LoveMakers

by Gould, Judith

  She was silent.

  'Am I the first man who you were ever attracted to?'

  She thought briefly of Mickey Hoyt. She had been attracted to him, yes. But she'd been more attracted by who Mickey was than by anything else. She shook her head. 'No. I've never really been attracted to a man. But I've . . . I've been hurt. And I don't want to be hurt again.'

  He stopped dancing abruptly, and they stood in the middle of the floor facing each other. His hands were still holding her. The waltz strains and swirling couples flowed around them. 'And you think,' he asked softly, 'that I have not been hurt also?'

  Her voice was husky. 'I. . . I don't know.' Then, before she knew what she was saying, she blurted out, 'At Deauville - the woman who tried to commit suicide over you - '

  'That much publicized case.' He laughed shortly. 'She wanted to marry me. What else is new?'

  'And you didn't want to marry her?'

  His gaze was level. 'No. Not her.'

  'But she died, or nearly died. Over you.'

  His smile was grim. 'Nearly died? She took pills, yes, but not enough to kill herself. She tried to trap me into marriage. Nothing was too much, as long as she got what she wanted. Which she did not.'

  Charlotte-Anne turned away.

  'You don't believe me?' he asked gently.

  'That a man like you can be trapped?'

  'Am I so different from other men?'

  'Yes. No.' She was confused. 'I don't know.'

  'That woman in Deauville. She was a baroness. I warned her before we ever saw each other seriously that it was to be a brief affair. Somehow she thought that it wouldn't matter. That she would gain a hold over me nevertheless. She tried. It was not until several weeks after we met that I realized she would do anything to marry me. She thought that by making love to me . . . ' His voice trailed off in midsentence.

  'That you would marry her?'

  He nodded. 'She waited long enough until she could tell me she believed she was pregnant.'

  Charlotte-Anne looked startled. 'Was she?'

  'I don't know.' He shook his head. 'I suppose now I will never know.'

  They began to dance again, this time more solemnly.

  'But. . . did you try to find out if she had a child?'

  'She never showed pregnancy, if that is what you mean. If she was carrying a child, she could have lost it when she tried suicide, or had an abortion. Or else it was just another ruse.'

  Charlotte-Anne stared into his eyes. 'I feel sorry for you,' she said slowly.

  He smiled then. 'I have gotten over it. But it is nice to know that somebody believes the truth. Most people don't. I have been made out to be a womanizing ogre. Nobody wants to believe otherwise.'

  'I do.'

  'Why? Because somebody wanted you also? Or you him?'

  'Because I wanted him,' she said, sighing. 'Because, like the baroness, I would have done anything. Only . . . She tightened her lips.

  'Only what?' he prodded gently.

  'It wasn't him I wanted. It was what he could do for me. Now, looking back on it, I'm very ashamed of myself.'

  'You are young and inexperienced. Perhaps you did not know better.'

  'But I did. And you?' She raised her chin. 'You are experienced?'

  'Yes, I suppose you could call me that. But I was no match for a much older, and even more experienced woman.' He grinned. 'I'm afraid I am very weak when it comes to temptations. It seems I can never say no. Not even to you now.'

  'But I'm not trying to tempt you.'

  He held her closer. 'I know that. Which makes you all the more tempting.'

  Her eyes fell and they danced on in silence. The waltz ended, and another began.

  'I'd like to share the night with you,' he whispered.

  She pulled herself away. 'I'm sorry.' She shook her head. 'I'm not ready for that. I've got to go. It seems we've danced forever, and I'm tired and out of breath.'

  They stopped and he led her off the floor. 'Perhaps you would like some fresh air?' he suggested. 'We could take a walk on deck.'

  She shook her head. 'No, I think I need time to myself.'

  'Because I frighten you?'

  Her features contracted in a little frown, and she shook her head again. She didn't know what was happening to her, only that she ached deeply for him, longed for his touch. How could she explain to him that her own feelings frightened her far more than anything he could do to her?

  He held both her hands in his. 'Then I will escort you to your stateroom.'

  'No, I'd rather you didn't.'

  He looked deeply disappointed. 'If that is what you wish,' he said.

