by Anne Mather
But Liv was no fool, he knew, and she’d soon suspect something was up if he acted out of character. So, with a gesture of resignation, he said, ‘Yeah, come on up. Liv, you can make us some coffee.’
Juliet glared at Cary, but he only urged her forward. ‘Hurry up, baby,’ he said. ‘You know you wanted to see where the great painter lived.’
If Rafe heard, he ignored it, and, cursing herself for creating this situation in the first place, Juliet followed Liv Holderness up a narrow flight of stairs. The other woman was wearing high heels and wobbled precariously on the worn treads. Juliet thought cynically that Cary’s eyes were probably glued to the hem of the other woman’s skirt which bobbed provocatively near the apex of her thighs.
The apartment they entered was surprisingly spacious. Or at least the living room was, Juliet amended, unable to deny her interest as she looked around. Compared to Tregellin, it was intensely modern, with an arrangement of chocolate brown leather sofas and armchairs at one end of the room and a wrought-iron dining set at the other. There was a comprehensive entertainment centre enclosed within a teak console and the positioning of various vases and small sculptures gave the room an elegant appearance. More elegant than Cary had expected, Juliet suspected, aware of his eyes assessing the room’s tasteful appointments. Probably estimating how much they were worth, she thought, her cynicism asserting itself again, and she determinedly looked away.
And met their host’s dark appraising gaze. She stiffened, almost instinctively, wondering if he intended to get his own back by mentioning their encounter the night before. But all he said was, ‘If you’ll excuse me…’ and headed lazily towards an inner door that evidently led to the bathroom.
CHAPTER EIGHT
OR HIS bedroom, Juliet reflected tensely, looking anywhere but into those magnetic eyes. But when he turned away she couldn’t prevent herself from watching him, her gaze drawn to his tight buttocks and the hairy length of those long, powerful legs.
She swallowed and then became aware that her interest hadn’t gone unnoticed. Cary was looking at her now with a mocking, speculative stare. Oh, God, she thought, how had she got herself into this situation? If Cary thought she was attracted to Rafe, heaven knew what mischief he might do.
Liv Holderness, meanwhile, had teetered her way across to where a breakfast bar hid a small kitchen. Limed-oak units with granite working surfaces gave the place a sophisticated look. There were spotlights in the ceiling and copper-bottomed pans hanging below wall cupboards, with earthenware bowls on the window sill, where spider ferns and other greenery tumbled to the floor.
Liv was obviously familiar with the kitchen’s layout because she found the coffee-maker and grains without much effort. Juliet tried not to let her own feelings about Rafe impinge on her opinion of the woman, but the image of them together—in his bed—kept popping into her mind.
‘Have you known Cary long?’ Liv asked, and Juliet guessed she was trying to define their relationship. She didn’t fool herself that the woman considered her any competition. Why should she? But she wanted to know what she was dealing with; if Rafe was involved.
‘Since we were kids,’ replied Cary at once, turning from the painting he’d been studying. ‘So, what’s going on with you and Marchese? Or is that a leading question?’
She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. ‘I think that’s our business, don’t you?’ Then she turned to Juliet. ‘So what do you do when you’re not spending time with Lady Elinor?’
Juliet swallowed, wishing Cary would answer that, too. To avoid doing so, she gestured towards a group of four water colours that hung on the wall beside the dining table. ‘Is this Mr Marchese’s work, Lady Holderness?’
‘Call her Liv, for God’s sake!’ Cary scowled and the woman came out from behind the breakfast bar and gave Juliet a considering look.
‘As if Rafe would hang anything of his in his apartment!’ she exclaimed scornfully. ‘No, these are Susie Rivers. She’s what you might call a protégée of his.’
‘He has a lot of them,’ remarked Cary slyly, earning another acrimonious glare from Liv. He put his arm around Juliet, ignoring her resistance. ‘Let’s sit down, darling. I’m sure Rafe will be only too happy to show you his work, when he’s cleaned up.’
