Scarlet Lady (8 page)

Logically it was simple. All she had to do was to pretend to Leo that he meant absolutely nothing to her. His masculine pride, that hateful arrogance would be his downfall. He imagined that the minute they were thrown together she'd fall into his arms, that he'd be able to defend his family's honour and satisfy his sex drive at the same time. A double whammy.

Well, he was wrong. Once she'd been burnt. Now she meant to stay away from the fire. The blisters hadn't healed and if she got close again they'd hurt her more than before. Though she had to admit that her resolve became shaky whenever he came close, whenever he turned those smouldering smoke-grey eyes on her and spoke to her in his seductive voice. All he had to do was to say he loved her and she'd fall into his arms. If he ever knew that, she'd be leaping into the flames without a second thought.

Proudly she faced him. Cold, aloof, uninterested. Inwardly she was shaking like a leaf. If he stayed, she'd have to be constantly on her guard. The holiday she'd planned would be ruined till he'd gone and she could behave normally again. They'd be together till she found Vincente St Honore. Could she face that?

The air between them crackled with an electric charge as she met the full force of his grey, velvety eyes. Her legs were weakening and she sat down quickly on the bed before he noticed. She didn't know what to do. AH she could feel was a thrill mounting in intensity as she teetered on the edge of danger.

G
INNY
took a deep breath. She had to jump into the fire one way or the other. If she made every effort to find Vincente, she'd be rid of Leo quickly and then she'd be out of danger.

Something deliciously wicked lurched in her stomach at the thought of spending time with Leo. Still lovesick! She'd got it bad, she mused ruefully.

'The whole idea of your staying here fills me with horror,' she said with icy disdain—and perhaps a smattering of truth. For this new, contemptuous Leo to see her grovel, to see deep inside her and realise that she was obsessed by him would be humiliating in the extreme.

She lifted a pale, proud face to his. 'But since you're obviously set on defending your family honour—and willing to resort to malicious methods to do so—I have to agree. You don't leave me much choice. But I don't like your blackmail and I don't like your reasons. It'll be unpleasant having you around. I'd been looking forward to a relaxing time here.' She tossed her head and a swirl of white-blonde hair shone like shot silk in the sunlight streaming into the room. 'You'll ruin my stay!' she said resentfully. 'And, while we're about it, let's establish some ground rules for your behaviour.'

'Such as?' he murmured smoothly.

'Such as don't get any ideas about intimacy!' she said grimly. 'No sex! Understand?'

'Intimacy? With you?' He wrinkled his aristocratic nose. 'My dear Ginny, I daren't risk it. I don't know where you've been.'

As she dropped her jaw in amazement, he gave her a mocking smile.

'I know who you've been with, though. The papers have carried rather a lot of photographs of you with different escorts,' he purred, but there was an undercurrent of anger in his voice. 'Rakes and roues to a man. Don't insult my intelligence by pretending you haven't partied the last two years away—and don't insult your own beauty by pretending those men went out with you in order to chat about the state of the economy.'

The shutters came down over her eyes. Those parties had filled her time and the emptiness left by knowing that Leo had gone. They'd given her a false sense of fun. One thing she hadn't been able to cope with had been the silence of her own company. Whenever she'd been alone she'd had to face her unhappiness. Partying and dating had kept her from confronting that demon too often and had helped to stop her from cracking up.

The men she'd dated she had done so on the understanding that they took her home and left her unmolested. They hadn't refused because they'd been keen to have the publicity. She smiled wryly.

'I've partied a little,' she said in an offhand manner.

His mouth thinned in disdain. 'A lot!'

Ginny frowned. 'How do you know?'

'Contacts,' he said tersely.

'Spies,' she suggested, her expression frosty.

Leo looked haughty. 'I'm relieved that this is only a temporary arrangement and I can get back to people who have deeper values than you,' he muttered. 'I'd better get my bags moved in. Where's the phone?'

'There isn't one. No TV, radio or piped Muzak. This is solitude, Leo, an inaccessible hideaway.'

'Suits me. No sex, no TV. What
will
you do of an evening?' he asked insultingly.

'I hope most of the time I'll be talking to my father over a Planter's Punch,' she said shortly.

