CHAPTER SEVEN
IN THE early morning light Harriet awoke suddenly and sat up, listening to the silence. Slipping out of bed she went to the tall window and pushed it open, looking out onto the quiet countryside, dotted with pine trees.
The memory of last night still seemed to live in every part of her, mind, heart and body. She’d seen a side of Marco she’d never dreamed of. She’d known that he was full of contradictory qualities, that he could be charming, seductive, calculating and ruthlessly determined. But she hadn’t known that he could be dangerous. She knew now. For the few moments that he’d held her in his arms, forcing bruising, desperate kisses onto her, the air had crackled with danger, and she had felt alive as never before. It was shocking, but it was true.
She tried to call common sense to her aid. Whatever tumult of feeling she’d thought she detected, the truth was that Marco had been trying to prove a point. She’d made a fool of him and he wouldn’t stand for it. He’d reclaimed her in front of their guests, but pride had driven him to give her a demonstration of power when they were alone. He’d wanted to show her that he could fire her with such passion that she was his, whether she liked it or not.
And he’d succeeded. She knew now what his touch could do to her. The lightest caress could melt her so that she could think only of more caresses, and more…
But his own thoughts were different, she guessed, summoning his face to her mind and trying to read his eyes. He wanted to show her that, while he wouldn’t allow himself to become hers, she had no choice but to be his. In the cold light of day there was no more to it than that.
But the light of day wasn’t cold. As she raised her eyes to Rome’s distant hills she could see the golden glow of the rising sun.
It was nearly six in the morning. Marco, the early-rising banker, would be up by now and she needed to hear his voice. But his phone was switched off and when she called his apartment she was answered by a machine. She didn’t leave a message. How could she when she didn’t know what she wanted to say?
She needed to be outdoors. Hastily throwing on jeans and a sweater she slipped down the stairs and into the grounds. For a while the trees pressed close together and she was able to get away from the house, moving down winding paths that led in several directions.
That was her life now, moving along winding paths to a destination she no longer knew. A voice inside warned her to go home, but there was a bittersweet ache in her heart that said stay. She was a mass of confused feelings, and she couldn’t have said where she wanted her path to lead.
She came to a small lake and began to stroll along the edge of the water, relishing the beauty of the day. The morning mist had vanished, the light was fresh, and the sound of birdsong rose in the clear air.
Where was he?
Then she saw something that made her stop and catch her breath. A man was sitting on the ground against a tree, one arm flung across his bent knee, still in the clothes he’d worn last night, but for his jacket which had been tossed aside. His shirt was open halfway down, and the way his head was flung back against the tree showed the strong, brown column of his neck, and the thick curly hair that covered his chest.
Dropping down quietly beside him Harriet saw that his eyes were closed and he breathed heavily as though sleeping. For once all tension was drained away from his features, the mouth softened, gentle, as though it had never said a harsh or bitter word. She knelt there awhile, watching his unshaven face, the hair falling over his forehead and the dark shadows beneath his eyes, feeling a tenderness he’d never inspired in her before. She knew he would hate the idea of being studied like this, while he was vulnerable and unaware, but she lingered one more moment-just one more-
He opened his eyes.
Instead of being angry he surprised her again, simply sitting motionless, gazing at her so long that she wondered if he actually saw her. At last the dazed look faded from his eyes, replaced by a helpless pain.
‘You still speaking to me?’ he said at last.
She nodded. There was a lump in her throat.
He sighed and dropped his head onto the arm across his knee. ‘That’s more than I deserve,’ he said in a muffled voice. He raised his head. ‘I guess I had too much to drink.’
‘I didn’t see you drinking very much.’
‘You weren’t there to see-’ he checked himself with a shrug. ‘Forget it.’
‘Have you been out here all night?’
‘Since I left you, yes.’
‘I thought you were going home.’
‘I had to get away from you, but I couldn’t leave you, if that makes any sense.’
It made perfect sense. Since he’d stormed out last night she’d felt a persistent tug in her heart, as though it was connected to his by an invisible thread. Now she knew that he had felt it, too.
She sat down properly beside him, took one of his cold hands and began to rub it. He let her, seemingly too drained to react, but his eyes were on her hand, minus the ring.
‘I haven’t looked for it yet,’ she explained. ‘It could be anywhere in that big room. Suppose we never find it?’
His answer was the faintest possible shrug. After a moment his fingers moved to grasp hers. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked quietly.
‘Yes, I’m fine.’
‘Did I-hurt you?’
It was there again; the force of his mouth against hers, bruising, crushing, driving her wild with its ruthless persistence: the feelings still lived in her flesh, excitement, alarm, the joy of risk-taking, never known before.
‘No, you didn’t hurt me,’ she said.
‘Are you sure? I have a hellish temper, I’m afraid.’
‘You weren’t trying to hurt me.’
‘No,’ he said huskily. ‘No, I was trying to make you aware of me.’ His mouth quirked faintly at the corner. ‘When I was a child I used to cope with frustration by roaring at the top of my voice. Then people listened.’
‘Yes, I think I would have guessed something like that,’ she said gently.
‘Time I grew out of it, huh?’
‘People don’t stop being the way they are. You don’t frighten me.’
‘Thank God! Because that’s the last thing I’d ever want. Please Harriet, forget everything about last night.’
‘Everything? You mean-?’
‘Every last damned thing,’ he said emphatically. ‘Go to Manelli’s house whenever you like. There’ll be no more trouble, I promise. What’s past is past. It was a kind of madness, no more.’
‘But Marco, what got into you? It wasn’t drink, I know that.’
‘I can’t explain, but there are some things I’m not-rational about. Let’s just say that I get jealous easily. And possessive. It’s not nice. I apologise.’
‘You have nothing to be jealous about.’
‘I know. But there are things I can’t forget.’
‘About the other woman, the one you were going to marry?’
He stirred. ‘What do you know about her?’
‘Not much. You were engaged, then you both changed your mind.’
A long silence, then he said as though the words were dredged up from some fearful depths. ‘It was a little more complicated than that.’
‘Break ups aren’t usually completely equal,’ she suggested tentatively.
He nodded. ‘Something of the kind. Whatever! It makes me act unreasonably, and I’m sorry.’
She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, thinking that she’d never in her life seen a man so unhappy.
‘When you find the ring,’ he said wearily, ‘will you wear it again?’
She hesitated. ‘I don’t know.’
