Pagan Lover

by Anne Hampson

  The contempt in her eyes grew, a circumstance which at last appeared to anger him. His mouth tightened, but as yet that was the only outward sign of his feelings.

  ‘You’ve had numerous women, evidently.’

  He inclined his head.

  ‘A fair number,’ he agreed, his glance straying to the bed. ‘Aren’t you going to open the boxes?’

  ‘No, I am not!’

  The compression of his mouth became more pronounced. He flicked a hand imperiously.

  ‘Open the boxes,’ he commanded.

  ‘I shan’t,’ she returned defiantly. ‘I don’t want your gifts, as you call them! Take them to some other of your friends!’

  ‘His eyes narrowed threateningly.

  ‘Obey me,’ he said harshly. ‘If you knew me better you wouldn’t need a second telling.’

  ‘Ordering, you mean!’

  ‘I’m in no mood for inane arguments, Tara! Do as I say, at once!’

  She shook her head, a little afraid now on account of his manner which was threatening to say the least.

  ‘I don’t want your presents,’ she began, then gave a little squeal of pain as her wrist was taken in a vicious grip.

  ‘Do as I tell you!’ he thundered. ‘I shall make you, so you might as well capitulate before you receive something that will both hurt and humiliate.’ There was no mistaking the significant inflection in his voice and after a mere moment’s pause Tara walked stiffly to the bed and after undoing the string, which was in a bow, she lifted the lid of one of the boxes. ‘Take it out,’ ordered her captor authoritatively. ‘You’ll be delighted with it!’

  She did as she was told, extracting the diaphanous nightgown from its wrappings of tissue paper.

  She flung it on the bed and turned, tears in her eyes.

  ‘Let me go,’ she pleaded in a small voice. ‘I haven’t done you any harm, so please let me go.’ Even before she had stopped speaking he was shaking his head, and a spasm of ‘sheer hopelessness swept through her. She put her hands to her face, but before she had time to weep into them they were removed and she was taken almost gently into Leon’s arms.

  ‘Don’t take it to heart, my child,’ he said. ‘It seems much, worse than it is, I assure you. At present you can think only of the wedding you missed and the man you would have married. But it will all soon fade when we are man and wife; you’ll know that it is I who is meant to be your husband and lover.’ He tilted her chin and tapped her cheek possessively. ‘Now, cheer up. Nothing irritates me more than a weeping woman. Undo another box— No, there are other things in that one. Take them out first.’

  Tara looked at him and knew it was wise to obey him. She withdrew bras and panties, another night gown and a lacy petticoat. He ordered her to open another box, and then the last one. She put everything on the bed—two dresses and two skirts, three blouses and several items of clothing for use oh a beach—or the deck of a pleasure boat. Everything bore labels of one of the most expensive fashion houses in Paris. Raising her eyes to his face, Tara said,

  ‘You’re a wealthy man, obviously.’

  ‘I have enough,’ he answered carelessly.

  ‘More than enough for your own good!’ she flashed at him, and again saw his eyes narrow threateningly.

  ‘Be careful,’ he warned in a very soft voice. ‘You’ve seen only the best side of me—’

  ‘The best!’ she exclaimed, and a laugh broke from her lips. ‘My God, if this is your best side then I hope I never see any other!’

  He advanced towards her and she stepped back until her calves touched the bed.

  ‘You ask for it, my girl! Shall I make you smart—or shall I bring you to heel in a very different way?’ Without giving her time to answer he brought her to him with a savage jerk and, thrusting her head back, he pressed his lips to hers’. She struggled even while aware that it was hopeless. His hands roved, caressing, but by no means gently this time. His mouth was cruel in its demands, his body movements erotically persuasive. Tara fought both physically and mentally, but all her efforts met with failure within minutes. He was too masterful for her, too arrogantly confident and determined; he would force her surrender, he whispered, his lips caressing her ear. She tried to push him away, but her hands were imprisoned behind her back for a while before, with a quiet but authoritative inflection, Leon told her to put her arms around his neck. She obeyed, and when he told her to kiss him she obeyed again. He laughed and she hated the sound. He held her from him and she detested the triumph that lit his eyes, mingling with the humour already there.

