by Susan Barrie
“Pearls would suit you, I should think. Creamy pearls, like your skin, an instead of emeralds we will substitute ... sapphires. Like your eyes! You have the most charming eyes, little one, did you know that?" and he put his fingers under her chin and turned her face towards him so that he could look easily into those eyes. His were warm, and dark, and melting. “Why was it decided to call you Steve when you are so feminine?”
“I suppose it was because my father always wanted a son,” she answered.
He shook his head.
“Is no one ever content? Your father should have been happy because he had a small, female thing who looked like you! I shall always call you Stephanie, and we will forget about this young person known as Steve.”
He ran a long brown index finger down one side of her smooth cheek, and she made no attempt to escape from his hold. He bent his sleek dark head towards her, and there was a curious glitter in his eyes when he asked softly:
“When you sat up here on deck with our friend Heritage you did not permit him to do this, I hope?”
And she felt his beautifully firm masculine mouth closing over hers, and because she felt bereft of the power to do anything at all to resist him in that moment of utter weakness on her part he kissed her again when the brief period of timeless magic had ended. Then, with that exciting glitter in her eyes so close to hers that she felt hypnotized by it, she felt his lips growing warm and ardent as his arms slipped round her and he held her close.
“You haven’t answered my question, little one,” he said, a not altogether steady note of laughter in, his voice when he lifted his head at last. “Or is this the wrong moment to be curious? Even so, I am curious ... and especially about that young man in Tangier!”
Steve felt as if she had been brought down to earth with a suddenness that was almost brutal, and she certainly didn’t consider it a fitting moment to be asked such a question about a man ... any other man!
One moment she was experiencing an excitement—sharing in an excitement—that was so new to her that she simply hadn’t the power to stand up against it, or resist it; and then—with excitement giving place to an ecstatic sensation that set her trembling inwardly, and left her trembling for a long time afterwards—she was cast from the heights to depths where a burning embarrassment claimed her, and the knowledge that it was she herself who had behaved with an extraordinary lack of correctness literally deprived her of speech.
She had been bewitched by moonlight, and her employer’s presence, into. simply falling into his arms, and now he was laughing at her gently ... teasing her..
“Your lips are very inexperienced, my sweet Stephanie, and I do not think you have ever been in love. You may, perhaps have permitted the odd kiss, but that is not love!” He was holding her by her shoulders, challenging her with his brilliant eyes. “Tell me one thing about this fellow countryman of yours who so violently attracted you in Tangier? And however much you may deny it there must have been some sort of attraction, otherwise you would not have wilfully courted my displeasure by contriving meeting with him.”
“There was no attraction,” Steve gasped, determined to have one thing clearly established, at least.
“You mean it was only a passing fancy, and that you have succeeded in putting him right out of your mind?”
A shadow fell across them, and a husky voice said penitently:
“I behaved badly, Léon, but I am here to apologize humbly, if that is what you require?” Gabrielle was holding out her hands to him, the same slender, scarlet-tipped hands that had flung his emerald necklace at him, and he took them and held them for a moment as if he didn’t quite know what to do with them. “I am forgiven?” she pleaded.
“Of course you are forgiven,” he replied impatiently, dropping her hands. “But there was no need for you to come up here and make a public apology.”
Gabrielle smiled.
“But there is only Mademoiselle Blair to hear how very sorry I am, and since you were making a little light love to her it is as well, perhaps, that; she should clearly understand you do sometimes do these things when you are either bored or upset. Usually it is because you are bored ... but tonight I will accept it that you were upset.” She had possessed herself of his arm, and was clinging to it familiarly. “But you are no longer upset, are you, chéri?” in honeyed tones that were huskier than ever.
Steve turned away, and she was making swiftly for the companion-ladder when her employer called her back.
“Miss Blair!”
There was a certain urgency in the command, and she halted mechanically for a moment, but Gabrielle spoke insolently.
“Let her go, chéri! Even the English understand that love in a game ... unless it is something more serious!”
When Steve reached her cabin she made no attempt to switch on the lights, for her cheeks were burning as if they were on fire, and she had no desire to see her humiliated eyes in the mirror.
She was remembering very clearly that the Comte had once told her—and that on the one and only occasion when she had dined with him alone—that while he found falling in love delightful, he couldn’t endure the thought of having to live with love for the rest of his life.
When—and if—he married Gabrielle it would not be because he loved her, but because he enjoyed making love to her. Because she would look perfect at the head of his dinner-table, and many of his friends would envy him.
With the feel of his kisses still on her lips Steve told herself that that was something. Somehow she couldn’t bear the thought that when the selected woman became his wife she would also become the love of his life!
CHAPTER TEN
THEY turned southwards after a visit to the Greek islands. The thing that enchanted Steve about the islands of the Dodecanese was the bewildering clarity of the light, and although on Rhodes there were luxury hotels there was also enough of ancient interest to give her a lot of satisfaction.