  'I do. And thank you.' She gave a little smile. 'It was a most memorable evening.'

  'I will see you again?' he asked hopefully. 'Tomorrow?'

  'Perhaps tomorrow.' Then she turned and quickly left, leaving him standing alone, his face brooding.

  Robyn came up to him from behind. 'And to think that you never once asked me to dance,' she said chidingly.

  Scowling, Luigi turned to her. 'I'm sorry. I do not feel like another dance. Perhaps some other time.' Then he turned away again and stared across the massive room.

  Robyn said nothing, but her sharp eyes followed his gaze. Charlotte-Anne had just reached the door, a slender figure in white.

  It was the first time in years that a woman Luigi had danced with had not ended up in his bed.

  6

  'You,' Robyn said pointedly as she took a seat in the narrow, green-leather armchair, 'disappeared awfully fast last night.' She was wearing a pale, Empire-style peignoir with a high bodice and a matching gossamer robe, and she held a cup and saucer in her hands.

  Charlotte-Anne sat up in bed and shrugged. 'I was tired,' she mumbled evasively.

  'Were you now?' Robyn cocked her head and eyed her curiously. 'Or were you running away?'

  'Running away? From what?' Charlotte-Anne stood up and stretched.

  'Not from what,' Robyn corrected. 'From whom.'

  Charlotte-Anne flipped a strand of hair out of her eyes. 'What time is it?'

  'Nine-thirty. In other words, time to have breakfast and get some fresh air. We can't have you sleeping your life away. You're far too young to do that. And besides . . . ' Robyn took another sip of her black coffee. 'I gather that someone is waiting up for you.'

  Charlotte-Anne went into the small bathroom and looked at herself in the mirror above the sink. She was pleased with her reflection. She couldn't ever remember looking as well rested, or having slept so soundly. 'What time's breakfast?' she called over her shoulder.

  'Any time you want it,' Robyn called back. 'I took the liberty of ordering it on a tray. If I hadn't, by the time you'd get to the dining room they would be serving lunch. Your breakfast's on the dressing table in my stateroom. Help yourself.'

  'I don't mind if I do.' Charlotte-Anne came back out of the bathroom. 'I'm ravenous.'

  'It's the sea air.' Robyn smiled. 'I'm the same way.'

  Charlotte-Anne went through the connecting door to Robyn's stateroom. After a moment she came back. 'That's all there is to eat?' she asked in disbelief.

  'A lady,' Robyn said, 'does not need anything more in the morning than a cup of black coffee and a single croissant. That's all I had, and that's all you'll have.'

  'Robyn.,' Charlotte-Anne scowled at her in disgust. 'I'm used to having eggs and toast and sausages. There's not even any sugar.'

  'And you don't need any. You'll get used to black coffee soon enough.'

  'But. . . it's so bitter.'

  'It's an acquired taste, and I think it's high time you acquired it.'

  'And I hardly ate a bite at dinner last night,' Charlotte-Anne protested. 'Besides, I'm not fat. I don't need to go on a diet.'

  'No, you don't,' Robyn agreed. 'Not yet, at least, because you are young. But when you're my age, you'll thank me. As to dinner, I know you ate next to nothing. That's not my fault, it's yours, so don't complain. Now have your coffee and croissant,
and then get bathed and dressed. I've made a date for shuffleboard at ten. You'll like it. It's a lot of fun.'

  'And what if I don't want to play?'

  Robyn made a gesture of impatience. 'Don't always be so argumentative. If you don't want to play, you won't have to. It's that simple. But eat your breakfast and get ready, for God's sake. I'll run you a bath.'

  'I might be a while,' Charlotte-Anne murmured, a frown drawing her brows together. 'Why don't you go on up ahead? I'll join you later.'

  'Oh, no, you don't. I'm staying right here; otherwise you'll never get out of this cabin.'

  Charlotte-Anne sighed and went to get the breakfast tray. She carried it into the bathroom with her and ate while soaking in a tub of fragrant bubbles.

  She was surprised to discover she was humming softly to herself.

  But Robyn, pressing her ear against the bathroom door and listening, wasn't in the least bit surprised. Not by the humming, nor by how much care Charlotte-Anne later took getting dressed.