He made a face. 'I can't say I hope your wishes will come true. St Honore has too vile a reputation to be anyone's father. He isn't yours, that's for sure.'

'How could you possibly know?' she asked, shaken by his conviction.

He frowned at the floor and she felt certain that he had a good reason to be so confident. Her palms sweated and she rubbed them on her robe as she remembered her earlier suspicion that he wasn't telling her everything her knew.

'Intuition,' he said, dissembling. 'It doesn't seem credible that your mother was married to him. Father told me that Vincente's wife was some society woman. She came from Britain, but she wasn't as poor as a church mouse. She... had money in her own right. I know your mother didn't have a penny. You told me. And the McKenzies told
you
that she had nobody to support her. It doesn't tie up with what we know of Vincente's wife. She fled from St Lucia and arrived back in England in some distress.'

'So-?' she challenged, puzzled.

'We look after our own, Ginny,' he explained. 'Vicente's wife would have been cared for. Your mother was on her own. For us there's an old-school network, a closing of ranks and a protection of one another. Even if Mrs St Honore's family disowned her—though I see no reason why they should—someone who'd known her in the social circuit would have taken her in, even as a governess or a companion.'

'I suppose you can't have members of ancient dynasties dying before their time,' she said, feeling waspish about the British aristocracy.

'Don't knock it,' he retorted curtly. 'It's a generous tradition and we're not the only community to practise it. Wouldn't Chas's wife be taken in by family, friends or neighbours if something happened to him?'

'Yes,' she admitted reluctantly, thinking that the same wouldn't be true of the people in her line of business. Everyone lived for money and fame. There was no time for consoling those who'd fallen by the wayside. 'I suppose so—'

'You do hate to admit you're in the wrong!' he said drily. 'Our community might be more scattered than Chas's, but it is intensely loyal. That's why we spend country weekends together. And why we meet regularly on social occasions. It renews our bonds of friendship and keeps them going.'

'I remember,' muttered Ginny. Ascot. Gstaad. Polo at Cowdray Park. Ghastly weekends with nothing to say to anyone because she didn't know anything about fishing or hunting or shooting. Or the million ties that bound Leo's set. Horrible. She'd always felt like an exotic butterfly in a cage.

'I accept that there's an instinct of group-preservation in what we do,' Leo mused. 'I find that laudable. Our families have a long history, Ginny. Only by cleaving together do we protect that history.'

'Often at the expense of love,' she said quietly.

Leo's eyes narrowed. 'It's easier if people from the same social group marry one another,' he said with chilling detachment. 'They know what to expect.'

'I never fitted in,' she agreed levelly. 'Nor did I want to, to be honest. Some of the hallowed traditions are archaic! And you were so determined to be well- mannered that you didn't object when, for instance, we women were hustled out after dinners so you men could indulge in men's talk!'

'I was brought up never to offend my host,' he said quietly. 'Should I have ruined everyone's evening and insisted you stayed?'

'No,' she said hopelessly. 'It's the tradition itself that I can't stomach.'

'Amber understands. She doesn't rail at the way other people live their lives,' he said in reproach.

Ginny thought of Leo's father's red-headed goddaughter and sighed. 'Amber and I are poles apart,' she said wryly. 'She's mad about Castlestowe, for a start. Her idea of heaven is walking on the moors when it's raining. I can't be like her! I know you and she were virtually brought up together and you probably compare her with me constantly, but you shouldn't expect me to fit into your life the way she does! She was born to it. I wasn't.'

'Ginny,' he said softly, 'it's over.' A spasm ran through her body, visible and mortifying. 'So,' he said with a brutal cheerfulness, 'you hate the British upper class but you're hoping to become part of island society! Very contrary, Ginny! Don't you see how unlikely it is that you're Vincente's daughter? I don't know why you don't admit that and forget him.'

Absently, she picked up her undies, sifting the silk through her fingers. His comments had worried her. All she wanted was a house somewhere quiet and private, with Leo, children and good friends. Close friends, not hordes of hangers-on or people she couldn't relate to. The thought of joining a society family was filling her with horror.

