It was bad enough that she was going to have to tell him that she’d lost the de Zsadany contract; she certainly wasn’t going to do anything else to jeopardise Edmund’s livelihood.
She shivered at the intensity in his expression as he spoke again.
‘I don’t suppose you’ll want to hang about, so I’ll arrange for a taxi to be waiting at...shall we say six-fifteen?’
Prudence nodded mutely.
‘Good.’ His mouth twisted into a grim smile. ‘And make sure you’re in it. Otherwise you, your family and all those nice people at Seymour’s will live to regret it.’
And with that he turned and walked out of the room.
Her heart pounding erratically, Prudence stared after him. A rising hysteria was scrabbling inside her like a trapped animal. She’d ruined everything—and not just for Edmund.
She shivered. Seven years ago she’d vowed to forget him. Some mornings she’d barely been able to drag herself out of bed. Only one thought had kept her from pulling the duvet over her head: that in time she would be able to think of Laszlo Cziffra with nothing more than a bruised sadness. And one day she might just have managed it.
Her face quivered. One fervid, feverish kiss later and how foolish that hope seemed. For now she saw that it didn’t really matter how much time she had. Seven years or seven hundred—it would make no difference. It would never be long enough for her to forget Laszlo and how he had made her feel.
Prudence lifted a hand to her mouth, remembering the burning heat of his kiss. How he could apparently still make her feel.
CHAPTER FOUR
LASZLO WOKE WITH a start. His room was dark and cold but it was not the cool night air which had shaken him from sleep. He shivered and rolled onto his side, feeling his heart drumming against his chest. It had been a long time since ‘the dream’ had woken him—so long he had almost forgotten the mixture of apprehension and panic that followed in its wake. Of course the feeling of dread would subside, but Prudence Elliot wasn’t just haunting his dreams now. She was here, in his home, sleeping under his roof, her presence tugging at him like a fish hook.
Scowling, he rolled onto his back. In the darkness, he felt his cheeks grow warm.
Last night Prudence had accused him of being a coward and a liar. Her accusations—so unexpected, so bitter—had left him breathless; and now they lay lodged under his heart, cold and solid like stone. He rolled back onto his side, trying to shift the memory of her words, but the empty space beside him seemed only to strengthen their tenacity.
He felt misery swell in his chest.
Once upon a time he had imagined Prudence lying next to him in this very bed—had imagined bringing her to the castle as his new bride, even pictured her face, her surprise and excitement. He frowned. And now she was here. Only she was sleeping in a guest room and she had come not as his wife but as an unbidden, unwelcome intruder.
He grunted crossly. No matter. She would be gone soon enough. His breathing sounded suddenly harsh in the darkness, and anger, frustration and resentment fused in a rip tide of emotion.
Gritting his teeth, he shifted irritably beneath the sheets, knowing that sleep was inconceivable now. He fumbled in the darkness for the bedside lamp and a soft light illuminated the room. Squinting, he rolled onto his side. What the hell was wrong with him? Prudence’s imminent departure should have comforted him, so why was the thought of it making him feel more tense?
He swallowed. Guilt. That was why. Picturing his grandfather’s disappointment, he frowned through the ache in his chest. But what choice had he had? Working with her, living with her, would have been intolerable. Laszlo shivered, his jaw tightening. Firing her had been the right, the only thing to do. And it should have been the end of it. Only then she’d told him she wanted a divorce.
He winced inwardly: divorce. She’d thrown the word at him carelessly, almost as an afterthought. But to him it had felt like a punch to the head. Grimacing, he punched the pillow in return and lay back again. She had been so insistent—she who had never known her own mind, who had questioned every tiny detail. Demanding her freedom! Freedom from something she’d never even believed in.
The only thing that had mattered had been hurting her and proving her wrong, and so he’d kissed her. And, feeling her melt against him, he’d felt a surge of triumph. Only now the triumph had faded and he was lost—swept far away, a stranger to himself, his entire body a quivering mass of frustrated desire.