To Juliet’s relief, there were no more questions about her background and when Rafe came back into the room, they were all sitting down, drinking the coffee Liv Holderness had made. There were specks of water sparkling on his night-dark hair, a dark blue shirt and tight jeans accentuating his lean, muscled frame. He was barefoot, and in those first few seconds Juliet felt as if she knew everything about him. Well, about his appearance, anyway, she amended, wondering what it was about him that disturbed her so much.
‘I’ll get you a cup,’ said Liv at once, but before she could get up Rafe waved her back into her seat.
‘I can do it,’ he said, going to pour himself some coffee. Then, coming round the bar, he rested his hips against the granite counter. ‘I’m so glad you’ve made yourselves at home.’
‘No, you’re not.’ Liv was sardonic. ‘I know you prefer your privacy when you’re working.’
‘I hope you don’t expect us to believe he’d been working earlier,’ Cary admonished. ‘For heaven’s sake, we’re not morons.’
Rafe was tempted to make some cutting comment, but Juliet would be bound to get the wrong impression if he did. Just because he’d had a crisis of some sort the night before didn’t mean he wanted to repeat the exercise.
‘I’d been running,’ he said, by way of an answer. ‘I’m sorry if my appearance offended your sensibilities, Cary, but some of us get off our backsides from time to time.’
‘Makes a change from crawling, I suppose,’ retorted Cary derisively, and Juliet stifled a groan. For pity’s sake, did he want to start a fight with the other man? She could sense the cold hostility in Rafe’s narrow-eyed gaze.
‘Just shut the hell up, will you, Cary?’ Liv had evidently come to the same conclusion, but, unlike Juliet, she wasn’t afraid to speak her mind.
‘Who do you think you’re talking to?’ demanded Cary at once, but Liv wasn’t listening to him. Instead she turned to Rafe again, her smile warm and familiar.
‘I think Juliet wants to see some of your work, darling,’ she said, as if Juliet was incapable of speaking for herself. ‘Would you like me to take her down to the studio? Then you can finish your coffee in peace.’
‘I don’t think—’ Juliet was beginning, when Rafe put down his cup.
‘If Juliet wants to see the studio, I’ll show it to her,’ he said flatly. ‘Is that what you want?’ He looked directly at her. ‘Make up your mind. I’ve got work to do.’
Juliet could hear Cary muttering about ignorant bastards and knew that any moment he was going to make some other remark that would further sour Rafe’s mood. And, although she told herself that the last thing she wanted to do was be alone with him, what could it harm to see his studio and the work he was doing?
‘Um—yes, I’d like that,’ she said, ignoring Cary’s outraged expression. ‘Thanks.’
‘I’ll come with you,’ said Liv at once, swallowing the last of her coffee and getting to her feet, and Rafe sighed. He guessed that if Liv accompanied them, Cary would, too, and he didn’t want his cousin anywhere near his studio at present.
‘The place isn’t big enough for all of us,’ he said, regarding her warningly. ‘I’ve got work in progress that I don’t want anyone else to see yet.’
‘Oh…’
She got the message at once, he saw. Letting Cary see the sketches Rafe had been making for her portrait wasn’t the wisest thing to do in the circumstances. It would be like him to drop that tasty little morsel into the conversation at dinner that evening and then pretend to be mortified when her husband expressed his surprise.
‘Well—OK,’ she said, and Juliet stared at her. Why had she suddenly changed her mind? ‘Cary and I will have another cup of coffee. We
can reminisce about old times.’
Cary wasn’t at all suited. ‘I didn’t come to Polgellin Bay to sit in this apartment drinking coffee,’ he grumbled, but Liv put on her most persuasive expression.
‘Just for five more minutes,’ she cajoled appealing. ‘You can tell me what you’ve been doing since you left Tregellin.’
She’d taken hold of his arm now, and Juliet couldn’t decide whether he was disgruntled or flattered. Either way, Rafe ushered her towards the door and other considerations took the place of curiosity.
There were two doors at the foot of the flight of stairs that led up to Rafe’s apartment. One to the outdoors, she knew, and the other led into his studio. Rafe went ahead of her, switching on a couple of spotlights to illuminate an area bigger than she’d expected from what he’d said to Cary. But she didn’t really blame him for not wanting his cousin to join them. They weren’t exactly the best of friends.