'I need to be sure,' she sighed. She looked up. 'We'll find Vincente fast,' she said anxiously, eager to get it over and done with. And, since she wasn't going to be playing happy homes with Leo, it would help if he was off the scene fast too. 'Then we can be shot of each other,' she added shakily.

'Suits me,' he muttered, and she gritted her teeth to stop herself wincing at his eagerness to leave.

'Whatever happens here, I'll start searching for my mother soon,' she said, her face wistful.

'Do you really think that's a good idea? I'd go with your earlier gut feelings to leave her strictly alone if I were you,' he said quickly, beetling his thick brows together.

'No,' she retorted firmly. 'I'm sorting everything out. I need to know things.'

Leo seemed about to tell her something and then thought better of it, drawing up a chair and sitting in front of her. 'I know you're not in the mood to listen to a lecture so I'll say this,' he began gravely. She made to move away and he took her hands in his to stay her. 'Please. Pay attention for your mother's sake,' he ordered. His eyes bored into hers, mesmerising her. 'If you ever do find her, I want you to promise me that you'll spend more time with her than you did with me.'

Ginny lowered her eyes guiltily. There had always been reasons for her hectic life. 'I know what you're implying,' she muttered. 'In your eyes I was a bad wife and I'd have been an even worse daughter. But I had something to prove to myself —'

'You wanted people to like you,' he said bluntly.

She thought about that. 'I think you're right. It was a novelty,' she admitted slowly, and heaved a heavy sigh. At first the adulation had done wonders for her self- esteem. Lately... Her head lifted. It meant nothing any more. She'd lost what she'd wanted: Leo. 'We all like to be special,' she said in a low voice. 'It was evident that my mother and my adoptive parents didn't like me much—'

'I did. I liked you,' he said quietly, his thumb massaging the pronounced ball of her thumb. 'Wasn't that enough?'

Ginny tried to focus on something other than the effect of his rhythmical caress which was causing such havoc in her body. Deliberately she concentrated on a cooing Zenaida dove picking up crumbs from the deck where she'd had breakfast. The tantalising sensation trickling through her veins mercifully receded a little.

He'd said 'liked'. Not love. And he'd used the past tense.

'You met me when I was already on my way to being really famous,' she said stiffly. 'I never knew what I was to you because of that. I'd worked for years to be regarded as a beautiful woman instead of a gangling beanpole,' she went on, her mouth wry. 'And when I finally made it I didn't know if men wanted me for myself or because I was good to look at and having me on their arm did things for their ego. It was like being at school again, frying to avoid the bullying by handing out sweets and never feeling too sure why the crowd formed around me.'

'You thought you'd found paradise in your job, didn't you?' hie murmured, taking her chin in his hand, turning her face towards him and looking deep into her eyes again.

Nothing would stop her body trembling. Mute and miserable, she remained a prisoner of his gaze, a captive of the love she felt for him, drowning in his smouldering eyes and wishing, wishing that they could live together somehow, anyhow. She didn't care.

'Paradise...' she whispered hoarsely. It was in his eyes, his hands, the tender smile on his mouth. Paradise was Leo. And once she'd thought it was somewhere else— in a league table of achievement, in being the most photographed model of the year.

His fingers caressed her soft skin. His lashes fluttered on his cheeks and when he looked up again his eyes were unreadable. 'And you found that even paradise wasn't perfect,' he husked. 'So you kept on trying to make it perfect by trying harder.' He smiled cynically. 'There is no paradise, Ginny. Very beautiful women, handsome men, the very rich still have problems.'

'Different problems,' she breathed.

'Sure.' He no longer touched her, holding her still by the mesmeric power of his eyes alone. 'But none the less frustrating. Some folk spend a lifetime striving for the perfect life but when—if—they get it they discover they want something else after all. And that they've sacrificed something they'd give their eye-teeth to possess again.' His voice dropped to a mutter and he seemed to be struggling for words. 'But, of course, it's unobtainable,' he said quietly. 'They've gone too far to go back for it and it's lost for ever.'

He seemed sad, as if his life wasn't perfect, and she wondered what else he could possibly want. He had it all. Money, family, any woman he wanted. 'What would be your paradise?' she asked in a rasp. Her emotions were in a knot. She'd lost more than she'd ever dreamed possible.