Читать книгу Her Greek Groom: The Tycoon's Mistress / Smokescreen Marriage / His Forbidden Bride - Сара Крейвен, Sara Craven - Страница 14

‘I’M GOING to hire a detective,’ said James Fielding. ‘Someone who knows what he’s doing. He’ll find her—persuade her to come home. Of course it will cost a great deal of money, but that’s not a problem. It’s time I was back in the workplace, anyway. I was a damned fool to be talked into early retirement.’

There was an awkward silence. Cressy saw the swift, worried glance exchanged by her aunt and uncle, and looked down at her hands gripped together in her lap.

Every day it was the same, she thought wearily. Schemes to make new fortunes. Plans to win Eloise back. Her father could talk of nothing else. He seemed to have lost all touch with reality.

His financial difficulties—the fact that the house no longer belonged to him—were simply brushed aside as temporary difficulties.

But then who am I to criticise? she wondered. With the nightmare I’ve created for myself?

It had been a week since Draco had slammed out, and since then she hadn’t heard a word from him.

And she was scared.

After he’d gone, she’d lain on the sofa for a long time, limbless, weightless in the aftermath of that raw, savage ecstasy. She’d never dreamed she was capable of such a primitive intensity of feeling. Was stunned by her capacity for passion.

It was as if she’d lived her life only knowing half of herself.

When she’d been able to move again, and think, she had gone up to her room, showered, and changed into jeans and a thin sweater. She had burned the torn dress, along with the money, in the kitchen range, and had thrown away the food and wine. She’d felt too numb to eat. Besides, it had all been too reminiscent of the picnics they’d shared on Myros, and she hadn’t been able to bear to remember the uncomplicated happiness of those days.

Days, she’d thought, when I was falling in love…

And could have wept for the innocence and tenderness of that lost time.

She had recalled the way his arm had held her, fitting her to the curve of his body. The beat of his heart under her cheek. How he’d smiled at her. The reined-back hunger in his eyes. The huskiness in his voice when he’d asked her to marry him.

Everything, she’d thought bleakly, that she’d thrown away with both hands.

And no amount of sex, however mind-blowing, would ever make up for that.

By the time Berry had returned she’d managed to regain some kind of composure. She’d spent the evening in the study, working on her computer, tying up some loose ends from work and listening to music.

‘Has your visitor gone, Miss Cressy?’ Berry looked around her as if she might find him hiding in a corner. ‘You could have knocked me down with a feather when he told me he was the new owner and showed me the papers.’ She lowered her voice. ‘I didn’t really want to leave him here, but he was so persuasive.’ She shook her head. ‘Not an easy gentleman to say no to. But did I do the right thing?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Cressy smiled at her with a tranquillity she was far from feeling. ‘I suppose he thought it was time he saw what he was getting for his money.’

‘And he told me Mr Fielding will be renting the house from him and we won’t have to move out. Oh, that’s such a relief, Miss Cressy. I’ve been so worried.’

So have I, Cressy thought bleakly. And my worries aren’t over yet.

As each long day passed, she felt as if she was living on a knife-edge, waiting for the phone to ring. Scanning her e-mail box for messages.

But the nights were even worse. She lay awake for hours, staring into the darkness, her body aching for him—longing for him. She felt bereft—like a child crying unheard for comfort.

Perhaps he’d decided to cut his losses and shut her out of his life altogether. That was the thought that tortured her every waking moment.

She told herself that she was concerned for her father. Because if Draco had really decided to finish their relationship, it did not follow that he would write off her father’s debts.

But in her heart she knew it would never be as simple as that. That she was using her father’s problems as a barrier—as self-protection against a hurt that might tear her in pieces. Against feelings she dared not examine too closely in case they destroyed her.

‘Cressy, dear.’ Her aunt’s voice reached her from some far distance. ‘I think it’s time we went, and let James rest.’

‘Yes, of course.’ She rose, reaching for her bag, aware that Lady Kenny was watching her with a faint frown.

‘Coffee, I think,’ Sir Robert said when they were in the corridor.

In the hospital cafeteria, he joined the queue at the counter while Cressy and Barbara Kenny found a corner table.