  Her temper surged and without considering the consequences she bit the finger that was caressing her mouth. He winced, his body caught in a spasm of pain. She saw his disbelieving stare and tried to escape. But it was too late and she felt that hell had been let loose within him as, catching hold of a handful of her hair, he dragged her head back with a ruthlessness that brought a cry of pain to her lips.

  ‘You ... wretch! I ought to pay you in your own medicine!’ Instead, his hands touched her throat, then encased it, closing slowly, increasing the pressure. Her eyes dilated and the fear he saw appeared to satisfy him. His hands were withdrawn from, her neck. ‘Just a warning,’ he told her softly, ‘in case you should ever be that foolish again.’

  ‘I hate you,’ she whispered, every vestige of colour having left her face. ‘I’ll kill you if ever I get the opportunity!

  He moved away, flicking a hand negligently.

  ‘Try one of the dresses on for size,’ he ordered, and sat down on the stool by the dressing-table.

  ‘If I must,’ she said huskily, ‘then lease let me do it in private.’

  ‘Why the fuss? We shall be married in a few days’ time.’

  ‘No!’ She shook her head in violent protest. ‘You can’t make me! No priest is going to take the risk!’

  ‘We shall be married in a few days’ time,’ he repeated flicking a hand again. ‘The blue one—let me see it on you.’

  She stood unmoving, bitter hatred in her eyes.

  ‘What satisfaction can it do you to order me about like this? You’ve taken me from my fiancé, ruined my life—’ Breaking off on a little sob, she burst into tears. ‘I wish I were dead!’ she cried. ‘Let me go—you can’t want a woman whose hatred is such that she’d like to see you lying dead at her feet!’

  ‘I’ve said you’ll not always feel like this.’ He stretched a long leg in front of him, making himself as comfortable as was possible, sitting on the stool as he was. ‘Stop dwelling on the past and look to the future.’

  She turned her back on him, lifting her dress as she walked.

  ‘There is no future for me,’ she whispered hopelessly. ‘I can’t see any light in my life if you keep me prisoner.’

  He got to his feet.

  ‘I’ll be back in five minutes,’ he said. ‘I shall expect to see you in the blue dress.’

  She watched him depart, closing the door and locking it after him. Voices were heard a moment later and she supposed he was giving orders to the crew, as the boat began to move and, looking through the porthole, she saw the lights of the hotels retreating. The beat was pulling away from the harbour, so all formalities must have been gone through. Her heart seemed to stop beating for a few bleak and hopeless seconds. How could she escape? One day, perhaps, but before then much could happen. She began to cry again, then stopped, her mouth tightening. Tears would not get her very far, but resolve might—resolve to fight him in anyway that presented itself. He might in the end rue the day he had abducted her!

  She took off her wedding dress and laid it down across the end of the bed. How different her feelings when, a few hours ago, she had stepped into it and Sue had zipped her up! Life had been good—roses and red wine all the way! It seemed impossible that she was here, on the foreigner’s boat, his prisoner, while her fiancé was frantic, wondering what could have happened to her. He would be pestering the police, would be blaming Jake, perhaps, for not taking more care of h
er. All the guests…. It did not bear thinking about and Tara tried to fix her mind on thoughts of escape, which would be far more profitable.

  She was wearing the dress when Leon returned. His eyes wandered, taking in every curve and line of her figure. He nodded his approval.

  ‘Very attractive. The colour suits you; it matches your eyes. Put the wedding dress away,’ he commanded abruptly as he saw it lying there across the bed. ‘You can throw it overboard,’ he added as the idea came to him.

  ‘Throw it overboard?’ Tara shook her head, her eyes filling up. ‘I shall do no such thing!’

  ‘Then I will.’ He strode purposefully across the cabin and, picking up the lovely flowing gown, he bundled it into one of the cardboard boxes and put on the lid. With it under his arm he went to the door. ‘I expect you’re hungry,’ he observed. ‘We’ll have dinner in the saloon, but in case you have any ideas of making a fuss I’ll tell you that my crew—who are all Greeks—have instructions to ignore any pleas you might make to them. And if you think there is any way of escape, then I must disillusion you here and now.’

