Black Lion of Skiapelos

by Annabel Murray

  If she read that expression right, he was only too willing to indulge in a little flirtatious lovemaking, even though he was now a married man. Maybe he even thought she'd be willing to have an affair with him. That was probably what he'd meant when he'd said he had something else in mind for her. Her conviction grew, and with it a sense of indignation. He'd planned to make her his mistress.

  Only their arrival at the villa halted her racing thoughts.

  Inside, Tassia Mavroleon took charge of Lena, greeting her kindly, though with some reserve, and Lena could hardly blame her. She felt that Marcos's escort placed her in an invidious position with his relations.

  'Marianthe is not quite ready,' Tassia said, 'but you will find the other guests assembled in the salon.'

  'It's very good of you to hold the dinner party here,' Lena said.

  Tassia looked surprised.

  'Why should I not? But please excuse me. I have some final orders to give to my staff.'

  A little diffidently, Lena went into the salon. Expecting a large gathering commensurate with the size of the family, she was surprised to find so few of them present. The nun, Arietta, was there, as were Tassia's three sons— Christos being accompanied by a shy, pretty girl whom Lena took to be his fiancée. Apart from Marcos, that concluded the gathering.

  Dimitri offered Lena a drink and asked, as he always did, after Chryssanti.

  'In her last letter she was talking of going to college, to university even,' she told him. 'She's living with her grandparents at the moment. Her mother died, you know?'

  'Yes, I am sorry. I wrote to Chryssanti, offering my condolences, but received no reply.' Obviously Dimitri was still persona non grata with his young cousin. It was as obvious that he deeply regretted it.

  Lena looked around the sparsely populated room and found Marcos's frowning gaze on her and Dimitri. Hastily she looked away and forced an expression of animation in her face, as though Dimitri's society was all she wished for.

  'I thought there would be more people here. Marianthe's parents at least; I know your grandfather's been ill.'

  'Ochi!' It was a vehement negative accompanied by a backward jerk of his dark head, a click of his tongue.

  'I suppose it wasn't convenient for them to come over to the mainland. The wedding would have been on Mykonos, of course?'

  Against that strange denial which was so much more than a simple 'no.' Lena was puzzled.

  'The wedding was a quiet one—in Athens,' Dimitri told her.

  Lena thought she understood. Marianthe's escapade had blotted her copybook. She had been married off hastily to avoid any further rebellion, and was obviously still in everyone's bad books.

  'I hope… Do you think she's… happy?' Is Marcos happy, is what you really want to know, she scolded herself.

  'Ecstatically,' Dimitri said. 'They both are.'

  She wanted Marcos to be happy, Lena told herself, of course she did, but it was hard to accept that he was finding that happiness with another woman.

  'Which is more than they deserve,' Dimitri went on with rueful amusement, and she looked at him questioningly. But before she could query this strange remark there was a diversion as Marianthe, followed by Tassia, swept into the room, eyes sparkling, faces glowing.

  'I'm so sorry to be late, everyone.' She saw Lena and came towards her, hands outstretched, a smile of friendly greeting on her lips. 'Lena! We have so much to talk about. I can't tell you how sorry I am for my churlish behaviour when we last met. I know now that you did the right thing. After dinner we must get together and I will tell you all about it, and how happy I am.'

  Lena winced, and she was glad the younger girl had moved on and could not see the expression of pain she was sure must be in her eyes.

  'The meal is ready to be served,' Tassia announced. 'Shall we go in?'

  Dimitri came towards Lena and offered her his arm.

  'As the eldest of the household,' he said gravely.

  'Signomi, Dimitri, excuse me!' Marcos stepped between them. 'But Helena is my guest. The privilege is mine.'

  'Marcos, no!' Lena was shocked to the core. 'You can't do this.'

  'You would prefer to go in with Dimitri?' He sounded outraged.

  'Yes, I would!' she snapped, and felt considerable satisfaction at his expression of annoyed chagrin. She turned to Dimitri, who was looking somewhat surprised, and slipped her hand through his arm.

