Devil in Disguise

by Jessica Steele

  'It had nothing to do with being—in your arms that made me faint,' she said at last.

  `No?' He didn't sound convinced.

  `No.'

  `You are telling me you weren't terrified a while ago? That you didn't fight as though you thought I wasn't going to wait until Saturday to claim retribution for Sophronia?'

  'I didn't want that to happen, but you've known that all along,' she said. `Good heavens,'—was that her who gave a mocking laugh to accompany those two words? She chalked up amateur actress to her other newly discovered talents—`girls no longer swoon when a man makes a grab for them,' she scoffed.

  He looked sharply at her, causing her to feel better that it looked as though this was more what he believed in in an Englishwoman.

  `It's the heat,' she went on, desperation having its reward as the idea popped into her head. `I'm not used to it. I expect I've been out in the sun too long, and that plus—er—grappling with you must have sapped my strength.'

  His eyes narrowed as he looked at her, and she wished she knew what was going on inside his head. For a long moment he considered her, his voice almost silky when next it came.

  `So—you are telling me that you do not fear anything to do with men?'

  `Of course not,' she said stoutly, and even managed another scoffing laugh, only for it to fade, a sick feeling entering her stomach when Lazar stood up, looked- her over casually and said:

  'Good. In that case I need not have any qualms about the way we shall come together.' His mouth was smiling a deceptive smile when he drawled, 'Don't stay too long out here. It doesn't appear to be too good for you.'

  Clare sat' a while longer when he had gone, feeling more herself now she was on her own, her mind busy with everything that had gone on. Her brow wrinkled as she tried to find hidden meanings in their conversation. Last night Lazar had been disbelieving that she had never had a boy-friend. Was he now believing, with her saying she feared nothing with men, that what she was actually telling him was that she was not a virgin? He knew quite well she didn't want to go to bed with him, so had he taken from the fact she had hit out at him that, virgin though she had led him to believe she was not, she liked to pick and choose her own affairs, and not have them thrust upon her?

  She made her way back to the villa and once in her room had Lazar taken temporarily from her mind as she found that the clothes she had worn up until last night had without her knowing it been taken away by Phoebe and were now sitting washed and ironed on her bed.

  How kind it was of her, she thought, yet she could have done with having something to do. She wouldn't at all have minded giving a hand with the housework, for all Phoebe seemed to manage very well without her help. She knew before she asked that any offer of assistance she made would be refused, not only that but would be frowned upon by the lord and master.

  Listlessly she went to get out of her swimsuit, to shower and dress and to rinse out the swimsuit, knowing she would never wear it again.

  For the rest of the day she stayed in her room. She just couldn't face seeing her host again and since she was completely without appetite when Phoebe came to tell her lunch was ready, she signed to her that she wasn't feeling well and didn't want any. It was a lie that she wasn't feeling well. But since Lazar had been there when she fainted, had been the cause of it, she thought it was an excuse he couldn't argue against.

  Her tummy was rumbling when the long hours of the afternoon wore on to dinner time. But the thought of having to face Lazar Vardakas across the dining room table had her certain she didn't want any dinner either. It was shortly after seven that evening as she lay on her bed, concentrating on ignoring the hungry pleas of her stomach, that, again without knocking, the door to her room opened and Lazar Vardakas stood there.

  Moving to a sitting position, Clare stared fixedly at him as he came near and perched himself on the edge of her bed.

  'How are you feeling now?' he asked, and she was surprised to hear a gentle note in his voice, as though he was really concerned that his kidnap victim was indisposed.

  'Better,' she found herself saying, when it had been in her mind to play the invalid way past the hour of vengeance.

  'Good,' he said briefly, his eyes checking her face for his own satisfaction. 'In view of your absence at lunch, I have had dinner brought forward. We shall eat in about half an hour.'

  `I'm not hungry,' she said quickly, and watched as all sign of gentleness left him and his face went deadly cold.

  `You will eat,' he commanded, and looking over her crumpled dress with disdain, `Go now and wash and change. You will feel better still once you have freshened up.'

  `I don't ...' she began, only to receive a blast of more of his insufferable arrogance, his haughty look stopping her.

  `I am quite able to act the lady's maid myself if need be,' he told her meaningly. And Clare knew then that if she wasn't at the dinner table in half an hour, he would return to dunk her in the bath, haul her out, then dry and dress her.

  Defeated, she glared at him, her temper this time lasting for more than three seconds as it got her over his intimidating arrogance.

  `Oh, go away!' she snapped aggressively. `I'm fed up to the teeth with you and your bossy pronouncements! '

  Mutiny in every line of her, she got up from the bed the other side, and was even more infuriated when instead of making him lose his cool, she took a look at him and saw from his wide grin that her tantrum had amused him. Without another word she went into the bathroom and viciously slammed the door.

  Of course her temper didn't last. And as she rapidly cooled down she was once more amazed at herself that she had let fly at him as she had. She had no thought to get out of her clothes until she heard the outer door close. When it did she returned to the bedroom to select fresh underwear and take one of her newly washed dresses from the wardrobe.