‘It doesn’t get any better, does it?’ Lady Kenny said abruptly. ‘Poor James is like a dog with a bone. He won’t let go.’

Cressy shook her head. ‘And he gets so agitated when he talks about her. I know it’s not good for him. What he’ll be like when he gets home…’

‘I wonder if that’s such a good thing.’ Her aunt played with her wedding ring. ‘Whether he wouldn’t be better living somewhere with no memories. But he’ll have the nurse to keep an eye on him, and dear Berry, so we must hope for the best.’ She gave Cressy a searching glance. ‘Now tell me about this new job of yours.’

‘There’s nothing to tell,’ Cressy hedged. ‘I’m not even sure it’s happening.’

‘I gather it’s connected with the Standard Trust Bank,’ Lady Kenny went on, as if she hadn’t spoken. ‘And that the head of the bank—some Greek tycoon—has made himself personally responsible for your father’s debts. Isn’t that a little unusual?’

Cressy shrugged. ‘I suppose so. I haven’t really thought about it.’

‘Even when he insisted on conducting the negotiations with you personally?’ Her aunt’s tone was acerbic. ‘And when you’d only just come back from Greece?’ She gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Cressy, I’m not a fool. Are you involved with this man?’

Cressy bit her lip. ‘Not in the way that you think, Aunt Bar.’

Which was no more than the truth, she thought unhappily. No one would believe the complexities of her relationship with Draco.

‘I have a short-term contract,’ she continued, ‘which necessitates my working abroad. After what he’s done for Dad, I could hardly refuse. And I can look after myself,’ she added, infusing her tone with brightness.

Lady Kenny snorted. ‘Oh, really? Have you looked in a mirror lately? You’re all eyes and cheekbones.’ She leaned forward. ‘Darling, men like Draco Viannis are not philanthropists. You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into. Your uncle and I are both worried sick. And if your father would come down to earth for a few minutes, I know he’d put a stop to it.’

‘It’s for three months,’ Cressy said quietly. ‘If I go at all.’ She swallowed. ‘Mr Viannis may be having second thoughts.’

‘I can’t vouch for this coffee.’ Sir Robert deposited a tray on the table and sat down, fixing his niece with a penetrating look. ‘Now then, Cressy, I want a word about this Viannis chap. Are you sure you know what you’re doing?’

They were both so kind, Cressy thought as she drove home later, and so anxious about her. And she knew she’d done nothing to set their minds at rest.

But what could she say—what reassurance could she possibly give? Especially when she herself felt as if she was operating in some kind of vacuum.

There was a strange car, large, powerful and glossy, parked in front of the house, and Berry was waiting to open the door for her.

‘You’ve a visitor, Miss Cressy. I’ve shown him into the drawing room.’

Cressy’s heart thudded, and her throat tightened painfully as she walked towards the drawing room. Ever since her last encounter with Draco she hadn’t been inside the room, unsure if she could handle the memories it would evoke. In fact, she’d made a point of using her father’s study instead.

Now she had to face him there. Brave whatever he had to tell her.

Swallowing, she twisted the handle and went in.

The anticlimax when she found herself confronted by a stranger was almost ludicrous.

Except that she did know him, she realised after a stunned moment. It was Paul Nixon, who worked as Draco’s PA. She’d seen him briefly in London.

She felt sick. Draco wasn’t even going to break their agreement in person.

‘Miss Fielding. I’m sorry I didn’t make an appointment, but Mr Viannis called from New York last night to say he’ll be returning to Myros next week and wishes you to meet him there. And that doesn’t leave much time.’

She felt as if she’d been reprieved from a death sentence, and was ashamed of the relief and joy that flooded through her.

She said quietly, ‘I understand. Won’t you sit down? Can I offer you some tea or coffee?’

‘Your housekeeper already did that, ma’am.’ He delved into a briefcase. ‘I have a file here, with your itinerary. You’ll fly first class to Athens, and transfer to Myros by helicopter. Also details of the personal allowance that you’ll receive while you remain Mr Viannis’s—companion, and the final settlement he is prepared to make.’

Caught on the raw, Cressy took the folder he handed her.

‘What a lot of paperwork,’ she said coolly, hiding her hurt. ‘All to get a man into bed with a woman.’

