Promise of the Unicorn
Sara Craven

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Former journalist SARA CRAVEN published her first novel ‘Garden of Dreams’ for Mills & Boon in 1975. Apart from her writing (naturally!) her passions include reading, bridge, Italian cities, Greek islands, the French language and countryside, and her rescue Jack Russell/cross Button. She has appeared on several TV quiz shows and in 1997 became UK TV Mastermind champion. She lives near her family in Warwickshire – Shakespeare country.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

COVER

TITLE PAGE

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

ENDPAGE

COPYRIGHT

CHAPTER ONE

ALL the way up in the train, Sophie had been rehearsing what she meant to say, but now that she had actually arrived—found herself enclosed in the discreetly imposing surroundings of the foyer of the Marchese bank, her mind seemed to have become a complete blank.

Not that it mattered, she thought, her mouth twisting wrily. Judging by the polite but implacable treatment she had met with at the reception desk, her journey on which so much doubt, reluctance and heart-searching had been lavished, was going to be a wasted one.

‘You wish to see Signor Angelo Marchese?’ The receptionist’s eyebrows had risen by a fraction, and her eyes had measured Sophie, taking in every detail of the expensively simple navy wool suit, and the white lawn blouse beneath it. ‘Have you an appointment?’

In spite of herself, Sophie felt a faint blush rising. How could she possibly explain to this well-groomed Gorgon the sudden impulse which had brought her here? ‘I’m afraid not,’ she managed, adding quickly as she saw the other woman’s mouth beginning to shape the negative. ‘But if you could just tell him that—that Miss Ralston is here, and would be grateful for a moment of his time.’

‘I bet’ Sophie’s sensitive antennae picked up from the receptionist’s silence, but the older woman merely said with cool civility, ‘I’ll tell his secretary, Miss—er Ralston, but I’m afraid I can’t promise anything. Perhaps you’d like to take a seat over there.’

My God, Sophie thought as she turned away, grabbing at her poise. She thinks I’m one of Angelo’s women. If it wasn’t so nauseating, it would almost be laughable.

She could have put her right, of course. She could have said, ‘Actually, Signor Marchese is my cousin by marriage.’ But she didn’t do so. It wasn’t a relationship she had any desire to acknowledge. For years, it seemed, she had been fighting to hold on to her own identity, to avoid being absorbed, however kindly, into the Marchese clan. Ever since, in fact, her mother, a widow with a young daughter had married John Marchese.

John was a big, ebullient, warm man, prepared to dote uncritically on his new stepdaughter. It was true to say that there had been little Sophie had ever wanted in her eighteen years that John was not happy to give her.

Except the one thing that really matters, she thought with a sigh.

She glanced surreptitiously at her watch. She’d been sitting on this admittedly comfortable sofa in a corner of the foyer for nearly forty minutes. At first she’d felt self-conscious, now, she felt invisible. She supposed this was the ploy with unwanted callers—to leave them there until they gave up and crept ignominiously away.

But, I’m damned if I will, Sophie thought, tilting her chin. I’m here now, and I’ll stay until they have to carry me out. I’m never going to get such an opportunity to see Angelo again.

As the youngest ever chairman of the Marchese bank, Angelo spent a lot of his time jetting between the various capital cities of the world, and it was London’s turn to suffer one of his periodic descents.

Even so, Sophie had not seriously considered seeking him out until she’d heard her stepfather mention casually over dinner the night before that he himself would be away from the bank for the entire day, attending some financial conference in the Midlands. It had really seemed to Sophie as if fate was giving her a nudge, and so she’d swallowed pride and misgivings alike, and caught the first train to London after breakfast.

And much good it had done her, she thought crossly. She might as well have stayed quietly at home, and relied on trying to snatch a private moment with Angelo when he attended her parents’ wedding anniversary party in a few days time.

Except that would probably have been harder than trying to get to him here, she knew. Wherever Angelo visited, he was invariably the guest of honour, and there would be many people ahead of her in the queue to monopolise his attention, even for a few minutes.

Under normal circumstances, Sophie would have crossed streets to keep out of Angelo’s way. At their first meeting nine years ago at her parents’ wedding, she’d been frankly in awe of this tall, rather aloof young man with his aquiline features and hooded eyes. The Marchese bank had been lending money to the whole of Europe since the days of Lorenzo the Magnificent, and Sophie had no difficulty in translating Angelo into silks and velvets, with a pearl in his ear and a dagger in his hand, she thought vengefully.

And then, for a while, her view of him had changed, after the day he’d arrived unexpectedly at their country house at Bishops Wharton and found her crying on the terrace steps.

She couldn’t even remember at this distance what her tears had been about. Probably her mother had sensibly put paid to some particularly blatant piece of spoiling on John’s part, and she was bewailing the fact. And then suddenly Angelo was sitting beside her, regardless of moss, or dust or dead leaves, his arm round her, his voice calling her ‘mia cara’ and asking what the matter was.

As if it was yesterday, she could remember the silky glide of his sleeve under her cheek as he comforted her, that indefinable air of arrogant command she had sensed subdued for once, as she sobbed out some halting explanation. Remembered, too, the faint scent of his cologne, a subtle musky fragrance he still used, although these days she took care not to get too close, and which had clung to the immaculate white handkerchief he had used to dry her tears.

If he’d been secretly amused by the desolate picture she presented, at least he’d kept it to himself. His usually cool drawl had been oddly gentle as he’d soothed her, telling her there was nothing in her world worth the shedding of a single tear, and that in a day or two she would have forgotten all about it. She’d sat in the circle of his arm, almost mesmerised by the sound of his voice, until at last, worn out with emotion, she’d fallen asleep.

And then, a few days later, a package had arrived addressed to her, and when she’d removed the layers of padded wrapping, she’d discovered to her delight a small glass unicorn, and a note.

She was a Marchese now, Angelo had written, and the unicorn was part of the Marchese family crest. In addition, it was a pledge between them. If Sophie would promise not to cry anymore over trifles, then, one day, when she found something she wanted with all her heart, she could return the unicorn to him, and he would help get it for her, if he could.

Barbara Marchese had disregarded the note, but her brows had risen when she looked at the unicorn Sophie held so proudly. ‘John—it’s Venetian glass, and terribly old. Is Angelo mad? Sophie will break it.’

‘I don’t think so.’ John Marchese had fondly stroked his stepdaughter’s fair hair. ‘Will you, Sophie?’

Mutely, she’d shaken her head. Nor had she. She’d treasured the unicorn, and Angelo had become her god. She’d hero-worshipped him openly, trying vainly to think of something she wanted enough to fulfil the terms of their bargain, because it was so much like a fairy tale, and she wanted the magic to happen there and then.

But gradually, as the years passed, her attitude had changed again, as she began to perceive Angelo not as hero, but as a man, powerful, incredibly attractive and sexually charismatic, and started to make sense of the items she read in gossip columns about him.

