Pagan Lover

by Anne Hampson

  ‘It wasn’t one of the servants—’

  ‘Don’t lie—’ His passion overcame him and he shook her unmercifully. ‘I’ve had enough of your deceit—’

  ‘I had every right to deceive you!’ How she managed to conjure up the strength and courage to say that she would never know. But for her trouble she was shaken again, and then that hand came to her throat and she felt the threat of long lean fingers curled menacingly around it. The pressure sent the blood pounding in her head; she struggled in the steel hawser of his hold, twisting about, fighting for her very life. ‘Tell me,’ he said in ‘a very soft tone when he had withdrawn his hand. ‘Tell me who you were making your plans with while you were putting me off by your sly, cunning evasion?’

  She did not know why the words ‘sly’ and ‘cunning’ should have inflamed her, but they did. With a swift movement that took him unawares she was out of his hold and on the other side of the room, close to the open window.

  ‘I had every right to make plans!’ she flashed at him defiantly. ‘Every prisoner has the right to attempt escape. How dare you accuse me of being underhand when I was only trying to help myself?’ These were mild words in comparison to what he had used, but they seemed to add to his rage.

  ‘I’m still waiting to hear the name of your accomplice!’ he snarled, taking a step towards her. ‘Who is he?’

  She was right against the window, conscious of the breeze against her back. To jump.... Surely injury that way was preferable to the injury her husband was ready to inflict upon her. She felt the sill with clammy hand behind her back, and gripped it, yet did not know how she was going to get on to it before her husband, guessing at her intent, bounded across the room and dragged her back. He would spare her no punishment for an act like that, she thought, and almost abandoned the idea. But that dark and evil countenance, those terrifying, eyes, that snarling mouth—and above all those hands of unbelievable strength. . .. All these influenced her mind and with a twist of her body and a spring upwards she was sitting on the sill.

  ‘I’ll jump!’ she cried, a ring of triumph in her voice. ‘Get ready—’

  ‘Stop! You damned fool—stop!’ He was afraid! For the first time in his life probably—he was actually afraid! He moved and her cry halted him on the instant.

  ‘Take another step and I’ll fling myself out of this window!’

  ‘Tara—don’t be such a fool!’ His voice had lost some of its ferocity but by no means all, and she knew for sure that if he could get her inside the room again her situation would be no different from before. Her refusal to inform against Nico had acted as fuel to the already white-hot conflagration of his wrath, and if she should overcome the advantage she had gained he would show her no mercy. ‘Come down from there!’ he ordered. ‘Do as I say, this minute!’

  ‘This is no time for giving me orders,’ she flashed, a trifle bewildered that she had been able to win a round at last. ‘For a change, I happen to have the whip hand. I shall injure myself rather than have you injure me, Leon.’

  She heard his teeth grit together, saw his hands clench at his sides in a sort of frustrated gesture. Exultation swept over her, vanquishing most of her fear, because she knew without doubt that he would not let her jump. And so he would have to capitulate. What a blow that would be to his innate Greek egotism!

  He stood, irresolute, blind with rage at the knowledge of his defeat.

  ‘Come down,’ he said, and this time his voice was almost persuasive.

  ‘Not until you’ve promised not to use violence on me to make me tell you who put this ladder up here—’ She turned to indicate the ladder, and then a scream left her lips as, losing her balance on the precarious perch she was occupying, she felt herself about to fall.

  With incredible speed Leon cleared the intervening space and, grabbing at her clothing, he managed to drag her back into the room. She fell against him, sobbing bitterly as she clung to the lapels of his coat. He held her, but she found no gentleness in his arms, nor did he speak any soothing words to her. His body was hard and taut; when eventually she became more composed, and looked up at him, her heart failed her, for his wrath was as fearsome as ever.