Damn her! He shouldn’t be feeling like this; after all, he hated Prudence Elliot. A muscle flickered in his jaw and suddenly, remembering her mouth beneath his, his body instantly and painfully tightened. He rubbed his hands tiredly over his face. Okay: he wanted her. That was undeniable. Maybe hatred was the wrong word. It certainly didn’t do justice to this whole set of feelings that were plaguing him now. Not that he even really knew what they were. Just that his life had grown infinitely more complicated and less certain overnight.
Abruptly he tired of his thoughts and hoping to shift the uneasy, shifting mass of arguments inside his head, he switched off the lamp and stared at the window, watching the light creep under the curtains. And then, feeling suddenly drained, he slid down under the bedclothes and sleep came at last as the sun began to warm his room.
* * *
It was time to leave.
Pressing herself into the corner of the taxi, Prudence sat back and, closing her eyes, said a silent farewell to Kastely Almasy. It should have been a relief to leave, to know that this was the end. But as the car accelerated down the drive she was fighting hard not to give in to the sense of failure and desolation that filled her chest. How could it have come to this?
Sadly, she remembered the first time she’d seen Laszlo. It had been at a funfair, and even though she’d been almost intoxicated by the lights and the noise, the screaming and too much sugar, she had still lost her footing when she’d noticed him standing slightly aloof from the crowd. His dark-eyed beauty had been like a shot of neat alcohol. A rushing, teasing dizziness she could still remember. In that moment, she had fallen swiftly and irrevocably in love and later lying in his arms, she had felt invincible in the sanctum of their intimacy.
Prudence sat up straighter, her jaw tightening. But that had been seven years ago. Now all that remained of that exhilaration and ecstasy was a crushing hangover. She sighed irritably. Tiredness was making her self-indulgent. Last night sleep had eluded her. Images from the evening, dark like wine, had spilled and spread through her dreams: Laszlo’s brooding gaze, the sensual curve of his mouth, his strong hands reaching out to pull her closer...
Her body stilled as she remembered the fierce, vivid pleasure of his kiss and how badly she had wanted him to keep kissing her and touching her and—
Abruptly, her eyes opened. And what? She caught her breath. Wasn’t letting him kiss her a big enough mistake? Perhaps she should sleep with him too, just to make her humiliation complete? Maybe then the message would get through to her. That his kiss had been nothing to do with passion and everything to do with power.
She should have slapped him or pushed him away—or better still run away. But of course she’d done nothing of the sort. Her body had been utterly beyond her control—her hunger, her need for him, hot and unstoppable like lava. Even though he’d been so cruelly vindictive and unreasonable, everything and everyone—her family, her career, her pride—had been surrendered to the honeyed sweetness of his lips and the warm, treacherous pleasure gathering inside her.
Wincing, Prudence bit her lip. What had happened last night shouldn’t have happened. But it wasn’t surprising that it had. Last night their past had dropped into the present like an atom bomb. She and Laszlo had been like the survivors of a blast, staggering around, unable to speak or hear. Physical intimacy had been inevitable, for they had both been wounded and needing comfort. And besides, sex had always been the way they’d communicated best.
She stared bleakly out of the window, feeling the comet’s tail of h
is caresses trailing over her skin, and then she shivered, feeling suddenly empty and drained. Now was not the time to be indulging in fantasies. Laszlo Cziffra might still be her ‘husband’ but he was not her lover. He was the enemy, and that kiss had been a ruthless demonstration of his power—not some resurrection of the passion they had once shared.
She lifted her chin, feeling anger effervesce inside her. How dare he twist what had been beautiful and blissful between them for his own ends! He was a monster! A bullying, manipulative monster. For all that talk of being married was just that: talk. After all, what kind of a husband would sack his own wife?
Seething with frustration, she glanced out of the window at the wall that edged the estate, her thoughts scampering in every direction. How could he just fire her anyway? She frowned. She, or rather Seymour’s, had been hired by Mr Janos de Zsadany—not Laszlo Cziffra!
She felt another spasm of anger and then suddenly, unthinkingly, leant forward and hammered on the glass behind the taxi driver’s head.
‘Stop! Stop the car, please!’