Paul Nixon’s solemn face reddened uncomfortably and he gave Cressy an austere look. ‘The details of Mr Viannis’s private life are no business of mine, Miss Fielding. I’m just here to do a job.’

‘You do it well,’ she said. ‘But I’m sure you’ve had plenty of practice.’

He looked more po-faced than ever. ‘You’ll also be requested to sign a contract of confidentiality,’ he went on. ‘Guaranteeing that no details of your time with Mr Viannis will ever be made public.’

‘In case I write a kiss-and-tell story for the tabloids?’ Cressy asked with disbelief. ‘My God, I’m the last person in the world who’d want to go public.’

‘I’m sure that’s how you feel now, ma’am. But things can change, and Mr Viannis would not wish any future marriage he might contract to be compromised by unwelcome revelations.’

She felt as if she’d been punched in the stomach, but she recovered and managed a taut smile. ‘In other words, hell hath no fury, Mr Nixon. Tell your boss I’ll sign his guarantee.’

She took the pen he handed her, and wrote her name where indicated.

Then she showed him to the door, wished him a pleasant drive back to London, and returned to the drawing room.

The folder was lying on the coffee table. The next three months of her life all spelled out for her in clauses, sub-clauses and settlements.

She picked it up, weighed it speculatively for a moment, then, with a small choking cry, threw it across the room as hard as she could. It hit the wall and fell, disgorging its contents on to the carpet.

And then she burst into tears.

Cressy finished rubbing sun screen on to her legs, and put the cap back on the bottle.

It would be tempting, she thought with detachment, to allow Draco to arrive and find her burned to a crisp, and consequently unavailable, but she could not risk the damage to her skin.

The sky above Myros was cloudlessly blue, the sun relentlessly hot, and the swimming pool beside her deliciously cool. If only she could relax and enjoy it…

But that was impossible.

She found herself stealing another glance at her watch, and swore under her breath. He would be here only too soon. She didn’t have to mark the passage of every minute until then.

She’d arrived the previous day, leaving rain and a chill, unseasonal breeze in England.

Her father, immersed in the letters he was writing to various companies offering his services as a consultant, had wished her an almost casual goodbye.

At one time she would have been wounded by his self-absorption. Now she had her own immediate problems to deal with.

The resident nurse, a Miss Clayton, was a kind, sensible woman, and Cressy had liked her at once. But it was clear she had a struggle on her hands to induce James Fielding to rest.

‘It’s not just a question of medication,’ she’d told Cressy as they shook hands. ‘He needs to relax more.’

Don’t we all? thought Cressy, with irony, reaching for the iced lemonade on the table beside her. She might be in the equivalent of Eden, but she was like a cat on hot bricks just the same.

However disapproving Mr Nixon might be, there had been nothing wrong with his travel arrangements. It had been VIP treatment all the way.

The villa was just as beautiful as she’d imagined, with large airy rooms and exquisitely tiled floors, and a magical view of the sea from every window. And although it was luxurious, it wasn’t stridently so. The furniture tended to be on the heavy, old-fashioned side, suggesting it had been passed down over several generations, and Cressy found it charming.

And the service was faultless, she thought. Courteous and unobtrusive.

If Vassilis, Draco’s elderly major-domo, had reservations about his employer’s choice of guest, he gave no sign of it.

She knew now what building work Draco had found it necessary to supervise, because she was living in it.

It was a guest bungalow, completely separate from the villa itself, with its own garden and pool, tucked away in a corner of the grounds.

It had a large living room, where her meals were served, a bathroom, with a big sunken tub as well as a conventional shower, and a huge bedroom, with walls painted in pale gold and a king-size bed with an ivory cover, draped in matching filmy curtains.

The perfect love nest, she’d thought, lips twisting, as Vassilis had shown her round it. All that was lacking was the perfect love.

But at least she was the first one to stay there. She hadn’t had to spend her first sleepless night speculating on the women who’d occupied this bed before her. Her successor could worry about that.

Pain knifed at her, but she couldn’t let that matter. She had to keep reminding herself of the tenuous nature of her position. Accustom herself to the idea that she had no permanent role in Draco’s life.

