Rich as Sin

by Anne Mather

  Matthew kept his temper with a supreme effort. ‘And what would you have me do, Papa?’ he enquired silkily, watching Samantha as she responded laughingly to something one of his uncles had said. For someone who didn’t speak their language, she appeared to be having great success in making herself understood. The knowledge both vexed and aggravated him, and his mood was not improved by his grandfather’s persistent recital of an old refrain.

  ‘You should have married Melissa Mainwaring when you had the chance,’ declared Aristotle shortly. ‘You purported to love her. God knows, you have taken her rejection badly enough! This is why you are standing here, drowning your sorrows in alcohol, is it not? Instead of dancing attendance on that young woman your mother is showing so much interest in.’

  Matthew’s fingers clenched around his glass. He resented his grandfather’s interference in his affairs. It was always the same. Whenever he came here, the old man always treated him as if he were still a boy. But, although he lifted the glass to his lips again, he put it down without drinking. Not because of the truth of what his grandfather had said, but rather because he knew the old man couldn’t have been more wrong.

  His lips compressed as he realised it was days since he had thought of Melissa with any sense of anguish. The raw bitterness he had lived with since she told him they were through was gone. Oh, he still felt aggrieved and resentful. But that was just his pride reasserting itself.

  ‘What did you say she did for a living?’ Aristotle was asking now, and Matthew forced himself to answer the old man civilly.

  ‘Sam?’ he queried, watching her progress towards him with increased awareness, and his grandfather sighed.

  ‘Who else? I do not remember Miss Mainwaring having an occupation.’

  ‘No.’ Matthew was finding it difficult to concentrate on what his grandfather was saying, and absorb the freedom his contemptuous words had given him. ‘No. Melissa enjoys being a lady of leisure. That’s why she’s marrying Ivanov. He’s wealthy enough to give it to her.’

  ‘And you were not?’ Aristotle was sceptical.

  ‘I didn’t say that. But I don’t respond well to coercion,’ replied Matthew smoothly.

  ‘And Miss—Maxwell? She does not coerce you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So, what does she expect of you?’

  ‘Nothing.’ Matthew was abrupt. ‘She expects nothing.’

  ‘I find that hard to believe.’ His grandfather fixed the young woman in question with a frowning stare. ‘Tell me about this—café: is it in need of capital or what?’

  ‘I thought you couldn’t remember what she did for a living.’ Matthew scowled now. ‘But no. So far as I am aware, the café presents no financial problems.’

  Aristotle tilted his head. ‘So why is she here?’

  ‘Because I invited her,’ retorted Matthew. He made another move towards his glass, and then, as if resenting the impulse that had driven him to seek its balm, he thrust his hands into the pockets of his trousers. ‘Do you want to meet her?’

  ‘Do you need an excuse to remove her from your mother’s protection?’ suggested the old man shrewdly, and Matthew gave him a fulminating glare.

  ‘What is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Why—only that you have been watching her for the past fifteen minutes with undisguised impatience,’ responded his grandfather mildly. ‘If I did not know better, I would say you were jealous.’

  Matthew’s jaw clamped. ‘But you do know better,’ he said, between his teeth. ‘And if I appear concerned, perhaps it’s because my mother isn’t usually known for her benevolence towards outsiders.’

  ‘Hmm.’ His grandfather conceded the point. ‘And this girl means something to you?’

  Matthew stiffened. ‘Not in the way you mean, old man,’ he answered, disliking his own unguarded reaction to the idea. Just for a moment, his senses had leapt, and then a brooding sense of foreboding swept over him. However, he brushed such thoughts aside in his eagerness to forestall his grandfather. He decided it was easier to foster the belief that he was still fretting over Melissa’s departure than to admit Samantha had any—albeit transient—hold on his affections. ‘She intrigues me because she’s so independent,’ he said, adopting a determinedly careless tone. ‘And Melissa deserves a little taste of her own medicine.’

  ‘So—you are using this young woman to effect some—revenge?’ Aristotle sounded appalled, and Matthew sighed.

