Tanya couldn't suppress a grin. It was heart-warming to hear her father laughing and making jokes again. It had been so long. It was also warming to hear that he and Fausto were on first-name terms at last. 'That's all right,' she assured him. 'As a matter of fact, I've just been having a nice long bath.' And trying to make some pretty important decisions about my life, she added wryly to herself. But that was something, for the moment, she preferred her father not to know.
'Listen, Tanya,' he continued, 'once you're dressed, why not drop round to my room for a drink? We can have half an hour on our own together before the party starts.'
'I'd like that,' she agreed. She hadn't had a chance for a proper chat with her father since he had arrived. 'I'll be with you in about an hour.'
Fausto had said the guests would probably start arriving about eight. It was now just after six, so she had plenty of time. Not that she had the least intention of rushing anyway. Renata's generous prediction that she was destined to be the belle of the ball might have been slightly over the top considering the elegant company she would be mingling with tonight, but at least she was determined she was going to look her very best. Tonight, after all, could prove to be one of the most important nights of her entire life, one way or the other.
She sat down at the dressing-table to apply her makeup, suddenly grateful that she was going to spend some time with her father before joining the party. Half an hour with him, she hoped, might help to soothe her troubled mind, might even give her the courage to make her choice once and for all.
Even for such a grand occasion, she decided, her lightly tanned complexion required little make-up. A touch more mascara than usual, perhaps, and a smudge of colour on her upper lids to emphasise her tawny eyes. She brushed her lips with a soft rose lipgloss and swept her hair up into a golden coil high on her head, anchoring it securely with the two gilt butterfly pins she had bought in Milan. Then she sprayed her pulse points liberally with scent. Now for the dress.
It felt like stepping into a dream, she thought as she adjusted the voluminous skirts and fastened the row of tiny hooks that formed an invisible fastening at one side. The sweeping neckline revealed no more than the soft upper curve of the full swell of breasts and showed off the fine lines of her shapely shoulders to perfection. The dull gold colour, just a shade or two lighter than her hair, was subtly flattering, the sheen of the silk reflecting a warm glow to her skin. As she slipped on the gold kid sandals that Renata had insisted she buy as well, she felt grateful that she had taken the older woman's advice. Though she said it herself, she had never looked better in her life.
Her steps were light as she hurried down the corridor to her father's room and she almost didn't notice the blonde-haired figure poised for descent at the top of the stairs. The countess's dress—what little there was of it— was a brightly coloured, sequin-encrusted concoction in shades of lime-green and mauve, and thick bands of diamonds and emeralds blazed at her wrists. She looks like the Blackpool illuminations, Tanya told herself dismissively, determinedly remembering what Renata had said: 'Don't let that silly woman get to you… You have nothing to worry about.' Perhaps Renata knew something that Tanya did not.
Devlin's face lit up with pride the moment she walked into the room. 'You're a vision to behold,' he murmured, kissing her warmly on the cheek. 'If only your mother could see you now.'
She smiled. 'You're looking pretty dapper yourself.' And he was. The dark evening-suit and the head of neatly trimmed grey hair lent him a distinguished look, reminiscent, she thought, of the man he had been in former years. Perhaps, at last, the pendulum of fortune had begun to swing his way. The dark days over, a bright new future filled with hope spread out ahead.
She sat on one of the silk-upholstered bedroom chairs as he mixed her a martini from the tray of drinks that Emma had thoughtfully provided, and began to recount his activities of the past two weeks. He had been incredibly busy, re-establishing his old vital network of contacts in the art business, recruiting new and potential customers and making a not inconsiderable little profit for himself along the way.
'I know you've been through a lot of anxiety on my behalf,' he told her with a wry twist to his mouth, leaning towards her in his chair. 'But you really needn't worry any more. I hope you're finally convinced of that.'
She nodded, knowing that at last she really was.
'I even managed to convince Fausto this afternoon,' he continued, smiling. 'And he's a hard man to convince. He virtually threatened to have me locked up unless I promised not to overtax myself.'