  ‘You damned little fool!’ he thundered when at last she had managed to suppress her sobs. ‘I ought to take a horsewhip to you for behaving like that!’ But instead he jerked her body close to his, forced her face up and, bending his head, he crushed her trembling lips with his hard and ruthless mouth. She tried to get away, but by now she had little strength left. In fact, she was utterly drained and weary. But her husband had neither sympathy nor mercy for her condition. She had pierced his pride by offering him an ultimatum which he could not ignore. Another moment and he would have humbled himself sufficiently to have made her the promise she demanded. He gazed down with merciless indifference to her distress, and took her lips beneath his again and again, punishing her for what she had done.

  At last he put her from him and closed the window. She watched his tall figure as he turned again. He had saved her life ... but for what? His own pleasure, that was all. His eyes were darkly murderous as he met her misty gaze, his thin mouth more cruel than she had ever seen it. With a little moan she saw him coming closer, felt the steely pressure of his long brown fingers as he gripped her arms and brought her to him.

  ‘I shall question you again in the morning,’ he warned. ‘But for now—’ He kissed her and she quivered in his arms. She had asked for it, she told herself one moment, while the next she was reminded of the fact that she was here only because of his compulsion. ‘I did warn you,’ he said after a long while, ‘that I am never taken unawares, didn’t I?’

  She nodded and said meekly,

  ‘Yes, Leon, you did.’

  ‘Do you know why I came to be here tonight?’

  ‘No,’ she returned, her breath shortening on a little sob.

  ‘But you would like to know, wouldn’t you?’

  She shook her head wearily.

  ‘You always win,’ she quivered, ‘and you always will.’

  ‘You’ve given up hope of running away from’ me?’

  She swallowed thickly, her heart weeping in the full knowledge that only a miracle could save her now.

  ‘Yes ... I think so,’ she answered in response to the little shake he gave her as a reminder that she had not answered at once.

  ‘It was this afternoon that I began going over what you’d said about making me the promise later. You said you would have to have time to think about it. Well, the whole thing seemed suddenly to become phoney. I caught on to the idea that you weren’t sincere and from that your whole manner stood out as a ruse to deceive me, to dupe me—and I like a fool had swallowed the bait!’ For one terrified moment Tara thought he would punish her again. ‘I couldn’t understand how I had come to accept it all, and then I realised it was because I trusted you! Well, I trusted you no longer. I hired a racing launch in Piraeus and came here as fast as the engine would carry me....’ He paused and to her surprise she saw his mouth quiver, and there were little beads of perspiration glistening on his forehead. ‘What I have I hold, wife, and perhaps now you will accept me as your husband—and your master?’

  She sighed and turned her head from him. He brought it back his eyes dark and fierce as they compelled hers to meet them.

  ‘Tomorrow,’ she faltered, ‘are you going to ill-treat me again?’

  ‘Ill-treat?’ His hand was unbuttoning the front of her blouse as he spoke.

  ‘To try and make me tell you who put the ladder there?’

  ‘I shall question you, yes, but I shall also question the servants. There isn’t one of them who would dare to lie to me.’

  Tara thought of the letter and knew that either Davos or Kleanthes would tell Leon about it. A shuddering sigh that was almost a sob shook her body. Tomorrow would be another ordeal for her.

  ‘I shall never tell you,’ she whispered hoarsely. ‘You can kill me, but I’ll never let you know who helped me.�
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  ‘I shan’t kill you....’ The blouse dropped from his hand and his lips began to explore the tender curve above the lacy bra she wore. Slowly, as if he enjoyed every second, he removed the bra. ‘I enjoy you far too much, wife! Never have I derived greater pleasure from a woman than I have from you.’ His wandering mouth found her breast, while the other was crushed in his lean fingers. Despite her tiredness she was alive to his powerful magnetism and a thrill of anticipation was already spreading throughout her body. She quivered as, unzipping her skirt, he brought his hand against her flesh as he brought it down. ‘Step out of it,’ he commanded, and held her away so that she could obey him. Delicate, transient colour stained her cheeks and he laughed. ‘You can still blush, child. It is rather touching—certainly it’s delectable.’ He drew her to him again, putting the toe of an elegant suede shoe beneath the skirt to kick it out of the way. ‘You are still very much overdressed,’ he told her with mocking satire. ‘Let us have the rest off! ‘ His hands wandered, caressing, persuasively sensuous, while his lips tantalised her breasts. Tara clung to him, straining her body to his as a great yearning swelled within her, drawing her into the deluge of his pagan ardour. With a laugh of triumph he swung her up into his arms and carried her across the room. She watched him get undressed, every fibre of her being craving for his kisses, even though they were brutal, his arms, hard and cruel, his body, dominant and masterful, compelling hers to total and willing surrender.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  THE following morning, after Leon had questioned his wife and made no progress, he had the servants in one by one and as Tara expected the matter of the letter was brought to his notice.

