Christmas Nights (13 page)

‘C
ONVINCING
the barons and some of the community elders that no child should leave school before sixteen won’t be easy, never mind winning them round to the idea of Fortenegro having its own colleges and university,’ Ionanthe warned Max.

They were alone in the great hall, having just finished their dinner, and Ionanthe’s face was flushed with delight and the hope that Max really shared her belief that changes needed to be made, allowing the children of the island to receive the educational opportunities they were currently denied.

‘There will be opposition, I know,’ Max allowed.

‘A great deal of opposition,’ Ionanthe agreed.

She paused. The French diplomat’s comment about the licensing of coal mining was a spectre she desperately wanted to banish.

‘What you’re planning will be very expensive,’ she began hesitantly. ‘You will need to increase the island’s revenue to the Crown.’

‘I have several plans in mind for that,’ Max told her. Should he bring up the subject of the mineral reserves
on her land? He wanted to do so. The realisation that she shared at least one of his plans, and the sense of being at one with her that had created over dinner, made him want to be open and honest with her. But now was perhaps not the time for a further potentially lengthy discussion.

The fire was burning low; Ionanthe was smothering a small yawn. There were more intimate ways in which he wanted to communicate with her right now; more personal bonds he wanted to forge with her.

‘You’re tired?’

Max’s words were a statement, not a question, and the smile which accompanied them made Ionanthe’s heart leap and flounder inside her chest.

‘Yes,’ she admitted.

‘We’ve travelled a long way today, sometimes over difficult and unfamiliar territory, but for my own part I have to say that the journey has been very worthwhile,’ Max told her, before emphasising softly, ‘
Very
worthwhile.’

Ionanthe looked at him and saw that she had been right to sense that he was not referring to their journey to the castle.

‘I agree,’ she responded, picking her words as carefully as she could.

From the smile Max was giving her, it had obviously been the response he wanted.

‘Time for bed?’ he suggested.

Ionanthe struggled to control the leap of delight in her body.

‘I’m sorry that Ariadne has put us both in the same room.’

Max stood up and came towards her, reaching down to take her hand and pull her gently out of her chair.

‘Are you? That’s disappointing. Perhaps I can persuade you to change your mind?’

Ionanthe’s breath caught in her throat, her thoughts a giddy whirl of mingled disbelief and excitement. Did Max really mean what he seemed to be saying? The evening and their shared conversation had brought them so close that for her there was only one way she wanted it to end.

It was because it was so cold on the stone stairs and walking down the long passage that led to their room in the tallest turret tower of the castle that they had to walk so close together, with Max’s arm around her, holding her close to his side. That was what Ionanthe told herself, but it was not a valid excuse for what happened outside their bedroom door, when Max pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

‘You taste of cold mountain air and magic,’ Max told her, tracing the shape of her lips with the pad of his thumb.

‘Magic hasn’t got a taste,’ Ionanthe objected huskily.

‘Yes, it has,’ Max corrected her. ‘It tastes of wonder and witchery and woman—the woman I want more than any other woman I have ever wanted before.’

Ionanthe couldn’t believe what she was hearing. She hardly dared breathe in case she broke what she knew must be some kind of spell.

Her eyes dark with emotion, she asked, ‘Do you want me more than you wanted Eloise?’

There was a small pause, during which she trembled
and Max’s arms tightened around her, and then he answered her truthfully.

‘There is no comparison.’

He kissed her again, his mouth hot and hard on hers, before he withdrew from her to say gruffly, ‘I can’t kiss you as I want to out here, and if I don’t stop now I won’t be able to.’

They were inside the room and Max was locking the door. The room’s warmth welcomed them, the soft glow of the fire casting softly caressing shadows.

Ionanthe went to the window and drew back the heavy curtain to perch on the small window seat and look out. Almost immediately Max joined her, coming to stand behind her, his body close to hers and his hand on her shoulder.

‘It’s still snowing,’ Ionanthe announced.

‘Yes,’ Max agreed, turning her to him.

There were no figs this time, but Max said softly that he didn’t care, that Ionanthe herself was all he needed and wanted.

Ionanthe couldn’t bring herself to voice her own feelings. She was half afraid that doing so might break the spell that was binding them together. It was enough that he was there and they were together.

The dying embers of the fire in the grate threw out enough light for her to see as well as feel the muscles and the strength of Max’s body as she caressed him with secretly avid hunger and delight. Now she could marvel at the ease with which he could arouse her to those heights she had never imagined existed, instead of fearing it as she had done that first time.

They touched and caressed and kissed in a sensual warmth of absorbed pleasure, accompanied by the music of their soft sounds of mutual arousal which grew less soft and more urgent as their passion took fire.