And perhaps by the time it ended she would have learned to live with the pain.

In the distance, she heard the sound of a helicopter. She scrambled off the cushioned lounger and stood, staring upwards, her hand shading her eyes, her heart thumping against her ribcage.

It came in low enough for her to be aware of a figure—a face looking down at her—then descended towards the pad on the far side of the main house.

She took a deep, steadying breath, and thought, He’s here.

And now, as Vassilis had tactfully indicated, she must wait to be summoned.

Fright and excitement warred inside her for control. After a moment, she resumed her place on the lounger. She didn’t want to be found standing beside the pool as if she was planning to drown herself.

She picked up the magazine she’d been glancing through and tried to concentrate on it as the minutes dragged by.

It was over an hour later when Vassilis’s upright figure appeared in the gap in the high flowering hedge that divided the bungalow from the rest of the grounds.

He said in his careful English, ‘Mr Viannis presents his compliments to you, madam, and asks if you will dine with him this evening. He suggests ten o’clock.’

Six hours to go, Cressy thought. Draco was playing it cool. Whereas she might well become a nervous wreck.

Aloud, she said sedately, ‘Please thank Mr Viannis, and tell him I’d be delighted.’ She paused. ‘Am I to join him at the main house?’

‘Yes, madam. I shall conduct you there.’ He made her a small half-bow, and turned away.

Well, what had she expected? she asked herself with self-derision as she went back to her magazine. That Draco was going to rush to her side and smother her with kisses?

She was being taught her place, she thought, in one unequivocal lesson.

But, she told herself forlornly, she would have preferred the kisses.

She spent a lot of time that evening deciding what to wear. In the end she chose a cream silk shift, with boot-lace straps and a deeply slashed neckline that skimmed the inner curves of her breasts. The minimum of underwear and a pair of cream strappy sandals with high heels completed the outfit.

Dressing the part, she thought, as she brushed her hair to fall in a silky curtain on her shoulders. But wasn’t that what he was paying for?

She noticed that Vassilis kept his eyes discreetly lowered when he came to collect her.

It was a warm, sultry night, and the cicadas were busy as she walked through the garden. There were lights on inside the villa, and on the terrace which surrounded it.

One massive pair of sliding glass doors stood open, leading, she knew, to the saloni, and Vassilis paused outside, indicating politely that she should precede him into the lamplit room.

Lifting her chin, she obeyed, aware of him closing the doors behind her. Shutting her in.

He was standing at a side table, pouring himself a drink. He was wearing jeans, and a dark polo shirt, unbuttoned to reveal the shadowing of hair on his chest, and for a brief moment her heart lifted as she saw the lover she’d first met.

Then he turned and studied her, the firm mouth unsmiling, and she knew she was mistaken.

He said softly, ‘So, here you are.’

‘As you see,’ she said, masking her real emotions with flippancy. ‘Stripped, bathed, and brought to your tent.’

His tone was flat. ‘You are not amusing.’ He pointed to the cloudy liquid in his glass. ‘I am drinking ouzo. May I get you some?’

‘I’d prefer plain water.’

He gave her a cynical look. ‘How abstemious of you, agapi mou,’ he drawled. ‘You don’t feel that alcohol might dull the edge of your coming ordeal?’

‘Is that how you regard it?’

Draco shrugged. ‘I want you very badly.’ The dark eyes met hers in a frankly sensual challenge. ‘And I am not in the mood to make allowances.’

Her throat tightened. She was aware that her skin was tingling, her entire body stirring with irresistible excitement under its thin silken covering.

Faint colour rose in her face, but she didn’t look away.

She said, ‘I’ll take the risk.’

He lifted a sceptical brow, then turned back to the table, dropping ice cubes into a tumbler and filling it with water.

When he came across to give her the glass, Cressy felt her pulses surge. She thought that he would touch her, run his fingers down her bare arm, take her hand, kiss her mouth.

But he stepped back, lifting his own glass in a mocking salute. ‘To courage, pethi mou,’ he said, and drank.

They had dinner on the terrace, the table lit by glass-shaded candles. Vassilis brought them a light creamy soup, delicately flavoured with lemon, then fish baked with herbs, served with tiny potatoes and a green salad.