Rafaello's Mistress. Lynne Graham

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СКАЧАТЬ ‘I’ve been there two years.’

      ‘Forgive me for asking, cara,’ Rafaello drawled softly, ‘but what happened to your burning ambition to become a model?’

      Glory paled and stiffened. ‘It wasn’t exactly a burning ambition. As you know, I had that offer and it…well, it just didn’t pan out—’

      ‘Why not?’

      The pink tip of her tongue snaked out to moisten the taut line of her lower lip. She was extremely uncomfortable with his line of questioning and dismayed by the extent of his interest. His dark gaze dropped to her soft, full mouth and lingered with visible force. Sudden tension seemed to make the atmosphere sizzle. She felt her lips tingle as if he were touching them and her breathing seemed to choke off at source. Her bra felt too tight for her full breasts and her nipples pinched tight into straining buds of sensitivity. In dismay, she began sipping at the coffee she didn’t want with a hand that shook. Please no, she was praying, please, no, don’t let me be feeling like this again…

      ‘Why not?’ Rafaello persisted without remorse. ‘Why didn’t the modelling offer work out?’

      He was going to dig and dig until he hit paydirt, Glory registered in mortification, and so she decided to just be honest. ‘It wasn’t the kind of modelling I wouldn’ve done. It was what they call “glamour” stuff…you know…like where you take your clothes off for the camera, rather than put clothes on?’

      Rafaello surveyed her steadily, not a muscle moving on his darkly handsome face.

      ‘So they asked you to get your kit off…and you said no? Didn’t they offer you enough money?’

      Glory looked at him in considerable embarrassment. ‘The money had nothing to do with it. I just wasn’t prepared to do that sort of stuff—’

      Rafaello dealt her a look of derision. ‘I didn’t come down in the last shower of rain, cara. Are you or are you not the woman my father bought off with five thousand pounds?’

      At that unexpected question, Glory turned whiter than his shirt and stared back at him in horror. As her fingers involuntarily loosened their grip on the saucer it fell clean out of her hand. The cup tipped and she gasped as coffee went flying over the perfect pale carpet.

      ‘Si…yes,’ Rafaello confirmed as the spilt liquid flowed over the expensive fibres in a spreading stain and she just stared fixedly at it, paralysed where she sat. ‘Naturally my father told me what it cost to persuade you that I was not, after all, the love of your life. And it was a fitting footnote to our relationship. A lousy five grand when you could have had ten, twenty, thirty times that for the asking. But I guess five grand seemed like a small fortune to you then.’

      Glory was still watching the seeping pool of coffee. She was appalled that he had found out about that payment. She felt sick. She was in an agony of shame. Rafaello knew, Rafaello knew about the money. ‘He said it would be a secret, he said you would never know…’ she mumbled strickenly.

      ‘Dio mio…do you believe everything you’re told?’ Rafaello murmured with a cruel enjoyment that she could feel like a knife plunging between her ribs. ‘I was amused—’

      ‘Amused?’ Folding her arms over her churning tummy, Glory gazed up at him in shaken disbelief.

      ‘My father acting like some clumsy Victorian squire trying to pay off a maidservant he saw as a threat to family unity. So unnecessary,’ Rafaello mused. ‘I never entertained a single serious thought about our relationship. But I wasn’t amused when you took the money like the greedy little gold-digger he said you were. That was cheap and inexcusable.’

      Glory sat there as if she were turned to stone. She said nothing. She had nothing to say, for, as the money had not been returned, she could not defend herself. It would scarcely help her father’s case if she was now to confide that Archie Little had refused to allow her to destroy that cheque. Indeed, he had taken her to the bank that same day and the money had been transferred into his account. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, he had said when she argued with him. If she was being forced to leave home to please Benito Grazzini, her father had believed that he was due some compensation. Deprived of her help in the household, not to mention the extra money her job brought in, how was he to manage?

      A greedy little gold-digger? So that was how Rafaello had learned to think of her over the past five years. True bitterness scythed through Glory. She thought of the games rich people played and the damage they could wreak. Their money could give them the power to bully smaller people and make them do what they didn’t want to do. She had left home because her father’s job and his very survival had been at stake and for no other reason. It seemed bitterly ironic that she was now facing Rafaello again for much the same reason.

      She squared her shoulders and veiled her eyes. ‘Now that you’ve told me what you think of me, can we discuss why I asked for this appointment?’

      ‘Go ahead…’ Rafaello said drily.

      ‘You’ve given my father a month’s notice—’

      ‘Don’t tell me you’re surprised.’ Rafaello elevated a sleek dark brow. ‘If it hadn’t been for your father’s incompetence, your punk of a brother would never have gained access to my home—’

      ‘Sam nicked the keys when Dad was asleep,’ Glory protested, rising to her feet in a sudden defensive movement. ‘Since Dad could hardly have guessed what Sam was planning to do, you can’t blame him for what happened!’

      ‘But I can certainly blame your father for telling the police a pack of lies and trying to protect your brother and his nasty destructive friends,’ Rafaello cut in with ruthless bite. ‘Have you any idea how much damage has been caused to the Park?’

      ‘Sam told me everything.’ However, Glory’s combative stance had instantly evaporated when she was faced with that daunting question. ‘Rugs stained and furniture scratched and windows broken, but at least the damage was restricted to two rooms. As soon as Sam realised that his mates were too drunk for him to control, he ran for help. Dad should have called the police himself and he should have told the truth when the housekeeper called the police in the next morning—’

      ‘But he didn’t,’ Rafaello slotted in with lethal timing.

      ‘He was scared of the consequences. My brother’s only sixteen. But Sam did tell the truth when the police questioned him. He’s very ashamed and very sorry—’

      ‘Of course he is. He doesn’t want to be prosecuted.’

      Having turned noticeably paler at that blunt statement of possible intent, Glory said in desperation, ‘Didn’t you ever kick up a lark that went horribly wrong at his age?’

      ‘If you’re asking, did I ever trespass on someone else’s property or vandalise it?…the answer is no.’

      ‘But then, I bet you had more exciting outlets at Sam’s age,’ Glory persisted. ‘Only there’s virtually nothing for teenagers to do in the area and nowhere for them to go either. None of them have any money—’

      ‘Cut the bleeding-heart routine,’ Rafaello advised with cold impatience. ‘I’ve got no time for anyone who violates either my home or my property. The clean-up bill alone will run into thousands—’

      ‘Thousands?’ she stressed in astonishment.

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