Wounds of Passion, Charlotte Lamb [english novels to improve english .TXT] 📗

had gone out to show Alex and Susan-Jane, who had gazed, silenced.

‘But I really can’t afford it!’ she told them sadly, aching to own the lovely thing.

‘We can, though; it’s our present to you,’ Susan-Jane had said, smiling, and Alex had nodded, smiling too.

‘You look enchanting in it. It was made for you.’

She had been over the moon. It was a typical generous gesture from them both; they were the most warm-hearted and giving people in the world, and she felt she had been very lucky to have them for relatives. Their love had more than made up for the indifference her parents had shown her all her life.

She had only worn the dress once so far, but it had made the sensation she had known it would. People had stared open-mouthed, had spontaneously burst into applause at the ball she had attended not long afterwards with Alex and Susan-Jane. The dress was meant for some such occasion—a ball, a costume party, a carnival. It wasn’t a dress you could wear every day; it was far too striking and fragile. It was intended for very special occasions, and with care would last her for years.

She smiled at her uncle, her eyes misty. ‘Oh, I’m going to miss you both! Venice is going to seem empty once you’ve gone.’

‘We’re only a few hours away,’ he said gently. ‘Call us if you need us, any time; you know we’ll come. But you’re going to love living in the palazzo; your suite sounds fabulous, and you’re fond of Patsy Devvon, aren’t you? When does Cy get back?’

She looked down, her lashes falling against her cheek, biting her lip as she tried to think of the words to explain, to tell him that she wasn’t going to marry Cy after all, that she meant to break off her engagement, but then Susan-Jane called out from the top of the stairs.

‘Alex! Alex, come and scrub my back!’

He laughed, getting up. ‘I’m coming, darling!’ he called and lightly ran up the stairs.

Antonia was the last to have a bath and dress, and she took her time, knowing that the party wouldn’t begin until nine o’clock and that everything was ready; there was nothing much to do now.

She was painting her toenails silver when Susan-Jane called through the door. ‘We’re just popping out to buy some more drink; Alex doesn’t think we’re going to have enough. We just got a call from Pietro to say he’s bringing half a dozen musicians with him to give us an impromptu concert in the garden, and you know what musicians are!’

‘OK,’ Antonia said, contemplating her shimmering toes. She was going to be wearing delicate, thin-strapped silver sandals, and now her toes would match. She began painting her fingernails too.

‘Be back in half an hour or so!’ Susan-Jane said and clattered down the stairs.

When her nails were all dry Antonia picked up the face mask lying on her bed and tried it on in front of the mirror. It fitted over her nose, covering only the upper half of her face, leaving her mouth, cheeks and jawline bare, an exquisite confection of silvery feathers slanting upwards around the almond-shape of her sea-blue eyes, which looked misty and mysterious between the feathers.

It wasn’t easy to get the mask to sit perfectly; she struggled with the strings for several minutes, getting them tangled up in her short blonde hair as she tried to fit them into place. It was with relief that she heard footsteps on the stairs. Susan-Jane couldn’t have left yet.

‘Before you go, could you help me with this, Susan-Jane?’ she called out and the door-handle turned.

In the mirror she looked at the opening door with a smile, watching for Susan-Jane’s reaction to the mask, which Susan-Jane had coveted ever since Antonia bought the costume.

But it wasn’t her aunt standing in the door. It was Patrick. He was staring fixedly at her; she heard him inhale sharply and her nerves jangled; wild pulses started up all over her body.

‘Get out of my room!’ she burst out.

‘You invited me in!’ His voice was low, and his blue eyes had turned a strange, smoky blue as they explored her reflection in the mirror.

She had not yet put on her dress; she was only wearing a thin black silk and lace slip which lay on her pale golden skin like shadows, leaving far too much of her bare.

‘I thought you were Susan-Jane. You knew I did; I called her name! You had no business walking into my bedroom,’ Antonia angrily said. ‘Will you please get out—or do I have to start screaming for help?’

‘There’s nobody downstairs; I wouldn’t bother,’ he said, wandering towards her in a cool stroll that made her even more edgy. He was wearing a black evening suit with a tight-fitting waistcoat over a white silk shirt and black tie. The clothes made him look taller than ever, his lean body intensely watchable, as graceful as a wild cat, broad-shouldered, slim-waisted, those long, slim legs supple and elegant in movement, the evening sunlight falling like a caress on the strong angles of his face, illuminating the blue of his eyes, his tanned skin smooth, his hair bleached to a dark gold by the sun. Antonia felt waves of emotion sweeping through her: aching desire followed at once by shock, by terrified panic which made her want to run and not look back.

She looked desperately around for her robe, but she had left it on a chair and to get it would have to walk past him.

Calmly he asked, ‘Where are Alex and his wife? I thought the party began at eight, and it’s past that now.’

‘They should be back any minute—they went to get something,’ she admitted, then almost desperately said, ‘Will you get out of here?’

‘Have you any idea how sexy you look?’ Patrick huskily murmured. ‘There’s always been something other-worldly about you—that distance you try to keep between yourself and any man who might try to come too close.