  'And my husband and I will lead the way,' Marianthe announced gaily. With a radiant smile, she took the arm of—Manoli Mavroleon!

  'What is it, Lena?' Dimitri asked anxiously. 'You have gone quite pale. Theos mou! You are shaking. Are you ill?'

  'No. Oh, please, Dimitri, don't draw attention to me. I'm all right—or I will be in a minute. I… I've just had a bit of a shock.' Leaning more heavily on his arm than she might have done, she let him lead her into the dining salon.

  There was a moment of awkwardness when she found she was seated between Dimitri and Marcos, and a swift upward glance at Marcos showed the Black Lion very much in evidence. His normally sensuous lips were a straight line, his dark brows drawn together in an ominous frown.

  'What was the shock?' Dimitri whispered in her ear as the first course was served.

  An uneasy glance to her right showed Marcos being attentive to his other neighbour, Christos's fiancée. In a low voice she told Dimitri, 'I thought… I thought Marianthe was married to Marcos. The invitation just said Mr and Mrs M Mavroleon.'

  There was a stunned silence. Then Dimitri gave a sudden shout of laughter which brought a pause in the conversation around the table and all eyes upon them.

  'Sorry,' he muttered when the conversation level had returned to normal, 'but it struck me as very amusing. I see now why you gave poor Marcos his conge. It was not, after all, a preference for my company.'

  'It sounds very rude,' Lena apologised. She picked nervously at her food. 'But that was the reason. You see, I thought Marcos was…' She gestured helplessly. It sounded too awful to tell.

  'You thought that, although a newly married man, he was playing the roué.' Dimitri managed to stifle his chuckle this time. 'And what are you going to do about it?' he enquired interestedly.

  'Do about it?' Any appetite she might have had destroyed, Lena was distraite. She pushed the unwanted food around her plate.

  'Surely you will explain? He is obviously very displeased by what he sees as the transfer of your interest to me.'

  Lena looked at him sharply.

  'My interest?'

  'Oh, come, Lena, some of us are not blind. Christos has seen it. I have seen it. My mother has seen it. You are in love with my cousin, ne? But Marcos, he does not know it, I think?'

  Plates were whisked away by the highly efficient servants and replaced with the next course. Meanwhile Lena struggled to compose her thoughts. What a mess! How to extricate herself? But even if she straightened out the misunderstanding there was no guarantee that Marcos's feelings for her went any deeper than… than sexual desire. At the thought of it, and the manifestations he had displayed so many times, warmth rapidly suffused her. Haunted blue eyes met Dimitri's.

  'What on earth am I going to do?'

  'Take the first opportunity to explain,' Dimitri suggested. If only it were so easy.

  'He may not give me an opportunity.'

  Course followed course, and Lena knew she made a very poor pretence of eating. Fortunately her fellow guests were so immersed in their conversation that perhaps only the servants noticed the plates she returned almost untouched. For Lena conversation was desultory, since Dimitri had from time to time to pay attention to his left-hand neighbour, and Marcos did not once turn towards her.

  Nevertheless she was tinglingly aware of him, of his body heat and strength. Once or twice his knee accidentally brushed hers, and once as she reached for a dish her hand made fleeting contact with his, adding to her torture. It was with heartfelt relief that she realised the meal was over and the ladies withdrawing.


  'Lena, now we can talk!' Marianthe made a beeline for her, and for the next twenty minutes Lena was subjected to the younger girl's repeated apologies and explanations.

  'My parents are still very angry with me—my mother less so than my father perhaps. But I think in time they will come round—especially,' she blushed charmingly, 'when there are grandchildren. But Marcos's grandfather! Ochi!' Her eyebrows raised expressively. 'I do not think he will forgive easily. The only thing I am sorry for,' she went on more soberly, 'is that in marrying my Manoli I must hurt Marcos. You will not know, perhaps, Lena, but Greek men are very proud, and we had been betrothed many years—all my life, in fact.'

  'And… and he was hurt?' Lena enquired throatily.

