‘But I don’t think you want seduction,’ he said levelly. ‘And, God knows, I don’t want to persuade you into anything against your better judgement.’
Katie swallowed. The end of evasions indeed.
‘What do you want?’ she said at last.
‘Trust.’
She folded her arms across herself. ‘You don’t want much,’ she muttered.
Haydon gave a soundless laugh. ‘Oh, I want everything. I’m not a moderate man.’
‘Everything?’ Katie stared. ‘What does that mean?’
‘It means I want you body and soul. Heart and mind. No secrets. No lies.’
It sounded wonderful. It sounded terrifying.
‘I can’t,’ said Katie from her heart.
Haydon did not argue. He just looked at her for an unreadable moment. Then he said very quietly, ‘Will you tell me why?’
But she made a despairing gesture, not answering. He caught her hand. She looked at him across the table, her eyes wide with apprehension. He gave a lop-sided smile and carried her hand to his lips.
‘Don’t look like that, my love.’
Katie’s whole body tingled. She should have pulled her hand away. She knew it, but she did not move. All she knew was that she had never felt like this before. She sat there, her hand trembling very slightly in his, lost.
‘I told you,’ he said softly. ‘Your decision.’
She drew in a sharp breath. Half turned to him. Opened her lips—But in the end she could not.
He sat back. Katie half expected him to be angry, irritated at least. He was not. At least. . . She scanned his spotlit face and could not tell what he felt.
When he spoke his voice was even. ‘Is there someone else? I should have asked that before.’
‘No,’ she said.
‘But there has been?’
She thought of Mike. ‘In a way,’ she said painfully.
His voice sharpened. ‘You were in love with him?’
She almost told him then. But she did not know where it would lead. Or rather she did know, exactly, and she was not feeling brave enough. Not yet. Not quite. She sat there, frozen.
‘Don’t worry,’ Haydon said at last. He sounded as if he was comforting her. ‘You’ll tell me when you’re ready.’
He left her to cook dinner. Tonight it was some sort of pasta. Katie was dimly aware that it was done in a wonderful sauce, heady with herbs and crisp with young vegetables. But she could not have been said to do justice to it. She refused more wine. Declined coffee altogether.
Haydon saw it all with a good deal of understanding. But he did not comment. Instead he kept up a stream of witty remarks to which she did not have to respond with more than half her attention. And when even that gave out, he watched her in alert silence.
Eventually he said, ‘Come for a walk.’
Katie came out of her brown study with a jump. ‘What?’
The lamp was guttering but she heard the smile in his voice.
‘A walk. You haven’t seen all the tricks of the garden yet.’
She blinked. She realised suddenly how silent she had been. She swallowed and tried to sound interested. ‘Tricks?’
‘You probably won’t approve.’ He sounded amused. ‘Not with your views on gardens. Still. . .’
He stood up and held out his hand. After infinitesimal hesitation, Katie put her hand in his. His fingers closed round it. Katie jumped. His skin felt as hot as fire. She could feel the sheer energy of him all the way up her arm to her heart. He pulled her to her feet.
He must have sensed the way she trembled when he tucked her hand into the curve of his arm. But all he said was, ‘Keep close to me. These steps can be treacherous in the dark.’
He was right. A terracotta urn that looked ordinary by day loomed like a crouching giant, making Katie jump. Tendrils of trailing geranium caught at her light muslin skirt. A small lizard scuttled, making Katie miss her step. She gave a small exclamation and flinched closer to him. Haydon looked down at her.
‘Just one more step,’ he said enigmatically.
And then they were on the broad sweep of formal garden. In the dark the cypress avenue could have been carved of marble, like the statue at the end in its alcove of box. The aromatic smell of foliage filled her nostrils. As gravel crunched under their feet, Katie almost turned her ankle. She clutched at him. His hand tightened possessively on hers. He pulled her into the lee of one of the trees.
‘Now,’ he said.
