A Stormy Spanish Summer(51)

Her mind was frantically scrambling over small facts and clues that suddenly, when put together, created a potential truth that shocked her to the core.

‘There was no wealthy aunt, was there?’ she challenged Vidal in a small bleak voice. ‘There was no aunt, no will, no inheritance. It was you. You paid for everything.’

‘Felicity—’

‘It’s true, isn’t it?’ Fliss demanded. The blood had drained from her face, leaving shadows beneath the curve of her cheekbones. ‘It’s true,’ she repeated insistently. ‘You were the one who bought the house, who gave Mum an allowance, who paid for my education.’

‘You and your mother had every right to what I provided for you. I was only redressing the wrong done to you by my grandmother. Your mother was reluctant to accept anything from me at first, but I told her then as I tell you now that it would only have added to the guilt the family was already carrying if you were not given something of what should have been yours.’

‘I’ve been so wrong about you.’ Fliss’s throat was so raw with emotion she could hardly speak. ‘I’ve misjudged you so badly.’

She was so agitated that she stood up to pace the small area in front of the chair, almost wringing her hands in her despair.

‘No, Fliss. You simply misinterpreted the facts as you saw them. That is all. I am the one who has been guilty of misjudgement—and a far greater misjudgement than yours.’

‘Please don’t be kind to me,’ Fliss begged. ‘It just makes things worse.’

How much worse only she could be allowed to know. Now she could see Vidal as he really was, instead of coloured by her own erroneous beliefs. Now she could see how tall he stood, how honourable he was, and how truly empty her life would be without him in it.

‘I want you to have my father’s house,’ she told Vidal. ‘I don’t want any money for it. It’s right that it should return to being part of the estate. I’m going home, Vidal.’ she added. ‘As soon as it can be arranged.’

‘Felicity—’

Vidal took a step towards her, causing Fliss to step back. If he touched her now she would fall apart. She just knew it.

‘I can’t stay here now.’

‘You’ve had a shock. It isn’t wise to make decisions in the heat of the moment.’

As he spoke Vidal was reaching out to her. Another second and he would be touching her. She couldn’t let that happen. She didn’t dare.

Fliss stepped back, forgetting that the chair was there, and would have fallen over it if Vidal hadn’t grabbed hold of her.

She could hear the heavy thud of his heartbeat, smell the warm scent of his skin. He was only holding her arms, but the whole of her body was responding to being so close to him, yearning and aching for him.

Fliss moved to pull back from him, and then gasped when instead of releasing her Vidal’s hold on her tightened. She looked up at him, her eyes widening as he lowered his head towards her. His breath seared her lips. Sensual heat flooded her body.

‘No,’ Fliss protested, but her protest was lost beneath the passion of his kiss.

She wanted Vidal so much. She loved him so much. But Vidal did not love her.

‘No!’ Fliss cried out, pushing him away. ‘Don’t touch me. I can’t bear it. I’ve got to leave, Vidal, I love you too much to stay—’

Horrified by what she had revealed, Fliss could only stare up at Vidal, who was standing as still as a statue, looking back at her.

‘What did you say?’ Vidal’s voice was harsh.

He was angry with her, and no wonder, Fliss thought. She had embarrassed him and made a fool of herself.

‘What did you say?’ Vidal repeated.

In a panic, Fliss stepped back from him, shaking her head as she fibbed, ‘I didn’t say anything.’

Vidal had stepped back from her, but now he was closing the distance between them.

‘Yes, you did.’ His topaz gaze held hers. ‘You said you loved me.’

Fliss had had enough. Her self-control was at breaking point and her heart felt as though it was already broken. What did her pride matter now, when she had already lost so much?

Lifting her head, she told Vidal, ‘All right, yes, I do love you. The children I want to have—the children I want to know their Spanish heritage—are your children, Vidal. Don’t blame me if you don’t want to know any of this, if you don’t want to hear. You made me tell you.’

‘Not want to know? Not want to hear the words I’ve been aching to hear since you were sixteen years old?’

‘What?’ Now it was Fliss’s turn to question him. ‘You don’t mean that,’ she protested.