The touch of Max’s hand cupping the underside of her breast whilst his thumb-tip rubbed slowly against her nipple had Ionanthe crying out to him in sweet pleasure. When his lips took possession of her eager flesh in response to that cry Ionanthe held his head to her breast, arching her back in delight. Their bodies threw erotic shadows on the wall.

This time Ionanthe was bolder, determined to take her own pleasure from caressing and tasting Max as ardently as he had done her. Experimentally she drew her fingertips along the inside of his thigh—just the merest brushing of her nails in slow circles that at first held him rigid and then, when she persisted, drove him to groan and offer himself up to her with an intimate longing she couldn’t resist.

Her lips followed her fingertips, until Max groaned out loud and pulled her to him.

She was eager and ready for him, welcoming the feel of him sinking deep into her, holding him there so that she could savour the sensation.

In silence they held one another, neither of them moving.

This was where he was meant to be—here, with this woman who made him feel that holding her like this was worth more than a thousand kingdoms, Max admitted to himself. It was too late now for him to tell himself
that he mustn’t love her. He
did
love her. He loved everything about her.

Now
. Now she was whole and complete—holding Max to her and within her, Ionanthe acknowledged. She loved him more than she had thought it possible to love anyone.

They breathed together and their flesh quickened. Max began to move, driven by an age-old need, and Ionanthe opened herself to him, obeying a primitive instinct of her own.

Their pleasure rose and then plateaued, allowing them to rest their sweat-soaked bodies and ease their laboured breathing. The climb had been steep and urgent, claiming from them everything they had to give. And then, as though nature herself had grown impatient with the delay, the very act of their breathing set off within Ionanthe a small but cataclysmic tightening of eager muscles accompanied by a ripple of pleasure. Her hands tightened on Max’s shoulders and immediately he responded, driving hard, feeling her taking him deep within her. Their rhythm changed, tightening, hurrying, rushing frantically as they laboured to meet the demands being made on them.

The end came fiercely, with a final paroxysm of shared pleasure leaving them clinging together at the pinnacle, their hearts thudding in unison.

Ionanthe woke to a morning of snow-bright light and the gentle caress of Max’s hands on her body.

How delicious it was to wake to such sensual pleasure. She turned to Max and smiled sleepily at him, her smile turning to a soft gasp when his touch grew more intimate.

‘We’ll be late for breakfast,’ she warned him.

‘Mmm… breakfast, or this and you?’ Max murmured, as though pretending to consider his choice.

His lips feathered kisses against her skin and his fingers teased nipples that were already showing how eager they were for him to make
them
his choice.

‘I
THOUGHT
that since we shall have to spend Christmas here now, after last night’s snowfall, we could perhaps have a party for everyone here at the castle on Christmas Eve. My parents used to do it.’

‘It sounds a good idea to me,’ Max agreed.

‘We’ll need a Christmas tree, of course.’

‘I’ll take some of the men and see what we can find.’

They exchanged smiles.

They’d breakfasted on homemade bread and honey from the estate’s bees, whilst Ionanthe explained to Max that the estate was almost self-sufficient.

‘The people live simply, but well, in the same way they have lived for many, many generations. That is why the elders of the communities are so opposed to change. They cannot see what benefits it could bring. They believe they have everything they need. They cannot see that we live in different times, and that they are denying the younger generation the right to make their own choices. They think that life can continue as it has always done without any change for ever, but it
can’t. The world is growing smaller; the island itself will have to change. That is inevitable.’

Max put down his coffee cup. Was one of the changes Ionanthe was envisaging the mining of the island’s minerals? Last night, hearing her speak so passionately about the need for education for the island’s children, he had admired and applauded her, allowing his heart to rule his head, but now once again the responsibilities of his role were reminding him that there were questions that had to be answered.

‘When you say that the island will have to change, what kind of changes do you have in mind?’ he asked.

Ionanthe shook her head.

‘There are so many. Fortenegro has many natural resources—’

‘And you favour utilising them?’

‘I think that we have to. But in a controlled way, of course.’

‘Of course.’ Max’s heart had grown colder with every word Ionanthe uttered. ‘Have you thought of the disruption this will cause to people’s lives? The antagonism there will be?’

‘Yes, but it is still my belief that it must be done.’

Something was wrong. Ionanthe could sense it. The warmth had gone from Max’s voice, and although he hadn’t actually said anything critical Ionanthe felt that inwardly he was hostile.

Why, when last night they had seemed so much in accord? Was it that despite his apparent enthusiasm yesterday he was now having cold feet?

It hurt to think that the closeness she had believed they shared could vanish so easily.

