Читать книгу Immortal Billionaire - Jane Godman - Страница 12

Chapter 4

Throughout the remainder of the meal, Sylvester did his best to avoid looking in Connie’s direction. It wasn’t good for his heart rate or his self-control. Whenever he did lose the battle with his willpower and glance her way, she immediately made sure she was looking elsewhere. Once or twice she wasn’t fast enough and he caught those glorious dark eyes staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and something more. Something primeval and longing. She feels it, too! The realization sent a surge of triumph through him, like a wildfire singeing his nerve endings. Unlike him, she didn’t know what “it” was. How could she? That thought instantly quenched the fire.

His eyes were drawn to the way her hand repeatedly touched the slender column of her neck, attempting to hide the disfigurement but drawing attention to it instead. The action touched him because it lacked guile yet it told a story. She wasn’t seeking attention. She was avoiding it.

The white scars stood out in stark relief against the olive smoothness of her skin. No accident could have caused those linear marks. One scar went almost all the way across her throat from left to right. Then there were a series of other, smaller marks running parallel above and below it. Someone had taken a knife to Connie’s smooth flesh and dug it in deep. Someone, not something. His hand clenched hard on his thigh. He thought he was ready to face any challenge, but nothing could have prepared him for this. The thought came again, stronger and more despairing. Why now?

Anger flared within him. It was two-pronged, directed at the person who had wielded that weapon, but also at a fate cruel enough to twist another knife. One that was cold steel tearing at his gut because, just as everything was in place, along had come Connie Lacey to turn his orderly plans upside down.

Sylvester knew better than to let his feelings of rage spiral out of control. The de León family could never be cold-blooded. Their emotions ran deep and strong. It would be easy to blame the curse, to pass responsibility for their actions on to the story of the old Calusa woman. In the past, that was what many de Leóns had done. Because he knew what was to come, Sylvester had never allowed himself that luxury. If anything, the curse had made him keep a tighter rein on his emotions.

His awareness that the darker side of his de León personality could easily become magnified had forced him into a heightened awareness of his own faults. Quick to anger, he had learned early how to keep his temper in check. A perfectionist, he had trained himself to relax and let the details go. Impatient of idle chitchat, he had cultivated a manner that hid his intolerance under a guise of genuine interest. No one, Sylvester had determined, would ever be able to say the master of Corazón had a “heart of malice.”

Now he tightened his grip on the anger that wanted to become a frenzy. He wanted to fire questions at Connie about what had happened to cause those scars and that haunted, hunted look he saw in her eyes every now and then when she thought no one was looking at her. He also wanted to storm and rage at a set of circumstances that had brought him this dilemma.

All the pathways in his well-ordered life had been leading him here. Everything he had ever done since that first conscious memory had brought him to this point and now he was confronted with...what? Not a change of plan. That can never happen. So Sylvester kept his anger to himself, finished his meal and maintained his role as the perfect host.

Sylvester was aware his guests were all speculating on his story about the curse of Corazón. Oh, they were too polite to do so openly. The conversation over dessert was all about the weather, the Floridian cuisine, this island chain known as Corona de Perlas and the activities and sightseeing they hoped to engage in during their stay. But the undercurrent was tangible. The atmosphere had changed the moment Sylvester mentioned his reason for inviting them. Behind the polite chat, each one of them was wondering why they were here and what they could gain from their visit.

The temptation to keep them guessing a while longer was almost irresistible, but Sylvester hadn’t brought them here to toy with them. No matter how grasping the light in Lucinda’s eyes or speculative the expression in Ellie’s, they were here for a reason. He might as well get this over with.

“We’ll take coffee on the terrace, Vega,” he said when everyone had finished dessert.

The marble-tiled terrace overlooked the beach. Comfortable furnishings reflected the golds and blues of the seascape and climbing plants trailed colorful fingers over the wrought-iron balustrade. Waves washing onto the shore and the light breeze rustling in the trees provided a backdrop of sound, breaking the silence that fell over the group as they realized the time for the truth had arrived.