She and her father had loved probing into the past wherever they went, and the Greek islands offered so much in the way of Grecian temples and Byzantine splendours that she was often quite carried away by enthusiasm for all that she saw. The others were more tepid in their appreciation, although the strange, unearthly beauty of the islands—particularly at sunrise and sunset—appealed to most of them. But, more than anything else, they enjoy swimming in the warm seas and lying on the beaches, sipping aperitifs at the right hour, and making the acquaintance of exotic culinary efforts.
Neil Heritage was a little bored by it all, but; the novelty for him had been worn away years before. It seemed to provide him with entertainment, however, to watch Steve going into rhapsodies over graceful marble columns and breathless sites such as that which supported the remains of the ruined temple of Poseidon, built on a promontory jutting into the blue Aegean. And the Comte, also an experienced traveller who had seen everything several times before, seemed to have his hands very well filled with the task of looking after his bevy of feminine guests, who were not always easily entertained, and seemed to have little time just to stand and admire. Even if he felt the inclination.
Sometimes Steve wondered whether the cruise bored him—and these were the odd moments when she caught him looking bored, and temporarily slightly aloof from the others. And as, in these moments, he always seemed to feel her eyes upon him, he would glance at her wryly ... and then she would look away quickly, and was glad that! Neil Heritage was always somewhere near at hand, and that she could turn to him swiftly and engage him in conversation, or perhaps laugh with him over some shared joke or remark he made.
Whenever they went ashore it was Neil’s hand that helped her into the launch, or to set foot on the quayside. Without apparently caring very much what the others thought of him, and how much some of the other ladies might resent his preference, he attached himself quite openly to her, and every moment of free time she had he quite obviously regarded as time that should be allocated to himself. He even raised objections when he thought she
was being overworked, or unfairly employed, and that didn’t commend him to the feminine element on the whole.
But Steve was grateful to have him to turn to, to feel that he was willing to sacrifice his freedom in order to support her whenever she needed support, and even to fetch and carry for her if she could be induced to make use of him.
The Comte never interfered, or tried to persuade him to turn his attentions elsewhere. Although there were only Signor Valdoli and Raoul to share the burden with him of keeping the rest of the party amused, he seemed to think that it was quite in order that Steve should have a constant escort.
Since the night when, he had kissed her on the moonlit deck—and she was certain she would never forget that night—Steve was careful to avoid finding herself for a moment alone with him, although she knew she would have given all she possessed to be the one who sat with him on the quiet deck after dinner, or occupied a cosy corner of the gay little library with him while the others were pursuing other methods of entertainment. Sometimes it was Rosalie, all floating nylon net and cool English reserve, who leaned upon his arm to watch the moon rise; and on another occasion it would be Madelon who got up early to join him in a swim before the others were stirring in their cabins. But Gabrielle was the one who quite, plainly considered she had a right to his attentions, and as he made it fairly obvious that she had a very special charm for him there was a certain amount of justification for her proprietorial attitude. Sometimes Steve found herself recalling Timothy Strangeways, and although he had got her into a certain amount of trouble she couldn’t help regretting his association with Gabrielle.
Whatever the basis of their friendship—and, no doubt, at one time they had been something more| than friends—he hadn’t the same type of unscrupulous mind that Gabrielle undoubtedly had! Somehow Steve was certain of that. He was almost certainly an adventurer, and probably lived by his wits as much as his painting, but he wouldn’t have thought of making use of Steve in the way he did if Gabrielle hadn’t suggested it first.
Steve didn’t know why she was so certain of that, but she was. And every time she saw Gabrielle looking up limpidly into the eyes of her host, every time she appeared in some glamorous new creation that made so much of her natural qualities that she was almost too beautiful, and claimed as a right the admiration of every one of them, she saw her in her bedroom in Tangier, looking hard and slightly inhuman and determined to get her way.
Somehow she hadn’t been at all beautiful then, and in Steve’s eyes she had never been really beautiful since. Her beauty was a mask which she could shed at will, and even the lightest breath of her perfume caused Steve’s nostrils to wrinkle in distaste.
She knew she was envious of her ... she knew she was actively jealous of her. But the reasons why she disliked and mistrusted her intensely had nothing to do with the Comte de Courvalles.
Before they sailed away from the Greek islands they were to have another name added to their passenger list.
Steve had been shopping with Neil Heritage on the island of Rhodes, and having added yet another souvenir of the cruise to her growing collection she had returned with her escort to an hotel where it had been arranged they should all assemble for lunch. To her complete astonishment, seated at one of the outside tables and drinking light wine with the Comte and Gabrielle was Timothy Strangeways. He had already accepted an invitation to join the party aboard the Odette, and when presented to Steve he gave absolutely no sign of ever having met her before.
Steve stared at him so hard that Gabrielle—no doubt secretly terrified of what she might reveal—spoke up swiftly.
“Miss Blair recognizes a fellow countryman even before he opens his mouth,” she observed. “But if she also thinks she has met him somewhere before I can assure her that she is quite mistaken, for although my half-brother Tim looks so much like the average Englishman that he ought to be taken as a model for him he is really half French. My mother married again when I was very young, and Tim is the result.”
