could. So Saracina became his stronghold, and he defended it against all comers, including the Barbary pirates and some marauding Turks, so the people had reason to be grateful to him in some ways.'
'Was he really so terrible?' Joanna stared up at the portrait, lost in the strange remote attraction of the dead Prince's face.
'I believe he was. It is said it was better to die than to be his enemy and his prisoner. He used to fly his favourite hawk—the one you see on his wrist—at the eyes of his captives.'
'Vile!' Joanna shuddered.
He nodded sombrely. 'He was well named the Lion of Saracina.'
Joanna put down her glass with a jerk that spilled some of the liqueur it contained on to the white damask cloth.
'What did you say?' she asked shakily.
'Merely that he was well named…!' he broke off, staring at her, and a gleam of amusement appeared in his tawny eyes. He went on lazily, 'It is a name that has persisted down the years among the males in his family. Most of the Vorghese men are dark, but every so often another Leo is born with that particular colouring and the tradition goes on.
'And that—that's what they call you?'
'Not to my face.'
'But I thought—then what was…?'
'What are you talking about?'
'When I arrived here,' she said tightly, 'with your thug's jacket over my head, there was an animal— growling at me. I was terrified. They'd mentioned a lion —last night in Calista and again here on the beach. I thought it was real—a real lion.'
He threw back his head and laughed. Don't glare at me like that,
bella mia
. You will ruin your digestion. I will show you your lion.'
He got up from his chair and walked to the window. He stood staring through the grille for a moment and gave a long, low whistle. Joanna waited for a nerve-jangling moment, uncertain what to expect, then, in reply, came a frenzied barking.
'Oh.' Joanna was conscious of a strong sense of anticlimax. 'A dog. Can I see him?' She got up. Is he fierce?'
'Yes.' Leo Vargas returned to the table and sat down, picking up his brandy glass. 'And no respecter of beautiful women, although he probably growled at you earlier because you were wearing a jacket over your head. He is quite a conventional animal. But I do not advise you to tangle with him—or any of his companions.'
'And what is his function?' Joanna asked.
'He is a guard dog. He patrols the grounds of the
palazzo
at night. But I say again,
cara
, you would do well not to seek his company. I would not want you to faint again.'
'I don't think that's very likely,' she said coolly. 'I was—overwrought earlier at our first encounter. But I'm quite used to dogs, and I certainly don't blame him simply for doing his duty.'
'Do you always forgive so easily?' Leo Vargas asked. He was lying back in his chair, toying with his brandy glass.
'It depends what the offence has been.' Her pulses were jumping suddenly. She stole a look at him, but his eyes were hooded, enigmatic. She was waiting for him to speak again, but the silence between them lengthened.
'When are you going to let me go?'
No pleading. Almost a casual tone. She was proud of that, and wondered how much she owed to the Dutch courage of the wine at dinner.
'You have a saying, don't you? This year, next year, some time—or never.'
'But don't you see'—she tried to keep her voice reasonable—'the longer you keep me here, the worse it will be for you when you do release me. You may be an important man in your own world, but I am a British subject and we do still have rights. And kidnapping is a terribly serious crime, especially in Italy.'
'But we are not in Italy,' he said almost idly. 'We are on Saracina, which belongs to me, and where I make the laws. You trespassed, and now you are being punished, because that is my law.'
'I think you're mad,' she said helplessly.
'Sometimes I think so too.' He drained the remainder of his brandy and got up, his movements as lithe and easy as those of the animal for which he had been named. Joanna rose too.
'You told me not to lie to you,' she said, 'but I think you're lying to me. You talk about punishment. I don't think it's anything of the sort. I think there's something going on here on this island that you don't want the outside world to know about and that's why you have your armed guards and your gunboats. It's not to safeguard your privacy. It's to keep some secret, and I can only think it must be something pretty discreditable if it warrants all this performance.'
'Go on.' He was standing by the door, his hands resting lightly on his hips, his face in shadow so she could not read his expression, but she could hear the edge in his voice and knew she had struck somewhere near the truth.
'Keep your secret for as long as you can,' she said. 'One day I shall leave this place, because sooner or later someone—Tony or my father—will come to fetch me, and I shall tell them everything I know. You must be subject to some kind of authority, somewhere, and they will know how to deal with you.'