She sponged away her tears and slid her body into the ice-blue satin robe, liquid-soft over her skin. She ran a comb through her tousled hair, again and again until it was smooth as silk. Now she looked outwardly composed and a little less like Angelica, even if she had learned that she and her sister were more akin in their sensuality than she had ever dreamed.
When Jorja returned to the bedroom she found Renzo speaking on the telephone, requesting that dinner be brought to their suite. With his eyes fixed upon her, a brazen figure in the lamplight, he ordered sweetbread pate and toast, beef in Sauce Diable, saute potatoes, broccoli spears and baby carrots. Fruit and brandy icecream for dessert, and a bottle of Belle Epoque. And they would also have coffee with cognac, a selection of fondants and a box of Caliph cigars.
'Grazie!'
He cradled the phone and came across the room to Jorja, who stood in front of the windows, a blue and gold figure who watched him with a slightly wondering smile. Apart from his leg he was splendidly built, and the deep natural tawniness of his skin made her want to reach out and touch him ... pet him, as if he were a tiger who wouldn't bite her, at least.
'You look,' he gazed down at her, 'so untouched.'
'You look,' she smiled, 'like a pagan statue.'
'A statue of whom?' He quirked a black eyebrow.
'Adonis.'
'The god of love, eh?'
'At least the god of lovemaking,' she amended.
He held her blue gaze intently with his deep-grey eyes, so darkly lashed, so thrilling her when she had seen them glow and burn with passion.
'No regrets?' he murmured.
She shook her head, not really trusting her voice. She wouldn't speak of love because in their situation it would spoil what they had made of the marriage he had forced upon her. She would forget about love and have in its place a luxury of the senses, for their sensuality was like a warmth between them, an emanation from his skin to hers, penetrating the satin folds of her robe.
He placed his hands on her waist and drew her slowly to his naked body, holding her against him in the ice-blue satin. 'I want to give you pearls to match your skin,' he said. 'I want to give you rubies to match your lips. Diamonds are too hard and brilliant to suit you, and sapphires are somehow sinister. What was I thinking of?'
He had been thinking of Angelica, as Jorja well knew, and she said quietly: 'Give me flowers, Renzo, I much prefer them.'
'Ah, but flowers fade too soon, and I want to see you wearing pearls and rubies. You are, you know, more beautiful than I had realised.'
'It's only gratitude that makes you think so,' she rejoined.
'Gratitude?' He frowned slightly and his hands pressed into her.
'For—today.'
'For giving yourself to me?'
'Yes.'
'I'm not a callow boy, Jorja, who flatters for sensual favours.'
'Oh, you're far from being a boy.' A smile hovered at the edge of her mouth. 'You're so utterly a man that I—I'm grateful you think I'm enough of a woman—living as I have lived in a country rectory, someone who became a stranger to a cuddle and a kiss after my mother died.'
There was a moment of acute silence, and then with a rather incoherent murmur Renzo lowered his head and kissed her mouth with a succession of sweetly piercing kisses. 'Dio mio, how did you stay beautiful and generous in that house of stone? It should have warped you but instead you are soft and ardent flesh that drives my mind out of my skull.
'Girl,' he pushed her away from him, 'keep your distance or you and I will be making breakfast of our dinner.'
'Now that,' her smile was shaking on her mouth, 'is what I call flattery.'
His grey eyes raked her from head to toe. 'You look a virgin again, and I think I shall take a very cold shower.'
As he strode into the bathroom, Jorja laughed breathlessly to herself. Please God, let nothing break the spell that was binding them, even if its coils were the silky hot ones of sensual desire. He had made her come alive to the very centre of herself, and she wanted never again to fall asleep without his warm and virile presence beside her. Wanted this despite her realisation that there was no true stability to their relationship and that it wouldn't take much to tear them apart. Hadn't he said himself that when the excitement started to fade for Stelvio, he would leave Angelica and return to his family?
It was a train of thought which Jorja didn't want to follow and she went to the four-poster bed, dragged the tumult of sheets and covers to the floor and spent the next ten minutes producing order out of chaos.
