in this kind of mood there was no arguing with him, and besides, David would be here at any moment, and the last thing she wanted was a confrontation. ‘Will you please go now?’
In direct opposition to her request, he seated himself in one of the over-stuffed armchairs.
‘Don’t bother making yourself comfortable,’ she snapped. ‘I don’t know why you’re here, Stefano—all I do know is that I want to be left in peace to get on with my life. And I want you out of here. Is that clear?’
He ignored her question. ‘And the company—do they know of their leading lady’s relationship with their new backer? ‘‘Angel’’, I think you say.’
Fear dried her mouth. ‘Of course they don’t. No one knows . . . ’
‘No one knows we are married.’ His voice was distorted with anger. ‘Of that I am only too aware. Cressida wishes to be single again and dunque!’ He snapped his fingers. ‘Her wish shall be granted. This is a society where the vows of matrimony can be shrugged aside as casually as if they were of no consequence.’
‘That isn’t true!’ she flared. ‘There are reasons why I’m divorcing you—perfectly legitimate ones. And what is more I don’t want anyone—anyone—knowing of my past relationship with you.’
The dark eyes glinted. ‘Oh? And why is that?’
Her temper erupted. ‘Oh, don’t pretend to be so naïve, Stefano! My position would be intolerable! If any of them knew I’d been your wife, I’d be viewed with suspicion. I’d no longer be treated as an equal, would I?’
His mouth twisted. ‘And yet you do not mind it being known that you are dating the playwright?’
‘That’s different, and you know it!’ she exploded. ‘You’re backing it—you’re providing the money. And money is power—as you are perfectly well aware.’
He had got to his feet in a single, light movement, the grace of which only emphasised the powerful strength of his tall frame. He stood studying her through hooded eyes which told her nothing. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I will agree to keep our liaison quiet—on the condition that you have dinner with me tonight.’
Cressida felt like pinching herself to check that this was really happening. ‘I can’t have dinner with you. I’ve already told you—I’m expecting David.’
He gave a ruthless smile. ‘Then we will take him, too.’
An involuntary shiver ran up her spine. Stefano sounding reasonable like this was Stefano at his most dangerous. ‘What are you saying?’ she demanded, her voice breaking on the question. ‘What do you want?’
He shrugged. ‘That is the thing to do in this country, is it not? The ‘‘civilised’’ thing? The husband and the wife who have once shared their lives to sit having dinner with the new partner. Did you not once tell me that you wanted it to be an amicable divorce?’
She looked at him helplessly, remembering the stumbling letter she had written to him after six months of separation—another letter he had ignored. Had she really been so naïve as to say that to him? ‘What do you want?’ she repeated weakly.
‘I told you. Have dinner with me tonight, and our little secret will remain just that.’
The doorbell pealed, not as loudly as when he had pressed it, but loud enough to shatter the fraught silence.
Stefano smiled, his eyes roving in a lazy line from her bare toes to the curve of her hips where the satin clung. ‘It is your choice, my beauty—so choose.’
She was trapped, she realised, as her wide green eyes stared at his implacable face. She should just tell him to go to hell and be done with it. But Stefano was not the kind of man to heed such a demand. And, apart from compromising her neutral position as one of the players in a very tight-knit company, if word of her marriage to Stefano got out, could she really bear the gossip, the surmising, the endless questions? If her marriage was laid bare for general analysis, then wouldn’t it just force her to confront its failure herself? To remind her with heart-rending poignancy just how destroyed she had felt at its end?
The doorbell rang again.
‘Well, beauty,’ he murmured softly, ‘have you decided?’
‘Yes, damn you. Yes. The answer’s yes.’
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