She supposed she’d been unutterably naïve, but she’d been at boarding school a couple of years before she finally realised from the frank remarks of some of the senior girls exactly what Angelo’s relationship was with these ‘constant companions’ who appeared and disappeared in his life with such monotonous regularity. And it had been a shock to find that her prince—her fairy godfather—was in fact avidly fancied by many of her contemporaries.

‘Lucky Sophie,’ Camilla Liddell had gloated. She was older than Sophie would ever be, with sleepy knowing eyes. ‘Does beautiful cousin Angelo let little Sophie sit on his knee and cuddle him?’ She’d smiled maliciously at Sophie’s sudden flush, and added some suggestions which had made her skin crawl with disgust.

That night, in her cubicle, she’d cried herself to sleep, the covers over her head so as not to disturb the others, because something precious had been destroyed forever. And when she went home at half term, she’d almost expected to find the unicorn in shining fragments on the floor. It was some small consolation to find it still intact, but nothing was ever the same again. From that day onwards, she was on her guard, and as Angelo himself seemed to have withdrawn to a distance when they next met, the gulf between them had remained virtually unbridgeable ever since.

And that was why she’d hesitated so long about approaching him now, Sophie thought, winding a strand of her pale hair round her finger, as she often did when worried by something. Because it seemed the promise of the unicorn might have been made between two different people altogether—or, indeed, never happened at all—a figment of her childish imagination.

Except that the proof of it was there in her handbag—the unicorn itself, tissue-wrapped and tangible. But would he even remember it? And couldn’t this attempt to enlist his help simply turn into another item on the long list of the times she’d made a fool of herself in front of Angelo?

She groaned inwardly. Maybe it would be better to yield to circumstances and creep away quietly.

‘Sophie?’ A man’s voice, tinged with amazement. ‘My dear, what on earth are you doing here? John isn’t in today. Surely you knew that?’

Sophie glanced up, recognising Leonard Grant, who was deputy in her stepfather’s department.

She swallowed, meeting his puzzled gaze. ‘Actually, it was Angelo I wanted to see. I—I didn’t realise I needed an appointment.’

Leonard gave her a sympathetic smile. ‘Well, as you can imagine, the staff here have strict orders to keep pretty girls who come here asking for Angelo at bay. But that wouldn’t apply to you. You’re family, after all. Didn’t you tell them that? Didn’t John tell you what to do?’

‘Er, no.’ Sophie looked down at the tiled floor. ‘As a matter of fact, he doesn’t know I’m here. You see,’ she added, improvising wildly. ‘It’s a secret—a secret about the anniversary party.’

‘I see.’ Leonard patted her shoulder. ‘Well, in that case I’ll have to see what I can do. I’m sure Angelo could spare you a moment, under the circumstances.’

She watched him go. Well, she was committed now. It was like getting on a roller coaster and wishing you hadn’t, but knowing just the same there was no getting off.

Suddenly, she could hear Mark’s voice in her ear, softly persuasive. ‘Darling, the guy’s your cousin, even if it is only by marriage. If anyone could help us, it’s him. Is it really so much to ask?’

‘Yes,’ she thought despairingly. ‘Far too much.’ She wished she was a million miles away, and still travelling. But she wasn’t here just for herself. She was here for Mark, for their happiness. Surely her love for him was worth the sacrifice of a little pride?

She sat on the edge of her seat, feeling as if only her tension was holding her together until Leonard came back. He was smiling.

‘You’re in luck. He was just about to go to lunch. I’ll take you up to the top floor.’

She was so nervous she could hardly speak as they went up in the lift.

A dark girl was waiting for them, looking upset. She almost pounced on Sophie. ‘Miss Ralston? I’m so sorry—I didn’t realise. I haven’t worked here for very long, and I didn’t know you were a member of the family.’

Sophie wanted to reply, ‘I’m not’ but under the circumstances that would hardly be tactful, she realised, especially as the double doors standing open opposite the lift undoubtedly led straight into Angelo’s office.

She was ushered in, heard the secretary’s nervous, ‘Miss Ralston, sir,’ and felt the doors close behind her.

Her first impression was one of dazzle. Light poured into the penthouse office from windows on three sides. If it was a ploy to put clients at a disadvantage, then it certainly worked, Sophie thought, blinking.

In all that light, Angelo was darkness, from the top of the thick black hair, springing back from his forehead, down over the immaculate city suit to the subdued gloss of his handmade shoes.

‘Cara Sophie. What an enchanting surprise.’

The words were welcoming, but there was mockery just below the surface, rasping along Sophie’s nerve-endings. She looked at him numbly, unable to think of a single thing to say in reply. This was the effect he invariably had on her, she realised bitterly, wiping everything from her mind with the sheer power of his physical presence.

He began to walk towards her, moving with the lithe sinuous grace of a black panther, and Sophie felt the breath catch in her throat as she registered yet again, the sheer impact of his devastating good looks. It was unfair, she thought unwillingly, assimilating the long-lashed brilliance of his eyes, the high-bridged patrician nose and the proud sensual curve of his mouth.

He halted a few feet from her, lifting one eyebrow in a combination of enquiry and amusement. ‘Lost for words, cara? Leonard tells me you wish to discuss some matter to do with the anniversary party—some problem, perhaps?’

Sophie swallowed. ‘Well—not exactly,’ she returned feebly. ‘I know I did tell Leonard that, but actually it’s something rather more personal.’

‘I see.’ The midnight eyes studied her for a long moment, then he turned away with a faint shrug. ‘I think this may take rather longer than I thought. Forgive me for a moment.’

He walked to the long curved desk, and flicked a button on the intercom system. ‘Miss Bradley? Telephone the Savoy, if you please, and make my excuses to Signora Vanni, and whatever apologies are necessary. Assure her that I look forward to our theatre engagement this evening.’ He listened for a moment, as the message was being repeated, then nodded. ‘Bene. Perhaps you would also arrange for lunch for two to be served in the director’s dining room. I understand it is not being used today.’

‘Oh, please, no,’ Sophie interrupted, mortified. ‘There’s really no need to go to all this trouble—change your arrangements like this. And I don’t want lunch. I—I’m really not hungry.’

‘Perhaps not, but I am.’ His tone was faintly crushing.

‘Yes, but you could still go to the Savoy. I could come back some other time …’ Sophie began to back towards the door.

Angelo sighed impatiently. ‘Please don’t be foolish, Sophie. Presumably you had some important motive for seeking me out in this way. Has it suddenly become less so?’

Sophie bit her lip. ‘No,’ she admitted stiffly. ‘Only, I didn’t mean to intrude—to interfere in your personal affairs. I’m sorry.’

He gave a swift shrug. ‘Don’t be. Unless it is also your intention to disrupt my arrangements for this evening too?’

She flushed. ‘Oh, no.’ She stole a look at him beneath her lashes. ‘Is the lady you’re meeting Gianetta Vanni, the dress designer? I read in the papers she was in London.’