Sylvester noticed Connie hung back until she saw where he was sitting before deliberately taking the seat furthest from his. He felt a pang of annoyance at such obvious reticence and then dismissed it. It suited him not to have her close by. Her nearness disrupted his equilibrium, something he needed for the task he was about to undertake.

Vega took her time serving coffee and liqueurs and then, after checking she would not be needed again, left them alone.

“It must have seemed strange that I chose to invite you, a group of complete strangers, to join me in my home.” Looking around him at their faces, Sylvester could see each of them was hanging on his every word.

“We are not all strangers,” Lucinda pointed out with something approaching a pout. “Guthrie and I have met you once before, remember?”

Ignoring her comment, Sylvester continued. “I asked Arthur Reynolds, Matt’s father, who has been my trusted attorney for many years, to trace as many of my relatives as he could who were between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. They had to be of sound mind and body, have no criminal record, no dependents and no marital ties.” Sylvester smiled as he looked around. “You are the people he found who fitted those criteria and who were able to come to Corazón on the dates I had specified.”

“It did seem a little—” Ellie appeared to search for the right word “—unusual. But I thought it was a charming idea.”

You are a liar. Sylvester refrained from saying the words aloud. He wondered what her reason for being here was. Probably money. That’s what it usually came down to.

“And so to my reason for inviting you. I have decided the time has come to make my will.” There was a faint ripple of interest. Yes, I thought that might grab your attention. “I have no heir, no one to inherit Corazón or the fortune that goes with it. My reason for asking all of you here is simple. I intend to leave my estate divided between as many of you as I consider worthy of it.”

There was a brief, stunned silence, broken only by the high-pitched chipping sound of a distant osprey.

“Well!” It was Lucinda who spoke first, her voice cutting through the silence like a razor-edged knife. “I would have thought it was fairly obvious who Corazón should be left to, without any need for this drama. Guthrie and I are your nearest relatives, after all.”

“Yes, but you will note I said I wished to leave my estate to the person, or people, I consider the worthiest.” Sylvester ignored her outraged expression. “Most of you can be said to have some claim of birth, however remote.” He allowed his eyes to skim quickly over Connie. Her link was so tenuous it was almost nonexistent, but there was no need for the others to know that. “Matt is here to oversee the legalities. Being a relative himself, he is also included in my proposition.”

“I’m an employee. There is no need to include me in this,” Matt protested in embarrassment.

“There is every need, if I choose to do so.” Sylvester’s voice was smooth. “There is just one condition. It is simple and not negotiable.” Everyone went very still. Sylvester was reminded of those old black-and-white movies. This was like the scene where the detective gathers everyone together and unmasks the murderer. Cue dramatic music.

Everyone was waiting for him to continue speaking. “In order to be included in this proposal, you must remain here at Corazón, as my guests, until my thirtieth birthday in thirty days’ time. Those of you who are still here to raise a glass on that day will be named in my will as my heirs and will inherit an equal share in my fortune. As for the island itself, I will leave that to the individual I decide is worthiest of it.”

“Seems a decent arrangement,” Guthrie said. “I, for one, am quite happy to live in the lap of luxury at your expense for the next few weeks, Sylvester.”

“I thought you might be.” Sylvester kept his voice perfectly even, although his eyes dropped briefly to the empty liqueur glass in Guthrie’s hand.

“But you’ve said people tell such strange stories about Corazón.” Lucinda cast a theatrical glance over her shoulder at the dark beach. “How do we know we will be safe here?”

“If you have the slightest fear about staying under my roof, you have only to say the word and Roberto will have the launch at your disposal within the next half an hour.” Sylvester’s words cast a hush over the terrace. His meaning was clear. Stay and risk the hidden dangers that are rumored to lurk within these heart-shaped shores. Go and forfeit your share of a fortune.

The atmosphere changed in that instant. It had become a competition.

