Читать книгу The Venetian's Proposal - Lee Wilkinson, Lee Wilkinson - Страница 7

FOR a little while she stood quite still, feeling again that most fleeting of caresses. Pulling herself together, she went to pick up her car keys.

Frowning, she stared at the empty space where she remembered them being before glancing around. Instead of lying on the chest of drawers, the keys, with their rental tag, were on the dressing table.

Perhaps she was mistaken? Maybe that was where she had left them? Or possibly one of the chambermaids had come in and moved them?

Whichever, the important thing was they were still there. So long as the car hadn’t been stolen it wasn’t a problem.

Stolen…

The implications of that thought made Nicola check her overnight case. A quick glance through the contents showed her passport and spare money were untouched, and so was her grandmother’s jewellery box, which held most of the things she treasured.

Holding her breath, she released the catch and opened it. Everything seemed to be there. A small string of pearls Jeff had bought her for a wedding present, her grandmother’s locket, the keys to John’s house in Venice…

With a sigh of relief, she closed the lid and replaced the box.

Then, picking up the car keys, she took the lift down to the car park and hurried over to the blue saloon. Releasing the central locking, she moved to lift the lid of the boot.

It refused to budge.

Another press of the key released it. Which undoubtedly meant that it hadn’t been locked in the first place.

Oh, but surely she’d locked it?

Or had she?

She lifted the boot lid, half expecting to see her case gone, but it was still there, exactly as she’d left it.

No, not exactly.

As if someone had closed it in a hurry, caught between the two zips where they met in the centre, was a small piece of material.

Opening the case, she looked inside. Once again nothing was missing. Everything seemed to be as it should be, apart from that tell-tale scrap of ivory satin that had been caught in the zip.

Eager to be off that morning, she had wasted no time in packing, so perhaps she had left that bit of nightdress hanging out?

But wouldn’t she have noticed it?

Apparently not.

The only rational explanation had to be her own carelessness.

Yet the three things—the keys being moved, the car being unlocked, and the material caught between the zips—made a logical sequence that was very hard to dismiss.

Except that in the long run it made no sense.

If someone had got into her room and, finding the distinctive rental-tagged keys, gone to the trouble of locating the car and searching her case, wouldn’t they have taken everything worth stealing? Including the car?

Instead there was nothing missing and the keys were still there. Which seemed to prove the whole thing was just a strange coincidence.

And coincidences did happen. Dominic Loredan being in the same hotel and having the room next to hers was proof of that.

Her thoughts having flown back to Dominic and the evening ahead, she lifted out the case, locked the car and hurried over to the lift.

Once in her room, having showered in record time, she donned fresh undies and a smoke-grey silk chiffon dress that Sandy had nagged her into buying, saying, ‘You never know…’

It was a romantic dress, with a cross-over bodice, a long, swirling skirt and a matching stole. Shaking out the stole, which was lined with scarlet, Nicola hesitated, still unsure.

But recalling how, when she had hesitated at the colour, Sandy had exclaimed crossly, ‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! You can’t go on wearing widow’s weeds for ever’, she made up her mind to take it.

Placing it on a chair with her small evening bag, she stood in front of the mirror to take up her thick, naturally blonde hair.

As she held the smooth coil in place on top of her head and began to push in the pins her eyes were drawn to her wedding ring.

Her task finished, she studied the thin gold band. Married for barely a year when Jeff was killed, she had now been a widow for considerably longer than she had been a wife.

As John had said, anyone who had lost a loved one needed to mourn, but no one should mourn for ever.

Maybe the time had come to let go of the past.

Slipping off the ring, she put it carefully with her other treasures.

Anxious to look her best—for the first time in more than three years—she picked up her cosmetic case and turned back to the mirror.

With somewhat darker brows and lashes, and a clear skin, she needed very little in the way of make-up. A dab of powder to stop her small straight nose from shining, a touch of green eyeshadow and a light coating of pale lipgloss and she was ready.

A knock made her snatch up her evening bag and stole and hurry to open the door.

