her ears. Mim mustn't know, she thought wildly. The baby was
nothing compared to this. Mim could have understood that,
probably, although she would have been hurt. But Mim would
never, never understand how a daughter of hers could have
deliberately stripped naked to titillate the jaded palates of a handful
of Roman society partygoers. And from what Santino had said, it
seemed that Jan had at the time been the mistress of this Rizziani,
whoever he was. It was all so degrading, so much worse than she
could ever have suspected even in her wildest nightmares. Was it
any wonder than Santino Vallone balked at the idea of Jan marrying
into his family? Could she entirely blame him for his opinion of Jan,
knowing what he knew, seeing what he had seen?
'The tears are charming.' His voice cut cynically across her
desperate thoughts. 'But it's a little late for remorse, cara. And I'm
not as old-fashioned as Rizziani. I don't believe that a beautiful girl
should necessarily be anyone's exclusive property. And you are
beautiful-hair like fire and a body like snow, an intriguing
combination. I always hoped I would have the opportunity to see
them again. And tonight you can complete the performance. There'll
be no Rizziani to interrupt with his tiresome objections or wrap his
coat around you just at the moment of truth this time, so dry your
eyes, mia, and go on with your dance.'
'I can't.' She pressed a fist against her trembling lips. 'You-you
don't understand ...'
'I think I do.' He reached down and lifted her to her feet, not gently.
His eyes glittered in the lamplight which shadowed the dark planes
and angles of his face, making him look more satanic than ever. 'In
spite of the broad hint I gave you at our first meeting, piccina, you
still didn't really believe I'd seen you myself, did you? And it isn't
pleasant to be found out in one's misdeeds, especially when one
thought they were buried for ever. But why so coy, mia cara? If I'd
undressed you a few moments ago while we were kissing, you
wouldn't have uttered a protest.'
His hand closed over the thin folds of material she was still
clutching to her breast.
'Such a pretty dress,' he said pleasantly. 'Don't make me tear it off
you, my lovely one.'
It took every ounce of strength that she possessed to enable her to
step backwards, striking his hand away from her as she did so. His
face darkened with anger and he took a quick stride towards her,
then halted, obviously puzzled by the look of open desperation in
her pale tear-stained face.
'What is it?' he demanded. 'Janina mia, I won't...'
'Don't call me that,' she interrupted. Her voice was low but it
throbbed with an angry sincerity which brought his dark brows
together in an incredulous frown. 'And don't touch me either. In
fact, once I've said what I have to say, I only pray I'll never have to
see you or speak to you again.' She paused and took a deep breath.
'I've-I've been lying to you, signore, right from the first. I'm not
Janina Laurence. I'm Juliet, her older sister from England.'
CHAPTER SIX
Juliet stood waiting tensely for the inevitable explosion of wrath.
She had totally convinced herself that this was how he would react
when at last she had to tell the truth, so his shout of laughter, harsh
and jeering, was a shock which sent her startled gaze flying in
disbelief to his face.
'Your fairy stories are no doubt delightful, mia cara,' he said. 'But
this is neither the time nor the place to indulge in them. Yon are
beginning to try my patience.'
He took another step towards her. There was menace in every lean,
muscular line of his body and Juliet felt herself cringing inwardly,
aware of a cowardly desire to turn tail and run. Yet at the same time
she knew she had to stand her ground and convince him somehow
that she was speaking the truth.
'No, you must listen,' she said rapidly. She had backed away from
him as far as she could and was now trapped by the high back of
one of the sofas just behind her. 'I deliberately misled you. I knew
you thought I was Jan, and I let you go on thinking so because I
didn't want you to go after her. But my handbag was in the bedroom
with my passport in it. That will convince you that I'm speaking the
truth.'
He paused, and for a moment she thought it was to consider what
she had said. But it was only to remove his stained velvet jacket
and toss it over the back of a convenient chair. His tie followed it,
and he began to unfasten his shirt, his mocking eyes observing her
sudden pallor and the unsteadiness of her breathing.