  By the time she was ready to join Lazar, she was back to being afraid again. Soon it would be dark, and she hated the night-time. It made the fate that awaited her take on proportions she could just about cope with during the day, but which at night had her dread growing with every sleepless hour.

  As a result, she only pecked at her food, delicious though it was, and included the dolmades, vine leaves stuffed with rice soaked in oil, which she had heard of but had never tasted. But what she did eat satisfied her stomach, the veal that followed being superbly cooked. She refused Lazar's offer to peel her a piece of fruit at the end of the meal, wondering if all the tenseness in the atmosphere came from her—or did Lazar have a share of it too? For unlike last night, he had spoken very little, and was obviously in no mind to draw her out further.

  `Can I go now?' she asked, when she saw his coffee cup was empty, her nerves on the point of cracking. For her trouble she received a sour look that she was hiding under a cloak of politeness to tell him she found his company unbearable.

  Then suddenly into the tense stillness a telephone shrilled. Clare jumped, startled, the sound was so unexpected. She looked at Lazar and with the phone still ringing had a tailor-made excuse for leaving him. She blamed her bad luck that if she had waited a few seconds she could have gone to her room without receiving one of his disfavouring looks—though she was at a loss to know why it should bother her how he looked at her.

  `You'll want to take your call privately,' she said, getting up from the table.

  His glance was sardonic. `Since I shall most likely be speaking in Greek, I doubt that any business secrets will be leaked.'

  Clare turned, ready to march back to her room, only to find he was right there at her elbow. In a hurry to be away from him, she was further obstructed by Rasmus coming to stand in the doorway telling Lazar who was on the phone, not a word of which did she understand. When Rasmus moved out of the way, she again went to go forward, knowing Lazar was keeping pace with her, but anticipating that she would be free of him when they reached the door which she thought to be his study.

  The door stood open, obviously left so by Ra
smus. About to pass it, Clare caught a glimpse of a large desk and knew she was right in her surmise that this must be where Lazar shut himself away to get on with some work when she couldn't see him around.

  His hand on her arm jerked her to a halt, turning her and causing her to look up enquiringly at him. And what he said then had all her alarms for herself sinking into obscurity, for what he said was:

  'I was wrong in my surmise that I was about to discuss a business matter.' And while she stared uncomprehendingly, casually he added, 'My brother Aeneas is waiting to speak with me.' He let go of her arm to go striding into the study, promptly picking up the phone and speaking in his own language.

  But if he thought he could give her that piece of information and leave her to go to her room without enquiring what Aeneas, her brother's jailor, had to say, then he was very much mistaken. Without waiting for an invitation, Clare followed him into the room, knowing he was aware she was there, for all his flow of Greek remained uninterrupted.

  There was a pause at Lazar's end of the conversation, and she saw his eyes sweep over her as he listened to what his brother was saying. Then he was saying something that sounded very much like a command and had all her instincts knowing that he had asked to speak to Kit.

  It was confirmed for her a moment later when without her ears needing to pick up that Lazar had switched to English, she saw his face grow hard, the look in his eyes icy cold. And though his tones were controlled, she sensed there was a raging anger boiling beneath the surface as she heard him say tightly, clearly interrupting whatever it was Kit was explaining:

  `Just tell me "Yes" or "No"—did you take my sister back with you to that apartment?'

  What Kit answered Clare had no way of knowing, but she was certain he hadn't limited his reply to either a positive or negative answer, for suddenly a savage Lazar was blazing into him.

  'How dare you attempt to blacken my sister's name by suggesting she has lied?' He sliced through Kit again when he tried to get a word in. 'I have no need to question her. She would not lie to her parents, of that I am convinced.' Then before Kit could utter more than one word, Lazar's flaming temper had changed to biting ice as with freezing coldness he told him, 'You have taken my sister to your bed for sufficient time to remove her virtue. Permit me to tell you I have your sister, Clare, here with me. She will be treated in exactly the same way as you treated Sophronia.'

  White-faced, Clare could only stand and stare, her whole being numb at the hard, ruthless way Lazar had informed Kit of what he intended to do to her. She watched as though in slow motion as Lazar pulled the phone away from his ear as an offensive barrage of rage screamed from Kit at the other end.

  And then, after for so long being the one who had always been so protected, she felt something inside her snap, and she had wrenched the phone out of Lazar's hand, and it was she who was the one who was doing the protecting.

  'It's all right Kit, it's all right,' she tried to soothe him down.

  'How in God's name did he get you there?' Kit was saying, making a superhuman effort to get over his shock. 'And where the hell is Bruce? Has that swine... Oh God ... I'm so bloody helpless stuck on this island with no way to get to you! '

  'I'm fine,' Clare continued to soothe, tears coming to her eyes as she heard the dreadful anxiety for her in Kit's voice. 'For all he says, Lazar has been a perfect gentleman.' Kit sounded ready to go off his head if she couldn't make him believe he had no cause to be upset.