  The sun shone brightly and the salt air was tangy and fresh. The winds of the North Atlantic were cool, whipping the pennants and fluttering the French tricolor which hung from the stern. Overhead, the wind tugged the dark plumes of smoke out of the massive funnels and pulled them backward toward the horizon. All around, the ocean looked endless and bluish gray, each triangular wave topped with foamy little crests.

  Robyn looked very stylish dressed in a pair of loose-fitting, gray twill trousers, a white sweater, and a string of marble-sized pearls. It was considered a rather daring, if casual morning outfit, but as long as she didn't wear it past noon it was acceptable shipboard attire.

  Charlotte-Anne, standing off to one side and watching the game of shuffleboard, was dressed in an oyster-colored cashmere-and-silk sweater, a modest, off-white pleated wool skirt, and oyster leather shoes. She had brushed her hair and tied it back with a silk ribbon, and it made her look much younger and more vulnerable than she had the night before. The moment Luigi caught sight of her from a distance, he hurried toward her. At that moment, he knew she was truly the most beautiful young woman in the world, at least for him. He was used to armies of cool, sophisticated society beauties, but Charlotte-Anne's fresh radiance was something entirely new to him, and made any woman he had ever known pale by comparison.

  'Good morning. You are a sight for sore eyes,' he marveled, smiling at her. 'I trust you slept well?'

  She smiled at him and nodded. He looked even more handsome in daylight than he had in the Grande Salle & Manger, or on the dance floor. His complexion looked more marble-like, and the dark blue blazer, white slacks, and paisley ascot suited him perfectly.

  'Now that you're well rested,' he said, taking her by the arm and leading her away from the shuffleboard game, 'I insist on one thing.'

  'Oh?' She turned her back to a lifeboat and raised her eyebrows at him. The wind whipped at her skirt. 'And what is that?'

  'That you devote the entire day to me.'

  'Oh! But I couldn't.' She made a little gesture. 'I mean, I'd bore you in no time at all.' She glanced at a ripe-bodied brunette who paraded past, eyeing him openly.

  He looked at the woman, then back at Charlotte-Anne with a grin. 'As you can see, there is no contest. I would much rather be with you.' He took her hands, held them, and gazed deep into her eyes. 'I want only to be with you,' he emphasized softly. 'Is that too much to ask?'

  She didn't reply.

  'Do I have your permission to share your company, or must I get it from someone else?'

  Charlotte-Anne laughed, and suddenly all her nervousness seemed to drain away. In the bright daylight, he seemed far less threatening than he had the evening before. 'If that's what you want,' she replied, 'who am I to ruin your day? But you must promise me one thing.'

  'And what is that?'

  'That you won't let me starve. Robyn thinks that every woman needs to watch her weight, and I'm famished.'

  'In that case, I will not let you starve. The Cafe-Grill should already be open. If not, I am certain a steward can bring us something. Myself, I have feasted on shad roe for breakfast, but there is nothing we Italians like as much as a woman with an appetite.'

  'Prince Fontanesi, you have yourself a deal.' She stuck out her hand and they shook on it.

  The rest of that first day at sea flew past in a magical blur. They swam in the long swimming pool; he tried to teach her to play tennis up on the sun deck; they watched The Champ with Wallace Beery in the theater; they shopped in the arcade, where he insisted upon buying her a blown-glass unicorn she admired; and then they dined once again at the captain's table. And somehow, during it all, they found time to talk about themselves. That night, after dinner, they went up on the sun deck and stood under the canopy of stars. It was late, and they were alone. The moon was a crescent riding high in the heavens. The waves slapped softly against the hull many decks below, and from somewhere forward drifted the muted strains of a waltz. Common sense told her that the Ile de France was a floating city filled with hundreds of passengers and crew members; yet somehow, she felt as though she and Luigi were two people standing alone atop a bluff which rose up out of the middle of the Atlantic Ocean.

  She had never felt so tormented, so torn in two.

