Flame Of Desire

The gown was Grecian in style, with a wide band of silver brocade surrounding her narrow waist. The light tan she had acquired during the last couple of months was shown to advantage against the peach chiffon, a thin delicate gold chain about her throat the only jewellery she wore.

What her stepmother and father would make of this transition she could only guess, but for all her natural poise and confidence it took great effort to go down to dinner that evening.

She smiled politely at several of the people she recognised who were gathered in the lounge, accepting the sherry Martin handed her with a broad wink in his direction. He frowned at her levity before turning away. Dear Martin, how she loved to tease him!

Luke Vittorio was already deeply engrossed in conversation with a group of people on the other side of the room, although perhaps that wasn’t quite the right description. There was a tolerant smile on his dark face, but Sophie felt sure he regarded the woman talking to him with amused contempt. It was there in his eyes, in his very stance, and Sophie felt sorry for the woman as she obviously tried to make an impression on him.

He looked even more attractive than he had this afternoon, the blue velvet jacket fitting tautly across his wide powerful shoulders, the white shirt flamboyantly frilled at the front although not effeminately so. He wore black trousers, his legs long and muscular beneath the fitted material.

‘So we meet again after all.’

She turned sharply at the sound of that huskily accented voice, the man she had been talking to drifting off as he knew himself overshadowed by the other man. As she had been standing with her back towards him she had no idea how Luke Vittorio had known it was her.

She gave him a cool nod. ‘Mr Vittorio.’

‘Please, call me Luke,’ he invited smoothly. ‘And I may call you—–?’

‘You may call me—–’

‘Ah, Luke,’ her stepmother came over to them, extraordinarily beautiful in the flowing red figure-hugging gown. ‘I see you’ve met my little Sophie.’

Sophie cringed, feeling about five years old. But then her stepmother would probably have preferred it if she were, much less ageing to herself. She looked up into the narrowed brown eyes of Luke Vittorio with defiance. ‘Mr Vittorio and I haven’t yet introduced ourselves, Mummy,’ and she gave him a challenging smile.

CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_f2302f04-5a3e-5769-8d44-3738e45fe83f)

SHE had felt sure he was taken aback by her identity, but there was no evidence of it now in his chillingly handsome face. ‘This is your daughter, Rosemary?’ he queried softly.

Her stepmother gave a brittle laugh. ‘This is my stepdaughter, yes.’

Those deep brown eyes were levelled on Sophie again. ‘I did not realise.’

‘Do introduce yourself properly, Sophie,’ Rosemary gave her an angry glare. ‘I have to go and save your father from Monty again. He will insist on talking for hours about horse-racing,’ she explained to Luke, ’and Simon has no interest in it at all.’

‘You did not think it necessary to introduce yourself this afternoon?’ Luke Vittorio asked abruptly once her stepmother had left them in a haze of her cloying perfume.

Sophie placed her empty sherry glass down on the side-table with relaxed calm. ‘Should I have done?’

‘I would have thought it polite, considering you know my reason for being here.’

She arched her eyebrows. ‘Do I?’

‘I would have thought so,’ he said coolly.

Her mouth twisted as she remembered the way her stepmother had said this man was going to ’look her over’. ‘I’m not exactly what you expected, am I?’ she challenged.

His head was held at a haughty angle, his eyes narrowed. ‘And what did I expect?’

‘I believe Miss Jeffers described it as a—brat?’

‘I am not Miss Jeffers.’ His voice was distinctly cool now.

Sophie gave a light laugh. ‘I’m aware of that. But I believe you expected someone a little—younger?’

He nodded distantly, the black sheen of his hair catching the overhead light. ‘Perhaps.’

There was no perhaps about it. She had known as soon as Eve Jeffers had called her a brat that they were expecting a much younger girl, possibly someone of ten or eleven. ‘And what do you think now?’

He shrugged his broad shoulders, muscle rippling beneath his velvet jacket. ‘Your age is irrelevant as to whether I paint you or not. As a matter of interest, how old are you?’

‘I’m not sure my stepmother would want me to tell you that. She’s just old enough to be my real mother.’

He gave a mocking smile. ‘I am sure you are right when you say Rosemary would not like me to know that—she has a way of looking constantly young.’ His admiring eyes followed her stepmother as she flitted about the room talking to her guests.

‘And a stepdaughter of nineteen isn’t very flattering,’ Sophie said abruptly, not liking the way he was looking at Rosemary. It brought back the feeling of uneasiness she had felt at Eve Jeffers’ disparaging remarks about Rosemary this afternoon.

Luke Vittorio smiled fully now, showing his firm even white teeth. ‘I am sure Rosemary would not think so.’

Sophie’s resentment grew, but she was prevented from making any reply by the arrival of Eve Jeffers at Luke Vittorio’s side, the pebble-green eyes flicking over her speculatively. That brief glance was enough to show Sophie that she wasn’t considered a rival.

‘Sorry I’m late down, Luke darling,’ Eve said throatily, her hand in the crook of his arm. ‘I haven’t missed anything, have I?’ she asked maliciously.

Sophie revised her earlier opinion of this woman being beautiful; there was too much hardness about her and a cruel twist to her painted lips for her to merit such a description. Not that she didn’t look pure perfection in the green gypsy-style evening dress, there was just a hardness about her that marred that beauty.

‘You have missed being introduced to Miss Bedford,’ he informed her.

The black eyebrows arched. ‘The brat?’ She looked around. ‘Has she been sent to bed already? Oh well, spoilt kids aren’t amongst my favourite people anyway.’ She looked back at Sophie. ‘Do I know you?’

‘No,’ Sophie said stiffly.

Eve frowned. ‘I’ve seen you before, I’m sure of it. Are you a model too?’

‘You flatter me!’

‘Sophie!’ She looked up as she heard her name called, seeing Nicholas Sedgwick-Jones making his way towards her. She groaned inwardly as he beamed down at her, waiting for his opening line as she always did. ‘You’re looking particularly beautiful tonight,’ he gushed.

This time she did groan. Nicholas always said the same thing, it was only the time of day that changed. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she didn’t suspect his widowed mother of teaching it to him parrot-fashion before he came out every day; there was certainly no sincerity behind his words.

She made the introductions to the other couple, aware that Luke Vittorio regarded Nicholas with as much contempt as she did. Luckily they all started going in to dinner at that moment, although she didn’t think herself so lucky a few seconds later when Luke Vittorio offered her his arm to go in to dinner.

She had no choice but to accept. ‘Shouldn’t you be taking in your girl-friend?’ she said tartly once out of earshot of the other two.

‘I am sure Eve will be suitably entertained by your friend.’

As she could already hear Nicholas launching into an account of his life on his farm Sophie didn’t feel sure of any such thing. Nicholas bored her, so what he would do to the much more sophisticated model she had no idea. He was still enthusing about his favourite subject as they came into the dining-room, and Sophie felt almost sorry for the other girl as she saw her mother had placed them next to each other at dinner.

She didn’t feel so elated when she found herself seated next to Luke Vittorio. Her mother sat at the head of the table, Luke sitting to her left and Sophie next to him. Nicholas and Eve were sitting at the other end of the table.

‘Has Sophie managed to introduce herself yet?’ Rosemary asked Luke.