She was out of the taxi before it had even ground to a halt and she caught a glimpse of the driver’s startled face as she half stepped, half fell onto the road.
‘S-sorry,’ she stammered breathlessly. ‘I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just that I’ve realised there’s something I need to do back at the castle.’ She felt her cheeks burn as the man stared at her incredulously. ‘I just remembered it. Just then,’ she said hurriedly. ‘So I’ll just go back and...’
Her voice tailed off as he frowned and, suddenly remembering that she needed to pay, Prudence reached hastily into her handbag. But the driver shook his head.
‘No. No need. It is settled. No need for money. But no need to walk. I take you back, yes?’
Prudence felt a sudden twinge of alarm. What exactly was she doing? And then, with shock and something like excitement, she realised that she didn’t know—and what was more, she didn’t care. All her life she’d made plans and followed the rules and what good had it done her?
She shook her head. ‘No,’ she said firmly. ‘No, thank you. It’s not far and I’ll enjoy the walk. If you could just get my suitcase from the boot?’
She waited impatiently as the driver got out of the car and went round to the rear of the vehicle, releasing the boot to take out her case. He placed it beside her and she pulled up the handle and tilted the case back onto its wheels. She smiled her thanks at the driver and then turned and, heart thumping in her chest, began to walk back towards the castle.
Part of her expected to hear the driver call out, or turn the car round, but nothing happened and after a few moments she realised that for the first time since she’d agreed to go to Hungary she felt oddly calm—happy, even.
Finally she reached the tall iron gates. She stopped and drew a deep breath and, reaching out, pulled firmly on the handle. And pulled and pulled—and pulled again, and again, with increasing desperation. But it was no good: the metal creaked but the gates stayed obstinately shut.
For a moment Prudence stood pink-cheeked and panting, and then she let out a low moan. Of course—they were electric. She glanced wildly around for a bell but there wasn’t one. There wasn’t even a nameplate. How was she supposed to get back in?
She stared up and down the road but there was no sign of anyone, and finally she turned back to the gates, feeling her earlier bravado slip away. So that was that. Her one and only act of rebellion—over before it had even started. Looking up, she stared sadly at the stone wall.
Or was it?
Frowning, she glanced down at her high-heeled court shoes, and then in one swift movement she had kicked them off and tucked them firmly into her suitcase. Perfect! She took a couple of steps backwards and stared assessingly at the wall, and then, with as much strength as she could manage, she hurled her midsized case upwards. Holding her breath, she watched as it flew high into the air and over the top of the wall. It landed with a heavy thump on the other side.
Sighing in relief, she grabbed hold of one of the damp stones and began to pull herself up. It was easier than she’d thought it would be, and climbing down was easier still. She had just stepped back from the wall with a self-congratulatory smile when abruptly she felt a sudden rise in tension. The air stilled and her skin began to prickle. And then the breath seemed to ooze out of her lungs like a balloon deflating as she heard a familiar voice.
‘Good morning, Miss Elliot! I’d like to say it’s a pleasure to see you again but we both know that wouldn’t be true, don’t we?’
Prudence reluctantly turned round to find Laszlo watching her, his hands in his pockets, his face, as usual, unreadable. Dressed casually in jeans and a black polo shirt, his hair tousled, he looked younger, more carefree than he had done last night, but there was an intensity to his stillness that felt almost predatory to her.
‘This dropping in on me is becoming a bit of a habit, isn’t it? If I didn’t know better I’d say you had designs on me,’ he observed slowly. ‘I must say that I’m a bit surprised—although perhaps surprised isn’t the right word. Shocked might be better; or outraged—or perhaps offended. Given that you appear to be in the process of breaking into my home.’
Laszlo thrust his hands deeper into his pockets. Actually, as he’d watched her clamber down the wall he’d felt something closer to fear than anger—for what would have happened if she’d fallen and he hadn’t been out walking the grounds?
Even though she was back on solid ground, Prudence felt her nerves scrabbling frantically for a footing. A sidelong glance at Laszlo did nothing to improve her composure: he seemed almost preternaturally calm. But there was no point in her having come back if she was going to let him intimidate her from the outset and, gritting her teeth, she held her head high and met his gaze defiantly.
