by Anne Hampson
Realm of the Pagans
By
Anne Hampson
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
He Was Her Husband—and Her Master!
'My wishes are not to be ignored, Martine. You must learn that when I say a thing I mean it.'
Her chin lifted. 'I won't be dictated to, Luke! There is no harm in my talking to Kelvin.'
'I was not speaking about harm but about my wishes. You will keep away from this man, do you understand? In Greece, the husband is the master. The sooner you accept this the better it will be for you.'
She paled with anger. How could she convince him that he could not dominate her?
ANNE HAMPSON currently makes her home in England, but this top romance author has travelled and lived all over the world. This variety of experience is reflected in her books, which present the ever-changing face of romance as it is found wherever people fall in love.
Dear Reader:
Silhouette Books is pleased to announce the creation of a new line of contemporary romances—Silhouette Special Editions. Each month we'll bring you six new love stories written by the best of today's authors— Janet Dailey, Brooke Hastings, Laura Hardy, Sondra Stanford, Linda Shaw, Patti Beckman, and many others.
Silhouette Special Editions are written with American women in mind; they are for readers who want more: more story, more details and descriptions, more realism, and more romance. Special Editions are longer than most contemporary romances allowing for a closer look at the relationship between hero and heroine with emphasis on heightened romantic tension and greater sensuous and sensual detail. If you want more from a romance, be sure to look for Silhouette Special Editions on sale this February wherever you buy books.
We welcome any suggestions or comments, and I invite you to write us at the address below.
Karen Solem
Editor-in-Chief
Silhouette Books
P.O. Box 769
New York, N. Y. 10019
Copyright © 1982 by Anne Hampson and Silhouette Books,
a Simon & Schuster division of Gulf & Western Corporation
ISBN: 0-671-57128-1
First Silhouette Books printing January, 1982
Other Silhouette Romances
by
Anne Hampson
Payment in Full
Stormy Masquerade
Second Tomorrow
The Dawn Steals Softly
Man of the Outback
Where Eagles Nest
Man Without a Heart
Shadow of Apollo
Enchantment
Fascination
Desire
Chapter One
The darkness was ghastly, creating monsters of the mountains and bringing them so close that Martine felt smothered within the confines of the car, and wished with all her heart that she had not succumbed to the impulsive desire to get away from her fiancé.
Her fiancé…? Until a couple of hours ago he was her fiancé… but now…?
Tears began to sting her eyes, impairing her vision so that driving became even more difficult.
'He didn't mean it!' she cried aloud. 'He couldn't have! It's only infatuation he feels for Sophia! He's flattered by her attention and—and —perhaps he thinks of her fortune—just a little. It would be natural. Dear Kelvin, come after me! I said where I was going—to Athens, so you know this is the road I would take. Please come to me—please!'
She and Kelvin had begun as boss and secretary. He was an author, having written several books on archaeology. Martine had always been interested in archaeology and was, in fact, a member of the Archaelogical Society in England. She had spent most week-ends helping to unearth a Roman theatre near her home town of Warrencester, in the Midlands. Kelvin, naturally interested in the recent find, had visited the site and within a month had tempted Mar-tine to work for him, in spite of the fact that she had an excellent post already. The truth was that Kelvin had attracted her from the moment she set eyes on him—standing there, tall and handsome, his whole attention on the work that was taking place. It was done almost entirely by students from the nearby university or people like Martine who, like the students, were willing to give their services free; the joy of discovery being reward enough for the work they put in.
Martine had been working for Kelvin only a few weeks when after finishing his present book, he announced his intention of writing about Olympia in Greece. Thrilled with the idea of visiting the famous site of the ancient Games, Martine had rented out her flat, packed what she would need and was ready to go immediately when Kelvin had asked.
And on the plane going over to Athens he had proposed to her…
Life was so good. She felt as if she were floating on a star as the plane hovered above the clouds, sunlit clouds, silver clouds with no shadows visible or even contemplated. Then from nowhere—or so it seemed—appeared Sophia, lovely young daughter of Andreas Sotiris, wealthy exporter of wine and the owner of vast acreage in other parts of Greece. Sophia had been away at school in Athens but after finishing her education, she had returned home. It seemed that even at their first meeting Kelvin was fascinated by the dark beauty of the Greek girl. Yes, Martine thought as she drove the car along the perilous road with its twists and turns, its narrowness and its weather-worn surfaces unexpectedly making the car behave as if it were on tires of steel instead of rubber, the girl possessed a beauty which would attract any man. She was young, unsophisticated… but Martine guessed she was clever for all that, and unscrupulous. She had wanted Kelvin; she had made no attempt to ignore his interest; on the contrary, she had encouraged it. Yet Martine had never even suspected her fiancé of developing any deep feelings for the girl. He was kind to her, friendly, because her father was their neighbour and he had allowed them to use a small villa in the grounds of his house. It was divided into two separate apartments so it had been ideal for Martine and her fiancé—they were close but yet their sleeping quarters were respectably separate.