She wasn’t going to change her mind or backtrack, though. She couldn’t—no matter how much she loved him. She owed it to the children of Fortenegro to stick to her plan. Marta’s comments last night had shown her that.

She lifted her chin and told Max firmly, ‘And here on this estate—my estate and my land—I intend that it
shall
be done.’

‘No one can dispute that you have that right.’ Max’s voice was clipped and sharp. He wanted to get her to reconsider, to tell her that he would give her all the money she could want if only—If only what? If only she would be the woman he wanted her to be?

Max had enough experience of the world to know that there were far more people who would do exactly as Ionanthe planned to do, were they in her shoes, than those who would not. He couldn’t blame her. Not really. If he wanted to blame someone then he should blame himself, for wanting her to be different, for wanting her to be the woman he had created out of his own need for her to be that way. And he didn’t want to admit that it was possible for him to love a woman who did not share his outlook on life or his fierce attachment to working for the benefit of others.

Ionanthe hadn’t deceived him. He had deceived himself.

Sitting alone in the castle library, Ionanthe closed her eyes to control the sting of unwanted tears. She hadn’t wanted to come back to Fortenegro, after all, or to fall
in love with Max. But now that she was here she had a duty to her people. They were the ones who really deserved the fortune her grandfather had left to her. Blood money, in her view, tainted with the blood, sweat and tears of those who had worked all their lives to earn it for her family without getting anything in return.

Last night, discussing her plans with Max, she had felt buoyed up with hope and the joy of sharing her dreams with him. She had felt as though everything she longed to do was possible and achievable, because she had thought he felt the same. But now, this morning, with that joy stripped from her, she felt as though she had a mammoth task in front of her and she wondered if she would ever achieve it.

If the reality was that Max was opposed to reform, then what chance had she of seeing it happen even here on her own land? The old guard—the barons and the community elders—would oppose her every step of the way.

Had she forgotten that it was because of that that she had agreed to marry Max? She had known then that an island like Fortenegro, locked fast in ancient tradition and a paternalistic society, could only be reformed by a very strong man. Her son. The son who would have to be what his father was not.

Then she had not cared about what Max was not, but neither had she known that she would love him, and that it would hurt her more than anything else ever had or ever would to know that there was this divide between them.

Max had gone out with the men to seek out a suitable Christmas tree. Ionanthe had watched him in the courtyard
from the shelter of the kitchen, as he trod through the snow wearing an old pair of her father’s ski boots.

Some of the men who worked on the estate, summoned by Tomas, Marta’s son, had quickly gathered around him, making awkward semi-bows and tugging on dark tufts of hair exposed to the sharp wind as they removed their caps. They had responded to him, respecting him, respecting his natural air of authority, willing to let him take charge in a way they would never have done with her.

Wasn’t there a saying that the hand that rocked the cradle ruled the world? Women like Marta were the future; they and their children had to be.

How much did it cost to build a school? To provide it with teachers and equipment? To provide its pupils with further education, with university education? The Veritas Foundation was helping to build and finance educational projects every day of the week. Ionanthe longed for just a fraction of their expertise, and for the dedication and the wisdom of the mystery man who was responsible for it.

She could understand why he clung to his anonymity, but nevertheless she wished that she might meet him. To speak with such a man must be a little like sitting at the feet of a very wise guru.

Ionanthe got up from her seat and looked out of the window. It had started to snow again. The library overlooked the castle gardens, and the snow there was pristine and untouched.

Already she was missing Max. She left the library and, although she could have sworn it wasn’t what she
had intended, for some reason she headed for the bedroom, frowning when she saw that the window was open. Snow had blown in and was covering the laptop case Max had left on the window seat.

Automatically Ionanthe picked it up, brushing the snow off with her hand as she did so. At the same time she accidentally dislodged some papers which must have been in the case’s outer pocket. As she made to push them back, Ionanthe glanced at them and then stiffened.

Very carefully she sat down and pulled the papers free of the case, her hands trembling as she read the report she was holding—a report on the mineral assets of Fortenegro.

The sick feeling within her intensified, making her shake with a mixture of mouth-drying nausea and a longing to run away like a child and hide from what she did not want to see.

But she was not a child. And no matter how hard her heart might pound, or how much despair she might feel, she had to read on.

Frantically Ionanthe flicked through it, searching for what she hoped she would not find even whilst somehow knowing that she would. After all, hadn’t this been what she had dreaded ever since Philippe de la Croix had told her about the coal mining consortium’s approach?

And finally there it was—a full-page map of the mountains,
her
mountains, showing quite clearly where the rich veins of mineral deposits lay beneath them. The salient facts were there in print, heavily underlined as though to remind the reader of their importance.