  'He hasn't—touched you?'

  'No, no, of course not. I'm being treated very well. It's more like a holiday than anything else,' she said, hoping she could finish this conversation without breaking down. Kit would never believe her if he heard her crying. 'Don't worry, Kit,' she said, and tried to reassure him, 'You have nothing to worry about, I promise you ...'

  A Greek voice came into her ear, and she guessed the phone had been taken away from Kit. Without looking at Lazar she handed him the phone, heard him terminate the call and saw the receiver go down.

  Only then did she look up, and her glance met his head-on. She couldn't look away from that ice cold look.

  'So,' he queried softly, 'you have told your brother he has no need to worry on your behalf.' Clare didn't answer. She felt used up, incapable of speech. Then Lazar's voice came again, softly still, yet with an added threatening sound to it. 'It isn't the done thing to lie to members of one's own family,' he said, in a way that made all her senses tingle. 'But just in case you are in any doubt about your position here, perhaps I should tell you that if your brother isn't worried on your behalf,' his voice dropped the soft note, 'then he damn well should be!' Clare didn't wait to hear any more. She fled.

  Strangely, as she lay in bed that night, her fears for her own safety mingling with anguish over what Kit must be going through now that he knew she was here in Greece without any one member from her family looking out for her, it wasn't either her mother or her father, Bruce or Kit whose face came to mind just before sleep took her, but the face of Lazar Vardakas and the way he had looked when he had grinned after she had fired up at him before dinner. He had looked so much younger than, free from care, happy, likeable. On that oddest of thoughts she drifted into sleep, and for the first time since Saturday, the first night in her home alone, she had a good night's sleep.

  Barely able to believe she had slept through the night without once waking, Clare opened her eyes to see it was daylight, though there was no sun this morning. A fine drizzle had set in, but that didn't particularly bother her. She always felt better in the daylight, and though Kit occupied many of her thoughts as she showered and dressed, the situation didn't seem quite so threatening as it had last night.

  Breakfast on the terrace was out this morning, that much was obvious. Feeling hungry, Clare left her room, and came across Phoebe, who showed her into a breakfast room that had a breathtaking panoramic view of the pine woods.

  Clare had barely started to eat when Lazar appeared. But this morning, to her puzzlement, seeing him in no way affected her appetite. He greeted her morosely, she thought, and went to stare out of the window at the drizzling rain.

  While his back was to her she had ample opportunity to study him, dressed as he was in dark trousers and a body-hugging shirt. The breadth of his shoulders was remarkable in such a lean man, she found herself thinking, hastily averting her eyes and concentrating on her toast as he tired of the view and turned. She felt his eyes on her, guessed from his moody silence that she wasn't his favourite person this morning, and got the shock of her life when he said, his voice not very encouraging:

  'Finish your breakfast, I'll take you for a drive.'

  'Drive!' She raised her eyes from her plate and saw he was staring back at her with a 'take it or leave it' attitude.

  'The idea doesn't appeal to you?'

  'Well, yes—but ...'

  The idea did appeal. Exploring the grounds or wandering along the beach would be out this weather, and the thought of spending hours shut in her room as she had done yesterday suddenly was not to be borne. Yet she was suspicious of him. Why should he want to take her driving? It wasn't as though he liked her enough to want to spend time enclosed in a car with her.

  `Why?' she asked. 'If you want to go driving you have no need to take me along.'

  He made no pretence of being polite. 'Let's just say I thought you might like to see something of the country in which you find yourself.' He was obviously fed up. 'But you can please yourself. I shall be leaving in half an hour.' He strode past her then, leaving her to her solitary breakfast.

  Ten minutes later as she tidied her hair in her room, she tried to tell herself she was only going with him because she knew he didn't really want her to go with him, tried to tell herself it was only because she knew it would niggle him when she presented herself for the excursion, and could see no reason why, since he had put the fear of God in her, she shouldn't make him suffer a little too.

  But when she placed herself at the window of
the terrace where he couldn't fail to see her if he drove the car to the front of the villa, she knew it was because he had sparked her interest in suggesting she might like to see something of his country.

  She saw him bring the Mercedes to the front of the terrace, saw the soft top had been put in place to protect them from the rain, and knew anxiety just in case he failed to spot her standing there. The rain had given over for the moment, but she thought it likely it would soon start up again.

  Lazar got out of the car, seemed to be checking something to do with the soft top, then catching Clare by surprise he raised his eyes to where she was waiting. For a second or two he just stood watching her, then with an indication of his hand he motioned for her to join him.

  For the first half hour of the drive a tense silence filled the car. Perhaps it was only tension on her part, Clare thought, as she tried to relax, but Lazar wasn't helping by maintaining a moody silence; Not that she wanted him to say anything to her. Heaven forbid! she thought, putting all her concentration into enjoying the mountainous terrain they were going through. It was magnificent scenery and she only wished she felt less strung up and more able to enjoy it. Then she noticed that the rain she had thought had set in for the rest of the day was holding off.