Tanya smiled, knowing that Fausto was perfectly capable of carrying out his threat.
'But I managed to convince him there's no danger of that. I've been too close to the brink ever to risk it again.' Devlin leaned back in his seat and ran one finger contemplatively around the rim of his whisky glass. 'All the same, if things keep going the way they're going now, I should have my financial obligations to him cleared up in no time at all.'
'I know you'll do it, Father. I have every confidence in you.'
He nodded. 'Yes.' Then paused. 'Now what about you, young lady? I may be mistaken, but this afternoon I couldn't help feeling that you had something on your mind. Am I right?' He raised one eyebrow questioningly at her.
So Renata had not been the only one with sharp eyes, Tanya thought, meeting her father's quizzical gaze with a rueful shrug. 'Now don't you start worrying about me,' she admonished him cheerfully. 'I'm fine.'
'I always worry about you, my dear,' he started on a serious note. But before he could go on, a sharp tap on the bedroom door interrupted him. 'Come in!'
The door opened and Tanya's breath caught in her throat as Fausto walked into the room. In the immaculately cut dinner-suit with its shiny silk lapels, the crisp white shirt and black bow-tie he looked like some dark prince from a fairy-tale come to carry her away. And she felt the blood rush through her veins and an almost intolerable longing for him clutch at her heart as he paused to gaze at her with those deep, dark eyes. 'You're looking very beautiful tonight,' he said.
'Thank you,' she heard herself murmur back selfconsciously, hot colour flooding in her cheeks as she hastily clasped her hands together in her lap, hoping for some illogical reason that he hadn't noticed the absence of the ring.
But he had turned to Devlin. 'I'm sorry to interrupt,' he said with a quick smile of apology. 'But, as promised, I've come to bring you this.'
It was only then that Tanya noticed what he was holding in his hand. The little fake icon that was indirectly responsible for everything that was happening to her. And her heart contracted with gratitude to him as she saw the look of pleasure on her father's face.
'When you first gave me this,' Fausto was saying, 'I believed its value to be in the order of several thousand pounds.' He smiled a mildly self-deprecatory smile. 'Now, of course, I realise that as a piece of art it is worth nothing—yet of a value beyond estimation in terms of what it means to you. I feel honoured that you trusted me enough to let it pass into my hands, and it is now my pleasure to return it to you.' He paused. 'I think we no longer have need of tokens and pledges—' and glanced quickly at Tanya before finishing '—of any kind.'
Nervously she looked away. So he was formally releasing her, granting her the absolute freedom to leave if she wished. Once, nothing would have pleased her more, but now the gesture sent a faint chill through her heart. She glanced back to find the dark gaze still fixed firmly on her face. Searching, it seemed, for some answer to the question in his eyes. Then he turned away abruptly and headed for the door. 'I'll leave you now. I have to see to my guests.'
Devlin had accepted the return of the icon without a word and stood gazing down at it, tears in his eyes. 'We'll be down in a couple of minutes,' he assured Fausto now. 'And thank you,' he added quickly, unable to disguise the thickening of emotion in his voice.
The tall, handsome figure paused in the doorway for a moment and the dark eyes locked with Tanya's as he spoke. 'I'll be
waiting for you,' he said.
With the excuse that she had to fix her hair, Tanya persuaded her father to go downstairs to join the party ahead of her. Then she raced back along the corridor to her own room, her heart fluttering like a nervous bird. Suddenly she had no more doubts about what her decision must be. She loved him. It was as simple as that. And she had to be with him. Whatever the risks.
The ring felt cool and heavy as she slipped it on to the third finger of her left hand, noticing how perfectly it fitted her. A tremor of anticipation rippled through her as she tried to imagine the expression on Fausto's face when he saw that she was wearing it. Whatever his reasons were for asking her to marry him, she vowed, she would make him love her, even if it took her the rest of her life. No longer would she be afraid of what she felt for him. It might continue to tear her apart at times— but, given the choice, she would learn to live with that.