The road became narrower than ever and for a few minutes Martine's whole attention was on her driving. And then, just as thoughts and regrets and hopes began to take possession of her mind again, the car jerked and spluttered. Then she found herself pressing the accelerator in a futile attempt to get the engine purring again. With her heart lurching she came to a silent halt, and slid out into the blanket of darkness where not even the sound of a night bird could be heard. Shivering with incomprehensible fear, she just stood, her mind half dazed by what was happening to her. Fate was against her, she decided, wondering if she would be here until daylight, or if by some remote chance another car would come along. It must be almost midnight… She must have been mad to pack a bag and run from Kelvin like that! Only now did she realise that her optimism had been so great that she had been sure he would come after her in the big Mercedes he had bought on coming to Greece a few weeks ago.
What must she do? Begin to walk…? Suddenly her thoughts braked and her heart leapt. Headlights! It must be Kelvin. He was sorry, contrite, guilty. He had come after her and now everything was going to be all right!
She stood in the middle of the road and waved her arms, then stepped back. Yes, it was the Merc! And so positive was she that the tall dark shadow coming from the car was, in fact, her fiancé that without hesitation she ran forward and flung herself into his arms.
'Oh, darling—I knew you would come! I shouldn't have run away—' She lifted her face in the darkness and, rising on tiptoe, presse
d her eager lips to his. For one astonished second there was no response and then Martine felt the sensuous lips part and she was stunned by the passion in her fiancé's kiss. How contrite he must be to kiss her with such ardour! Never before had he shown such enthusiasm. He had been loving and gentle, yes, but without this show of passion, this new approach which made it seem he had had years of experience with women. She pressed close, putting her arms about his neck, thrusting her fingers into his hair…
Kelvin's hair was soft and fine; this hair was strong and wiry… She leant away, her eyes trying to probe the dimness.
'That was as delightful as it was unexpected,' drawled a faintly accented voice. 'My name's Loukas Leoros. What's yours?'
'I—I—' Hot with embarrassment, Martine wrenched herself free of the strong hands that held her. 'I th-thought you were—were my fiancé,' she stammered. 'His car is the same make—I saw the shape and concluded…' Her voice trailed away to silence as she realised that this stranger, this Greek, would not want to hear her explanation. 'Will you give me a lift to—to wherever you are going, please? My car's broken down.'
'So it would seem. You were expecting your fiancé to come?' She said nothing and after a moment he added, a curious inflection in his voice, 'You've quarrelled and you ran away? Just like a woman to expect her man to follow, pandering to her perversity.' His tone was cynical and faintly contemptuous. Yet there was a certain pleasantry about it that scared Martine because she knew the reputation of the Greeks… and she was undoubtedly in the most vulnerable situation possible. He could do her any injury and get away with it, she thought. And then suddenly, expectedly, the moon emerged from the blackness of the clouds, spreading its silver effulgence across the landscape, lighting up the road to reveal the features of the man whose presence was bringing Martine both relief and fear. She saw a face of remarkable distinction, with nobility its chief characteristic. She found herself recalling the statues in the Athens Museum—statues of pagan gods and heroes, their faces severe and classical; ruthless, vigorous lines adding to the overall impression of severity and mastery. Masters of every-thing—and everyone—that came their way. This man—Loukas Leoros—might have inspired the sculptors of ancient Greece, might have been a throwback, she thought. But whereas the statues depicted handsome, unscarred beauty, this man wore a scar down the left side of his face— not too noticeable in this pale silver light, but there all the same. Otherwise, though, he was indisputably good-looking, and she guessed his age to be around thirty. Were his eyes really black, she wondered, or was it merely the lack of proper light which made them appear so? His nose was straight, his mouth full-lipped and sensual, typically Greek. He differed from most Greeks, though, because he was tall—well over six feet, she estimated, comparing his height with that of Kelvin—and there was not an ounce of unnecessary weight on his lithe and upright frame. His hair, thick and black and wiry was inclined to wave on each side of the widow's peak, a feature which seemed to give him a decidedly satanic look. She shivered involuntarily, allowing her imagination to run away with her as she saw herself being molested by this man.
'Will you give me a lift?' she requested again, ignoring his comments and inserting a gentle plea into her voice, as if by so doing she could gain his sympathy so that he would feel he could not molest her. She looked up into the austere countenance and something stirred within her as a smile came slowly to his lips.
'Don't be afraid of me,' he said quietly. And then, 'Where have you left this fiancé of yours?'
'In Olympia. We live there.'
'Olympia?' in some surprise. 'What are you doing there? Is this fiancé of yours English or Greek?'
'English.' She paused a moment. 'He was my employer before we became engaged,' she explained, feeling that the man's intent stare was an invitation for her to confide. 'We quarrelled, as you surmised, and I came away—with only one suitcase,' she ended absurdly and heard her companion laugh.
