After the cool, almost cloistered atmopshere of the library, the early evening sun on her naked arms and shoulders brought a sybaritic smile to her glossy lips and her eyes drifted shut for an instant of sensual pleasure, the deep tones of his voice sending a frisson of delight right through her, even though his words were vaguely patronising in content.
‘Wouldn’t you prefer to leave your glass behind? You can drink your sherry later; no one’s going to steal it from you.’
As if she were a child who couldn’t be persuaded to part with a sticky lollipop! But Venetia refused to be put down. Pausing at the top of the steps that led down from the terrace, she gave him her most dazzling smile and told him huskily, ‘You can steal anything of mine, any time you please.’ She placed the rim of the glass to her pouting lips, her pale, translucent eyes smouldering between thickly fringing lashes as she touched the tip of her tongue to the cool crystal. ‘But why don’t we share?’ She took a long swallow of the pale, aromatic liquid then slowly lifted the glass to his strangely unsmiling mouth. And he drained it as if he had no option, as if it were an inescapable ritual, his eyes never leaving the pure, almost imperiously beautiful lines of her face as she watched the controlled ripple of his throat as he drank, her fingertips aching to follow the track of her fascinated gaze.
‘The water garden, then.’ The incisive cut of his voice broke the spell of that strangely ritualistic bonding, as if he were making some violent repudiation. And she shrugged slightly, hating this new sensation of uncertainty, watching from clouded eyes as he set the glass carefully on top of the stone balustrading and descended the steps.
Venetia jerked herself together and followed. But too quickly, one of her ridiculous heels twisting beneath her in her haste.
But what she lost in dignity she gained in the exquisite sanctuary of his arms as he caught and steadied her, holding her warm, soft body against the steel-hard litheness of his, and for a timeless moment she knew what heaven on earth must feel like. She was melting into him, completing him, just as he was making her truly whole. He was her other half, her alter ego, and the recognition made her giddy.
‘You’re hardly dressed for out of doors, I think.’
The steel in his voice was only just covered in silk and he was putting her aside, his hands firm; she recovered her equilibrium enough to tell him lightly, ‘Nonsense. It’s just a stroll. I caught my heel in a crack between the stones. Too silly!’ And she grabbed his arm with a firmness that almost matched his own and set out along the gravelled walkway.
She could sense his withdrawal, the deliberate remoteness he was using like a shield, but it didn’t really bother her. Why should it, when he could have turned back to the house, refused to go along with the pretext of seeing the grounds? But he hadn’t refused, beat a tactical retreat, she exulted. He kept right beside her, not even brushing her hand away from his arm, slowing his long-legged stride to accommodate her shorter steps.
So he could look as remote as he liked. She smiled softly to herself as she glanced at the proud, stern lines of his profile; he wasn’t fooling her! She had witnessed the awakening of something far more than cousinly interest when he’d made that thorough appraisal of her body, and she’d felt the magic chemistry that had made her feel they were one flesh when he’d briefly held her in his arms. It had been too strong, too blindingly insistent for him to have been unaware of it.
‘Nearly there,’ she said, her voice smoky, breaking the silence, reflecting that he’d been right when he’d said she wasn’t dressed for out of doors. Short, tight skirts and impossible heels were hardly suitable for traversing even the most carefully raked gravelled paths or the most smoothly kept lush green lawns. ‘How long will you be staying?’ she asked, her fingers tightening around his iron-hard arm as they descended mossy stone steps beneath a deep arch in the high yew hedge which separated the grounds.
‘One week. Two. Who knows?’ The upward shift of his wide shoulders was eloquently, fluidly dismissive, but she ignored it. If he was pretending he wasn’t aware of her then she could pretend she hadn’t noticed the subterfuge!
‘Plenty of time for me to show you around,’ she stated, her eyes gleaming up at his impassive features as she pictured long walks into the countryside, intimate dinners for two at secluded restaurants, maybe even a drive into the Welsh mountains where she could successfully lose them in all that wildness, maybe for long enough to necessitate an overnight stay at some remote farmhouse...
‘You are not studying, at school maybe? Or working?’
He waited politely as she hopped down from the final and deepest stone step and, that obstacle negotiated, she answered airily, ‘School? Good lord, no!’ She managed to convey that her schooldays were a dim and distant memory, not prepared to tell him that her final term had ended a scant three weeks ago and so remind him of her age. ‘Look—we’re here,’ she told him unnecessarily as they entered the grotto filled with the scent and sound of water.
But he didn’t appear to be remotely interested in the water garden. His dark eyes gave her a cool glance as he questioned, ‘Do you plan a career? Within the company, perhaps?’
‘Oh, who knows?’ Venetia frowned, biting down on her full lower lip. ‘Let’s not talk about that.’ Why waste time discussing the possibility of a career in her father’s business when all she wanted to do was spend the rest of her life with him? And she did want that, want it with a sudden desperation that left her feeling devastated.
Hesitantly, she searched his eyes and found nothing there but cold disinterest. A pain, like a splinter of ice, stabbed at her heart. He didn’t even like her. Had she lived through her life, effortlessly receiving everything she’d ever wanted, only to be denied the most important, the thing she craved above all else?
Venetia shivered, cold to her bones as shameful tears stung the backs of her eyes. And Carlo stated, a curl of cynical amusement playing around his mouth, ‘This place is dank. You should have worn your mink. I take it you do own a couple, at least?’
‘Half a dozen at last count!’ she snapped back at him, stung to immediate, hurting rage by his patronising, cynical, coolly mocking attitude. She wouldn’t demean herself by explaining she wouldn’t be seen dead in a fur, that she passionately believed they looked better on the animals they were designed to grace!
The emotional turmoil she’d experienced since setting eyes on him had turned to passionate hatred. She wanted to hit him, but contained the violence, curling her fingers into her palms until the painted nails dug deeply into the soft flesh. And she met the intimidating censure of his narrowed eyes with open hostility until raw pain sliced through her, the sensation of the wounding mirrored in the translucent depths of her eyes as she lowered them, blinking back the scalding flow of tears.
She hadn’t meant it to be like this. Oh, she surely hadn’t! And she was cold again now. So cold. Nothing really to do with the moist, shaded air, the watery silence of the quiet pool, the moss-grown rocks, the still, heavy leaves of the gunnera and ornamental rhubarb—nothing to do with them at all.
Venetia turned quickly, the silky fall of her hair flying around her shoulders as she tottered as rapidly as she could back towards the steps, her heart leaping inside her, her throat closing with solidified breath as he stopped her, his large hands on her shoulders swinging her round to face him.
‘You’ll break your neck if you go at that pace, or, at the very least, spoil your pretty shoes.’ His voice went husky as he watched the play of emotions cross her pale features, saw them spring to tumultuous life in the translucent depths of her beautiful eyes.
‘I...’