‘It is,’ he said briefly. ‘But we are here to discuss some personal matters of yours, not mine.’

Sophie’s flush deepened. That was the real Angelo, she thought. King of the cutting remark, making her feel a schoolgirl again. She wished she could tell him to go to hell.

He glanced at the thin platinum watch on his wrist. ‘Lunch will be a few minutes. Perhaps you would like an aperitivo—something to calm your ruffled temper, and give you courage perhaps,’ he added sardonically.

Sophie opened her eyes wide. ‘Do I need courage?’ she asked, deciding it was safer to overlook the remark about her temper.

The dark face was enigmatic suddenly. ‘That, cara, will depend probably on the magnitude of the problem you wish to discuss with me. So—will you have a sherry, perhaps, or a martini?’

‘Sherry would be fine.’ Sophie sent him an angelic smile. ‘Do you know this is the first time you’ve ever offered me a drink. Is it an acknowledgement that you regard me as an adult at last?’

His mouth twisted. ‘No—merely that I recognise that in the eyes of the law at least, you are now old enough to be given alcohol—no more. Don’t hope for too much from me, Sophie,’ he added acidly.

Rage made her dumb as he crossed to an antique cabinet and extracted a decanter and two crystal glasses. The sherry was pale gold and very dry, and Sophie could cheerfully have thrown it all over him, but her reasons for seeking him out, allied with the certainty that he would undoubtedly retaliate if she did any such thing, stayed her hand. And, oddly enough, the sherry did seem to have a calming effect, its caress like velvet against the taut muscles of her throat.

As she sipped it and began slowly to look around her, and take in her surroundings, she was able to see that although it was a large room, it was far more businesslike and less luxurious than any of her previous imaginings about the Marchese bank had suggested. Not that she’d ever expended much thought on the subject, she hastily reminded herself, but it had always seemed natural to picture Angelo against a background of opulent marble halls.

But the only real sign of opulence in the room was the chair on which she herself was now seated. It was low, made from some pale hide, deeply cushioned, and designed, she realised to put anyone who used it at an actual physical disadvantage, staring up at the huge desk which dominated the room, and the dominating man who sat behind it.

As their glances met, he sent her a faint smile, and lifted his glass in salute. ‘Well, Sophie?’

He wanted to know why she had come, and she didn’t know what to say, or where to begin.

‘Is this where you put people when they want a loan?’ she asked at last, trying for brightness and playing for time.

‘Sometimes.’ The dark brows lifted mockingly. ‘I hope you don’t want to ask for a loan, Sophie.’

‘Oh, no,’ she said hastily, thanking her stars that it was true. She looked round her again, avoiding his gaze. ‘What a fantastic building this is. Of course, I’ve never been here before.’

‘But that,’ Angelo reminded her silkily. ‘Is entirely through your own choice. I seem to remember when it was once suggested, you told me that all commerce was disgusting but bankers were the worst of all, because they were predators. Or had you forgotten?’

No, she hadn’t forgotten. The memory still made her cheeks burn, particularly as she’d chosen a family dinner party for her outburst. It had been sparked off by a letter from a friend, Rosemary, blotched with tears to say that she wouldn’t be returning to school the following term, because her father’s company was in financial trouble. Rosemary had not had a complete grasp of what had happened, but it seemed clear her father was being made bankrupt, and they would lose nearly everything they possessed.

The letter had upset Sophie, and she’d tried to discuss it with her mother, but Barbara, abstracted over her guests, had said, ‘Later, darling.’

During the dinner, she’d been quiet, thinking of Rosemary, and her family, and the trouble which had come to them, and when she’d come out of her reverie, it was to find careers were being discussed, and that she was suddenly the focus of attention, with John proposing not too seriously that she might find an opening in the Marchese bank.

She’d looked past him and seen Angelo—seen the slightly derisive smile which twisted his mouth as he listened, and had exploded, the natural tension he inspired in her combining lethally with the anguish she felt for Rosemary. She had heard her voice storming into the startled silence, saying stupid, unforgivable things that she was totally unable to prevent, cringing from them, from the shock on John and Barbara’s faces, and from the contempt in Angelo’s eyes.

How typical of him to remind her, she thought stormily.

She said evenly, ‘Are you still blaming me for something I said when I was a child?’

‘Implying that you are now a woman?’ Angelo’s mouth curled.

He watched her react, as his tiny shaft struck home, then went on, ‘And a woman who wants something. That’s a dangerous combination, Sophie.’

She remained silent. Nothing about this interview was going as planned. The determination which had prompted her to seek it had vanished, and only the difficulties remained.

‘We established, I think, that you did not wish to choose banking as a career,’ the smooth voice went on. ‘What have you decided to do with your life?’

She hesitated. Now was the time to tell him. He’d provided her with the perfect opening, but still she prevaricated. ‘I’m starting a secretarial course in the autumn.’ She tried a smile. ‘I can’t go on living at home forever, although I’ve enjoyed this year. John felt that I’d been away so much at school that it was time I got to know them both all over again.’

‘You don’t have to explain the situation to me.’ He was lounging in his chair, watching her, his face giving nothing away. ‘And shall you enjoy being a secretary?’

Sophie shrugged. ‘It’s an—adequate way of making a living,’ she returned.

‘And is that really so vital? You are now a rich man’s daughter, do not forget.’

‘Oh, there’s no danger of that. After all, you’ll always be there to remind me, won’t you?’

He smiled lazily, ‘Of course.’ He paused, as a respectful knock at the door heralded lunch. ‘Shall we go in?’

Sophie took a deep breath and struggled out of the chair, ignoring the helping hand he offered her. She felt oddly light-headed as she stood up. She’d been a fool to have that sherry on an empty stomach, she reproached herself as she allowed herself to be conducted out of the office and along the carpeted corridor to the directors’ dining room.

It was a quite a small room, the oak-panelled walls imposing an extra intimacy. A table had been set for them beside the window, with its view of roofs, glass tower blocks and steeples. The sun spilled across the spotless white damask cloth, and sparkled from the crystal and silverware. There were flowers, scented carnations in a silver vase, in the centre of the table, and wine cooling in a napkin covered container.

In spite of her nervousness, and her earlier claim that she wasn’t hungry, Sophie found the scene irresistibly inviting. Besides, she hoped the food would put some fresh heart into her.

‘Your jacket, miss?’ An elderly waiter was hovering benevolently, waiting to take it from her. As Sophie twisted her body slightly, sliding her arms out of the sleeves, she saw that Angelo was watching her, his dark eyes frankly appraising the thrust of her breasts against the thin lawn blouse.

She tried to return his glance with cool indifference, but she was already aware of the mounting colour in her cheeks, and his scarcely veiled amusement at her embarrassment. It would have given her the greatest pleasure to have been able to walk out on him, she thought furiously.