Looking devastatingly handsome in a black tie and evening jacket, Dominic Loredan was waiting.

His gaze travelled over her from head to toe and back again, making her feel oddly shivery, before he remarked evenly, ‘You really are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.’

Just for an instant she had the odd impression that his words hadn’t been intended as a compliment.

Perhaps he read the uncertainty in her face, because he took her hand and raised it to his lips.

The romantic little gesture and its accompanying smile smoothed away the impression, as the sea smoothed away footprints in the sand.

Her heart lifting, she returned his smile. ‘I’m afraid I forgot to thank you for a lovely afternoon.’

Taking the stole from her, he put it around her shoulders and offered her his arm. ‘The evening should prove to be even better.’

His sleek white sports car was waiting in the car park, its hood back, and in a matter of minutes they were making their way out of the city. Though the sun had gone, the air was still comfortably warm, and in the low-slung seats they were shielded from too much wind.

Soon they began to climb steadily, the view changing with every horseshoe bend. Stands of trees set in sloping green meadows… The flash of water and a roadside shrine bright with flowers… Wooden chalets, with a steepled church perched high on a bluff above them… Then, set against the magnificent backdrop of mountains, a turreted castle.

‘The Schloss Lienz,’ Dominic said.

‘It’s a real picture-book place,’ she remarked delightedly.

‘I’m pleased you like it,’ he said gravely, as he took the winding road up to the schloss. When they reached it they drove through an archway into a vast cobbled courtyard. Set around it were metal sconces holding long torches that looked like enormous bulrushes.

Having helped Nicola out, he handed the car keys to a hovering attendant, and it was whisked through another archway, out of sight.

At this height the alpine air was appreciably cooler and fresher as she stood staring up at the grey stone walls towering above them. Seeing her slight shiver, Dominic thoughtfully adjusted her stole higher on her shoulders.

‘Thank you.’ She smiled at him, suddenly feeling cosseted and cared for, a feeling she hadn’t experienced for a very long time.

At the entrance to the schloss they were greeted by a thick-set man with blond hair, who was, Nicola discovered later, the Baron Von Salzach.

In heavily accented English, he said, ‘Good evening, Dominic. It is nice to see you again. Mrs Whitney, welcome to Schloss Lienz. If you will follow me, you have a table on the terrace, as requested.’

‘Thank you, Franz.’

Their host led the way to the end of a large flagged hall and through a carpeted, chandelier-hung dining-room, where a quartet of musicians played Mozart and most of the well-dressed clientele seemed to be in decorous groups.

As they followed him Nicola noticed that several of the women with middle-aged escorts gave Dominic a second surreptitious glance, and her an envious one. As they reached a long, curving flight of stone stairs, Franz said, ‘Please be careful. The steps are old and worn in places.’

The stairway led up to a flagged open-air terrace, which held only a handful of widely spaced tables, four of which were already occupied.

‘Out here it’s somewhat less stuffy,’ Dominic remarked sotto voce.

His sidelong smile convinced her he wasn’t referring to the temperature.

When they were seated at a table set with gleaming crystal and a centrepiece of fresh flowers, the Baron said, ‘I hope you will enjoy your meal,’ clicked his heels, and departed.

Intrigued by the glowing charcoal braziers standing at intervals along the waist-high outer wall, Nicola remarked, ‘They look so wonderfully appropriate.’

‘As soon as the sun goes down they’re necessary to keep the air comfortably warm,’ Dominic explained. ‘Though before they were installed, a couple of years ago, the hardy diner would risk pneumonia for the sake of the view.’

Gazing at the wonderful panorama of Innsbruck spread below them in the wide, flat valley of the Inn, she said, ‘If you want my opinion, it was well worth the risk.’

‘When all the city lights start to come on, you’ll find it’s even better.’

As they ordered and ate a superb dinner she found he was right. In the blue velvet dusk the glittering lights turned the twenty-first century into a fairy tale. While at the castle itself the lanterns on the terrace and the flaring torches in the courtyard below gave the scene a medieval feel.