A surprising number of guests had already arrived, filling the spacious drawing-room with laughter and bright party talk, spilling out on to the terrace, illuminated now, like the gardens below, by thousands of tiny, hidden lights. A five-piece dance combo played discreetly in one corner and one or two couples had already taken to the floor. She glimpsed her father standing in a group with the Banuccis, the couple she had dined with that first evening in Milan. Gabriella Banucci waved and smiled as she caught sight of her, and Tanya made a gesture to indicate that she would join them later. First, she had to find Fausto. But there was no sign of him.
Her eyes searched impatiently through the crowd of unknown faces as she dodged past waiters carrying trays of food and drink. Where could he be? She frowned, aware of the unfamiliar weight of the ring on her finger and the sudden sharp tug of anxiety in her breast. Where had he gone? Why wasn't he here waiting for her as he had promised?
'Tanya!'
She whirled round to find Renata standing next to her, looking splendid in her cerise silk dress. 'Do you know where Fausto is?' Tanya demanded at once, not caring at the abruptness of her question nor the look of mild surprise it had brought to the older woman's face.
'I think he's in the library,' Renata answered, a watchful expression in the bright, dark eyes. 'But, Tanya, I—' She reached out a hand as though to stop the younger girl, but Tanya was already darting across the room, out into the hall and down the narrow corridor that led to the library at the other side of the house, running as though her feet had wings.
Her cheeks were flushed as she reached the door, and she paused for a moment to catch her breath, excitement pulsing through her like a charge of electricity. This was it. On a wave of tumultuous exhilaration, she pushed open the door.
The sight that met her eyes made her stiffen with horror and disbelief. Fausto was standing by the big leather couch at the far end of the room, his back to her. Not that he would have been likely to notice her even if he had been facing the door, she thought with sudden, bitter nausea. All his attention seemed to be focused on the half-sitting, half-reclining figure on the couch, whose emerald-clad arms were tightly wrapped around his neck. One strap of the countess's green and mauve dress had slipped from her shoulder, exposing a large expanse of naked breast and the strappy green sandals she had been wearing were kicked half-way across the library floor.
A stifled cry of pain tore from Tanya's lips as she stood in the doorway, paralysed. The dark head jerked round then to look at her and she saw anger flashing in the dark eyes. 'Tanya!' And he straightened abruptly and turned to face her, his features set in hard, tight lines. 'What are you doing here?'
Without a word, she ripped the ring from her finger with a trembling hand and flung it at him across the room. Then she stumbled back outside into the corridor, ashen-faced, on legs almost too numb to carry her.
'Tanya, come back!'
She heard his call, but she was already half-way to the hall, running on swift, stiff legs, desperately fighting back the tears that almost blinded her.
In the hallway she paused, a sudden panic clutching at her throat. She had to get out of here, out of this house, away from him, as far as possible. If she went to her room, there was a possibility that he might follow her there, and she knew she could not bear to face him now, could not bear to listen to the stream of silken lies that would surely issue from his lips, nor endure the cruel indifference that she would see in the dark eyes.
On an impulse, she swung into the drawing-room, fighting to control her nerveless limbs as she battled her way through the thickening throng of party guests, the faces she pushed past a misty, indeterminate blur, the music and laughter that surrounded her no more than a dull throb in her ears. She reached the terrace and her pace quickened as she headed for the steps that led down into the garden. Then she was running, her long skirts billowing out behind her like a spinnaker in the wind and her gold hair tumbling down around her shoulders as she headed instinctively for the narrow, flag-stoned path that led away between the trees at the foot of the lawn.
Only the pale light of the moon illuminated her way as she stumbled onwards through the silent wood, the only sound the painful sobbing of her breath, her only sensation the sharp ache that had descended like an icy shroud around her heart.
At last, she emerged into the little clearing where the old wash-house stood. Here she would be safe. He would not find her here. And she almost collapsed through the front door, falling against it as she slammed it shut and with quivering fingers snapped the lock. Her face was wet with tears as she sank, trembling, exhausted, to the floor, her body wrenched with an agony of bleak despair as she fought to banish from her mind the cruel vision of the scene she had witnessed in the library.