She sat stiffly while the waiter served the avocado vinaigrette, wondering if she would be able to choke any of it past the knot of tension in her throat. She was remembering various laughing comments from her stepfather about Angelo’s predilection for beautiful girls, and while she didn’t consider she came into that category, it was nevertheless disturbing to be looked over in that way.

By coming here today, she’d placed herself at a disadvantage, she realised ruefully. It might have been safer to wait for the anniversary party, and approach him under the sanctuary of her stepfather’s roof. As it was, she felt rather out on a limb suddenly.

It was all too easy to contemplate Angelo’s wealth and power as chairman of the bank, and virtual head of the Marchese family, and to overlook the fact that he was also very much a man, barely more than thirty, and sensationally attractive.

And for the first time he’d looked at her, not as if she was a troublesome child, but as though he liked what he saw. She wished wryly that she’d stayed with the jeans and sweatshirts he was accustomed to from her.

The second course—chicken in a thyme and lemon sauce—was served, and the wine was poured. With a dignified, ‘Perhaps you’ll ring for me, sir, when you’ve finished,’ the waiter withdrew.

‘Alone at last,’ Angelo remarked. ‘Don’t look so apprehensive, cara. There’s a very solid table between us, and you have an assortment of cutlery with which to defend yourself should my wicked desires prove uncontrollable.’

Sophie addressed herself to her chicken, her face wooden, raging inwardly that he could apparently read her thoughts with such accuracy.

‘No comeback?’ he continued tauntingly. ‘From your earlier remark, I thought you wanted me to regard you as a woman, but perhaps you’re having second thoughts about that.’

The moment of truth had come. Sophie lifted her chin and gave him a cool look. ‘Not in the slightest,’ she countered. ‘As it happens, it’s all to the good if you’re prepared to admit I’m not a child any more. You see——’ she moistened her suddenly dry lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘You see—I want to be married.’

CHAPTER TWO

THERE was a brief silence, blank, almost stunned, then Angelo burst out laughing.

‘Is that a proposal, mia cara? If so, I’m more flattered than I can say, but it is more usual, you know, for the man to do the asking.’

‘Of course it’s not a proposal.’ Sophie glared at him, stormy colour flaring in her face. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if …’ She paused belatedly, realising her denial could have been more politely worded.

‘If I were the last man left on earth?’ Angelo supplied silkily. ‘Why not have the courage of your convictions, Sophie, and say what you are undoubtedly thinking. So—let us agree that neither of us would be the choice of the other. Presumably you have met a man who meets all your stringent criteria as a husband. I am happy for you. Is that what you wanted to hear. Did you come here today to ask my blessing?’

‘Not entirely.’ Sophie fidgeted with her fork. She said carefully, looking down at her plate. ‘You see, my parents don’t want me to marry him, and I’m hoping you will persuade them to change their minds.’

There was another silence. She peeped at him under her lashes, and saw that he was frowning.

‘You are of legal age, Sophie. Why do you need their consent?’

‘Because of Grandfather Ralston’s will,’ she said baldly. ‘Look, I’d better explain everything from the beginning.’

‘I think you should.’ He refilled her glass.

‘I met Mark in the village a few months ago,’ she said. ‘I was caught in a shower of sleet, and I went into the antique shop in Market Street to shelter. It belongs to Mark’s aunt, and he was looking after it for her while she went to some sale or other. Well, we got talking, and he made some coffee, and …’ Sophie paused. ‘Well, that’s how it started,’ she said flatly. ‘We—fell in love.’ She gave him a challenging look. ‘Nothing to say?’

He shrugged. ‘The story seems conventional and innocuous enough. What is your parents’ objection?’

Sophie hesitated again. This was the difficult part. ‘As it happens, Mark hasn’t got a job. At least, he’s had a couple since he left university, but they haven’t worked out. Now, he has the most marvellous chance to go in with a man he knows called Craig Jefferson, making software for computers. He’s been offered a partnership, a share in the business, but, of course, he has to buy it and …’

‘And he has no capital,’ Angelo finished for her. She saw his frown had deepened. ‘I hope he has not tried to borrow money from John.’

‘Oh, no.’ Sophie shook her head quickly. ‘There’s no need. You see, there’s the Ralston money that Grandfather left me. It isn’t a great deal in your terms, but it would be enough to give Mark the start he needs. Only Grandfather was a real dyed in the wool male chauvinist. I only inherit the money when I’m twenty-one, or if I marry before that with the consent of my parents.’

‘Which they will not give.’ It was a statement not a question. ‘They can hardly be blamed, cara.’

‘You’re as bad as they are.’ Sophie bit her lip. ‘I’ve heard all the arguments over and over again, and they don’t matter. Mark and I love each other, and I want to do this for us. I want to give him the Ralston money and give him a start in life.’

He said drily, ‘It is more usual for a man contemplating marriage to provide his own start. But I’m sure John has already made this point to you.’

‘Many times,’ said Sophie defiantly. ‘And it makes no difference.’

‘I imagined it did not,’ he murmured. ‘So—you have come to me. Why do you think I should recommend this—Mark as a suitable husband for you?’

‘Because of a promise you once made.’ Sophie fumbled for her bag, pulling out the tissue wrapped parcel with fingers that shook. ‘You said if there was ever anything I really wanted—all I had to do was return it to you.’ She unwrapped the unicorn and stood it on the table between them, where the sunlight turned it to fire. ‘or are you going to tell me now that it was a piece of childish foolishness—something to keep me quiet, and that you didn’t really mean a word of it?’

There was a long silence, then he said expressionlessly, ‘If I said it, then I meant it. Be in no doubt of that.’

‘Then you promised you’d help me obtain my heart’s desire.’ Sophie’s pulses were beating strongly and heavily, and she was conscious of an odd film of perspiration on her brow suddenly.

Angelo’s dark eyes were fixed on her broodingly, a strange harshness in their depths, giving the impression he wasn’t really seeing her at all. He didn’t answer at once, and she repeated breathlessly, ‘You’ll help me?’

He leaned forward, and picked up the unicorn. For an instant, it seemed as if the long, lean fingers were going to crush it into splinters, and Sophie watched in a kind of bemused horror, then the moment passed, and perhaps, after all, it had only been a figment of her imagination, because he was smiling at her easily, and slipping the little figurine into his pocket.

‘As I promised, cara, you shall have whatever you most desire.’ He paused. ‘That is—if you are sure you know what it is?’

‘I’m sure,’ she said huskily. ‘I love Mark. We love each other. And he deserves this chance. My parents are just prejudiced against him for nothing. They don’t really know him.’

‘Then improving their acquaintance must clearly be a priority,’ Angelo said lightly. ‘Now, finish your lunch, Sophie, or William will be angry with us.’

Her chicken had cooled rapidly, but she didn’t care. She felt so exultant that she could have eaten sawdust and tasted only ambrosia. In the end, it had been easy, she told herself. He had remembered, after all, and he was going to keep his word.