  'Oh, yes,' Marianthe said with disconcerting confidence. 'He would be, wouldn't he? But he was very kind. When he knew I did not want to marry him, that I wanted to marry his cousin, he said that of course he would release me from my promise. But it was not my promise, you understand, Lena,' Marianthe urged earnestly, 'it was made for me when I was born. I do not believe it was my fault that I could not keep it, do you?'

  'Of course not,' Lena assured her. 'In your place, I'm sure I would have done the same.'

  'He told my parents—I was afraid to do so. My father was very angry. At first he blamed Marcos. Apparently he thought it was Marcos who wished to be released from the engagement.' Marianthe laughed a little at the possibility.

  The men rejoined the ladies, but did not circulate or make conversation with them. As Lena had seen at so many of the Theodopouloses' gatherings, the business the Mavroleons had discussed at table was carried into the drawing-room with them. The words 'shipping' and 'contracts' merged oddly with the ladies' talk of clothes and gossip about mutual friends.

  As it grew later Lena began to think anxiously about the return journey to Athens. It was unlikely that Marcos would feel disposed to take her back, and yet, out of courtesy, he might consider himself obliged to do so. And everyone else was staying at the villa overnight.

  'Helena!' The moment she was dreading had arrived. Marcos stood before her, his manner coldly formal, his expression glacial. 'It is time to leave.'

  'I…I don't want to put you to any trouble,' she faltered.

  'I have to return to Athens in any case.'

  The round of farewells passed in a haze, and Lena felt faint with apprehension as she preceded Marcos into the back of the limousine.

  The greater part of the journey passed in brooding silence. And yet there was a tension too, an awareness that lay between them. Finally, Lena nerved herself to say something. After all, the misapprehension and thus the offence had been hers. She swallowed.

  'Marcos?'

  In the gloom of the car she sensed the slight turn of his head. But he said nothing, gave her no help.

  'Marcos, I'm sorry!'

  No response.

  'Marcos,' she pleaded, 'this isn't easy for me. When I said I'd rather go into dinner with Dimitri…' She couldn't go on in the face of his continuing hostility.

  'Yes?' It was encouragement of a kind, however grudging.

  'When I said that, I thought you were married—to Marianthe.'

  There was a sharp sound of indrawn breath.

  'You were engaged to her,' Lena stumbled on. 'When she ran away you took her home. The invitation card said "Mr and Mrs M Mavroleon".' She broke off as her voice developed an ominous quiver.

  With eyes squeezed tightly shut against the threatening tears, she felt his hand cover hers, imparting strength and warmth.

  'I understand,' he said softly. 'I understand a great deal now. We have a lot to talk about, Helena, hmm?'

  'H—have we?' she breathed uncertainly.

  'Oh, yes.' He leaned forward and slid open the panel in order to give a few rapid instructions to his chauffeur. Then he settled back in his seat, but closer to Lena, his arm going about her.

  After the trauma of the last few days it was bliss to relax against him without guilt, to bask in the solace of his embrace. As she nestled closer, she felt him draw in a deep breath.

  'There's so much I want to say to you, Helena,' his voice was husky and he cleared his throat, 'that I scarcely know where to begin.' Her wrap had slipped aside and his fingers began to caress the smooth, bare skin of her shoulder.

  She wished he would go on with whatever it was he wanted to say. Her stomach was knotted with tension again, due not only to this uncertainty but to his nearness. She breathed in the musky, masculine scent of him, and swallowed hard as she felt his hand move down to cup her breast. His fingers slipped beneath the soft, clinging material of her dress to tease a nipple already sensitised and hard. A delicious languor spread slowly through her. She wanted to be taken in his arms and kissed until her senses swam, and as though he divined her thoughts his free hand curved her throat and lifted her face, his lips lightly brushing hers.

  It was not enough. She turned fully towards him, slipping her arms about his waist, holding on tight.

  His kiss deepened as she had hoped it would, and her breasts rose and fell unevenly beneath his caressing hands. But he was aroused, too. He was trembling with passion, and she thrilled to the knowledge of her potent sexual influence upon him. His hands roamed freely over her now, stroking from waist to thigh, making her feel weak and languid. Her surroundings were quite forgotten, so that it came as a shock when Marcos put her gently away from him and she realised that the limousine had stopped outside Lydia's flat. A little regretful sigh shuddered through her as the chauffeur opened the door and she stepped out.