But it was etched in fire across her brain. Fausto, the man to whom she had been on the brink of offering her very soul, locked in the semi-naked embrace of the woman he had flaunted in her face right from the start. And she shivered as she saw again the flame of anger in his eyes when he had turned to find her watching them. Nothing could ever wash that memory away, no bland excuses ever dull the savage treachery of his cruel-hearted faithlessness.
She started at the sudden sound of footsteps approaching the door and shrank back as an unknown hand wrestled with the doorknob.
'Go away,' she whispered beneath her breath. 'Leave me alone, whoever you are.'
Impatient knuckles rapped against the door. 'I know you're in there, Tanya. Open up.'
Renata's voice. She held her breath.
'Open the door, Tanya, do you hear? I'm not moving from this spot until you do.'
'Leave me alone, Renata—please.' Her voice choked on a sob. Her knuckles clenched.
'Open the damned door, Tanya, or I'll get someone to come and break it down. I mean it. Open the door at once, I want to talk to you.'
Reluctantly Tanya staggered to her feet, wiping her damp face with the back of her hands. A note of deadly seriousness in the older woman's voice warned her it was no idle threat—and the last thing she felt able to cope with now was an ugly scene. Her fingers fumbled with the lock and the door pushed open as Renata strode inside, a grim expression on her face as she quickly snapped on the hallway light.
'Go through to the living-room,' Renata ordered, and instantly snapped on the light in there as well. Tanya obeyed, sinking into one of the chintz-covered armchairs with a defeated sigh.
Renata sat down opposite her and surveyed her with a calmly appraising eye. 'I knew this was going to happen,' she said. 'Fausto told me what a little hothead you are.'
A dull anger flared deep in the tawny eyes. 'Fausto!' she spat contemptuously, writing him off in a single, unforgiving breath.
Renata smiled, a humourless, ironic little smile. 'Yes, Fausto.' She sighed. 'I know all about what happened in the library. The minute I saw you rushing off down here I knew. But you happen to have got it all wrong, you know.'
'How could I? I saw the whole disgusting, sordid scene with my own eyes!'
'What you saw and what you thought you saw, in this particular instance,
Tanya, are not the same.' Renata sat back in her chair and crossed her long legs at the knees, an expression of divine oracle etched upon her lovely face. 'I'd be happy to tell you what was really going on, of course—if you want to know.'
Tanya stared at her dully. Renata was wasting her time. 'I know exactly what was going on. Your brother and the countess were making love.'
'Wrong.' Renata adjusted the cerise silk of her dress over her knees. 'That is what you thought was going on. My brother was not making love to the countess. Far from it. In fact, I'm sure there was nothing further from his mind. Semi-conscious, drunken women, I'm sure, are not what turn my brother on.'
A spark of interest was starting to dawn in Tanya's eyes. 'So what are you trying to tell me, then?' she asked.
'If you'll listen, I'll explain.' Renata could sense her growing impatience, but she took her time. 'As you may have noticed earlier this afternoon, our dear friend the countess has been imbibing pretty heavily all day. By the time she got down to the party, she was already pretty drunk—and, I can assure you, Fausto was not amused. I was with him, helping him to greet the guests as they arrived, and he was getting angrier by the minute, especially when she started drawing attention to herself.'
She paused to ensure that she still had Tanya's undivided attention before going on. 'It must have been just about ten minutes or so before you arrived on the scene that the wretched woman passed out cold. I suggested to Fausto that he carry her through to the library and stretch her out on the sofa for a while. Which he did—and that, of course, was where you came in.' She made a little grimace. 'I tried to stop you going after them, but you were too quick for me. I guessed you'd jump to the wrong conclusion—and I was right, of course.'
Tanya's eyes had never left Renata's face. She was stunned into silence, numbed by the grossness of the error she had made. But, at last, she found her voice. 'It doesn't make any difference,' she said. 'She's still his mistress, after all.'
Reluctant Prisoner Page 16