  ‘Who was it from?’ he asked, but Tara would give nothing away. ‘It was not from the post office, obviously,’ he said grittingly.

  ‘No, it was from the person who helped me.’

  ‘And you are determined not to tell me who it is?’ He was exceedingly puzzled, unable to understand how she could have got into touch with anyone outside the confines of the gardens. ‘Some knavery has been going on under my very nose,’ he said harshly, ‘and I shan’t rest until I’ve unravelled the mystery.’ He looked at her. They were in the sitting-room, where he had interviewed all his servants. ‘You do realise that an even closer watch will be kept on you from now on?’

  She shrugged and said resignedly,

  ‘I don’t care any more, Leon. I’m your prisoner and I suppose there will be no escape for me for a very long time.’ She sat there looking at him, remembering last night as she lay in his arms after the tumult of his passion had, as always, swept her to the very heights of bliss. Before, she had, after a while, wanted nothing more than to move away from him, to the other side of the bed. But last night everything seemed to have been different. Leon was more gentle for one thing, but it was not only that. She had wanted to remain in his arms, had no thought of shrinking from him and trying to move. She had revelled in the warmth and strength of his body long after the supreme moment was over. And this morning, when they had risen fairly late, she had wanted him to stay beside her, with his arms enclosing her, protectively.

  ‘And I suppose you know too, that even if you make me that promise I shall not be able to trust you?’

  Again she shrugged.

  ‘I’ll make the promise if you want me to,’ she offered, ‘and I’ll keep it. However, if you can’t trust me it’s not a bit of use my making the promise. I shall have to live as I’m living now—as I’ve been living for weeks.’ Tears started to her eyes and she swept an angry hand across them. ‘What good are tears?’ she said pettishly, talking to herself rather than to him.

  ‘I don’t like to see you cry,’ he said.

  ‘I didn’t think it would affect you,’ she returned, still in the same pettish voice.

  He rose from his chair and went over to the window, his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his slacks. She looked at his broad, straight back, noticing the tensed muscles through the cotton shirt he wore. Something stirred within her, a new and indefinable emotion. What was there about him that was different? Last night—or rather, in the early hours of this morning— she had almost fallen out of the bedroom window. She would have been killed at worst and badly injured at best. When first she had gained the advantage she had been in that state where she could have carried out her threat to jump. But later the very idea was terrifying and she knew she could not do it. However, by then she had realised that she had the whip hand anyway, since she only had to threaten and he would take notice. The result was the ultimatum, which he would have had to accept, letting her have her own way. Fate had intervened, sparing him the humiliation of defeat. She had believed that he would threaten her again, but instead he had made love to her. He had been afraid, she recalled, terribly afraid. . . Did that fear mean more than what she had concluded? She had believed that his only reason for wanting her was desire. But that fear —examined in retrospect—seemed to denote something very different.

  He turned to her at last and said,

  ‘I feel that you will always try to escape me, Tara.’

  She frowned at the flatness of his voice; it seemed to her that a terrible dejection had him in its grip. ‘You see, I never really believed you would want to go.’

  ‘You believed you held me by—by the physical pleasure you could give me?’