  ‘Not entirely,’ he admitted, unable to maintain that, even to himself. ‘But, our association is—purely—sexual.’ His mouth tightened again as a spasm of pure physical need scorched through him. And, to divert his grandfather’s attention from any further introspection, he added, ‘I need a woman, Papa. Surely you haven’t forgotten how that feels?’

  ‘No.’ Aristotle emitted a rueful sound. ‘No, I have not forgotten the demands of the flesh. But beware of imitations, Matthew. There is an old proverb that says the man who lights the fire is not immune from being burned.’

  Matthew offered a faint smile, but he made no comment. In all honesty, it was taking all his powers of restraint to remain where he was. For, although Samantha’s introduction to the other members of his family was now complete, his mother was making sure she didn’t interrupt his conversation with his grandfather.

  It angered, and infuriated him. And he was damn sure his grandfather was aware of it. Had they concocted this between them? he wondered with a rare flash of self-persecution. My God! He was getting neurotic! The sooner he got what he wanted from Samantha and sent her packing, the better it would be for all of them.

  And, to expedite this decision, he took a deep breath, and said, ‘If you’ll excuse me, Papa,’ before striding purposefully towards his objective. He no longer cared that he was showing his hand. It mattered little to him what his relatives, distant or otherwise, might think of his behaviour. Threading his way between chairs and lounges, and gaily striped couches, he made his way towards Samantha without deviating, the words he exchanged in passing barely civil in their brevity.

  She saw him coming. In spite of the fact that she was having tea with his uncle Henry, she seemed to sense his relentless approach. Of course, his mother noticed it, too, but she was far more adept at hiding her feelings. And Henry, who was once again playing truant from Aunt Celia’s many illnesses, was the obvious choice of companion, as he was English, too.

  And it was Henry who greeted his nephew with his usual aplomb. ‘Getting your usual lecture from the old man, Matt?’ he asked, after the usual courtesies had been exchanged, and Caroline Putnam gave him a glowering look.

  ‘No doubt Apollo was only saying how delighted he was that Matthew’s here,’ she retorted, as her son placed a proprietorial hand on Samantha’s shoulder.

  ‘And the rest,’ jeered Henry irrepressibly. ‘Anyone who likes to be called Apollo has to have a fairly high opinion of themselves. And we all know what the old man expects of his grandson.’

  ‘I notice you don’t turn down his invitations!’ exclaimed Caroline hotly, torn between her desire to defend her father, and the knowledge that by excluding Matthew and Samantha from the conversation she was running the risk of losing her advantage. ‘Matt—–’ She caught his arm as he would have turned away. ‘Aren’t you going to introduce Samantha to your grandfather?’

  ‘Later,’ said Matthew flatly, in no mood to have another run-in with Aristotle. He glanced round, and saw to his relief that his grandfather had been joined by several other members of the family. ‘He’s busy right now,’ he added, feeling Samantha’s resistance as he endeavoured to guide her away. ‘You don’t mind if we go for a walk, do you? I’d like to show Samantha the caves.’

  ‘Oh, well—–’ Caroline was evidently casting about in her mind for some reason why he ought not to leave the party, but Matthew was not prepared to humour her either.

  ‘Herete,’ he said, using the Greek farewell deliberately. And before his mother could say anything else he urged Saman
tha across the terrace.

  ‘You might have asked me if I wanted to go for a walk,’ she hissed, as they reached the shallow steps that led down to the beach. ‘I may be here because you brought me, but I do have feelings, you know.’

  ‘I know.’ Matthew offered his hand as she descended the steps and scowled when she refused it. ‘But we couldn’t have had a private conversation with my mother around. What did you think of her, by the way? What did she say to you?’

  Samantha’s expression was not encouraging. He could tell she was uneasy at being removed from the comparative security of being with other people, and he guessed she had had second thoughts about what had happened earlier that afternoon.

  ‘Your—your mother was very nice,’ she replied now, taking off her shoes, and carrying them suspended from one hand. ‘She asked me how long I’d known you.’

  Matthew glanced sideways at her. ‘And what did you say?’