He had also, she realised regretfully, kept the little unicorn, which she hadn’t intended at all.

William reappeared, with offers of dessert which Sophie refused, opting for coffee alone. She sat impatiently, watching Angelo peel himself a peach, the strong brown fingers moveing deftly. She wished that lunch was over and she could make an excuse and leave. She wanted to get back to Bishops Wharton, and tell Mark the fantastic news.

When William had served the coffee and brought Angelo a cognac, he departed, and they were alone once more.

Sophie cleared her throat. ‘So—how will you go about it then? Convincing my parents, I mean?’

He shrugged, watching the swirl of cognac in his glass. ‘I haven’t decided yet, but naturally, I wish to meet your Mark. I should only be a fool if I urged your marriage to someone I had never seen in my life. Will he be at the anniversary party, or has he been forbidden the house?’

‘Oh, no,’ Sophie said. ‘I’m allowed to see him. It’s just the idea of marriage that they’re so against.’

‘It is hardly surprising.’ His tone was dry. ‘Why not be patient, Sophie? Why not wait until you are twenty-one as your grandfather’s bequest states?’

‘I can’t. If we wait much longer, Craig Jefferson’s going to find himself another partner, and Mark will have missed out on the chance of a lifetime.’

‘On the chance of a partnership, certainly,’ Angelo agreed. ‘But, does it have to be that? Are there no other positions with the company? A different starting point, perhaps, from which he can make his own way without the help of his bride’s legacy.’ He paused. ‘I presume you have told him about the Ralston money?’

‘Naturally. I have no secrets from Mark.’

‘Admirable,’ he said sardonically. ‘And was it his idea to approach me for help, once you’d told him of the rash promise I gave you with the unicorn?’

‘Er, no.’ Sophie had to tread warily again. Mark’s actual suggestion had been far more direct and basic. ‘The guy’s loaded, sweetie. Couldn’t you persuade him to lend you the money?’ A suggestion she had flinched from. It had only been afterwards that she’d remembered the glass unicorn, and wondered if it might be a way out of their difficulties. ‘Actually, it was all my own doing. Mark hasn’t the least idea that I intended to approach you.’

‘And presumably, if he had known of your intentions, he would have moved heaven and earth to stop you.’

She hated that undertone of sarcasm. ‘Why should he?’

Angelo shrugged. ‘Perhaps—because I am not noted for offering favours. And perhaps because he might be frightened I might take—advantage of you.’

There was another silence, and Sophie’s discomfort deepened. Mark had frowned when she’d tried to explain about her fraught relationship with Angelo.

‘For heaven’s sake, Sophie,’ Mark had exclaimed impatiently. ‘Don’t you know you can’t afford to upset men in his position. If you’d played your cards right, you could have had him eating out of your hand by now. He’s not exactly immune to beautiful girls, you know.’

Snapping her attention back to the present, she said quickly, ‘I don’t suppose it even crossed his mind. Mark trusts me implicitly.’

‘He sounds a paragon,’ Angelo murmured. ‘I shall be interested to see who has managed to awaken such a passion of devotion in you, if nothing else.’

Sophie set down her coffee cup with an indignant rattle. ‘What do you mean by that?’

He smiled faintly, his eyes lingering in the wide eyes, then down to the vulnerable curve of her mouth. ‘That in spite of your protests, you are still very much a child, Sophie, and that marriage is a drastic way to achieve maturity. Why don’t you enjoy your first love for what it is, and forget marriage for a while?’

Sophie bit her lip as she rose to her feet, reaching for her jacket. ‘That’s exactly the sort of cynical remark I’d expect from you. I hope you’re not suggesting that I should follow your example, and have one affaire after another.’

‘On the contrary.’ Angelo had risen too. He was standing, his head thrown back slightly, watching her, his face speculative. ‘But I hope in turn that you have not fallen in love with this young man because he is the first one to have kissed you. That is hardly a sound basis for matrimony.’

Sophie’s face burned as she struggled into her jacket. ‘That’s none of your business.’

He said flatly, ‘You have made it my business.’ He walked round the table towards her. ‘And the least I can do, Sophie mia, is provide you with grounds for comparison.’

She wanted to run, but the chair was behind her, blocking her way, and as she tried to thrust it from her path, Angelo reached her, his long arms pulling her effortlessly against him.

She said hoarsely, ‘Don’t you dare to …’ but the remainder of her words were lost beneath the pressure of his mouth on hers.

He was very strong, some part of her brain acknowledged numbly. Under the elegant suit, his body was like whipcord, and the kiss should have been hard too. But it wasn’t. Instead his lips were warm and devastatingly sensuous as they explored her own, coaxing them apart to provide him with a more intimate access to her mouth.

Her mind was repeating ‘No’ over and over again, but her mouth was surrendering, her body melting against his, here in this sunlit cage of a room.

He wasn’t even holding her any more. His hands were caressing her instead, stroking the nape of her neck under the smooth fall of her hair, tracing the curve of her spine beneath her jacket, his fingers scorching her flesh through the thin material of her blouse.

She could have stepped back away from him, only she didn’t, because suddenly she wanted the kiss to go on. And she knew too that she wanted him to go on touching her too. That she wanted to know how his hands would feel on her bare skin.

Sanity returned like a drenching with cold water, shattering the sensual dream world which had so insidiously enfolded and enticed her. She wrenched herself free, a hand going instinctively to cover the aroused fullness of her parted lips.

A voice she hardly recognised as her own, said, ‘You had no right to do that.’

He shrugged, his eyes bright and merciless as they studied her. ‘What right did I need? You are not this Mark’s wife, Sophie, not yet.’

She said unsteadily, ‘But I will be. And if I tell him what you’ve done …’

‘Ah.’ He smiled. ‘But you won’t tell him, will you, cara? Or, if you do, you won’t tell the whole truth. Just as you didn’t share the secret of the unicorn with him.’

His shrewdness appalled her. She flung back her head. ‘I would never lie to Mark.’

His brows rose. ‘So—what will you tell him? That it began with a kiss, and ended with both of us wanting more—much more.’ He added softly.

Colour flared in her face. She said thickly. ‘You’re disgusting.’

‘I’m honest,’ he said cynically. ‘But you, mia cara, are a little hypocrite, denying the responses of your own body.’ He took a step towards her, his smile deepening. ‘Shall I prove it to you?’

She recoiled, almost stumbling in her haste. ‘Don’t touch me.’

He halted. The dark eyes met hers, holding them effortlessly in thrall, and to her dismay she felt a shock of totally physical desire shiver through her body. He didn’t have to touch, or even speak. The invitation was there in the way he was looking at her, and it would be easy, so fatally easy to cross the brief space which separated them, and answer that invitation with her lips, and her body.

She closed her eyes, blotting him out, rejecting him with her mind, a shudder of self disgust quivering through her.

But at least she was back in control again, and her eyes opened, unleashing at him all the scorn she could muster. She said quietly, ‘You’re despicable, and I wish with all my heart that I’d never come here.’