She spread her hands, in a typical French gesture, and then clasped her half-brother’s arm impulsively. To an onlooker who knew nothing whatsoever about her, and the pains she had taken to establish contact with this young man earlier, she was simply and unaffectedly delighted because she had run across a relative where she had least expected to meet anyone she knew; and although not so moved as his half-sister Tim Strange ways put on an excellent act as the surprised artist who was too casual to keep in touch with his family, but welcomed running across odd members of it occasionally, just the same.
“I am here because the Greek islands are an artist’s paradise,” he explained, with such a complete air of naturalness that Steve wanted to gasp, and gazing straight at her with his smiling blue eyes he recognized that she had taken the surprise on the chin. It had well-nigh floored her, and he moved swiftly and put her into a chair with an exclamation of concern. “You look quite exhausted, Miss Blair! Have you been doing too much sightseeing lately, or is it simply that you find the heat a bit trying? But believe me, it’s not nearly as bad now as it was in the summer months.”
Steve wondered whether her ears were playing her tricks. Such polished audacity took her breath away.
“You—were here in the summer months?” she heard herself asking.
“Not on Rhodes,” he replied, “but drifting about amongst the other islands, yes. For me they have so much charm that I haven’t been able to summon up the strength of will to leave them, and I was beginning to wonder whether the pictures I’ve painted when I could summon up the energy, and when I wasn’t just living like a lotus-eater, would ever be exhibited.” The complacent sparkle in his eyes had her floundering mentally.
“But now it seems, through the kind invitation of your employer, I’m to join up with the rest of you and become a luxurious globe-trotter.”
Was there also a certain warning in his blue eyes? she wondered. And knew that there was very definitely a warning—cold and menacing—in the glorious green eyes of his “sister.”
“And you haven’t—you’re quite sure you haven’t been in—North Africa—recently?” She nevertheless had to put the question to him rather jerkily.
Gabrielle smiled in an amused fashion.
“Poor Miss Blair!” she exclaimed. “She can’t forget the fascinating man she met in Tangier—who swept her off her feet to such an extent that she insisted on meeting him secretly and filling us all with the utmost alarm, because we thought she’d been kidnapped! You must bear some strange resemblance to him, Tim darling!”
Then, almost without pause, she, turned to the Comte.
“I can’t thank you enough, Léon chéri, for insisting that Tim joins us on the Odette. I couldn’t bear to leave him here in Rhodes after not seeing him for such an age, and I am sure it will do him good to exchange Greek temples for a cruise in your yacht. Also we are terribly short of a man, and he can escort little Miss Blair sometimes—” shooting a provocative glance at her “—if Mr. Heritage—” including him in the glance “—permits.”
But the Comte, who had been looking much more bored than he normally did—and even a little restive under the. effusive barrage of her thanks—looked all at once both impatient and aloof.
“I am naturally delighted that your brother can join us,” he said, “but I hope he will understand from the outset that nothing is required of him. Nothing at all, save that he shall enjoy himself ... as I trust we are all doing on this cruise?” with a quick glance at the others, which neither asked for nor expected confirmation. And as they were all looking very bronzed and fit it was quite evident they were enjoying themselves. “Now,” with sudden, definite sharpness, "I think it is high time we all returned to the yacht. Captain Darcy wishes to put to Sea again in about an hour.”
“But you said we were lunching here," Gabrielle protested swiftly. She pouted. “I was looking forward to having lunch on-shore.”
The Comte ignored both the pout and the protest. All at once he was a disti
nctly reserved host, aware of his guests, but by no means a slave to any one of their whims.
As they neared the launches Gabrielle managed to move alongside Steve, and before any strong brown hands could be held out to assist them she whispered:
“If you give us away I shall make you regret it! Bitterly! Do you understand?”
Steve looked sideways into her green eyes. They were green as glass, and so skilfully made-up that they were startlingly beautiful. But all Steve saw was the cold, determined menace that glinted at her between the devastating eyelashes.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
THE journey through the Suez Canal and the Red Sea was quite without any particular interest, save that Steve found the Red Sea nights hot and memorable, and everyone went very late to bed, because it was difficult to sleep. It was in the Red Sea, too, that Madelon Villennes and the Comte’s half-brother, Raoul, seemed to strike up a particular friendship. Whether Madelon was beginning to suspect that she hadn’t any real chance of winning the Comte, or whether it was simply the effect of those breathless nights and still, becalmed days after they left Suez behind them, Steve and the rest could only conjecture.
But it left Gabrielle with only one rival, and Rosalie also with one rival. But by the time they entered the Gulf of Aden Rosalie was beginning to smile more often and Signor Valdoli—whose attachment to Gabrielle had begun to weaken noticeably when she made it very plain she was after the host, and no one else. And from smiles and graceful acceptances of every attention he liked to bestow on her, Rosalie travelled the road of getting to know a man very well, indeed with the maximum of speed. And by the time they emerged into, the Indian Ocean it looked as if she was no longer even slightly interested in the Comte and Gabrielle hadn’t a single rival.