The door closed behind her and Juliet struggled to concentrate on why she’d come here. She and Rafe were alone, it was true, but she didn’t kid herself that this had been his idea. On the contrary, as he lifted a canvas off an easel that had been set up to one side of the studio, and stowed it at the back of the studio, she guessed he didn’t want her to see his ‘work-in-progress’ either.
‘It’s very—impressive,’ she said, looking about her. And it was certainly more professional than she’d imagined when Lady Elinor had spoken of it. Sketches littered a side-table and dozens of canvases were stacked against a wall. There were palette knives and brushes, drawing equipment, charcoal, chalk and varnish, as well as jars and jars of paint in every colour imaginable scattered about the floor.
‘It’s adequate,’ he said, without pretension, turning to give her a narrow-eyed stare. ‘But you didn’t really want to see my work, did you?’
‘Yes.’ Juliet answered without thinking, unaware of how revealing her answer might sound. ‘I really did. It’s very—interesting.’
Damned with faint praise. Rafe’s jaw compressed. ‘If you say so.’
Juliet sighed. ‘Why should it surprise you that I’d like to see your work? If you’re thinking about what happened last night, forget it. I have.’
‘It’s good to know I’m so forgettable.’
Rafe spoke mockingly and Juliet wished she wasn’t so aware of him in the confined space. The studio was filled with the mingled aromas of oil and other painting supplies, but she still couldn’t ignore the subtle scent of man.
Licking her lips, she said, ‘Do you want to talk about it? Is that what you’re saying?’
Rafe made an indignant sound. ‘Hey, you brought it up, not me.’
‘I know I did, but—well, it shouldn’t have happened. You know that as well as I do.’ She glanced about her in an effort to change the subject. ‘So may I see something?’
‘Do you always switch from one thing to another like this?’ His brows arched. ‘I’m still trying to get my head round the fact that you didn’t engineer this invitation just to spend some time alone with me.’
Juliet stared at him in frustration, the colour ebbing and flowing in her expressive face. ‘Don’t lie to me, Mr Marchese,’ she said hotly. ‘I’m engaged to Cary. That might not matter to you, but it matters to me.’
‘Does it?’ He couldn’t prevent the amused retort. ‘You know, I didn’t get that impression last night.’
‘No, well…’ Juliet gave a careless shrug. ‘You took me by surprise, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting it.’
‘Believe it or not, neither was I,’ remarked Rafe drily. Then, with cool deliberation, ‘Did Cary tell you where he spent his evening? Did he meet up with the, in quotes, “friends” you spoke about?’
Juliet pursed her lips. ‘I didn’t ask him.’
‘No?’ Rafe couldn’t help feeling pleased with her answer. ‘Don’t you care?’
Her colour deepened again. ‘It’s none of your business.’
‘So—what are you saying? That you have an open relationship?’ He paused and, when she didn’t answer, he went on, ‘That’s when—’
‘I know what an open relationship means,’ she interrupted him fiercely. She wrapped her arms about herself. ‘Can we talk about something else?’
‘Your call.’
But he couldn’t help wondering about her relationship with his cousin. Was she just humouring him until something better came along? It seemed likely, but he didn’t care for the idea. And he despised himself for wanting something he couldn’t—and shouldn’t—have.
Forcing himself not to think about how her crossed arms pushed her small breasts into a prominent position, he abandoned his stance and walked across to where several canvases were propped against the brick wall. Swinging one around, he displayed a painting of an elderly fisherman sitting on a capstan by the harbour, his head bent over his nets.
Juliet, who’d been wishing she’d never come here, couldn’t prevent an automatic gasp of admiration. ‘Is this yours?’ she asked, coming a little nearer and gazing raptly at the painting. ‘My God, it’s so lifelike! Is this a real person?’
‘It was.’ Rafe came to stand beside her, telling himself it was to get her perspective on the canvas. A faint scent came to his nostrils, warm and flowery and essentially feminine, like her. ‘His name was John Tregaron. His family have lived in Polgellin for as long as anyone can remember.’