That was better, now the bed looked as if it hadn't been disturbed since the maid had seen to it that morning. She had smoothed the top cover so that hardly a crease could be seen.
She was awaiting Renzo in the sitting-room when the waiter came with the trolley and carried in their dinner, which gave off a mouth-watering aroma. He arranged a table between the windows, and brought in the silver bucket with the champagne up to its neck in ice. Next came the stemmed glasses, the fondants arranged like a bouquet, and the cigars in a box with a picture of a desert rider on the lid.
The waiter's discreet face showed not a sign of what he might be thinking, but Jorja felt as if it must show that she had spent hours in the vigorous arms of the man who now sauntered into the
room, clad in dark cashmere, corded around the middle rather like the robe of a monk.
'Darling,' Jorja longed to tease him, 'who do you think you are kidding?'
'Excellent.' He rubbed his hands together as he surveyed the table. 'I'm ravenous for my dinner.'
'I think you will find everything to your satisfaction, sir.' For the briefest of moments the waiter's eyes were on Jorja, then he had bowed himself out of the suite and they were alone again.
'Come, let us eat, drink and be merry.' Renzo uncorked the Belle Epoque and there was a fizz of bubbles as he filled the glasses with the rosi champagne. He sat down facing her and raised his glass towards her. She obligingly clincked it with hers and they drank in unison.
'Delicious,' she murmured.
'Ah yes, delicious.' He smiled directly into her eyes. 'You made the bed, I noticed.'
'I should think so—it looked like the Normandy landing.'
'What would you know of that?' He spread the toast generously with the pate and handed her the first helping. 'You weren't thought of, let alone born.'
'My father was there.' The sweetbread pate had a subtle taste of cognac, delectable followed by a swallow of champagne. 'You will think of him as some kind of an ogre, but I remember him as he was when my mother was alive. He adored her.'
Renzo's white teeth crunched his laden toast, and his eyes looked into the wistful blue of Jorja's. 'If she looked like you --'
'I think he valued her for more than her looks.' Jorja spoke with a touch of sadness. 'She was kind and full of fun and gaiety. They loved each other dearly, and Daddy was never the same —afterwards. I still remember every detail of her burial. The way I held on to Daddy's arm so fiercely, in case he leapt down that deep hole in the ground.'
Jorja didn't tell Renzo that as they had walked back to the rectory it had been Angelica to whom her father had clung. She had always known that he preferred her sister, for there would always be a certain look in Angelica's eyes, something in the way she smiled and moved, that attracted men. Aunt Beatrice referred to it as a touch of Eve.
'Don't look sad.' Renzo leaned forward and added champagne to her glass. 'Don't let us think of anyone but ourselves, for that is the privilege of two people on their honeymoon. They exist for each other.'
'Are you happy, Renzo?' She sipped champagne and wondered what his inner feelings were. Had she touched his heart just a little, or was his pleasure only on the surface, related only to the enjoyment which his body had found in conjunction with hers? Was that all he wanted from her? Was that all he would ever ask of her, the thrill of desire?
'Surely I look a man who has been made happy?' His eyes dwelt boldly on her face. 'Now when we run into the lady
in pink you'll have every reason to blush --' He broke off and laughed at the look on Jorja's face. 'I must agree with her regarding the standards of Duke's, they are worth five stars. I might add a sixth for the comfort and spaciousness of their beds, and if ours did take on aspects of the Normandy landing, then it was a beach well worth the capture.'
Jorja felt herself colouring beneath his amused gaze. 'I know what you're thinking, Renzo, but I couldn't allow the maid to see that battlefield. She'd assume—one of two things.'
'That I had taken you by force, or that you had taken me?'
'I had something like that in mind.'
'I don't mind if the hotel maids gossip about my prowess,' he smiled, tucking into his beef and vegetables as if building up his stamina for some more lovemaking.