  Marcos followed her and she looked up at him.

  'Goodnight,' she murmured.

  'Ah, not yet, glyka mou. Did you think I could leave you just like that? I am not made of stone.' The limousine was moving away and she looked questioningly at him. 'I told Spyros to go home. It would not be considerate to ask him to wait.' Insinuatively, 'I plan to be a long, long time.' Gently he urged her towards the building.

  His words made shivers of delicious anticipation run through her. She didn't want him to leave yet. But if he stayed… And there was still too much unresolved.

  'Marcos—' she said, her voice full of doubt.

  His grasp tightened.

  'I want to be alone with you, Helena. I do not think that Lydia will be back tonight. I want to make love to you a little longer.'

  She wanted that, too. Marcos awakened in her a passion she'd never dreamed she was capable of. But she was afraid, too. She didn't want to lead him on, to start something she didn't intend to finish. It was too soon. She wasn't even sure what he wanted of her. Maybe not a long-term relationship. His marriage plans had been frustrated. He must be feeling frustrated. She didn't want to be used for meaningless sex.

  They had reached the foyer and she had to make a decision now, before it was too late. Once she allowed him to accompany her upstairs, she had given tacit agreement to whatever he intended.

  'Trust me, hmm?' he said softly. 'Nothing will happen that you don't want to happen.'

  It was as well he could not read her body's throbbing message that gave him endless scope. It was a message he should not interpret.

  'All right, you can come in, but not for long,' she warned him.

  CHAPTER NINE

  'I have not been in Lydia's flat before.' Marcos looked around him appreciatively. 'But, as I would have expected, she has good taste.'

  Lena wasn't sure whether she'd expected him to take her in his arms right away. But obviously he didn't intend to, and if he could be casual so could she.

  'Would you like a coffee?' she asked.

  'Thank you, yes.' He followed her into the kitchenette. 'I had not realised until recently that you were staying with Lydia. What happened to the apartment you were using?'

  'It belonged to… to a friend. It wasn't convenient for me to stay there any longer. S—someone else was using it.'

  'I wonder if I know this friend?' He was suddenly close behind her, so close that she could
feel the warmth of his breath on her neck.

  'Oh, I doubt it,' Lena said quickly.

  With the percolator switched on, she had no further occupation until the coffee was ready, and she felt shy and awkward now that they were alone, with the barrier of Marcos's betrothal no longer between them. She wished she could think of something cool and sophisticated to say, some topic she could introduce that would fill this uneasy gap. But all she could think of was how very much she loved this man. All she could do was wonder just what it was he felt for her.

  He seemed to sense her uncertainty, for he turned her towards him, his hands resting lightly on her shoulders. He gazed appraisingly into the cornflower-blue eyes.

  'You are not afraid of me, glyka mou?' he asked gently.

  She shook her head. It was true. She wasn't afraid of him. But she was afraid of being hurt.

  'That is good.' His hands slipped down to her waist, her hips and finally to her buttocks. With a little groan he lifted her high against him, so that she was forced to put her arms about his neck to support herself. His lips brushed the curve of her neck, moved upwards to the sensitive place behind her ear and she turned her head, wanting his mouth on hers. He responded with little biting kisses, tormenting but unsatisfying, and she muttered a protest, her tongue coming out to flicker against his lips. She felt his chest rise in a long shudder, then his mouth closed over hers as she'd wanted it to, hungry, passionate, possessive, plundering deeper and deeper into its inviting warmth.

  Lena could feel his body pounding with desire. They kissed and kissed, and passion throbbed and built within her.

  She made a small sound in the back of her throat, wanting more. With a little grunt he released her, letting her slide the length of his body, letting her feel the evidence of his passion, a hard bulk between them. A flash of heat surged through her, but he was moving away from her, putting the width of the kitchenette between them.