Katie held her breath.
But he did not kiss her. In fact, he was not looking at her at all. He was looking back towards the dark castello. She was about to demand the reason, when all of a sudden the garden seemed to catch alight.
It happened slowly. First the sunken garden, laid out like a piece of Renaissance embroidery, then, flight by flight, the crenellated steps down which they had come. The light picked out statues Katie had barely registered before: amorous nymphs, laughing satyrs, a cool and haughty goddess. And then, when she thought there was nothing left but the castello itself, right in front of them a great fan of light and water exploded out of a baroque fountain.
‘Oh.’
Drops from the cascade splashed her face and body, but that was not why she cried out. She turned to him impulsively.
‘It’s beautiful. It’s—’ She was lost for words. ‘I’ve never seen anything like it.’
Haydon gave a soft laugh. ‘Not too like a municipal park?’
Katie was too enchanted to blush, even when he threw her own words back at her. ‘How is it done? You didn’t switch anything did you?’
‘Well, yes,’ he said apologetically. He nodded to the house. ‘Up there while I was cooking.’
‘But that was ages ago.’
‘Yes, but the system is controlled by lasers. If you break the beam the lights come on—after a delay that gives you time to get to the fountain so you can appreciate it. We broke it when we came off the steps.’
Katie went to the fountain. She held her hands out into the rainbow ribbons of water. Haydon came up beside her and slipped one arm easily round her waist. Katie did not resist.
‘The electronics are pure space age,’ he said easily. ‘But I got the idea from one of my nineteenth-century predecessors. It was done by servants carrying flambeaux in those days, of course. He was giving a ball for Napoleon’s sister Elisa and he wanted to impress her.’
Katie gave a great shout of laughter, flinging her head back so the fountain played on her face and throat.
‘And I’ll just bet he did.’
Haydon looked down at her, his smile crooked. ‘You think so?’
‘Certain of it.’
‘I’m glad to hear you say that,’ he said smoothly. ‘The records don’t mention her reaction.’
Katie looked up at him. Her eyes danced with mischief. ‘Is that why you do a test-run on your own guests? Just to check the effect?’
The arm round her tightened. ‘You’re the first.’
‘What?’
She was so disconcerted she did not pull away from him. Just stared up into his face, oddly shaken.
Haydon smiled down at her. ‘No test-runs.’
Katie felt as if she could not breathe suddenly. ‘Until now.’
His eyes bored into hers. ‘Is that what this is? A test-run? ’
The look on his face demanded an answer.
The answer, she realised suddenly. She began to tremble.
‘N-no,’ Katie said uncertainly. Then, more strongly, ‘No. Not a test-run.’
He buried his hands in her loose hair. Katie could feel his desire beating at her like the heat of a fire. Not his desire alone. She was shaking with it too.
The intensity of her own feelings shocked her. She moistened her lips. Her eyelids quivered. Haydon said her name in a hoarse voice. Katie leaned into his body, boneless. Instinctively his hands went round her, hard.
He said in her ear, sounding shaken, ‘I never meant—I said i
t was up to you. But this is crazy.’
Katie did not answer. Or not with words. She splayed her hands out over his chest, finding the warmth of bone and sinew under the thin shirt. She could not have spoken to save her life.
‘All right.’ His voice was ragged. ‘If you want me to make the decision, I will.’
He caught hold of her hands and pulled them up to his lips. Over the top of them he looked at her.
‘I want to make love to you tonight,’ he said very deliberately. ‘When we go up those steps I am going to my room. If you don’t want to, you can go back to your turret. I won’t stop you and I won’t come after you. But if you stay with me, you sleep with me. Understood?’
Katie could not meet his eyes. She just about managed a nod. He took her hand and held it strongly.
They climbed past the statues. Every one seemed more erotic than the last. Katie, the professional artist, could hardly bear to look at them. She was almost certain Haydon knew of her embarrassment, though he did not say anything.