‘Ah, but you did,’ he said softly. ‘And the bargain between us still stands, Sophie mia.’

She said violently, ‘Well, I want no further part of it,’ and, turning, walked away out of the room and away from him, wishing that her dignity would allow her to run.

By the time the train pulled in to Bishops Wharton, Sophie was almost able to convince herself that she’d been drunk. There was no other explanation for her behaviour. She’d had that sherry, and then he’d kept topping up her glass with wine, and she wished she knew a word bad enough to call him.

She went straight round to Market Street. Miss Langton was in the shop, and she gave Sophie an indifferent nod as the shop bell tinkled.

‘He’s in the flat,’ she advised briefly. ‘Go on up.’

As Sophie obeyed, she wondered about Mark’s relationship with his aunt. As far as she could gather, each was the only relative the other had, yet there didn’t seem to be a great deal of mutual affection. And when she’d tentatively asked Mark if his aunt couldn’t lend him the money for the Jefferson partnership, he’d stared at her as if she was crazy.

‘Aunt Edwina?’ He’d laughed. ‘Darling, that glorified junk shop of hers doesn’t provide that kind of income.’

Sophie didn’t argue, but she wondered whether Mark wasn’t too dismissive of his aunt’s business. The shop was always attractive and well-stocked, and Miss Langton appeared to have a shrewd knowledge of the value of each and every item.

Mark was stretched out on the sofa, watching television, but he sat up eagerly as Sophie came in.

‘Darling.’ He drew her down to him and kissed her, his lips lingering on hers. ‘God, you look beautiful—like a million dollars.’

She smiled rather tautly, and sat down beside him. ‘While we’re on the subject of money, I went to see Angelo Marchese today.’

‘You did?’ Mark almost yelped. ‘You wonderful girl. What did he say? Is he going to help us?’

‘Up to a point.’ Sophie chose her words carefully. ‘He wants to meet you, and after that, hopefully, he’s going to talk my parents round about our marriage.’

‘Fantastic.’ Mark hugged her, his face jubilant. ‘So all I have to do is convince him I’m a solid citizen, and worth a boost in the right direction. Consider it done.’ He shook his head at her. ‘And you didn’t want to approach him.’

‘I still wish I hadn’t.’ Sophie stared down at the carpet. ‘He made a pass at me.’

‘Well, I’m not surprised,’ Mark said cheerfully. ‘You look delectable. I can hardly keep my hands off you myself,’ he added with a ferocious leer.

Sophie didn’t smile. ‘Don’t you care?’ she asked curiously.

He sighed almost impatiently. ‘Of course I care, darling, but I don’t suppose it was any big deal. You’re a member of his family now, after all. Besides, according to the papers, he has bigger fish to fry,’ he added carelessly. ‘Some dress designer woman. There was a picture of them at some nightclub last night.’ Mark slid his arm round her shoulders. ‘Now, tell me everything Marchese said.’ He paused. ‘I don’t suppose he mentioned lending you the money.’

‘No, he didn’t,’ Sophie said. ‘And I could never ask him, Mark. Please believe that.’

‘All right.’ He gave a faint shrug. ‘We’ll play it the way you want it, darling. It seems to have worked pretty well up to now. What did you do? Appeal to his better nature?’

‘I don’t think he has one,’ Sophie said bitterly. ‘No, I—I reminded him that he’d been kind to me when I was a child—that’s all.’

He grinned. ‘Well, it was certainly enough.’

More than enough, Sophie thought bitterly. It disturbed her that Mark seemed to have failed to understand her feelings in all this. He regarded the events of the day as some kind of unqualified triumph, as if all their difficulties had been swept away in one fell swoop.

Sophie, however, was far from sure about this. She had no doubt that Angelo could persuade her stepfather to do almost anything he chose—if he wished, but he had made no actual guarantees.

She said slowly, ‘Mark, perhaps it would be safer not to hope for too much.’

‘Nonsense,’ Mark said briskly. ‘Can’t you see, darling, that just to meet someone of Angelo Marchese’s stature is the biggest break I’ve ever had. It’s the kind of chance I’ve dreamed of.’

Sophie gave him an uneasy glance. ‘Still, maybe it would be better not to say anything yet to Craig Jefferson.’

He shrugged. ‘Probably not.’ He smiled at her. ‘Who knows? If I play my cards right, maybe I won’t need Jeffersons any more anyway.’

Her alarm deepened. ‘What do you mean?’

He sighed. ‘Oh, come on, Sophie. If it comes to a choice between Jeffersons and—say—the Marchese bank, then it’s no contest. Even you must be able to see that.’

‘But there is no choice,’ Sophie protested, beginning to feel desperate. Mark seemed to be disappearing out of sight suddenly.

‘Not yet. But then I haven’t met your cousin.’ Mark said almost absently. ‘When and where is this meet to take place? Should I ring the bank? Make an appointment?’

Sophie sighed. ‘No—you’ll meet him at my parents’ anniversary party. And he’s not my cousin,’ she added sharply.

He gave her an indulgent smile. ‘Don’t quibble, sweetheart. And do cheer up. After all, this is exactly what we wanted.’

‘It’s what you wanted certainly,’ Sophie said coolly. She rose, smoothing a non-existent crease in her skirt with hands that shook a little. ‘I just hope we don’t live to regret it.’

She felt no happier on the night of the anniversary party itself. She’d been on edge all day, but trying to hide it as she helped Barbara and Mrs Curzon the housekeeper to complete the final touches.

She was dreading the moment when she would have to face Angelo again. The memory of that shameful kiss he had inflicted on her was still strong, and she was unable either to laugh it off as unimportant, or shrug it away as experience. In fact, she was in danger of becoming obsessive about it, she told herself. And the most galling reflection was that Angelo would undoubtedly be highly amused if he knew of her heartsearchings over such a triviality.

She was in her room when his car swept up the drive. She caught a glimpse of the chauffeur opening the back of the Rolls, and his dark figure emerging, before whisking herself away from the window. The last thing she wanted was for him to look up and catch her peeping at him like a schoolgirl.

She took all the time in the world to bathe and dress for the party, timing her descent to the drawing room to coincide with Mark’s arrival.

She took a long look in the mirror, and nodded with qualified approval. The new dress in white chiffon with its draped Grecian bodice and floating skirt was becoming, and she hoped her hair, piled into a carefully casual top-knot gave her some added sophistication.

Mark was standing before the appletree-log fire which had been kindled on the drawing room’s wide hearth. He looked unfamiliar in the formality of his dinner jacket, and endearingly apprehensive as he glanced towards the door. Sophie went into his arms like a homing bird, lifting her mouth for his kiss.

‘God, you look beautiful,’ he said huskily.

She smiled up at him. ‘We aim to please,’ she whispered teasingly.

He swallowed. ‘Is he here?’

