choose to answer that, responding instead: 'I'm glad you like
my name. It is rather unusual, isn't it? Mona told me that she was quite high
on champagne and orange juice when they asked her what she wanted to name me!'
'Mona?'
'My mother. Mona Charles. Not the sort of mother one calls Mom or
Mother!'
'I see.' For some reason his voice sounded grim; but at least he paused
in the third degree, and with a small sigh of relief Sara caught sight of the
hotel up ahead.
I'm almost sure I don't like him, Sara thought. But what a strangely
complex man he was! All contrasts - one moment she could swear he was flirting
with her as he dropped those suggestive comments, and the next he was quizzing
her with what seemed to be a sneer underlying his voice. Why had he wanted to
meet her? How could he have become a 'fan' as Paul Drury had put it?
But then, with a strange wrench of feeling Sara realised that it wasn't
her the Duca di Cavalieri had gone to such lengths to meet, but her sister.
Delight, whose very name seemed to fascinate him. A name that held promise,
hadn't he said soon after they had met?
'Well, here we are.' Before one of the red-tunicked attendants had
rushed forward to open her door he had leaned across her to unlock it himself.
Sara felt the hardness of his arm against her breasts like a jolt of
electricity, jarring her all the way to her ankles. She felt - even when the
bright-faced young man had assisted her out and she stood there on the lighted
sidewalk waiting for Riccardo to come around and lead her into the hotel - as
if she had been naked and he had touched her with deliberation. She wanted to
slap him, and she wanted to run - but she stood there, outwardly cool, until he
put his hand on her elbow again, saying in his deep, rather grating voice:
'Come.'
And the only way her feet would take her was the way he was taking her,
without a will of her own.
Chapter 6
Sara's first feeling of relief when she discovered that Paul Drury and
his wife were waiting for them in the Duke's suite had soon dissolved into
watchful caution. The Drurys would be no help at all, should she happen to need
help. They were both obviously too impressed by the combi¬nation of a title and
money! But at any rate they were there, and Sara was thankful when after the
usual small talk Monique decided that she was ravenously hungry.
Monique Drury didn't look at all like a Monique, Sara thought
irrationally. They had retired to the ladies room, and Monique - tall, skinny
and slightly stoop-shouldered, was combing ineffectually through her straight,
blunt-cut blonde hair.'
'I really have to change hairdressers. Which one doyou go to ?
Remembering what Delight had told her, Sara grinned. 'A gay friend of
mine does it - in his spare time.'
'Oh-really?'
In the mirror, Monique Drury's eyes looked startled. Childishly, Sara
thought, Well, I don't care if I do shock her! She's so impossibly vulgar and
pretentious! Making sure everyone knew, from which side of the family the money
had come.
It had been 'Daddy used to say this' and 'Daddy used to do that' all
through the first part of what was turning out to be an interminable dinner;
with Paul Drury sitting in grim silence and the Duke di Cavalieri leaning back
in his chair with a smile of sarcastic appraisal on his saturnine face. Sara
could almost feel him thinking: A typical American femalel And it irked her so
much that she had deliberately encouraged Monique to boast.
'I've got to use the loo.' Shameless escape from Monique's narrowly
questioning eyes. But what did she really care what Monique thought?
What Sara was trying not to think about was the Duca di Cavalieri and
the mixture of emotions he had managed to evoke in her; very much in spite of
herself. Telling herself she disliked him immensely did nothing to help. The
fact remained that she was fascinated by him, like a bird by a snake; hardly
able to force her eyes away from him. There was something feral and
my name. It is rather unusual, isn't it? Mona told me that she was quite high
on champagne and orange juice when they asked her what she wanted to name me!'
'Mona?'
'My mother. Mona Charles. Not the sort of mother one calls Mom or
Mother!'
'I see.' For some reason his voice sounded grim; but at least he paused
in the third degree, and with a small sigh of relief Sara caught sight of the
hotel up ahead.
I'm almost sure I don't like him, Sara thought. But what a strangely
complex man he was! All contrasts - one moment she could swear he was flirting
with her as he dropped those suggestive comments, and the next he was quizzing
her with what seemed to be a sneer underlying his voice. Why had he wanted to
meet her? How could he have become a 'fan' as Paul Drury had put it?
But then, with a strange wrench of feeling Sara realised that it wasn't
her the Duca di Cavalieri had gone to such lengths to meet, but her sister.
Delight, whose very name seemed to fascinate him. A name that held promise,
hadn't he said soon after they had met?
'Well, here we are.' Before one of the red-tunicked attendants had
rushed forward to open her door he had leaned across her to unlock it himself.
Sara felt the hardness of his arm against her breasts like a jolt of
electricity, jarring her all the way to her ankles. She felt - even when the
bright-faced young man had assisted her out and she stood there on the lighted
sidewalk waiting for Riccardo to come around and lead her into the hotel - as
if she had been naked and he had touched her with deliberation. She wanted to
slap him, and she wanted to run - but she stood there, outwardly cool, until he
put his hand on her elbow again, saying in his deep, rather grating voice:
'Come.'
And the only way her feet would take her was the way he was taking her,
without a will of her own.
Chapter 6
Sara's first feeling of relief when she discovered that Paul Drury and
his wife were waiting for them in the Duke's suite had soon dissolved into
watchful caution. The Drurys would be no help at all, should she happen to need
help. They were both obviously too impressed by the combi¬nation of a title and
money! But at any rate they were there, and Sara was thankful when after the
usual small talk Monique decided that she was ravenously hungry.
Monique Drury didn't look at all like a Monique, Sara thought
irrationally. They had retired to the ladies room, and Monique - tall, skinny
and slightly stoop-shouldered, was combing ineffectually through her straight,
blunt-cut blonde hair.'
'I really have to change hairdressers. Which one doyou go to ?
Remembering what Delight had told her, Sara grinned. 'A gay friend of
mine does it - in his spare time.'
'Oh-really?'
In the mirror, Monique Drury's eyes looked startled. Childishly, Sara
thought, Well, I don't care if I do shock her! She's so impossibly vulgar and
pretentious! Making sure everyone knew, from which side of the family the money
had come.
It had been 'Daddy used to say this' and 'Daddy used to do that' all
through the first part of what was turning out to be an interminable dinner;
with Paul Drury sitting in grim silence and the Duke di Cavalieri leaning back
in his chair with a smile of sarcastic appraisal on his saturnine face. Sara
could almost feel him thinking: A typical American femalel And it irked her so
much that she had deliberately encouraged Monique to boast.
'I've got to use the loo.' Shameless escape from Monique's narrowly
questioning eyes. But what did she really care what Monique thought?
What Sara was trying not to think about was the Duca di Cavalieri and
the mixture of emotions he had managed to evoke in her; very much in spite of
herself. Telling herself she disliked him immensely did nothing to help. The
fact remained that she was fascinated by him, like a bird by a snake; hardly
able to force her eyes away from him. There was something feral and
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