soft and menacing passion in his voice made her twist around to see his face. His eyes had darkened ominously and yet despite his anger there was still that blatantly sexual aura about him. A delicious shudder made her nerve endings vibrate.
‘Yes,’ she admitted in a husky whisper. Why was he here? Why torment her like this? He was enjoying her reduced circumstances. The man was sick.
‘I remember the sleepless nights,’ he muttered as if on a white-hot tide of anger. ‘I’d lie awake worrying about where the next penny was coming from. I’d have a sense of panic when the bills came in. And I knew that however hard I worked, I was in a trap I’d never escape.’
She shut her eyes briefly, his words reverberating in her head, and it occurred to her that he had painted her circumstances exactly. Being overwhelmed by the day-today struggle to make ends meet, she was beginning to understand—though still to condemn—his means of escaping poverty.
‘Well, it looks as if you managed to get out.’ She pushed back the black satin strands of hair that had fallen to half-conceal her face. She wanted him to see the depths of her contempt. ‘But then,’ she said steadily, ‘you weren’t too proud to take the money my grandfather offered for you to leave the village and me before the police caught up with you. He saved your mother from shame—and he gave you a start in life. You should be grateful to him.’
‘Che Dio mi aiuti!’ A terrifying fury swept his expressive features and made her shrink back in alarm. ‘Grateful?!’
The rawness of his hostility filled the air with its crackling venom. Anna felt profoundly shaken that he should hate her so much. It was clear that he didn’t appreciate being reminded of his crime, she thought grimly. It didn’t fit with his inflated opinion of himself.
Vido’s fists clenched so hard that his nails dug sharp crescents into his palms. She didn’t know. Willoughby had only told her half the story. He hadn’t explained that despite being threatened with the police, he’d refused the money and told the old man to go to hell in a dustcart.
It was then that Willoughby had told him that it had been Anna who had taken the money from the factory workers’ holiday fund and planted it in his locker to teach him a lesson. The old man had reminded him that it had been easy for her since she had worked every Saturday as a junior cashier in the souvenir factory.
That would have been that. Except that he’d discovered his mother weeping inconsolably. Her sister in Italy had offered them a home. For his mother’s sake he had swallowed his pride and accepted Willoughby’s offer of money so they could fly out and start a new life.
Going back to the old man, cap in hand, was one of the lowest moments in his entire life and he wanted to wipe it from his memory.
For a split-second he contemplated telling her all this, but he decided not to bother. She’d find out in time. Then he checked himself, frowning as he remembered Willoughby’s stroke.
Dannazione! He’d wanted Anna to hear what Willoughby had said from the old man’s own lips. Now what chance did he have?
He scowled in frustration. One way or another, he’d find a means to make her confess that she’d planted the money. Then he’d explain why he’d accepted Willoughby’s bribe. Perhaps he could approach her a different way. Use the highly charged sexual attraction that still, inexplicably, lay between them.
Anna watched the changing emotions on his face warily. At first she thought he was going to bluster that he was innocent, but then he checked himself and said something else that threw her off balance completely.
‘Allow me to compliment you on your new nose.’
She blanched and her fingers flew to it for reassurance that he wasn’t mocking her. It was an automatic reaction. She still found it hard to remember she looked relatively normal now.
‘It makes you look very beautiful.’ Despite the slivers of dark anger in his eyes, his tone throbbed with a carnality that swept over her like a suffocating blanket.
And her body responded with longing even while her head told her that he was playing some nasty little power game. She shuddered, fear crawling all over her.
‘So I’ve been told,’ she said flatly.
His eyebrow lifted. The downward sweep of his dark lashes alerted her to the fact that he was checking her left hand for signs of a ring. But she didn’t wear it when cooking or gardening. And she wasn’t going to prolong this conversation any longer.
The coldness of her silvered eyes ought to have given him frostbite. But his mouth had softened and the sensuality of his thoughtful expression slid effortlessly into her hungry body. Helpless to resist, she almost wished she still loved him. At least that would have given her an excuse for the raw, ungovernable feelings that were taking her over.
She had never ached like this. Never wanted to leap on any man—let alone Vido—and beg for sexual release. The violence of her need, and the accompanying hatred, shocked her. Mentally she was kissing the contours of his face; those raw cheekbones, the pure line of his beautiful jaw.
Had she inherited her mother’s uncontrollable passions that had shocked her grandfather? She’d heard so many stories of her mother’s inappropriate behaviour—though to Anna, her mother had sounded like fun.
The impromptu parties. Dancing on the lawn at midnight. Running barefoot in the snow. Kissing her father enthusiastically at every opportunity. A woman of passionate feelings that were never curbed. Was it possible to inherit such feelings?
All she knew was that her desire for Vido was running away with her, making her want to kick the traces and fling off the restraints she’d imposed on herself all these years.
The need to be physically caressed by a man—and this one in particular—was frightening her. She screwed her fingers into tight fists. Years of containment ensured that she fought through the too-enticing haze of desire that slithered into every corner of her body. And for her own self-preservation, she turned herself to stone.
‘Don’t keep London waiting,’ she said coolly.
There was that mocking twitch of his mouth again. She felt a weird surge of excitement. It was as if he felt challenged by her and was contemplating a battle between them, to assert his will over hers.
In his dreams! Reserved though she might be, she wasn’t a pushover. He’d get no satisfaction from taunting her.
Hopefully he’d get bored and go soon then she could run indoors and beat the life into some bread dough to release her pent-up anger. And, she thought in despair, to ease the desolation of her untouched body.
‘We’ll meet again,’ he said, his eyes dark with lustful promise.
She struggled to catch her breath. ‘Not if I see you first,’ she said with quiet fervour. ‘This has not been a pleasure.’
‘It has for me,’ he murmured and the air fizzled between them setting her pulses leaping erratically. ‘And it will be even more enjoyable next time. That’s a promise.’
The threat alarmed her. Confused by his low, husky tone, she swivelled around so she didn’t have to look at his dark and broodingly handsome face any more.
As she buried her head in a clump of blowsy daffodils, she listened