* * *

After dropping his bombshell, Sylvester went away, leaving his guests on the terrace. His departure provoked a storm of conversation, one from which Connie remained detached. She didn’t feel part of this strange arrangement, so she didn’t feel she had any right to comment. Or maybe her inclination and willpower weren’t strong enough to insert herself into the storm.

“It’s ridiculous,” Lucinda was saying sulkily. “And probably illegal.”

“If my father is advising Sylvester, it’s certainly not illegal,” Matt commented. For some reason, his words didn’t seem to reassure Lucinda.

“We’ve all sustained a shock. I think a drink is in order,” Guthrie said. “I’ll go and fetch us something.” Eagerly, he hurried away.

“What is Sylvester worth, do you think?” Ellie glanced around each of them in turn.

“Billions.” Jonathan’s voice was calmer than the others. “The exact amount would be speculation.”

Ellie’s eyes sparkled. “So all we have to do is sit tight, and we each get a share of that. And one of us will inherit this island, as well.”

“When Sylvester dies,” Matt pointed out. “He’s a young man.”

“But as his heirs, we would be entitled to some sort of privileges during his lifetime, surely?” she insisted.

“That would be entirely up to Sylvester.”

“This is ridiculous!” Lucinda had been pacing the length of the terrace but she paused now, her face suffused with fury. “This should be done properly. Mr. Reynolds should have been given the task of finding Sylvester’s closest relatives. That would be Guthrie and me. We should be his heirs. We could challenge this—”

Matt’s calm tones cut across her heated ones. “I hope you won’t. You’d look very foolish. It is up to Sylvester to decide who he leaves his money to.”

Before Lucinda could reply, Guthrie returned with a tray laden with drinks and proceeded to dispense these. The interruption lightened some of the tension. “It’s like an old-fashioned horror story,” Guthrie commented cheerfully.

“Don’t be absurd.” Lucinda frowned at him.

“No, I mean it.” He lowered his voice dramatically. “Who will be the first to succumb to the curse of Corazón? The first one to go is usually the quietest. My money’s on you, Jonathan.”

“Thank you.” Jonathan raised his glass in a mock salute.

“Connie won’t be first,” Guthrie continued. “The prettiest girl always lasts until close to the end.”

“It’s interesting that no one wants to leave,” Matt said. “Which means none of us are taking the story seriously.”

“Do you think Sylvester believes so strongly in the curse he is convinced he will die young? Is that why he has never married?” Ellie turned to Matt for answers.

Matt shrugged. “I’m not in his confidence. Sylvester doesn’t strike me as an overimaginative person, however.”

“If we chose to stay and don’t remain pure of heart, surely we risk becoming victims of the second part of the curse?” After remaining quiet for so long, Jonathan seemed to have found his voice. It was laden with doom.

“You mean there’s a chance we could die young? Within the next few weeks?” Ellie’s voice became more high-pitched with each word. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“We’ll just have to think pure thoughts and do pure deeds for the next three weeks,” Guthrie said as he drained his glass. “Who’s for another?”

Since Jonathan’s words had cast a gloom over everyone’s spirits, no one took him up on his offer and Guthrie was left alone among the bottles as the others wandered away.

Matt caught up with Connie as she strolled along the edge of the beach. “You were very quiet back there. Everything okay?”

She turned her head to smile up at him. “I’m not sure what to make of it all. Do you believe the curse story?”

“No, but I think those sorts of things can have a powerful influence. Once they take hold of an individual’s imagination, they can do some damage. If anyone back there actually believed their darker traits might be enhanced by this island—that they will develop a heart of malice while they are here—then the power of suggestion could be strong enough to make it happen.”

There was enough light cast by the moon and from the house itself for her to see his expression. A mischievous smile lit up his features. “So we might see Lucinda change from the dear, sweet girl she is now into someone altogether more unpleasant.”

Connie couldn’t help laughing. “When you put it like that, it does sound foolish to think a place can change someone’s personality.” She looked at the house. It was so beautiful; how could it possibly be bad?