  ‘Yes. I felt sure of it.’ His eyes brooded as he sat down, taking possession of the chair he had only a moment ago vacated. He was restless, uncertain—not his usual cool and superior self at all! No, there as a hint of humility about him that staggered his wife. She found she did not care for it in the least. It was out of character; she had become used to his mastery, which had never failed to thrill her even while she fought against it. Now there was something lacking in his make-up … something attractive...? She glanced down at her hand, clasped in her lap. Something was happening to her, something vague but pleasant.

  She said, in a quiet and sweetly gentle tone,

  ‘I did say that physical compatibility isn’t enough, if you remember?’

  ‘I remember,’ he replied brusquely and without looking at her.

  ‘There must be love in marriage,’ she insisted.

  ‘You were in love with David, or so you believed. Do you really believe that, had you married him, you’d both have remained blissfully happy for the rest of your lives?’

  ‘Yes, of course....’ Her voice trailed away to a bewildered silence, for suddenly it seemed that she had doubts, grave ones, regarding the future with David.

  ‘Well?’ The hard eyes were narrowed as they looked intently into hers. ‘You’re not sure, is that it?’

  Dazedly she shook her head, gazing at him in open wonderment, thunderstruck by the revelation that was slowly dawning in her mind. Impossible that she could be in love with this monster! —this pagan Greek who never missed an opportunity of showing her his mastery, of mocking her in that arrogant way of his that was designed—she was sure—to demonstrate his superiority over her.

  ‘I—I am s-sure—yes!’

  He laughed at her and said with a lift of his brows,

  ‘Who are you trying to convince, Tara?’ All the self-assurance was back and the hint of humility gone. This was the Leon she knew so well and had become used to… and … loved....

  No use denying it! She tried to shake it off, seeing life without him. Life would be good! Of course it would—with no one bossing her about, giving orders which she was compelled to obey. She would be free….But did she want to be free? Life without him. ... She closed her eyes, trying to shut out the bleak and lonely path which went endlessly on before her. The future, with his memory ever fresh and clear—— No! She was not so stupid as to have fallen in love with him. He was a brute and always would be.

  ‘I’m not in love with him,’ she cried silently over and over again. ‘And even if I was,’ she added inconsistently, ‘I wouldn’t want to stay with him, simply because of his beliefs that men in th
is part of’ the world are everything and women nothing!’

  ‘I asked who you aye trying to convince.’ Her husband’s voice came quietly and she raised her eyes, bewildered eyes and almost tearful. What upheavals there were in her life, and all on account of this man’s criminal act in snatching her from the man she loved. Yes, it was David she loved! She had known it all the time. This husband of hers gave her only physical satisfaction, but David could have given her that and more important things besides.

  ‘I know it’s David I love, and I believe we would have been happy all our lives.’

  ‘Tell me about him?’ A frown now to accompany the words, and a return of that brooding, depressed manner. ‘What is he like in appearance?’

  She told him, then explained all the things they had had in common. She talked nostalgically about the furnishing of the smart little house they had taken a mortgage on. She talked of the thrill of waking up on her wedding day and finding it was bright and sunny.

  ‘My dress was beautiful—’ She stopped and a tear strayed through her long curling lashes to settle on her pale cheek. She noticed the way Leon swallowed, as if trying to remove something in his throat; and his hands were clenching and unclenching—an unconscious movement, she decided, to release some strong and troublesome inner emotion. What was he thinking about? Always she had found him inscrutable and he was no different at this moment. ‘You didn’t think my dress was beautiful,’ she continued with a catch in her voice, ‘so you threw it in—in the sea.’

  She did not mean it as a barb, or anything to hurt at all.., but to her astonishment she saw him wince.

  ‘I think we shall change the subject,’ he decided shortly, and glanced at his watch. ‘I shall have to work in my study for the next couple of hours, but after that I’ll join you in the garden.’

  He stood up; Tara lifted her head, tilting it right back, and said after a small hesitation,

  ‘Are you letting the matter drop—about my trying to escape, I mean?’