  ‘I said, not long,’ she replied shortly, turning aside from his dogged trek along the beach, and heading for the water. She was evidently aware that by doing so she remained within sight of the terrace, and Matthew stifled his impatience as he kicked off his shoes and joined her.

  She was already paddling in the shallows, gasping when a wave more aggressive than the others splashed foam about her calves. She looked up when he joined her, but her eyes were dark and wary. It was obvious she wasn’t happy, and he was irritated by his concern.

  ‘So what else did she say?’ he persisted, treading into the shallows, and she gave him a shocked stare.

  ‘You’re getting your trousers wet!’ she exclaimed, pointing at the water lapping round his ankles, but Matthew only moved nearer.

  ‘I’ll take them off, if you like,’ he said, feeling a certain malicious satisfaction when her face bloomed with colour. ‘Come on, Sam. Don’t shut me out. I thought we agreed to call a truce for this weekend.’

  The tip of her tongue appeared, and Matthew wondered how such a simple gesture could affect him so. ‘I—I don’t remember anything about a truce,’ she said, looking down at the specks of water that dappled her shorts. ‘You didn’t even tell me what I was supposed to do after I got changed.’

  Matthew frowned. ‘Didn’t Rosita wait for you?’

  ‘The maid?’ Samantha shrugged. ‘Yes, I suppose so. But you must have known how I’d feel, meeting all these people! And—and instead of being there, you let your mother—–’

  ‘My mother got to you before I could,’ he retorted, taking a wind-blown strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger, and smoothing it tensely. ‘Sam, believe me, I wanted to be with you. But sometimes it’s better to let events take their course.’

  She looked up. ‘Was your grandfather talking about me?’

  Matthew hesitated. ‘Among other things.’

  ‘He doesn’t like you bringing me here, does he?’ Her lips twisted. ‘I don’t think your mother’s too overjoyed about it either.’

  ‘Why?’ Matthew stepped nearer, so that the rippling waves had only a narrow channel between their feet. ‘If she said anything to upset you—–’

  ‘She didn’t.’ Samantha broke in before he could voice the fury he was feeling. ‘I—just got the impression that—well, that she was warning me off, that’s all. She implied I shouldn’t take you too seriously.’

  ‘Did she?’ In spite of the fact that only a short time before he had been telling himself much the same thing, Matthew felt a wave of raw resentment sweep over him. How dared his mother presume on their relationship? And what the hell did she know of his feelings, when they only saw one another perhaps a dozen times a year?

  ‘It doesn’t matter.’ Samantha put up a hand and removed her hair from his fingers, before turning away. ‘Oh, look—isn’t that a pretty shell? When I was young I used to collect shells, and make them into bracelets.’

  Matthew exhaled heavily. ‘And did you tell her how we met?’ he persisted, moving up behind her, and sliding his arms around her waist. To hell with the fact that anyone who chose could watch them from the terrace. He needed to touch her, and the warmth of her slim hips was heaven against his tortured body.

  ‘Matt!’ Her protest was half-hearted, but she, much more than he, was conscious of their audience. ‘Your mother can see us,’ she added, as he brushed her hair aside, and kissed the soft skin at the nape of her neck. ‘Oh—please, Matt! You can’t do this. What will your grandfather think of us?’

  ‘He’ll think I’m a very lucky man,’ muttered Matthew huskily, turning, so that she was hidden by his lean frame. Then his fingers spread possessively over the burgeoning fullness of her breasts. ‘Mmm, baby, can you feel what you do to me?’

  ‘You mustn’t!’

  Her denial was breathless, and automatic, but for all her words she was leaning into him, yielding against his arousal that swelled unmistakably against her rounded bottom. Like him, she was responding to the flame of pure desire that swept between them, and his words were barely audible against the hollow of her ear.

  ‘Come and see the caves,’ he breathed, twisting her round in his arms, and gazing down into her wide, anxious eyes. ‘At least no one will see us there.’

  Samantha swallowed. Matthew watched the nervous contraction of her throat, and was amazed at the proprietorial feeling he felt towards her. She belonged to him, he thought irrationally; not her fiancé, Paul, whoever he might be. He’d decide when he’d let her go. And it might not be as soon as he’d thought.