“Do you believe the past can influence the present?” His voice was suddenly different. Some of the humor had gone, to be replaced by a sudden urgency.

Connie shivered slightly. Wasn’t she living proof it did? Every day? “It depends. Are you talking about living memory or the distant past?” She’d spent so long worrying about what the next ten minutes might bring, tonight was the first time she’d thought about the past in a true historical sense—beyond the pages of a book—in a very long time.

Matt ran a hand through his hair. “To be honest, I don’t know what I’m talking about, or where the hell that question came from. I’m going to blame Guthrie for mixing an overly powerful drink and go in search of a strong coffee. I’ll leave you to your stroll.”

Slipping off her shoes, Connie stepped up to the water’s edge, feeling the grains of sand crunch and slide between her toes. She wondered if she was the only person who felt safer here, despite the curse. Or did the other five all have equally powerful reasons for staying? I have faced the prospect of dying young every second of every day for the last four years. What does another few weeks matter?

Sylvester’s proposition meant nothing to her, except as a means of escape from fear. If she was still here in three weeks’ time—and she’d become used to thinking of her future in much shorter time scales—she’d deal with the implications then. Perhaps Mr. Reynolds could help her? If she survived and emerged as one of Sylvester’s heirs, surely she’d have more options. She smiled. One of Sylvester de León’s heirs. The thought was too ridiculous for words.

The thought that she was here at all, thinking about Sylvester, imagining that there was something in his eyes when he looked at her, was all too far-fetched to be true. Perhaps that was another reason why this talk of curses hadn’t affected her as much as it had the others. Her heart rate had still not recovered from the intensity of that magnetic blue gaze. Unlike everyone else, her biggest challenge would not be to withstand the effects of the curse; it would be to resist the lure of the island’s owner.

As she turned and walked back, the view of the house, golden and welcoming in the darkness, was stunning. It beckoned to her as nowhere in her life had ever done, stirring emotions she didn’t understand. Sweet wistfulness twined its way around her heart, slowing her limbs and softening her gaze. Decorative arches were lit by lamps and light shone from each of the windows. The walkways through the gardens were also now lit and Connie caught glimpses of pretty fountains shimmering with reflected color. As she walked toward them, she experienced the oddest feeling of déjà vu. The thought amused her. Because my life has been all about spending time in the garden of a billionaire’s island mansion. Moving closer still, the feelings persisted. It was much more than a brief sensation of having been here before. It was an emotional pull accompanied by a strange, proprietorial pride.

There were four identical Spanish-style fountains, each hexagonal in shape with mosaic tiles in green, white and blue decorating their bases. The walkway between them was lined with fragrant blue sage flowers and a stone bench had been set at the end, affording a perfect view over the whole area. Connie surveyed the scene with her head to one side.

Perfect. Just like the old house at Valladolid.

The strange thought, quick and fleeting, was gone as soon as it had entered her mind. Connie shook her head. What did she know of old houses in Valladolid? This strange night was getting to her in more ways than one.

As she drew closer to the fountains, she could hear two men talking. They were walking toward her. Recognizing Sylvester’s voice, she pulled back into the shadows. She wasn’t ready for a conversation with him yet. She might never be ready for that.

The other man was Matt. Clearly he had been sidetracked from his coffee, and he was the one speaking as they drew level with Connie.

“Sylvester, this plan of yours is ridiculous. You’ll marry and have children of your own. There is no need for this—” Connie could hear the frustration in Matt’s tone as he ground out the words, then paused to seek the right one to come next. “Theater.”

“No, you couldn’t be more wrong. I will never marry. No child of mine will inherit Corazón.”

“I don’t wish to pry, but are you ill, Sylvester? Is that what this is all about?” Matt sounded concerned. “Because we can get you the very best doctor money can buy.”

As the two men continued on their way, Connie heard Sylvester’s laughter. It was a bitter, mirthless sound, carried to her clearly on a warm island breeze together with his words. “I wish it was that simple, Matt. Really, I do.”