Though he drank little himself, Dominic kept Nicola’s glass topped up with an excellent Riesling that was light and subtle and easy to keep sipping.

Caught up in the magic of the moment, a magic that had a lot to do with the schloss but even more to do with her companion, she failed to notice just how much she was drinking.

During the meal he had steered clear of anything remotely personal, so it came as a complete surprise when, reaching across the table, he lifted her bare left hand and remarked, ‘You’ve taken off your ring.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I—I’m not sure,’ she stammered, shaken both by his touch and his question. ‘The time just seemed to be right.’

Something in his look made her go on to explain, ‘I suddenly realised I’d been a widow for longer than I’d been a wife.’

Releasing her hand, he queried, ‘How long were you married?’

‘Not quite a year…’

Perhaps it was too much wine that loosened her tongue, or maybe, at long last, the time had come when she felt it a relief to be able to talk about the past.

Whichever, she found herself opening up to a perfect stranger in a way she hadn’t been able to open up to anyone, except John.

‘Jeff and I had a traditional white wedding on my twenty-first birthday.’

‘But you’d lived together before that?’

‘Virtually all our lives… Oh, I see what you mean. No, we hadn’t lived together in that sense.’

Seeing his slight frown, she explained, ‘Jeff’s parents were my parents too. My foster parents. They had been my grandmother’s friends for a number of years, and they took care of me while she was in hospital and after she died.’

‘How old were you then?’

‘Just turned five.’

‘And your husband?’

‘He was a few months older, and their only child.’

‘They never tried to officially adopt you?’

‘I think they would have liked to. They had hoped for more children, but they were well past middle-age when Jeff was born, so they would have been considered too old.’

‘You had no grandfather?’

‘He’d died the previous year.’

‘What about your natural parents?’

‘I’d never known them, and one day, having realised that most of my peers had a mummy and daddy, I asked my grandmother why I didn’t. She sat me on her knee and gave me a cuddle while she explained that mine had gone away. Because of something one of my little friends had said, I translated “gone away” as “gone to heaven”, and over the years my foster parents, no doubt thinking it was for the best, allowed me to go on believing they were dead.

‘Then when I reached sixteen, perhaps as an awful warning, they decided I was old enough to know the truth. My natural mother, whose name was Helen, was my grandmother’s only child. From the age of thirteen she’d been a bit wild, and she was barely sixteen when she discovered she was pregnant.

‘It seems she wanted to have an abortion, but my grandmother was horrified and insisted on her going through with the pregnancy.

‘She hated the whole idea of motherhood, and even before I was born blamed me for spoiling her life. When I was only a few weeks old she disappeared, leaving my grandmother to take care of me.’

‘Your grandmother must have been quite young when she died?’

‘She was in her middle fifties. She had some kind of minor operation that went tragically wrong.’

Running lean fingers over his smooth chin, Dominic remarked thoughtfully, ‘So, with having the same parents, you and your husband must have been brought up like sister and brother?’

Made a little uncomfortable by the bluntness of the question, she answered, ‘We were always very close. Though we spent most of our time together—we even went to the same school—we never argued or fell out… I can’t ever remember not loving Jeff, and it was the same for him.’ Smiling fondly, she added, ‘He once told me he’d loved me since I was a scrawny five-year-old with big solemn eyes and a pigtail.’

‘Didn’t close friends think it strange that you never quarrelled like other siblings?’

She answered truthfully, ‘I don’t recall having a really close friend, apart from Jeff, until I got to college. As children, our parents didn’t encourage us to mix much, and really we never seemed to need anyone else.’

‘What about when you grew into adults?’

‘You mean did we stay friends?’

‘I mean when did you become lovers?’

‘Jeff wanted us to sleep together as soon as I’d turned eighteen.’

‘But you didn’t?’

She shook her head. ‘No… Though after he’d died I almost wished we had. It seemed such a waste of three years… But although our parents were kind, they were quite strict and God-fearing, and they seriously disapproved of anyone having sex outside marriage.’

