She bristled angrily at his mockery, “Oh, I have a sports car. It's in the garage. There's only one thing wrong with that—I can't drive."
"You cannot drive?"
She laughed at his surprise. "Just one of the things I dislike."
"And I am another," he taunted. "Your mother and father are at home?"
"Oh, yes, awaiting the arrival of their celebrated guest."
“You did not feel the same necessity?''
She shook her head. "As I told them, you aren't my guest."
Her rudeness seemed to pass unnoticed. "Nevertheless," he said softly, "I am here to see you."
"Are you?" she challenged.
"But of course."
"I don't see any 'of course' about it," Sophie snapped.
"But don't worry, I'll make sure I'm available when you want to paint me. I just want to get it over with." Her sitting for this portrait hadn't stopped Rosemary and this man meeting as she had hoped it would—in fact, it had just made things worse. He seemed to think it gave him the right to make love to her, too.
He smiled slowly. "It is nowhere near being completed. If you remember, last weekend we did nothing at all to it."
Her face blushed scarlet. "Oh, yes," she taunted. "I had forgotten you were trying to show me what a great lover you are. That's probably because it didn't work. You're accomplished, I'll give you that, but I think natural feeling is more important than experience."
Luke laughed, her gibes obviously not affecting him. "Does Nicholas give you this natural feeling?"
"Nicholas?" she looked startled. "I haven't—"
"No, you have not," he agreed. "And I agree with you about feelings being more important than experience, but only because it is blatantly obvious to me that you do not have any of the latter. You pretend a sophistication that evaporates every time I touch you."
"You Conceited pig!"
"It is not conceit, Sophie. You dislike me and yet you let me make love to you—"
"That's because of your experience," she interrupted.
"It is because of your own desire," he corrected. "Admit it, Sophie. On a physical level we communicate perfectly."
She gasped at his words, hating it being said even though she knew it to be true. "I'm not staying here to listen to any more of this. I have more important things to do," she lied.
"You are going to see Nicholas?"
"And if I am?"
He shrugged. "I was merely curious. But I would not advise you to encourage him as you have encouraged me. It would merely frighten him."
"I didn't encourage you!"
"Do not fool yourself, Sophie. I am merely warning you that Nicholas would be shocked by such emotion and desire as you display. It appeals to my Latin temperament, but he is a staid Englishman. If you marry him he will expect only children from you, not passion. His wife would have to be coolly responsive, not a raging inferno of emotions as you are."
"I'm not—"
"I have kept you long enough. I will see you later." He wound up the window in conclusion to the conversation.
Sophie was shaking with feeling. A raging inferno of emotions—was she really? Only when that man touched her. And she wasn't going to let him touch her again.
She changed her mind about going to Helen's and went to Nicholas's farm instead. He was out in one of the sheds when she arrived, much to her relief. She didn't really want to see his mother, not when she was feeling so confused.
Nicholas looked up from forking the hay, a smile of welcome on his face. "You should have told me you were coming over." He ran a hand down his mud stained corduroys. "I could at least have made an effort to be clean when you got here."
She shrugged. "It doesn't matter. I, er, all this makes you feel very close to nature. The sweet smell of hay, the sunshine blazing through the open doorway."
He put down the pitchfork. "I suppose so," he replied, uncertain of her mood.
Sophie watched him walk over to the door. "Where are you going?" She deliberately adopted a provocative pose, her voice low and inviting.
He frowned, a dark blush beginning to appear in his cheeks. "Up to the house. You can have tea while I change."
"There's no need to change." She swayed over to him, putting her arms up about his neck. "Shut the door, Nicholas."
He looked at her as if she had gone mad, trying to pull her hands away. "What's the matter with you?" he asked heatedly.' 'Why are you acting so strangely? "
She pouted up at him. "It isn't strange to want to be kissed. Close the door, Nicholas, and kiss me."
"Kiss you? But—" he looked horrified, "—not out here, Sophie."