'If he has any sense he'll beat you when he gets you back,' he commented, lifting a lean brown hand to stifle a yawn. 'I know I should.'
Martine's blue eyes glinted.
'If you would be so kind—'
'—as to give you a lift? I feel I ought to take you back to this fiancé of yours. He's probably worried out of his mind,' he added with a sort of satirical disdain. 'More fool him. He should know you will come running back eventually. They all do—'
'Mr. Leoros,' interrupted Martine coldly, 'you need not bother about the lift! I can sit in the car until the morning when another car is sure to come along!'
'Probably containing an amorous Greek who will rape you and then drive away. Get into my car and I'll drive you back to Olympia.'
'I don't want—'
'In, I said,' he cut her off imperiously and with the added encouragement of a little push. 'I see you managed to pull your car off the road so there'll be no danger to anyone who might just be driving this way.'
Once in the car Martine leant back, amazed to find herself so relaxed. But on thinking about it as they drove, her companion looking for a place to turn around, she concluded that her state of mind resulted from relief that she had not met with a situation that could have had dire results. This man was obviously honourable—perhaps happily married, or engaged and so not interested in any other woman.
'What's the address?' he wanted to know when eventually they entered the outskirts of the sacred site.
'We live in a villa in the grounds of Mr. Sotiris's house. Do you happen to know him?'
A small and inexplicable silence followed before her companion spoke. 'Yes, I do know him— very well, in fact.'
'So you know where to drop me, then?'
'The villa's at the back of his house?'
'That's right.' There were two villas, one of which was facing the road and it was occupied by the head gardener.
'Your fiancé lives in the same house as you?'
'It's divided into two apartments.'
'Do you know Mr. Sotiris well?' he inquired curiously.
'I haven't spoken to him above half-a-dozen times.' A small pause and then, as if driven on by some compulsion she could not conquer, 'He has a very young and beautiful daughter, Sophia.'
'Correct.' Fleetingly he slid her a glance, noticing the golden hair, long and straight, flicked up attractively at the ends, the strong yet attractively feminine lines and curves of her face, the full generous mouth, the high, intelligent forehead. 'What made you mention Sophia?'
'I don't quite know,' with well-feigned indifference which apparently lacked the effect she wanted.
'She's after every man she sees. Could I make an intelligent guess and say you mentioned her because she was on your mind—because she has come between you and your fiancé?'
Martine remained silent for a space, aware that she was not too surprised by the assumption which Loukas Leoros had made. That he was a highly-intelligent man was plain; that he was keenly perceptive was also obvious. Martine found herself wondering about him, what he did for a living, about his family and his life generally. Stupid thoughts because he was a mere stranger who had been kind enough to come to her rescue. She heard herself say, slowly and reluctantly, 'She has come between us, yes. Kelvin seems infatuated with her…'
'And so you tackled him and you quarrelled?'
'It was more serious than a quarrel,' she admitted. 'Kelvin said it was all ended between him and me. I—I gave him h-his ring b-back—' To her consternation she burst into tears. 'I'm s-sorry…'
He stopped the car just beyond the entrance to the gates of the Sanctuary. Martine put a handkerchief to her eyes and dried them, blinking as the interior light was switched on.
'Are you quite sure he is worth it?' The foreign voice was faintly harsh, the accent rather more pronounced than she had heard it before.
'I love him,' was her simple reply and she heard a swift intake of breath before Loukas Leoros spoke.
'He obviously doesn't love you.'
'He did at on
e time.'
'And now you have lost your job as well as your fiancé.' A statement which seemed once and for all to make Martine accept that the affair really was ended. She felt angry with this man be-cause he had the power to convince her, for up till now hope had still flourished deep in her heart.
'I suppose so.' Her eyes strayed to the sacred grove that lay so peacefully in the hollow of the tree-clothed hills. The clouds had all dispersed by now and the moon was full and high over the sacred precincts, its argent glow giving the temple columns a somewhat ghostly appearance. She could faintly hear the murmuring of the river above the chirping of cicadas and the silvery music made by the sheep bells on the hillsides. So peaceful! Olympia, where all feuds were forgotten during the Games, where in ancient times all man's effort went into the glory of sport rather than the more doubtful glory of slaying his enemies. Perhaps one day the peoples of the world would make a universal shrine of this place… and all wars would become the horrors of the past.
'What are you thinking?' The voice was soft, yet it carried an imperious ring which demanded a truthful answer. It came easily but with a sigh as Martine spoke aloud the thoughts and ideas that had been passing through her mind.
'It's fanciful, of course,' she ended and her companion agreed, which was depressing and. the ready tears misted her eyes again. 'Life is rotten!' she exclaimed. 'I would not care if I knew I was going to die!'
'Yes you would. This will pass and you'll meet someone else.'
'You say that but your voice has a cynical ring.'
'I have no faith in love between a man and a woman.'
'But that's silly. Love is what makes a marriage, and—'
'Here in Greece many marriages are arranged. Where does love come into it?'
'In the West we marry for love.'