‘So what happened?’

‘Jeff suggested we should get married, but we were due to start college and neither of us had any money. Eventually he decided to approach our parents and tell them we loved each other and wanted to be together.

‘When he did, they said if we waited until we’d finished college—to be sure we weren’t making a mistake—they would give us their blessing and pay for a white wedding and all the trimmings. That way they could be proud of us.’

Seeing Dominic’s expression, she admitted, ‘It must seem terribly old-fashioned, but we’d been brought up to respect their wishes, and living under their roof meant accepting their standards. Apart from anything else they’d been very good to me, and I didn’t want to let them down, so finally we promised to wait.’

His grey eyes intent, Dominic asked, ‘Surely a promise like that went by the board once you got into student accommodation?’

‘The college was only just down the road, and in the circumstances it seemed sensible to keep on living at home.’

Dominic’s flicker of a smile said it all.

Disturbed by that smile, she found herself defending the decision. ‘It was what our parents wanted us to do. They said some of the students were a wild bunch and we’d be better off at home.’

‘I would have bet on it.’

Before Nicola could make any comment, he pursued smoothly, ‘So you finished college and had a white wedding… Then what?’

Unused to dissembling, she spoke the exact truth. ‘I moved into Jeff’s room.’

‘Didn’t you find being under your parents’ roof somewhat…inhibiting?’

She had, more so than Jeff.

A little defensively, she explained, ‘It wasn’t how I would have chosen to do things. We’d both graduated with honours—Jeff in Design Engineering, me in Modern Languages and Business Studies—but neither of us had managed to get a job… In any case our parents, who had lived in rented accommodation all their lives, wanted us to stay with them until we could afford to start buying a place of our own, and Jeff was in agreement…

‘I know that must sound a bit staid and unexciting…’

His voice almost angry, Dominic said, ‘It sounds soul-destroying.’

Nicola flushed painfully.

Watching her colour rise, he apologised. ‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made a remark like that.’

As lightly as possible, she said, ‘That’s all right. And it wasn’t really so bad. At least Jeff and I were together…’

Then, wistfully, ‘Though it would have been nice if we’d ever been able to move into a place of our own…’

‘So you never succeeded in getting away?’

She shook her head. ‘I’d managed to get an office job, but Jeff was unlucky. The company he’d joined made massive cutbacks, and he was one of the first to be made redundant, so we were still trying to save up when the accident happened.’

‘Earlier you mentioned that after the accident you went to live with your friend Sandy?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m surprised you didn’t remain at home.’

‘Our parents were killed in the same accident. The three of them were coming to pick me up from work when a lorry went out of control and hit them. We were all going on a family holiday.’

‘So you were left with no one.’

‘Sandy was very kind.’

‘How did you cope with your freedom?’

She looked up startled. ‘I suppose the answer’s not too well. Though I never thought of it as freedom… It just seemed more like loneliness. I missed Jeff so much…’

‘Having lived together for most of your lives, I suppose you were bound to. What was he like?’

‘Very much like you.’ She spoke without thinking.

The look in Dominic’s eyes was swiftly veiled, yet she felt certain that he was far from pleased by the comparison.

Coolly, he said, ‘Well, as you obviously loved him a great deal, I should feel flattered… Though I’m not convinced you know me well enough yet to compare us.’

‘I—I meant in looks,’ she stammered. ‘Like you, he was tall, dark, and handsome…’

‘A hackneyed phrase that can cover a multitude of sins,’ Dominic observed mockingly. ‘However, do go on.’

But as she described her late husband, visualising his face as she spoke and superimposing his features on the man sitting opposite, she knew her impression that they were alike was totally false.

The only similarity was the height and colouring.

Jeff had been over six foot, but compared to this man’s broad chest and mature width of shoulder he had been… The thought that came to mind was weedy…

Feeling dreadfully disloyal, she pushed it away.

Both had hair that was a true black and wanted to curl, but while this man’s was cut short and tamed Jeff’s had been a boyish riot of tight ringlets.