Finally he shook his head and said lightly, ‘So. Did you come back to rob me? Or just to check that you’d finished me off with your suitcase?’
Prudence stared at him, her face white with shock. ‘Of course I didn’t come back to rob you!’ She stopped speaking suddenly, momentarily confused. ‘Wh—what do you mean, finish you off?’
Laszlo raised his eyebrows. ‘What do I mean?’ he repeated quietly, his expression cryptic. ‘I mean I was taking an early-morning stroll, quite happily minding my own business, when suddenly I was nearly poleaxed by that.’
He glanced behind him and Prudence saw her suitcase lying on its side in the grass.
‘That is yours, isn’t it?’
She bit her lip and he watched her eyes darken, the black swallowing the grey, and then slowly she was smiling, and then she burst out laughing.
‘I’m sorry,’ she mumbled. ‘It’s not funny. I’m sorry—I really am.’ She bit her lip again and tried to stifle a giggle as he shook his head, his eyes gleaming and golden beneath their dark lashes. And then, just as suddenly, his jaw tightened and it felt as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown into her face.
‘It’s a miracle you didn’t injure someone. My grandfather often rises early and walks around the grounds.’ He looked at her evenly. ‘But I suppose no one was actually hurt, so I’ll accept your apology. However, that doesn’t explain why you’re sneaking over my wall just minutes after I saw you leave in a taxi.’
Prudence felt her face turn hot with embarrassment and fury. ‘I wasn’t sneaking!’ she snapped. ‘I had to climb over the wall because the gates were locked.’
Again Laszlo raised an eyebrow.
‘Indeed they are,’ he said softly. ‘They keep out unwanted visitors. Usually.’
Feeling clumsy under his cool scrutiny, but refusing to be intimidated, she turned to face him. ‘I am not an unwanted visitor. I am here to do a job—a job I was hired to complete by your grandfather. You might want to send me packing but it’s not your choice to make.’
Laszlo studied her impassively. He’d thought nothing could ever surprise him again after finding Prudence in his sitting room last nigh
t, but that was before he’d watched her scramble back into his life over a huge stone wall. And now she was refusing to leave unless his grandfather agreed to it.
Fingering his phone in his pocket, he looked away and gritted his teeth. It would be the work of moments to call the taxi driver back and double...triple his fare to take her away. So why was he hesitating?
He glanced back at her and his groin tightened. That was why! He felt heat slide over his skin and wondered if she had any idea how incredibly sexy she looked. Was this really the same shy girl he’d married seven years ago? Standing there barefoot on his lawn, her hair tumbling over her shoulders, her breasts thrust forward like a modern-day Semiramis.
He shook his head, to clear it of this arousing, unsettling chain of thought, and as if on cue she stepped forward, eyes flashing, ready for battle. ‘I won’t leave on your say-so, Laszlo. You’ll have to drag me kicking and—’
‘Okay. Okay.’ He raised his hands in surrender. ‘Give me your bag!’
Prudence looked up at him suspiciously. ‘Wh—why would I want to do that?’
Their eyes met and the silence between them rose and fell in time to the sound of her heartbeat.
‘So I can carry it for you. I don’t usually conduct business on the lawn. Let’s go somewhere more private. And safer!’
She heard the smile in his voice and, glancing up at him, she felt her stomach flip over as his eyes locked on hers. ‘Trust me. This lawn’s actually much more dangerous than it looks.’
She felt the hairs rise on the back of her neck and suddenly breathing was a struggle. ‘No, thanks,’ she said hoarsely, averting her gaze. ‘You probably just want to throw me in the moat or something.’
Laszlo shook his head and looked up at her speculatively through thick dark lashes.
‘That definitely won’t happen.’ He paused, the corners of his mouth tugging upwards. ‘We haven’t had a moat since the sixteenth century.’ Glancing up at the sky, he frowned. ‘Besides, it’s about to start raining. I’m too much of a gentleman to leave you to your one-woman protest, and rain means my hair is going to get wet. And you know what happens when my hair gets wet...’
Vows Made in Secret Page 6