  ‘There is one way,’ returned Tara challengingly, looking straight at him, ‘and that’s overboard!’

  ‘I should bring you out,’ was Leon’s tool rejoinder, and he added that she would regret a move like that because he would soundly box her ears.

  ‘One of the crew will come and tell you when the meal is ready to be served—’ He glanced at his watch.

  ‘Should be in about ten minutes or so. His name is Carlos; he’ll show you where to come.

  ‘I shan’t be having anything to eat—’

  ‘You’ll do as you’re told,’ he interrupted imperiously, then left her, locking the door again after him.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  TARA looked at herself in the mirror, wanted to burst into tears again but managed to control the impulse. She and David would have been dining together, and after that....

  It was a deep sigh rather than a sob that broke from her lips; she thought about her captor, and about her statement that she would like to see him dead. Would it be possible to maim him? she wondered, amazed at the cold and practical way she was considering this, if he could be put out of action then surely she would be able to escape.

  A knock on the cabin door was followed by the sound of a key being turned. A stocky, swarthy-skinned Greek stood by in the opening, a grin on his face that Tara would dearly have loved to wipe off. She noticed a gold filling ludicrously occupying a gap between two heavily-discoloured teeth. She shuddered, but went forward when he said,

  ‘Mr Leon says that I haf to show you the dining saloon.’

  She realised she was hungry, and realised too that she would gain nothing by staying that way—if she was allowed to.

  The saloon was the last word in luxury, its walls of pine highly polished, and built-in furniture with, in one corner, a cocktail cabinet. The table was laid with gleaming silver and glass, and there was an appetising odour coming from the dishes standing on the sideboard. Leon, looking even more distinguished than before in navy blue slacks and a white linen jacket, was standing by the cocktail cabinet, apparently absorbed in the perusal of a label on the bottle he held in his hand. He turned, flicking a hand in dismissal to his servant.

  ‘Sit down,’ he invited her. ‘The meal’s ready, but perhaps you would like a drink first?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I don’t want anything thank you.’

  ‘There’s wine with the meal. You can have some of that.’

  She opened her mouth to refuse, then closed it again as she saw his expression. His mouth was tight, his eyes faintly narrowed; she had seen that expression before.

  He drew out a chair and she sat down, taking in the candles in their silver holders, the flowers expertly arranged.

  ‘You had everything prepared,’ she could not resist saying, acid in her tone.

  ‘For a romantic dinner at sea?’ His eyes held a vague hint of humour. ‘Yes, I did have it all prepared. Elias— you’ve not met him yet, but you will in a moment— bought the flowers ready arranged, and the candles we already had—’

  ‘In stock—for, an occasion such as this. I suppose you’ve had dozens of loose women on board this boat.’

  ‘I’d prefer you not to refer to them as loose,’ he returned darkly. ‘Yes, I have had intimate dinners aboard with my women friends.’ He took possession of the chair opposite to her and stretched his long legs under the table. He clapped his hands and a man appeared instantly.

  ‘We’ll have the first course now, Elias. And tell Dimitri to pour the wine.’

  ‘How many men are on board this boat?’ enquired Tara, amazed that she was so calmly accepting the situation in which she found herself. She was hungry, and actually looking forward to eating a meal—though, not in this man’s hateful company, of course.

  ‘Three. It’s not the usual number for the crew of a vessel of this size, but I needed to limit the men to those I knew for sure I could trust implicitly. None of them will ever say a word of what has happened on this trip. Dimitri’s the man who was driving the first taxi’

  ‘He is?’ Her mouth tightened and a sparkle came to her eyes. ‘If only we’d had some suspicion....’

  ‘How could you? You ordered cars for the wedding and they were provided. Why should you ever have suspected that one of them was driven by my servant?’

  She made no answer, and in any case Dimitri was there, pouring the wine, while Elias served smoked salmon as the first course. Dimitri spoke to Leon in Greek; Tara’s eyes glinted and she spoke on impulse.

