Bedded For Revenge. Sharon Kendrick

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СКАЧАТЬ and Sorcha’s gaze darted around to meet frankly curious stares.

      His black eyes followed hers. ‘Do you suppose they’re thinking what an attractive couple we make?’ he murmured. ‘Do you suppose that they are imagining the contrast of your pale skin being pinned down by the darkness of mine? Are you imagining it too, cara mia, just as I am? Do you think that they would be disappointed if they knew the reality of our lovemaking?’

      Her pulse rocketed. ‘Cesare—stop it. Just go. Please! Why are you doing this?’

      This was better, much better. Her lips parting in breathless appeal, her eyes darkening at his erotic taunt. With a cruel pleasure which excited him, Cesare continued to play with her as a cat would a helpless mouse. ‘What a way to greet the man you once claimed to adore.’

      Sorcha felt the blood rushing to her ears so that they were filled with a roaring sound, like the ocean. ‘I was young and stupid then,’ she said hoarsely.

      ‘And now?’

      ‘Now I’m old enough to realise the lucky escape I had.’

      ‘Well, then, we are agreed on something at least,’ he answered evenly.

      Sorcha hesitated. Maybe she had got him all wrong. Maybe he wanted to make peace. Maybe…She peered over his shoulder to where the brunette in the biliously coloured outfit was still standing staring at him and her heart pounded. ‘Is that your…girlfriend?’

      He heard the acid tone in her voice even though she did her best to disguise it, and turned his head to glance over at the woman, who wiggled her fingers at him in a wave. ‘Sindy?’ He gave a slow smile. ‘Jealous, Sorcha?’

      ‘Not at all.’ But she was lying, and Sorcha wondered if Cesare realised that. She found herself wanting to lash out like a little cat—to say that the woman’s skin was sallow, that she was wearing the wrong colour, that she was not fit to be his girlfriend. But that was all wrong—she shouldn’t be feeling this way. Not now.

      ‘Have you spoken to my mother?’

      ‘Not yet. I’ll catch up with her at the reception.’

      Sorcha froze. ‘You’re coming to the reception?’ she whispered.

      Cesare smiled. This was better than he could ever have anticipated! ‘You think I have flown all the way from Rome to hear a couple repeat a set of vows which will probably be broken before the year is out?’ he questioned cynically. ‘I may not be a big fan of weddings, but nobody can deny that they offer an opportunity to indulge in some of the more pleasurable aspects of life. And I shall look forward to being back in your house.’

      The black eyes glittered in a way which took her right back to forbidden territory—more emotional than erotic, and all the more dangerous for that.

      ‘Shall we dance together later, Sorcha?’ he finished. ‘Perhaps even go for a swim, just like the old days—si?’

      But the old days were gone—long gone. She wanted to convince herself that the person she was then had been markedly different—so that if the younger Sorcha had walked up and said hello she wouldn’t be able to recognise her. And yet while in many ways she was different—in others she felt exactly the same. Why else would there be such a dull ache in her heart when she looked at the man she had believed herself to be in love with?

      ‘I would tell you to go to hell,’ she said slowly, ‘if I didn’t think you’d already taken up a permanent berth there!’

      ‘Why? Do you want to come and lie in it with me?’

      His soft mocking laughter was still ringing in her ears as Sorcha pushed her way through the crowds to where a dark limousine was waiting to whisk the bridesmaids and pageboys back to the reception. Four young faces pressed anxiously against the glass as Sorcha gathered up armfuls of tulle and silk and levered herself in next to them.

      The bridegroom’s niece scrambled onto her lap and planted a chubby finger right in the middle of her cheek.

      ‘Why are you cryin’, Sorcha?’

      Sorcha sniffed. ‘I’m not crying. I just got a speck of dust in my eyes.’ She dabbed a tissue at her eye and then beamed the worried child the widest smile in her repertoire. ‘See? All gone!’

      ‘All gone!’ they chorused obediently.

      Sorcha bit her lip and turned it into another smile. How simple it was to be a child in a world where things vanished just because an adult told you they had. The monster under the bed had gone away because Mummy said so.

      But memories were like those childhood monsters—always lurking in dark places, waiting to capture you if you weren’t careful. And some memories burned as strongly as if they had happened yesterday.

       CHAPTER TWO

      SORCHA had met Cesare di Arcangelo the summer she’d turned eighteen, the hottest summer for decades. It had been the year she’d left school and the year most of her classmates had finally rid themselves of the burden of their virginity—but Sorcha had not been among them. Her friends had laughed and called her old-fashioned, but she’d been holding out for someone special.

      But that summer she had felt as ripe and ready as some rich fruit ready for picking—and hormones had bubbled like cauldrons in her veins.

      She’d arrived home from a final school trip to France on a baking hot day with a sky of blinding brightness. There had been no one to meet her at the station, and no reply when she’d phoned the house, but it hadn’t particularly bothered her. She’d had little luggage, and because it was beautiful and so green, and so English after the little mountain village of Plan-du-Var, she had decided to walk.

      The air had been unnaturally still and the lane dusty, but the sky had been the clearest blue imaginable—with birds singing their little hearts out—and suddenly Sorcha had felt glad to be home, even if she was slightly apprehensive about the future.

      Up until that moment everything had been safely mapped out for her—but with the freedom which came from leaving school came uncertainty too. Still, she had worked hard, and she’d been offered a place at one of the best universities in the country if her exam results were as good as had been predicted.

      She’d approached the house by the long drive—the honey-coloured mansion where Whittakers had lived since her great-great-grandfather had first got the bright idea of marketing his wife’s delicious home-made sauce. From humble terraced house beginnings, her great-great-grandma’s unique recipe had become a national institution, and soon enough money had poured in to enable him to satisfy his land-owning longings and buy himself a real-life stately home.

      But of course that had been in the days before a croissant or a bowl of muesli had become staple breakfast fare—in the days when a full fry-up with Whittaker Sauce had been the only way to start the day. The slow, gradual decline in the family fortunes had soon begun, but it had been so slow that you didn’t really notice it, and it was much easier to ignore something if it just crept up on you.

      Sorcha had given a small sigh of satisfaction as she’d looked towards the house, because in that moment it hadn’t looked stately, it had just looked like home. From this far away you didn’t СКАЧАТЬ