He must think I’m such a fool, she thought. Why does he want me? Because he does want me. And I—Oh, Lord, what am I getting myself into?
Haydon had said he would let her go if she chose. But when they got inside the salon doors and Katie hesitated, his fingers tightened so fiercely that her hand felt crushed. Her heart lurched.
Suddenly she could not bear her own cowardice any more. Almost angrily she turned on him, pulling his head down to meet her passionate kiss.
It was like putting a match to wood that had been dry too long. He swept her up in his arms. It felt as if her bones were cracking in his grip. Katie did not protest. This was a fire she had run away from for too long.
He dragged her through the dark house. His room was above the salon, huge and high, with a spectacular view of the illuminated garden. Katie did not look at the proportions of the room, nor the view. She was barely aware of the antique furniture, except for the unexpectedly modern springs of his four-poster bed when he flung them both onto it.
He already had her out of her shirt and was kissing her shoulderblade as he eased her skirt away. Trembling violently, Katie fumbled with his belt. In the ghostly light from the floodlit garden, it was more difficult than she expected.
‘Men’s clothes are so much more difficult than women’s,’ she complained breathlessly. She tried to sound sophisticated but she only succeeded in sounding at the edge of endurance. And they both knew it.
‘No, they’re not. You’re just not used to them.’ Haydon had no trouble at all in sounding sophisticated. And he was a long way from being out of control.
He licked the cleft between her breasts. Katie arched in startled delight. He got rid of her bra one-handed.
‘Not fair,’ she said. It was half a laugh, half a groan. ‘Help me.’
But Haydon was too preoccupied to comply. He was kissing every inch of skin he uncovered. She felt his lips on the puckered scar and tensed. But he carried on, his hands following his lips, and Katie’s tension was no longer anything to do with old wounds. He got all the way to her toes before Katie let out her breath. She sank back among the pillows, panting.
Haydon turned onto his elbow to look down at her. Unearthly light filtered in from the floodlit garden. He trailed one finger up her thigh. . .her hip. . .and paused. The teasing hesitation was deliberate and they both knew it. Her lips parted.
‘Help—me.’ This time it was a command, hoarse with need.
He gave a soft laugh of absolute triumph. Then he shed his own clothes and did everything she had dreamed of. And more.
Katie went up like tinder. In the end her skin was so sensitised it almost hurt.
At the very last moment, when he was inside her, he made her look at him. In the last coherent second before blind instinct took over, he said, ‘Well? Your choice, my sweet.’
But her body was already answering for her. He began to move. And, lightly, bravely, without any hesitation at all, she jumped off the.edge of the world.
CHAPTER NINE
KATIE woke with a start from a deep sleep. She did not know what had woken her but she had a strange feeling of foreboding. She struggled up on her elbow and looked around. The room was completely unfamiliar. Her foreboding increased.
And then she became aware of three things simultaneously. Sounds of an approaching engine disturbed the morning languor. She was naked. And she was alone.
Katie sat bolt-upright.
Last night. It had happened last night. The question. The answer. Every damned thing Haydon wanted. Everything she was afraid of.
So where was he now? Her loosened hair brushed her naked shoulders. It was like a shadow of last night’s caresses. She remembered. Everything.
‘Oh, my life,’ whispered Katie.
In the cold light of morning, her first reaction was complete disbelief. I don’t do this sort of thing, Katie thought. But she did not feel like the girl she had been yesterday, the girl who ran away from her feelings and never took risks. I do now, she thought.
And, even though she was alone, it was a small triumph.
She looked round the room: plain plaster walls hung with Renaissance art, sun-polished wood. It was just like Haydon, that room—uncompromising, unexpected.
And the most unexpected thing of all was the clothes she had been wearing last night. They were adrift across the floor and furniture. They did not look like clothes any more, but scraps of wind-borne flotsam. Katie remembered rather too vividly how they had become like that.
The little spurt of triumph died.