He had still been boyish in many ways, his hands big-knuckled and bony, as though he hadn’t yet grown into them, his face thin and sensitive-looking, with fine features and the air of a dreamer.

This man was anything but boyish. His hands were strong and well-shaped, with blunt fingers and neatly trimmed nails; his face was lean, with patrician features and an air of toughness and authority.

Jeff, by nature, had been kind and gentle and considerate.

Of Dominic’s nature she knew nothing.

Yet looking at him now, and recalling the way he had adjusted her stole, she felt oddly certain that, like a lot of powerful men, he might well be tender and protective.

She missed that. The tenderness. The caring.

Watching her face, noting the wistful expression, and misinterpreting it, Dominic said, ‘It’s about time we changed the subject. You’re starting to look sad, and talking about your husband can’t be easy.’

‘A short while ago, it wouldn’t have been possible,’ she admitted. ‘But I think I’m finally coming to terms with his loss.’

That was the truth. Tonight, though there had been tricky bits, on the whole it had been relatively painless to talk about Jeff.

There were so many happy memories, and he would always have a very special place in her heart. But, as though a heavy load had been lifted, she no longer felt that crippling weight of grief she had carried for the past three years.

Watching her expression, Dominic said gravely, ‘Welcome back to the world. What plans have you for the immediate future?’

‘Short-term, I shall stay in Venice for a month or so. Make this holiday a new beginning. You see, I…’

His grey eyes were fixed on her face, intent, waiting.

On the point of telling him about John and her reason for travelling to Venice, she hesitated. Then, deciding she had done more than enough soul-baring for one night, changed her mind. ‘I haven’t taken a holiday since I joined Westlake, so I decided it was time I took a break.’

Their waiter appeared to ask if they wanted anything further and, after consulting Nicola, Dominic ordered coffee with cream for her, espresso for himself, and two brandies.

It arrived quite quickly, accompanied by a silver filigree plate of chocolates.

When the waiter had moved away on silent feet, Dominic asked, ‘Have you ever been to Venice before?’

‘No, though I’ve always wanted to. I’ve often visualised the warmth and colour, the wonderful old buildings, water everywhere, and crowds of people…’

‘That about sums it up,’ he said with a smile. ‘Though the crowds are usually there only in the summer and at carnival time, and mostly in the touristy areas.’

‘Then you don’t find them a problem?’

‘Not personally. There are many parts of Venice that hardly ever see a tourist—quiet backwaters, picturesque or decaying, depending on your point of view, where the ordinary Venetians live.’

‘Have you lived there long?’

‘All my life, apart from three years at Oxford and a year spent travelling. As I said, my father was from the States, but my mother’s family have lived in Venice since the time of the Doges, when Italy was a great seafaring nation and one of the most prosperous settlements in Europe. Now, five hundred years past its heyday, Venice is still one of the most spectacular cities in the world.’

Noting that his voice held both enthusiasm and pride, she said, making it a statement rather than a question, ‘And you like living there.’

‘Yes, I do. For one thing it never becomes stale. There’s always so much atmosphere, whether it’s sunny, or rain-lashed, or there’s a fog rolling in off the Adriatic. And in the evening Piazza San Marco is the perfect place for lovers. Something about the ambience makes couples of all ages sit and hold hands…’

The thought of sitting in Piazza San Marco holding hands with Dominic sent little shivers of excitement running through her.

Seeing that slight movement, he asked, ‘Getting cold?’ Before she could find her voice, he signalled the waiter, adding, ‘I suppose it’s time we were making a move. We’ve both got a fair drive tomorrow, and I could do with an early start.’

The bill paid, he rose to his feet and, with what she was beginning to recognise as his habitual courtesy, pulled out her chair.

Sorry that what had proved to be a magical evening was over, she allowed herself to be escorted back down the long, worn flight of steps, through the dining room and hall, and out into the flare-lit courtyard.

Dominic’s car had been brought to the door, and, feeling the chill of the night air, she was grateful that the hood was now up.