‘That’s amazing!’
‘What? That his family have lived here for hundreds of years?’
Juliet gave him an impatient look and then wished she hadn’t been so foolhardy when she met the disturbing darkness of his gaze. ‘No,’ she said, jerking her chin down again. ‘You know what I mean. People must have complimented you on your work before.’
Rafe shrugged. ‘Thank you.’
Juliet shifted a little uncomfortably. ‘My father was a great admirer of certain painters’ work. What little I know about art, I learned from him.’
Rafe wondered if she realised that was a double-edged comment. He guessed not. She was doing her best to normalise their relationship and he had to squash this unforgivable urge to bait her.
‘I have my favourites, too,’ he conceded, concentrating on the painting to avoid looking at her. ‘When I was younger, I used to attend any exhibition I could get to. I started out by liking Turner and a contemporary of his, Thomas Girtin. Have you heard of him? Unfortunately he died when he was in his twenties. There’s an anecdote about Turner saying that if Tom Girtin had lived, he’d have starved.’
‘Do you believe that?’
Rafe shook his head. ‘No, Turner was unique. But they did train together, and their earliest work was similar.’
Juliet was impressed and once again she made the mistake of looking up at him. But this time she couldn’t look away. She was mesmerised by his eyes, by the sudden heat in his expression. She rubbed her elbows with her palms, trying to ignore the goose bumps that were feathering her skin.
This time, however, Rafe broke eye contact. Despite his determination not to pursue this unhealthy infatuation, there was an insistent hunger in his gut. He tried to tell himself it was because he hadn’t had anything to eat before he went for his run, but his senses told him his need wasn’t for food but something less admirable.
‘Do—do you have anything else to show me?’ Juliet ventured nervously, and Rafe ignored the innocent sexuality of her question and moved forward to replace the painting with a life-size sketch of Lady Elinor herself. It was roughly done, something he’d been working on without her knowledge. The old lady wouldn’t sit for him. It would have smacked of giving him her approval.
‘Oh—wow!’ Juliet was entranced by his offering. ‘I had no idea Lady Elinor had been here.’
‘She hasn’t.’ Rafe’s tone was flat. ‘I did that from memory.’
‘Well, it’s very good.’
Rafe shrugged. ‘I’m glad you approve.’
She smiled then, the corners of her mouth lifting to give her fa
ce a dangerous beauty. Dangerous, because she was such a temptation and she didn’t know it.
‘I approve of your work,’ she said lightly. ‘That’s not to say I approve of you.’
‘I’m wounded.’ He paused, and then, as a thought occurred to him, ‘Did your father approve of your husband?’
‘My father?’ She was taken aback. ‘I—He never met David. He died soon after I left school.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Yes, so am I.’ Juliet spoke philosophically. ‘If he’d lived, I might not have made so many mistakes.’
Rafe hesitated. ‘Because your marriage didn’t work out?’
‘You could say that.’ Juliet pulled a face. ‘He certainly wouldn’t have trusted David with all his money.’
‘You did that?’
It was a personal question but having come so far, Juliet couldn’t back off. ‘Yes,’ she said, flushing with embarrassment. ‘I know I was a fool. You can’t despise me any more than I despise myself.’
‘Why would I despise you?’ Rafe was vehement. ‘He sounds a complete bastard!’
Juliet grimaced. ‘Tell me about it.’
‘But charming, I guess. Was that why you married him?’
‘I’m not sure why I married him now.’ Juliet twisted her hands together at her waist. ‘My father had just died and I have no brothers or sisters.’ Then she broke off. ‘But you don’t want to hear this. I made a mistake. A lot of mistakes, actually. I’ll get over it.’
Rafe half turned to look at her. ‘And you think Cary’s going to help you?’
Oh, God! Juliet closed her eyes for a moment. For a short while there, she’d actually forgotten why she was here. Thank goodness, she hadn’t said anything too revealing. But it wasn’t easy to lie, particularly to Rafe.
Which was another mistake.
‘Um—I hope so,’ she said now, trying to keep her voice light. ‘Well, I don’t have any money, so I can be sure he’s not marrying me for that.’