  ‘I suppose,’ she said acidly, ‘you’re talking about the clever way you helped in my abduction!’

  The man turned, his dark eyes sliding from her white face to that of his employer.

  ‘I was merely carrying out the orders of my master,’ he said quietly, in that same excellent English he had used when driving the taxi.

  ‘It is all right, Dimitri—’ Leon waved him away with a swift flick of his hand. The man went out, following in the wake of Elias whose brown face had all the while been creased in a smile of amusement. Hateful bunch of Greeks! Scoundrels, all of them!

  ‘Don’t they care about the law?’ she flashed, glowering at the man opposite to her.

  ‘They obey orders.’ He spoke slowly, his black eyes never leaving her face. ‘As you will obey me when I order you not to speak like that again to any of my servants. For one thing, it’s undignified. I won’t allow my wife to lose her dignity with anyone else but me. Understand?’

  Fury burned colour into her cheeks.

  ‘You are the last person I’d lower my dignity for! One hand was resting on the snow-white tablecloth and before she could even guess at his intention he had rapped her sharply over the knuckles with the blade of his knife. It was no gentle tap and involuntarily she cried out, tears springing to her eyes, as much from the shock of the unexpected as from the pain inflicted.

  ‘Take heed from that,’ warned Leon darkly. ‘Guard your tongue if you want to avoid punishment.’ He looked at her plate, then his eyes tame back to her face. ‘Dry your eyes, and then eat your salmon,’ he ordered curtly.

  She brought out a handkerchief—the dainty lacy thing which Sue had slipped into the cuff of her wedding-dress. She stared at it, scarcely able to believe what had happened to her since Sue had said, half in humour, half in gravity,

  ‘It’s not unusual for a bride to be so affected by emotion that a tear comes to her eye, so we shall take the precaution of providing you with this.’

  A terrible lump rose in Tara’s throat as she put the handkerchief to her eyes, but instead of using it she wept uncontrollably into it.

  An exclamation of asperity came from the other side of the table.

  ‘What in the name of Hades is wrong with you now?’ he wanted to know. ‘Good God, girl, don’t you ever stop crying!’

  ‘I h-have—plenty—to—to cry—about,’ she sobbed, aware that
the handkerchief was useless. Her serviette was on her knee and she took it up. But to her amazement Leon was there, at her side, and he pulled her gently to her feet and in a moment her eyes had been dried with his handkerchief. Absurdly she found herself saying,

  ‘Th-thank y-you.’

  He tilted her chin, bent his dark head, and kissed her on the lips.

  ‘Sit down and compose yourself,’ he said gently.

  ‘Elias will be back in a few minutes.’

  Tara stared at him as he sat down, unable to determine whether his features really had lost most of their hardness or whether the mist in her eyes made it appear so. But certainly it had been a kindly, intention that had prompted him to come over and dry her eyes. What a contradictory character he had! Never in a thousand years would she have expected the gentleness she had just received at his hands.

  For a while she ate in silence, and then, looking up, she asked a trifle anxiously,

  ‘Where is my wedding-dress?’

  ‘Does it matter?’ he queried in a casual tone of voice.

  ‘I—I don’t th-think it does. But I’d like to have kept it.’

  ‘What for? You will not be wearing it when you marry me.’ The inflexibility in his voice erased all the gentleness that had gone before. She wondered if it had been a momentary lapse because, looking at him now, with his features stern and forbidding, it seemed impossible that kindness could be one of his traits.

  “I don’t know what for,’ she admitted, glad that the sobs in her throat were subsiding, and she could speak without stammering. ‘I can’t think properly. I would like to keep my wedding-dress, though.’

  ‘A morbid sentimentality. It’s down among the fishes,’ he added heartlessly. ‘A pretty thing in its way, but not you at all. What made you choose a style like that?’

  ‘Because I happened to like it!’ she shot at him, feeling that if she tried to suppress her rising anger she would burst into tears again, because of what he had done with her beautiful wedding-dress. ‘A girl usually’ has the right to choose the style of her own wedding-dress!’