She took his hand and led him over to the newly laid pile of hay. "Right here, Nicholas." She pulled him down beside her.
He visibly gulped. "You—I—are you quite well, Sophie?"
"Don't you want to kiss me?"
"Well, of course I do, but I—"
"Then kiss me, kiss me," she ordered.
His mouth touched hers tentatively, drawing back slightly as her lips opened to deepen the kiss. He was kissing her with restrained passion, his body held rigidly away from her.
Sophie moved her mouth on his with fierce desperation, wanting to incite his desire for her, to spark a little savagery within him, but most of all she wanted to prove Luke Vittorio wrong, wanted to be able to say that Nicholas aroused her as much as he did.
But he didn't, and worse than that, Nicholas was shocked by her behavior, really shocked. And he made her feel dirty and degraded for trying to force him into some show of emotion.
She wrenched out of his arms, standing up to brush her clothes down, studiously avoiding looking at Nicholas. "I—I'm sorry," she muttered. "I'd better go."
Nicholas stood up, too, very red faced. "I—Sophie, why did you—"
"Forget it," she snapped. "I made a mistake, that's all."
He grabbed at her arm as she turned away. "Don't go yet, Sophie. You, well, you took me by surprise." He tried to pull her back into his arms. "It will be different this time."
She evaded his mouth, struggling against him. "No, Nicholas! I said I made a mistake. I—I thought you wanted me."
Again the color entered his boyish face. "I do! I want to marry you, you know that.".
"No! I have to go," she said more calmly. "We…we have Mr. Vittorio down this weekend.''
"Can I come and see you later?" he asked hopefully.
She couldn't look at him, she was so ashamed of what she had just tried to do. 'I don't think that's a good idea. And I'm sorry about just now. I don't know why I did it." Liar! She had done it because of Luke Vittorio's taunts.
"Sophie, please—"
"No!" She ran to the door. "Please forget what happened. I don't think we should meet again.''
"You can't mean that. You've done nothing wrong, you just got carried away for a few minutes. I understand—"
She laughed harshly. "You can't possibly understand." He couldn't understand the anger and humiliation that had prompted her to come here, couldn't understand that it was because of Luke Vittorio that she had been eager to be in his arms. "Let me go, Nicholas!"
His hand fell away. "If that's what you want."
"It is." She ran from the building.
She must have been mad, letting Luke Vittorio get under her skin so much that she had gone to Nicholas and made such an awful fool of herself. But at least it had proved one thing beyond doubt, Nicholas was shocked by her display of passion.
Her parents and Luke Vittorio were seated in the lounge when she arrived home, her stepmother's eyebrows rising at her appearance in the room.
"What on earth have you been doing, Sophie? You look—"
"She looks as if she has been in a haystack," Luke Vittorio finished mockingly.
"Sophie?" her stepmother queried sharply.
She ran her hands through her ruffled hair. "I'm just a little untidy, that's all."
Luke stood up, his hand moving to her hair. "Her
e." He held out a piece of straw to her.
Sophie snatched it out of his hand. "Thank you!" she glared at him.
"Helen telephoned earlier," her father informed her. "I thought you were going over there."
"I, er, I went to see Nicholas instead," she admitted with a quick glance at their guest.
Luke pulled another piece of straw out of her hair. "I hope you did not shock him too much," he taunted softly.
"Shut up!" she muttered vehemently.
"Stop whispering, you two," Rosemary tried to sound teasing but her voice came out rather shrill. "Come and have some tea, Luke."
Sophie excused herself, wanting a bath before she got ready for dinner. She was very aware of Luke's mockery toward her during the meal, staying away from bun as much as she could. He knew exactly what had happened to her that afternoon, knew it and found it very amusing.
She went to her room as soon as it was polite to do so after dinner, unable to bear Luke's silent mockery any longer. She had no. doubt that he would extract full satisfaction out of the situation when she sat for him tomorrow.