She nodded. ‘He arrived about a couple of hours ago,’ she said neutrally.

‘Has he said anything?’

Sophie bit her lip. ‘I—er I haven’t seen him yet,’ she offered rather weakly. ‘I was upstairs when he arrived and …’

Mark groaned. ‘I suppose you’re avoiding him,’ he accused. ‘Sophie, for heaven’s sake. We need to be nice to the man, and that includes you.’

‘Fine,’ she said tautly. ‘Just how nice would you like me to be? I’m sure he’ll meet me more than halfway.’

‘Darling,’ he said patiently. ‘You’re very innocent in many ways. Are you sure you didn’t just—misinterpret an avuncular gesture?’

‘Perfectly,’ Sophie said. ‘Any uncle who behaved like that could end up in court.’

He gave her a coaxing smile. ‘My poor love, you sound as if you had quite a shock. But you’re quite safe. I’ll take care of you.’

It was what she wanted to hear, and as his arms closed round her again, she melted eagerly against him, closing her mind to everything but the realisation that this was Mark who she loved and who loved her …

From the doorway, Angelo said drily, ‘La disturbo? Am I disturbing you?’

Mark released her hurriedly, and Sophie stepped back, her face flaming, avoiding Angelo’s ironic gaze as he came slowly across the room towards them.

He said coolly, ‘Allow me to introduce myself. I am Angelo Marchese, and I think you must be the young man Sophie intends to marry.’

‘I’m Mark Langton, yes.’ While they shook hands, Sophie sought to recover her composure.

‘I must apologise for my thoughtless intrusion,’ Angelo was saying pleasantly. ‘But I did not expect to find the drawing room occupied. Sono molto dispiacente.’

Mark said eagerly, ‘It really doesn’t matter. After all, the main purpose of my being here is to meet you.’

Angelo’s eyes rested on his meditatively. ‘As you say,’ he agreed. ‘Perhaps we could further our acquaintance over a drink? Sophie—will you act as hostess for us. I’ll have whisky with ice if you please.’

‘And with soda for me,’ Mark put in, and Sophie noted irritably that his tone was almost deferential.

She said expressionlessly, ‘Of course’ and went off to get the drinks. When she returned Mark was in full spate about Craig Jefferson’s company and the amazing opportunity for investment it presented, while Angelo listened with courteous interest. Mark broke off almost reluctantly to accept the drink she handed him.

Angelo lifted his glass to her. ‘You are an enchantment to the eyes, mia cara,’ he said softly. He looked at her empty hands. ‘You don’t drink with us. Not even a sherry—or perhaps—a glass of wine?’

Sophie shook her head, her eyes meeting his unflinchingly. ‘I don’t think alcohol agrees with me,’ she said.

Angelo’s eyes narrowed mockingly, but he made no reply, and at that moment John and Barbara came into the room, Barbara exclaiming distractedly because they had not been the first downstairs.

After that, the evening seemed to merge into a blur for Sophie. At the dinner table, she was nowhere near either Mark or Angelo and couldn’t hear what, if anything, they were saying to each other.

And when the meal was over, she had to do the dutiful rounds of the other guests before she could ask her mother tentatively if she knew where Mark was.

Barbara frowned. ‘He and Angelo seem to be smoking cigars in the conservatory,’ she said tartly. ‘I hope that young man doesn’t mean to be a nuisance and monopolise Angelo for the remainder of the evening. He seems to be following him about, and as he’s your guest, it’s up to you to see that he behaves. I don’t want Angelo to be annoyed.’

‘Oh, God forbid,’ Sophie’s chin lifted. ‘It doesn’t occur to you, Mother, that they might have mutual interests to discuss this evening?’

Mrs Marchese gave her a dry look. ‘Frankly, no, darling. Now please rescue Angelo. After all, he comes down here to relax.’

‘Oh, really?’ Sophie was openly sarcastic. ‘I thought he had Signora Vanni for that.’

Barbara’s expression was scandalised. ‘Sophie—that is no concern of yours.’

Sophie shrugged wearily. ‘Of course not. I’m sorry. I’ll—go and break up the smoking party.’

But as she moved along the covered walk to the conservatory, Mark was already coming to meet her, his face alight, and his eyes gleaming with excitement.

‘There you are.’ He grabbed her arm, bruising the flesh. ‘I’ve got to talk to you.’

Sophie detached herself, rubbing her arm ruefully. ‘Is this private enough?’ she asked, indicating the long cane seat which stood against the wall.

‘Yes, of course.’ He said down with her. ‘Sophie, you’re all wrong about Angelo Marchese. He couldn’t have been nicer to me. He thinks, like me, that Craig’s offer is the chance of a lifetime.’ He paused, drawing breath. ‘He says that I have ambition, and he likes that,’ he disclosed with a kind of awe. ‘He wants to get to know me better—discuss my future in more depth—his own words.’ He took both her hands in his. ‘Sophie, he’s invited both of us to stay with him on this private island he has. He wants us to join him there at the end of the month.’ He paused again. ‘What do you think of that?’

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. ‘Angelo has invited you—us to Avirenze? I don’t believe it.’

‘Why not?’ Mark’s tone held a touch of aggression. ‘I just told you—we got on well together.’ He grinned. ‘And I have the distinct impression he means to make me an offer himself.’

‘An offer you can’t refuse?’ Sophie asked with a kind of desperate flippancy, then sobered. ‘Mark—do we have to accept this invitation?’

‘Of course we do.’ He stared at her as if she was mad. ‘A millionaire’s hideout near Capri—that’s fantasy stuff, and I’m not missing out. It’s different for you,’ he added a shade peevishly. ‘I suppose you’ve been there a dozen times already.’

‘No,’ she said. ‘I never have. My parents go each year, but they were always invited during term time.’ She gave a wry smile. ‘I can understand why, I suppose. I was enough of a brat to have started asking embarrassing questions about why Angelo was there with a different lady each time.’

‘Was he?’

Sophie’s brows lifted. ‘You sound envious,’ she accused with a smile in her voice.

But Mark didn’t seem to hear the smile. He said flatly, ‘Don’t be ridiculous. Is this why you don’t want to go to Avirenze? Because of some silly childhood embargo?’

She shook her head. ‘Of course not. But I don’t understand this invitation, and I can’t really believe it’s all as simple and friendly as you seem to think.’ She took a breath. ‘What it boils down to is—I don’t like Angelo, and I don’t trust him either.’

‘Oh for God’s sake, you’re letting your prejudices run away with you,’ Mark said irritably. ‘This is important to me, Sophie, and important to my career. Hell, after we’re married, we’ll have to entertain clients, and you’re not going to like them all, but you’re going to have to behave as if you do. Well, start practising with your cousin Angelo.’

‘Angelo is not my cousin,’ Sophie reminded him wearily. ‘And he’s not noted for his philanthropy either.’