The thought, the expectation tickled like a feather at the base of Jorja's spine and she could feel herself wanting to give a little wriggle as the sensation crept higher and higher. 'Oh --' She gave a gasp and reached for her champagne, cooling herself with a deep swallow. She half suspected what had occurred and the wonderment of it was in her eyes as they dwelt on the man who without touching her could so thrill her.
'You have the largest eyes I've ever looked into,' he told her.
Which couldn't be quite true, and as the wraith of Angelica seemed to shift from among the shadows, Jorja broke into chatter, reaching into the air for anything that would cast her sister out of the atmosphere.
Music ... yes, music was a safe topic of conversation.
'Do you compose the musical score when a film's completed, or do you work with Bruce— Mr Clayton—during the actual making?'
'Do call him Bruce.' Renzo gave her a slightly veiled look. 'After all, he gave you away to me— evocative term, isn't it?'
'I'd like to talk about your work, Renzo, or don't you want me to show an interest?' She felt her smile fading as she met his eyes and saw their veiled expression. 'Am I only part of your— bedroom?'
'Is there a better place for participation?' he asked.
Jorja carried a spoonful of brandy ice-cream to her lips, but something inside her had cooled before she swallowed it. The lovemaking was over, she reminded herself. It was time to remember the cruel tactics he had used in order to carry out his vendetta, and all at once those ardent hours in his arms took on a reality which jolted her to her senses.
He didn't regard her as anything more than a wife he could take or leave alone, and it was ridiculous of her to want to have a share in his ambitions and his problems. Only a man in love invited a woman to participate in all aspects of his life ... the woman with whom he took his pleasure was meant to share only his bed.
She forced the ice-cream between her lips and swallowed it with difficulty. She wasn't asking him to be in love with her, but she had hoped to be a little more than a body whose responses had been so eager that he might get the idea that she was in love with him. She couldn't abide the thought... her pride wouldn't let her.
'I thought it would pass the time to discuss what you do for a living.' She heard the note of hostility in her voice and made no attempt to soften it. 'It might get boring for both of us, if we only communicate in bed.'
In a long moment of silence Renzo stared across at her, then he laid down his dessert spoon and his eyes had a steely glint in his dark face. They were as she had seen them that day at Duncton, when he had made her read the letters which had revealed a side to Angelica which had so shocked her. She could remember vividly the way he had watched her, his eyes cold and yet burning beneath the blackness of his brows.
Then he had been almost a stranger to her. She hadn't been acquainted with his warm and pliant body. She hadn't felt the thrill of his lips as they wandered over her skin and found ways to pleasure her that right now made her tingle and ache for a renewal of the delicious onslaught of feeling.
Her body wanted him even as her mind rebelled against the enslavement of desire. She wanted him in all his naked power even as she told herself that she wouldn't be a slave to that side of their life. 'It is the only sort of communication you want.' Her voice had grown defiant.
'You wouldn't want to discuss your career with your harlot.'
The awful word hung in the air ... then she shrank nervously as Renzo surged to his feet and came round the table to her. He towered over her and she felt certain he was going to do something violent ... grab her, perhaps, and shake her until her teeth rattled.
'How dare you speak in such a way!' He seemed barely in control of his anger, something smouldering in his eyes that made Jorja wonder if he had shared a scene like this with Angelica.
'Do you think I will tolerate such insolence?' he demanded. 'At no time in your life have you spoken like that to anyone, so don't presume to speak like it to me!'
Nerves fluttered in Jorja's underlip, for she had provoked a reaction which alarmed her and made her feel as helpless and vulnerable as she had been in the rectory garden, when he had drawn the rose thorns from her hand, unable to prevent the cure from being as painful as the assault.
'Grande Dio, what do I make of you?' He reached out a hand, but she shrank a little further from him, like a young cat uncertain of the owner's mood.
'What is this, Jorja?' He searched her eyes. 'Regret, after all?'
She felt almost tempted to agree with him. Her feelings were so confused that perhaps she did regret the intimacy which had led to the resentful emotions they were sharing right now. When two people kept a distance between them it was easier not to be hurt by painful truths.