  As the lightheartedness of the day had worn on and evening had approached, she once again found herself reverting to the opinion she'd formed of Luigi yesterday - that everything about him was quite frightening. Yet at the same time, she envisioned his arms intertwined with her body, imagined running the palms of her hands down his broad naked back, which she knew would be smoothly muscled and warm. She trembled, at once fearing yet hungering for his touch. But most of all, she was tormented by the thought that his touch might never come.

  He was so unpredictable, as though he was of some other species. He was unlike any of the American men she had met. None of them had that sensuous, dangerous sense of purpose lurking beneath a thin veneer of alabaster skin. One part of her insisted she resist him when the time came; another whispered that she plunge headlong into any offered passion, no matter how short-lived or ill-timed it was, no matter how much she could get hurt in the process.

  She had never before felt so many conflicting emotions, and was desperately confused. She wished she could seek advice from somebody, but realized instinctively even Robyn could not help her; she was on her own. She had to choose to either follow or abandon the dictates of her heart.

  It was with a shock that she suddenly realized she barely knew him. It didn't seem to matter.

  Already, she was deeply in love with him. But he was Luigi di Fontanesi, one of the most sought after and eligible bachelors in the world, and she knew that could mean only one thing. Her love for him, whether she gave into it or not, was a doomed thing, because surely it was one-sided.

  How was she to know that Prince Luigi di Fontanesi, heir to one of the oldest titles in all Italy, the only child of one of his country's richest and most respected families - was thinking exactly the same thoughts about her?

  She glanced at him out of the corners of her eyes. He stood with his back to her, leaning against the railing, with his hands tucked in his pockets as he stared out at the sea. The pale moonlight and muted deck lights cast his shadow along the teak planks underfoot. His face was cast in a frown of indecision, his lips tightly compressed in thought. His eyes seemed far away, but that was only an illusion. His thoughts were focused on something very nearby. On Charlotte-Anne.

  Slowly, he turned to face her. She stood tall and slender, sheathed in wraithlike white. The wind swirled and tugged at her gown. Her pale eyes caught his gaze and glowed iridescently, like a cat's in the night.

  He, too, had never been so at odds with himself. And suddenly he knew why: he had never really been in love before.

  For once, he was taken completely by surprise. Could it be love? God only knew, he'd had more than his fair share of women, especially considering he was only twenty-nine years old. But always, whether
the woman was aristocrat or peasant, blonde, brunette, or redhead, single or married, of creamy ivory skin or rosy English complexion, he found that the moment they first made love the relationship began to die its sometimes slow, sometimes quick, but always inevitable death. Because all those women had one thing in common; they had all believed that his bed was a direct line to his wedding band. They never stopped to consider that he would recognize the true nature of their desire, that their lust was for his principality, and not for him.

  But Charlotte-Anne had not thrown herself at him. Indeed, she had at first fought him off. He knew she was special. There was a natural aura, an innocence blended with a regal poise, that made her the perfect candidate for his principessa. She looked born to the part. But far more important, he thought she was the most desirable woman he had ever seen. Until now, love and sex had been separate entities in his mind. Now these two desires - one a physical longing he had never had any problem sating, the other a mystery which had always eluded him - had merged neatly, creating one strong, throbbing emotion which pulsed so powerfully through him, he was confused. He found himself yearning for the simple, familiar relationships of his past, for the advantages of never becoming involved. But there was a disadvantage too, and he only realized now what he had been missing. He had never before felt quite as incredibly alive, or exhilarated, as when Charlotte-Anne was with him.

  Here was a woman who seemed to embody everything he had ever sought. For once, he was frankly terrified. He wondered how to proceed. He did not want to do anything which might frighten her off. If love was this rare, and this enchanted, then he wished to nurture it forever.

  She would make the perfect Principessa di Fontanesi.

  He wanted to marry her.

  He stood there for what seemed an eternity. He devoured her with his eyes. His body craved her, but he realized that his heart craved her just as much, if not more. And she just stood silently, gazing back at him, her head held high, her hair gleaming like molten silver in the moonlight.

  'Charlotte-Anne?' His voice was soft as he reached out and gently pulled her close. She looked up into the sculpted planes of his face. It was at once so strong and firmly molded, yet so aristocratic and delicate. His black hair gleamed sleekly, and his lashes were dark and thick around his glowing eyes.