Cupping a hand beneath her bare elbow, making her pulses leap, Dominic settled her into her seat, then slid behind the wheel just as the Baron appeared and stood beneath the huge metal lantern to wave them off.

They both returned his wave, and a moment later they were through the archway and following the mountain road down to the valley.

Dominic drove with silent concentration as, their lights sweeping a path through the darkness, he negotiated the steep bends.

Nicola, very aware of his potent sex-appeal, thought only of him, and what tomorrow might hold when they reached Venice.

Feeling a thrill of expectation, she wondered whether he’d ask where she was staying, or suggest seeing her next morning before they each started their journey.

It would be lovely if he proposed having breakfast together…

She was still enjoying the glow of excitement and anticipation as they drew into the car park at the Bregenzerwald.

He helped her out and, a hand at her waist, accompanied her to the lift and pressed the button for the fifth floor.

When they reached her room she felt in her bag for the key and, having found it, fumbled to fit it into the lock.

She was starting to feel a little light-headed. Perhaps, as she wasn’t used to drinking, she shouldn’t have had a brandy with her coffee. But it was too late now.

‘Allow me.’ He took the key from her, and, having opened the door, handed it back with a smile.

‘Thank you…’

She took a step into the room, and reached to put the key and her bag on the small table just inside the door. Then, with a sudden fear that he might just walk away, turned quickly to say, ‘And thank you for a lovely evening. I’ve really enjoyed it.’

The sudden movement made her head spin, and, momentarily off balance, she swayed towards him and put her hands flat-palmed against his chest to steady herself. She could feel the warmth of his body through the fine lawn of his evening shirt.

Becoming aware that he had stiffened and was standing absolutely motionless, she backed away a step, saying huskily, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘There’s really no need to be sorry… And I’m pleased you enjoyed the evening.’

Though the words were easy enough, there was a tautness about him, a look on his face that seemed to suggest a conflict of emotions, amongst them a touch of…censure?

It was gone in an instant, the smile back in place, convincing her that she must have imagined it.

A little awkwardly, she said, ‘Well, goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Nicola.’

It was the first time he’d used her name.

Fascinated, she watched his mouth frame the syllables, and knew she wanted him to kiss her. Needed him to kiss her.

As though in answer to that unspoken need his hands closed around her upper arms and, drawing her towards him, he covered her mouth with his.

Though there was nothing diffident about it, his kiss was light, almost experimental, as though he was holding back to calculate her reaction before he decided exactly how to continue.

But once again her knees turned to water and her very bones seemed to melt, so that she was forced to lean against him for support.

His arms went around her, and as her lips parted helplessly beneath his he deepened the kiss.

It was like a brilliant flash of light, showing up both past and future, a revelation that was followed by a deep, black velvet darkness.

When he took her hand and led her into her room, closing the door behind them, she made not the slightest protest, conscious only of him and the need he had aroused.

Setting her back to the panels, one hand on the warmth of her nape, he bent to kiss her again while his free hand began to smooth over her slender figure: the small waist, the flare of her hip, the curve of her buttocks.

After a while the silk chiffon became an unwelcome barrier and, unzipping her dress, he eased it off her shoulders, allowing it to fall at her feet. Then his lips left hers to sensuously explore the line of her collarbone and the smooth skin of her shoulder.

When they reached the tender junction where neck and shoulder met, his kisses changed to little nibbling bites that made her stomach clench and her toes curl.

His mouth returning to hers, he unclipped her strapless bra and, cupping one of her small, firm breasts, brushed his thumb over the nipple.

While she was still struggling to cope with the sensations he was provoking, he bent his head and, having laved the other erect nipple, took it into his mouth and suckled sweetly.

She was suddenly into sensual overload, the pleasure so intense that she gave a little moan and, running her fingers into his dark hair, held his head away from her breast.

A moment later she was swept up in his arms and carried to the bed. The only light was from the street outside, but in the gloom she saw the gleam of his eyes as he laid her carefully on top of the covers and sat down beside her to take off what remained of her clothing.