Was this why Max had married them both? First her
sister and then her? Because he had
known
the value of what lay beneath the harsh granite? Did he, like so many others, value that more than he valued the rights of the people who lived on that land? More than he valued her and what they might have had together?

She couldn’t cry. She had gone beyond that. But inwardly she was weeping hot tears that blistered her heart and would leave it forever scarred.

She had been a fool, of course; she had known from the start—from that first sharply dangerous and sweetly alluring spark of reaction to him which she had felt at their first meeting and then denied—that her feelings would lead to this pain. Hadn’t she tried to guard against her own vulnerability by giving herself a higher purpose in agreeing to marry Max than merely her own safety and that treacherous spark? Shouldn’t she have stuck to the path she had chosen then, and ignored the fatal temptation to stray from it? If she had, then what she had just read would only have strengthened her resolve to help her son to be a very different man from his father. If she had, then right now she would be feeling justified and vindicated in her choice of action, not guilt-ridden and heartbroken. She had no one but herself to blame.

Oh, but she hurt so badly—quite literally sickened by the incontrovertible evidence that Max was not worthy of the love and trust of either her or, more importantly by far, his people.

Given free choice she would have fled then, as fast and as far as she could, seeking somewhere to hide herself away from her pain. But she could not do that.
She must stay and face what had to be faced for the sake of those who could not protect themselves. She must stay and stand between Max and his plans. She was the only person who could, since the land belonged to her. She must not allow him to seduce her into giving away her people’s rights in the same way that he had seduced her into giving him her love.

The door opened and Max came in.

‘I think we’ve found you your tree, but you’d better come and inspect it before we bring it in,’ he began, only to stop when he saw the report Ionanthe was holding.

‘You’ve been through my papers?’ he accused her.

‘No.’ Ionanthe denied his accusation fiercely, shaking her head. ‘Someone left the window open and there was snow on your laptop case. I merely intended to move it out of harm’s way. The papers fell out.’ When she saw the cynical look he was giving her she cried out, ‘It’s the truth. Not that I have any need to justify myself to you now that I’ve seen what you plan to do.’

‘What
I
plan to do?’

‘You can’t deny it. I’ve seen the evidence with my own eyes. When Philippe de la Croix told me he’d heard rumours that you were going to foreign conglomerates about a coal mining contract I wanted to believe that he was wrong, that unlike Cosmo you
don’t
see the island simply as a means of filling your own bank account. No wonder you were so keen to marry both of us. You
knew
about the mineral ore and you wanted to make sure that you had a legal right to it. That’s why you took me to bed and seduced me, making me believe that there could
be something more between us than merely a cold dynastic marriage. And I dare say that’s why you went out with the men this morning as well. What were you really doing? Trying to take rock samples? Well, you were wasting your time. I would only ever allow this land to be mined if it was the wish of those who live on it, for
their
benefit, to provide them and their children with all those things that the rule of your family has denied them. No, don’t come near me,’ she told him when Max closed the door and started to walk towards her. ‘I don’t want you anywhere near me.’

‘Have you finished?’ Max’s voice was even, but there was a white line of anger round his mouth.

‘Finished? I’ve finished thinking that I can trust you to do the best for the people of Fortenegro, and I’ve certainly finished feeling that I can respect you, if that’s what you mean.’

‘For your information I did not commission that report, as you have accused me, because I want to benefit personally from the island’s resources. Far from it.’

‘I don’t believe you,’ Ionanthe told him flatly.

‘That is your choice. But think about this. I too heard about plans to sell off the island’s mineral assets to benefit the few who owned them.’

‘So you thought you’d get in on the act?’ Ionanthe interrupted him contemptuously.

‘No such thing. In fact the very accusations you are laying against me are exactly those that I should lay against you.
You
are the one who will stand to benefit if the minerals lying beneath your land are to be mined.’

Ionanthe was too shocked to conceal what she felt,
and her response betrayed her emotions. ‘You thought that of me?’

‘Why not? Both your grandfather and your sister proved themselves to be duplicitous, intent on putting their own interests first. Why should you be any different?’

Max knew that he was goading her, but he had to be sure she was saying what he thought she was saying.

‘But I am not like them. You said yourself that you knew that I was different.’

Ionanthe’s reaction was everything he’d hoped for. Even if she had originally thought about selling her mineral rights she would change her mind, see things differently, come to understand and share his views, share all those things he wanted to do for the island and those who lived there. She
must
care about them. She had already shown that in the way she had spoken about the need for more schools. But he must be sure. He must hear her say categorically that she had no ulterior motive for marrying him.

‘You could have been deliberately deceiving me—deliberately creating a fake persona for yourself to conceal your real intentions. When there are millions at stake, then people…’