She waked with a jerk, sure that she hadn't just done so. at random. She had heard a definite noise outside her door. She looked at the clock—one o'clock. Who on earth could be walking around at this time of night—creeping around would be a better description.
She sat up with a start. Surely Rosemary wouldn't… Not in her own house! Sophie padded quickly over to the door, opening it with shaking fingers. She was just in time to see her stepmother disappearing around the end of the corridor, silently moving in the direction of the two rooms Luke had been given.
Sophie hurriedly closed the door again, her breathing rapid. What should she do? Rosemary and her father had separate bedrooms, but that didn't mean her stepmother's absence wouldn't be detected. How could Rosemary be so damned stupid—how could she!
Sophie pulled on her wrap as she left her room, determined to put an end to this affair once and for all. She could hear the murmur of voices as she neared Luke's room, her mother's slightly raised, Luke's quietly soothing.
She didn't bother to knock, entering the room to see Rosemary in a seductive black negligee and Luke clothed only in a navy blue robe, his bare legs visible beneath its knee-length. His dark hair was tousled, his brown eyes sleepy.
Her stepmother turned angry eyes on her. "What are you doing here?" she snapped. "As if I need to ask," she sneered.
"What am I doing here?" Sophie choked. "I followed you," she accused.
"You aren't fooling anyone, Sophie. I've seen it, you see," Rosemary cried. "I've seen it!"
Sophie frowned, looking at Luke as if for understanding. “Seen what? What have you seen?''
Her stepmother pulled her roughly to the side of the bed, throwing the cover back from the canvas that stood on the easel there. "That!"
Sophie gasped as she looked at the painting of herself, not the portrait to hang in the family gallery as they had all imagined it to be, but a painting of her reclining on the sofa completely nude to the waist, a velvet shawl draped over her hips the same color as her eyes. And what made it all the worse was the fact that Luke had painted in the tiny strawberry-colored birthmark that was exactly over her heart.
She looked at him with dazed eyes. "Luke "
"Yes—Luke!" Rosemary sneered. "I had no idea what would happen when I suggested this painting. Luke should know better, and you! Sophie, I would have thought you had more sense than to give yourself to the first man to flatter you. And don't say you haven't. I've known you most of your life, and I know about that birthmark." Sophie was pale with disbelief. "I don't—"
"What the hell is going on here?" Her father stood in the open doorway. "What are you doing in Luke's bedroom? Rosemary? Sophie?"
"I came in here and found—"
"Rosemary came in and found Sophie and myself in a rather compromising situation." Luke spoke for the first time, moving forward to put his arm about Sophie's shoulders. "I realize this is hardly the time or place, Simon, but I would like your permission to marry your daughter."
CHAPTER FIVE
HER FATHER PALED. "You can't mean it!"
"Of course, he doesn't," Rosemary said hysterically, her face flushed, her eyes fever-bright.
"But I do mean it," Luke told them calmly, the only controlled person in the room.
The conversation was passing over Sophie's head, her gaze still fixed on the painting that stood in the corner of the room. It was a very damning painting, giving her the look of a woman who had just been made love to.
The curve of her body was provocative in itself, but she was reaching forward slightly, her breasts twin peaks of invitation, the nipples thrust forward in full arousal. The face was definitely her, too, but her expression was one of such…such blatant provocation, the lips parted poutingly, her eyes half closed as if guarding a great secret, that anyone looking at it could come to only one conclusion— she was a woman satiated by love and love making.
She looked at Luke dazedly, but he was still looking at her father. How had he painted her looking like this? More to the point, why had he painted her like this?
"My God!" her father gasped as he saw the painting for the first time, walking over to it, a look of disbelief in his eyes. Sophie could see the pain in his face as he turned back to look at her. "Sophie?"
“His voice came out in a choked whisper.
She swallowed hard. "I—"
"Sophie is not to blame." Luke spoke up again. "She did not know of the painting, either."