Mark shrugged. ‘He agreed to help you when you asked him, didn’t he,’ he demanded unarguably. ‘Anyway, I don’t know what you’re complaining about. A couple of weeks in the sun off the coast of Italy. Where’s the harm in that?’

The harm, Sophie thought, was Angelo—the shadow in that sun. But it was clearly pointless pursuing any such argument with Mark. She’d seen Angelo’s charm in operation before, and although she was immune, Mark was bound to be flattered by the attention he was receiving.

She said quietly, ‘If you’re really set on going, I suppose I must agree.’

‘Sophie—don’t act like a martyr,’ he appealed with an irritated groan. ‘This could be a turning point in our lives.’ He kissed her. ‘It will be wonderful,’ he whispered. ‘I know it will.’

She made herself smile, return his kiss, but the warmth of his lips did little to dispel the chill of unease within her—the chill that reminded her that the Marchese family had been manipulating people since the time of the Doges of Venice.

The party didn’t break up until nearly three in the morning. It had been a great success, and people were leaving with obvious reluctance.

Mark was among the first to go. ‘I don’t want to out-stay my welcome,’ he murmured as he kissed her goodbye. ‘After all, I want your family to like me.’

Sophie was troubled, however, as she made her way back to the drawing room. John and Barbara had been little more than civil all evening, and she could imagine their reaction when they learned Mark was going to Avirenze. If Angelo’s ploy was to force Mark into their company, then it clearly wasn’t going to work, and so she would tell him.

But finding an opportunity to do so was another matter. Angelo was deep in conversation with her stepfather, and they looked as if they might be there for the rest of the night, so at last, she admitted defeat, and said good night to the room at large.

But once in her bedroom she made no attempt to get undressed. She felt too jittery to rest or relax, and she sat by the window for a while, watching the stars fade.

It seemed ages before she heard the sounds of movement and muted voices which suggested the party had broken up at last.

She waited until the house was quiet, then slipped out of her room like a little ghost and made her way to the room Angelo occupied when he stayed with them.

She knocked, but there was no reply, and she hesitated. Surely, he couldn’t be asleep already. She went to knock again, but as she did so, the door opened abruptly, and she was caught off-balance, her hand raised, feeling foolish.

She said lamely, ‘Oh, there you are.’

‘Where else did you imagine I would be at this hour?’ Angelo returned drily. ‘What do you want, Sophie?’

‘I need to talk to you.’

‘Then could it be at a more civilised hour? As you see, I was about to go to bed.’

Yes, she saw. He was wearing a dressing gown in dark red silk, reaching to mid-thigh and loosely belted at the waist. The neck hung open in a deep vee, revealing an expanse of hair-darkened skin. and the long muscular legs were bare too. His black hair looked damp and slightly ruffled, as if he’s just taken a shower.

His eyes surveyed her impatiently. ‘Well?’

‘I’m sorry, but I’d rather it was now,’ Sophie said. ‘I—I won’t keep you long.’

‘That,’ he said grimly. ‘I can guarantee.’

As he motioned her past him into the room, and turned to close the door, Sophie knew a twinge of misgiving.

‘Perhaps it would be better if I waited …’ she began.

She saw the familiar gleam of mockery in the dark eyes. ‘Nervous, Sophie? But of what? Surely not me—but perhaps—yourself?’

She flushed dully. ‘That is not what I came here to discuss,’ she said icily.

‘How disappointing,’ he said, and for a moment, the dark eyes rested on her lips like a disturbing caress.

She felt the breath catch in her throat, and hurried into speech. ‘Why have you asked us to Avirenze?’

His brows lifted. ‘I understood from your parents, it had always been one of your ambitions to go there.’

‘When I was a child, perhaps.’ Sophie said with hauteur.

‘But no longer?’ The long brown fingers cupped her chin, turning her reluctant face up to his. ‘What is your objection?’

Sophie trod carefully. ‘Because there’s no need for you to go to these lengths. I know I asked for your help, but …’

‘You did,’ he said. ‘And now you are questioning the way in which that help is to be given. Isn’t that a little churlish, Sophie?’

Well, she should have expected that, Sophie thought grimly. She said, ‘I thought you intended to encourage my parents to get to know Mark.’

‘I do,’ he said. ‘And how better than during a relaxing stay on Avirenze. It’s a very small island, Sophie mia. It encourages intimacy—at all levels.’

He was baiting her, but she refused to rise to it. A lot of the wind had been taken out of her sails anyway. ‘You mean—Mother and John are coming as well. I—I didn’t realise.’

‘Naturally they will be there,’ Angelo said. ‘Anything else would hardly be decorous.’

‘Oh?’ Sophie’s voice was tart. ‘I wasn’t aware that decorum was any big deal with you.’

He sent her a sardonic grin. ‘But where members of my family are concerned,’ he said softly. ‘It will amaze you how decorous I can be.’

‘I’m not a member of your family. I’m a Ralston,’ she said flatly. ‘Will other people be there too?’

His grin widened. ‘Plenty of other people,’ he said silkily. ‘With a little care, cara, it should be possible for you to avoid me completely.’

She flushed mutinously. ‘Will Gianetta Vanni be among them?’ She could have bitten out her tongue the moment the question was asked. She expected a crushing snub in return.

But, all he said, quite mildly, was, ‘You wish me to supply a guest list for your approval, cara?’

‘No,’ she snapped, hating him. ‘It’s your island. I suppose you’re entitled to invite anyone you like.’

He laughed. ‘Graciously spoken. So—have I allayed your fears? Do you still believe that I am willing to help you to your heart’s desire?’

The words were lightly spoken, but she was aware that he was watching her keenly, and she moved awkwardly, avoiding his gaze.

At last, she said stiltedly, ‘I’m sorry. I’m clearly putting you to a great deal of trouble.’

‘You talk nonsense,’ he said. ‘And it was always my intention to invite you to Avirenze, cara.’ He added softly. ‘I was only waiting for you to become a woman.’

There should have been some smart comeback to that, but for the life of her, Sophie couldn’t think of one.

Instead, she heard her voice sounding very young, and rather breathless, as she bade him good night and turned, heading blindly for the door.

He was there ahead of her, opening it courteously for her. But that meant she had to brush past him, and suddenly he was altogether too close, the cool clean scent of his skin overwhelmingly in her nostrils.

For a startled moment, her whole body seemed to breathe him, and she knew an overpowering longing to turn to him, to feel his arms close around her, to know once more the taste of him—the touch …

She felt as helpless as a puppet. Invisible strings were drawing her. Nameless desires were turning her limbs to water, slowing her instinctive flight. She wondered crazily what he would do if she put her lips against his skin, where the neck of his robe parted, and the breath choked in her throat as she realised exactly what she was inviting.

She couldn’t look at him in case she saw in his face some recognition of her torment. Because if he knew—if he had the least idea, she would be shamed forever.

She thought, ‘Oh, God, what am I doing here?’ and fled, her heart hammering like that of a terrified bird.