She tried to control the tremor in her lips. 'I'm still the girl from the rectory,' she agreed. 'A lot has happened to me in a short time and our kind of marriage isn't easy for me to—to cope with.'
'Do you imagine that I am finding it easy?' he asked her.
Jorja bit back the obvious reply to his question, and he reached for his box of cigars and impatiently slit the seals. He selected one of the thin dark cigars and bit the end with his teeth; he raked in his pocket for his lighter and when the flame was applied and the smoke eddying he returned his attention to Jorja.
'There is an old saying, when the kissing stops, the talking starts. Basta, if you are not going to finish your ice-cream, then do stop fiddling with it. Come to the couch and pour the coffee and cognac.'
Jorja did as he ordered and when the coffee was poured and the dark gold cognac added, she sat down but kept space between them. It rankled her that it was Angelica who had come between them. Though she was miles away in a bodily sense, she was here in the room with them. The very roots of their relationship were entangled with her, for there would have been no marriage, no honeymoon, if it had been in Angelica's nature to be faithful.
Jorja knew that Renzo wouldn't have looked at another woman if her sister hadn't betrayed him. Jorja was informed by her instincts that he was the type of man to love deep down in his bones, where it would blend into the marrow of him.
She drank coffee in an effort to wash down the tears that were clumped in her throat.
'You must eat some fondants.' Renzo picked up the dish and held it out to her. 'They look very inviting—come! To please me.'
She took one and laid it in the saucer of her coffee cup. If she tried to eat the sweet she would probably choke on it.
Oh God, she was feeling as dramatic as a character out of East Lynne. Angelica used to mock her for reading the book, one of many old classics on the book shelves at the village library. 'You'll ruin your eyes, and get ridiculous ideas about love,' she used to say. 'You'll finish up wearing glasses, and then you'll really look like the old maid of the house.'
In that instant, in the very midst of Jorja's meditations, Renzo made a move that brought him closer to her on the couch. But such was her nervousness, such were her thoughts, that she instinctively moved as if to avoid contact with him.
It was done before she could retract. Done before she could mend the damage, and she felt an inward shock at her own action, not unlike a jolt fr
om a dangerous current.
'So that's the way of things?' he said, grimly. 'You are Miss Frigid again—always supposing that I am going to accept a nicely frozen wife after enjoyable hours with a thawed out one!'
Jorja knew what he meant, and there would be no stopping him if he carried her to bed in a mood of cold rage. He was powerful enough to achieve his desires even if she struggled like mad, and she knew she would struggle against passion used as a punishment.
'I—I don't want to quarrel with you --' They seemed again as they had been in the rectory garden, his eyes filled with vengeful intent. 'All I want is to be treated as a—a person.'
'And all day in bed I didn't treat you like one?' he asked sarcastically.
'I'm talking about now—out of bed.' She spoke defensively, for she could tell from the set of his features that he wasn't going to listen to her with sympathy. 'All you want from me is the shape and the look of me, and you know it! You don't mind paying attention to my hair, or my eyes, or anything else on the outside, but you aren't interested in what I think or feel as a person.'
Silently he studied her through the smoke of his cigar, his eyes narrowed to silvery slits, 'Many women, my dear girl, are content to be admired for their looks, and the way they respond to a man. You are right, Jorja, for me your looks and your responses do suffice, and I am not about to beg you for your body. I shall take it and enjoy it whenever I feel disposed.'
'Whether I want you or not?' The words leapt from her lips of their own free will, and because of what he had said to her, she didn't care. He had laid it on the line that all the lovemaking had not given him a change of heart... she was still the sister of Angelica, whom he had married because she had the shape and the look that could stir him to passion and pleasure.
The thought made her burn. She wanted to throw the remainder of her coffee full in his face.
'I can only be hurt once for not being wanted by a woman.' He rose to his feet, his cigar clenched between his hard white teeth. 'Enjoy the rest of the evening in the peace of your own company, my dear wife. I think I shall go and find more congenial company at the card table downstairs.'
The Honeymoon Page 9