And Haydon? What had last night meant to him? Was she a passing amusement to spice up his holiday? Or something more? He had told her it was her decision. More than once. But he had also made it clear he had no time for marriage, and she suspected that included any long-term relationship.
So—what now?
Katie bit her lip, trying to ignore the leaping panic inside her. Look at this logically, she told herself. You don’t know him very well. Haydon could well be the sort of man for whom last night was no more than a normal encounter. No strings attached on either side. Light love, lightly taken and as lightly shed.
‘It didn’t feel like that,’ said Katie aloud.
Well, of course it wouldn’t, a small voice in her head reminded her. Not at the time.
Katie was defiant. ‘It doesn’t feel like that. now.’
Not to you perhaps, said the unwelcome small voice. But to him? Do you have any idea at all how it feels to him? You don’t even know where he is.
‘Then I’ll go and look for him.’
She swung her legs out of bed with resolution. And caught sight of herself in the mirror.
In the morning light, the reflection was pitiless. Katie put a hand slowly up to touch her scar. Unbelievably, she had forgotten it. And yet—was that why Haydon had let her alone this morning after all? She did not believe it.
Why not? said the inner voice. What makes him different from Mike?
‘I don’t believe it,’ Katie said aloud. ‘Haydon is too—honourable. Even if he couldn’t bear it, he wouldn’t just run away.’
Why not? Your father did.
‘He wanted me to trust him,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I’m going to trust him.’
Your funeral, said the voice.
Outside, the car noises got closer. Katie looked round for something to cover her nakedness. She rescued last night’s discarded skirt and huddled it round her as a car drew up on the gravel below. She squinted down into the courtyard.
At first she could, not see a thing. Then, at the very edge of her field of vision, she made out the wing of a dark car. The door opened, closed with a heavy thud. High heels sputtered confidently across the gravel. Katie’s heart sank.
She did not know what to think. But there was no sign of Haydon outside and no sound of him in the house, either. And her whole soul revolted at the thought of cowering here in his room until he chose to come and tell her what to do.
> So Katie gathered up her clothes and set out to face the day.
She had a shower, changed into clean clothes and made her way downstairs. Still no sign of Haydon. The salon windows had been flung open to the late-morning sun and there was a faint smell of long-brewed coffee in the kitchen. But there was not so much as a note to indicate what might have happened to him.
The stores in the fridge had been replenished, though.
Katie helped herself to a glass of fresh milk and tried to think clearly.
So Haydon had left her sleeping and she did not believe he had run away from her scar. So had he gone because he did not want to disturb her? Maybe he thought she might sleep late after the emotion of the night before. To say nothing of the energy expended. Katie sipped her milk, a faint reminiscent smile curling her mouth. Energy expended by both of them.
Maybe he thought she would regret it. Her smile dimmed. Haydon had said nothing last night but he was an experienced man and, at the very least, he must have known she was less so. A lot less. Perhaps he was the one with regrets. Her smile died completely.
The door to the terrace opened and a blonde she recognised walked in. Katie nearly dropped her glass of milk.
The blonde was less surprised. ‘Hello,’ she said in a friendly voice. ‘Awake at last?’
Katie did drop the glass then. Flushing painfully, she fell to her knees, gathering up the larger pieces of broken glass.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said the blonde kindly. ‘It’s soon cleared up.’
She bustled over to a cupboard Katie had not even known was there and produced a dustpan and brush.
‘Let me,’ said the blonde with proprietorial firmness. ‘You don’t want to cut your hands.’
she did not quite elbow Katie out of the way, but it was clear she knew her way about the kitchen; it was even clearer that she regarded it as her own private territory. She dealt briskly with broken glass and spilt milk and then sat back on her heels and smiled up at Katie.
‘Have you had breakfast? Or was that what the milk was?’
‘Er—yes,’ said Katie. She felt rather weak suddenly, and sank down onto one of the kitchen chairs.
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