'And I suppose I am to rush off to Rome immediately to. check on
this-fabrication?' He shook his head as he tossed his shirt to the
floor. 'I'm sorry, bella mia, I have-better things to do. Now stop
cowering there like a frightened nymph, and come to me,' he added
with a touch of impatience. 'It's what we both want, so why
pretend?'
He held out his arms imperatively, his brows drawing together in a
deepening frown when she made not the slightest attempt to move.
'Don't make me fetch you, cara,' he spoke almost lightly, but the
underlying threat was unmistakable.
'You've got to believe me,' Juliet said desperately. 'I am not my
sister. Surely you must have seen photographs of her in magazines?
And that-party you mentioned. You saw her in person there.'
'Very much so,' he commented derisively, his tone bringing the
colour flooding back to her face. 'But your own common sense must
tell you, Janina, that when you dance for a man wearing nothing but
one small triangle of lace, he is unlikely to be studying your face.
As for magazine photographs'-he shrugged-'once the make-up
artists have done their work, you could be anyone. No, you don't
convince me, cara, and my tolerance of these maidenly shrinkings
is decreasing by the minute.' His eyes went over her, and she shrank
back against the sofa, terrified at the frankly sensual appraisal she
saw in them. She heard him laugh softly.
'Give yourself, cara,' he said almost gently. 'Don't make me take
you.'
'Santino-please!' Frustrated, helpless tears were welling up in her
eyes. 'Don't-don't do something we will both regret...'
He smiled. 'You mean that I'll hate myself in the morning? How
very old-fashioned-and also untrue. I shan't hate myself, my lovely
one, and you won't hate me either.'
Without haste he cancelled the remaining distance between them
and drew her shivering body against the warmth of his. With casual
mastery he detached the folds of the dress she was still clutching
from her shaking hands and let it fall to the ground. For a long
moment-he looked at her, and then with an indrawn breath he slid
to his knees beside her, pressing his face against the satin-smooth
skin of her stomach.
'Call yourself Juliet if you wish, carissima,' he whispered, as his
lips plundered a trail of kisses across her body. 'Tonight, such a
name for you will not be inappropriate.'
A little moan that she could not suppress rose in her throat. In spite
of herself, his hands and mouth on her body were arousing desires
and emotions that she could not hope to deny. Even his lightest
touch was enough to set slow fires burning all over her, and her
brain refused to work coherently as his slow, lingering, utterly
expert caresses reduced her into compliance.
Somewhere deep inside her, a little voice was crying out in agony
that she wanted to be his-yes-but for her own sake, not because
he had mistaken her for Jan. But then his fingers, exploring the
smooth curve of her slender hips, slid downwards with new urgency
to rid her of her last remaining scrap of clothing and even that small
voice was mute, silenced by the tide of totally mindless longing
which engulfed her.
Somewhere in the distance, in another lifetime perhaps, she could
hear a strange noise-far-off thunder, maybe, or even the pounding
of her own heart. It didn't really matter very much as her arms slid
up past his shoulders to wind round his neck and she waited for the
moment when he would lift her in his arms and carry her up to that
big shuttered room upstairs with the wide bed.
But the pounding noise was still there, and there were voices now
intermingled with it, and she heard Santino curse swiftly and coldly
before he put her from him none too gently.
He picked up her crumpled dress and tossed it to her. 'Cover
yourself, cara,' he ordered as he found his shirt and thrust his arms
into it. 'It seems we have visitors.'
For one dazed, incredulous moment she stared at him before sanity
returned, and the devastating realisation of what he had said. With a
little gasp of shame and panic, she huddled into her clothes,
fumbling for the long zip on the dress with hands that would
scarcely obey her, her face crimson as she realised the exact extent
of her self-betrayal.
He was already at the door, turning half-impatiently to make sure
she was ready before he drew back the heavy iron bolts .which
fastened it. She found the scarf for her hair, but she was trembling
too much to replace it, and she sank down on the nearest sofa,