  ‘I—all right,’ she gave in huskily, and for a moment Matthew was tempted to kiss her there, in full view of anyone who cared to look. But discretion—and the awareness of his own ungovernable impulses, so far as she was concerned—persuaded him to be patient, and, turning her beneath the arch of his arm, he drew her more familiarly along the shoreline.

  The caves stretched for some distance around the curve of the headland. A labyrinthine warren of caverns and tunnels, they had once been the haunt of pirates and thieves. In the early part of the nineteenth century, they had also been used as shelter, by the peasants fleeing from the Sultan’s men. It was said that thousands of men and women had been shipped to Constantinople, and sold into slavery.

  Happily, nowadays, the only occupants were crabs and seabirds. The smooth, sandy floors were strewn with seaweed, not kegs of rum, and the arched roofs only echoed to the sound of the ocean.

  Matthew’s intention, of taking Samantha into his arms the minute they were out of sight of prying eyes, was diverted by her reaction to the caves. She was enchanted by the realisation that there were several entrances to the caverns, and her delight at discovering they could walk under the headland, and emerge on to another beach that had no other means of access, was infectious. He found himself sharing her search for shells, and admiring the veined bones of marble that pushed through the cliff-face. He even shared her laughter when a hermit-crab appeared from behind a rock, and threatened to nip her toes.

  She was unaffected, and amusing, and Matthew couldn’t help responding to her natural charm. It wasn’t just that he wanted to make love to her. Though he did, more and more, he reflected ruefully. It was simply that she was marvellous fun to be with, and he found himself in the unexpected position of wanting her all to himself.

  The knowledge didn’t please him. He was allowing the demands of his libido to influence his reasoning, he thought irritably. He wanted to have sex with her, that was all. Once he had satisfied his physical needs, the other characteristics about her that he admired would all fall into perspective.

  But what if they didn’t? a small voice argued. What if, by making love to her, he only opened the gates to a deeper involvement? After his relationship with Melissa, how could he even contemplate the traumas of another affair?

  He couldn’t, he decided abruptly. This whole situation was getting dangerously out of hand. His mother and grandfather were right. He shouldn’t have brought Samantha here.

  He glanced at his watch. It was after fiv
e. The gathering on the terrace would have broken up by now, everyone retiring to their own apartments, to rest for a while before changing for dinner. It was a very leisurely life they led here on Delphus. There was far too much time to dwell on other things.

  His jaw tightened as he turned to look at Samantha. She was squatting down by a rock-pool, chasing a tiny nautilus shell with her finger. The position she had adopted drew his attention to the provocative curve of hip and thigh, and the dipping of her neckline exposed the creamy-soft roundness of one perfect breast.

  His hands clenched. What he wanted to do at that moment was tumble her on to the sand and kiss her senseless. But instead he looked away, and said in a voice that couldn’t help but reveal his tension, ‘Shall we go?’ ‘Go?’ Samantha came to her feet in one fluid motion, and her eyes were an unknowing mirror to the confusion of her thoughts. ‘I—why, yes.’ She glanced around her. ‘Can we come here again?’

  ‘If you like.’ Matthew was offhand, but he couldn’t help it, and, pushing his hands into his pockets, he walked back the way they had come.

  She followed him, but he sensed she was as disturbed as he was by the sudden darkening of his mood. It was crazy, he told himself angrily. His emotions weren’t involved here; only his senses. So why was he acting like a moron, when she was his for the taking?

  He was relieved to see that the terrace was practically deserted when they reached it. Only a handful of servants were bustling about, clearing the remains of the tea-party, and stacking the chairs for the night. They smiled politely at Matthew, but he guessed his and Samantha’s prolonged absence had been commented upon. He had probably been judged, and found guilty, of every sin in the book, he reflected bitterly. Greeks respected their women; they didn’t take advantage of them.

  ‘Do you know the way to your rooms?’ Matthew asked as they entered the wide entrance hall that was flooded now with the golden light of early evening. He was already contemplating the prospect of the decanter of Scotch his grandfather kept in the library with some desperation, and his heart thudded heavily when Samantha shook her head.