Her father's face was flushed with anger as he looked at the younger man. "It isn't a question of whether "or not she knew of it, I want to know whether she sat for it, whether you've actually seen my daughter—my daughter naked like this."
"Whether I have or not—"
"The birthmark, Simon," her stepmother interrupted. "It's exactly right."
"My God!" her father groaned again, slumping down on the bed. "I can't believe it." He ran a tired hand over his eyes. "I just can't believe it."
Sophie shook off Luke's arm and ran to kneel at her father's feet, her eyes pleading. "It wasn't like that, daddy," she clutched at his hand. "I—Luke—we—" What could she say? It wasn't like it looked, but there was no denying that Luke had seen the birthmark over her heart, that he had perhaps seen some of the provocative invitation shown in the painting, too.
"We may have been slightly impetuous," Luke finished for her. "But love has a way of making one do these things.'' His shrug was pure Latin in origin.
"You're in love with Sophie?" her stepmother demanded.
Luke met the sneer in Rosemary's eyes with cool haughtiness. "Have I not just said so?"
"No, you—"
"For goodness' sake, Rosemary," her husband snapped. "If Sophie has—if things have gone this far between them—" he waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the painting. "—then of course they must be in love. Sophie isn't promiscuous and never- has been."
He stood up. "I think tempers are a little frayed," he said in a more controlled voice. "This could be better discussed in the morning when we're all a little less heated."
"I think you are right," Luke nodded agreement. "This is not the way I would have wished you to know of my desire to marry your daughter."
"No." Simon gave a strained smile. "It has been a shock, but I understand—at least, I think I do."
"Well, I don't," his wife said shrilly, "That painting is absolutely disgusting." Her nose wrinkled with distaste. "I trust you weren't about to sell it to us, Luke."
"Hardly," he said mockingly. "The family portrait is in the other room. This one was meant for me alone."
"Then why bring it down here?" she demanded.
"I was hoping to complete it tomorrow."
"But—"
"Leave it, Rosemary," her husband ordered. "Let's get to bed while there's still some night left. Be back in your room in five minutes, Sophie," he said sternly. "No matter what may have passed befo
re, you are not staying in here with Luke."
She kept her head bowed. "No, daddy.''
"You're surely not leaving them here alone, Simon," her stepmother demanded stubbornly.
"Come along, Rosemary." He steered her firmly out of the room. "It's a little late in the day to be worrying about Sophie's reputation."
"Really, Simon, we can't just—"
"Not now, Rosemary." He closed the door behind them, .
Sophie could still hear her" stepmother protesting, although their voices were becoming weaker as they went back to their own bedrooms. She looked up at Luke. "Why did you do it?" she choked, her misery a tangible thing.
"I have already explained that the painting was not meant for any other eyes but my own."
"I didn't necessarily mean the painting, I meant all of it. It's bad enough that that should exist—" she blushed as she once again looked at the likeness of herself "—but that you should tell my father we want to get married…!"
“What else could I have told him? That your stepmother did not find us here together, but that it was the other way around, his wife and myself?" His eyes were chillingly cruel. "Which do you think would have hurt him more, his daughter in my bedroom or his wife?"
She swallowed hard, feeling sick. "But marriage!"
"A little drastic, perhaps, but the only thing that would placate your father in such a situation. You are an only child, the apple of your father's eye, so to speak. He would not be able to accept such evidence of our lovemaking without knowing it was to be legalized."
"But we haven't—" she broke off, embarrassed.
"No," he agreed mockingly, "but the painting tells another story."
Sophie forced herself to look at it, at this stripping of her very soul until she felt she held nothing back from him.
"How did you—" She took a deep breath. "How do you—"
"How do I know you will like look like this after love-making?" He shrugged. "Imagination is a wonderful thing. And it is not all imagination," he added throatily. "As your stepmother was quick to notice, some of it is all too lifelike.''
Like the birthmark on her left breast! "And what do we tell them in the morning? How do we explain—''
Carole Mortimer - The Flame of Desire Page 7