King Of Swords

There was little doubt that the evening ahead was going to be an ordeal. Her father had made it clear that he intended to introduce Alex Constantis to their neighbours and friends as the future owner of Ambermere, and Julia wasn’t at all sure she could bear it.

She had almost decided against wearing the new dress, telling herself that it didn’t matter what she looked like—that the oldest rag in the wardrobe would do for a—awake like this evening promised to be.

But her pride had reasserted itself. Her ship might be sinking, but she would nail her full colours to the mast—and she would let no one, but no one know how much she despised and resented Alex Constantis. Her innate realism told her that too many avid eyes would be watching for any sign of grief or distress. Their friends would understand and sympathise, she thought with a sigh, but there were others in the neighbourhood, less well disposed towards the Kendricks, who had been prophesying doom and disaster for years.

And now the doom had come upon them in the unwelcome shape of this—Greek upstart, she thought wretchedly.

Paul Constantis had been philosophical about the enforced change in his circumstances, but Julia had sensed an underlying bitterness. She’d sympathised with him, without feeling too involved, but she was concerned now all right. Because by some incredible, nauseating coincidence, Alex Constantis was going to take Ambermere from her, just as he’d preyed on the Constantis family fortune. He was going to steal her home.

‘Bricks and mortar aren’t important,’ Sir Philip had said.

Not to you, Daddy, Julia thought in aching silence. Never to you—but to me.

She was aware that her love for Ambermere was a local byword, could imagine the shock waves when people realised this would be the last Midsummer party. But no one would pity her tonight—or laugh at her either, she told herself almost savagely, as she lifted her scent spray and misted herself with fragrance before turning resolutely to the door and making her way downstairs.

It was still quite early, and the special guests who had been invited to dinner before the party proper began had not begun to arrive yet, so Julia expected to have the drawing-room to herself for a while.

But to her horror, Alex Constantis was there before her, standing on the hearthrug, staring up at the enormous portrait of the Regency Julia Kendrick which hung above the fireplace. Twentieth-century Julia had never cared for this constant reminder of how her family had acquired Ambermere. She had always been vaguely embarrassed by the pride of place given to a woman who had shamelessly betrayed her husband, and behaved like a tart with Prinny. And she loathed the lighthearted family tradition of drinking a toast to the first Julia as a climax to the Midsummer party. But perhaps, in the circumstances, that particular ritual could be forgone this year.

She hesitated in the doorway, wondering whether she could steal away before he saw her, but the wretched man must have had eyes in the back of his head, because without turning, he said, ‘Come in, thespinis, and tell me about your ancestress.’

Julia came forward with deep unwillingness, strongly tempted to repudiate all knowledge of the flame-haired beauty in her shockingly fashionable transparent draperies.

But before she could speak, he added drily, ‘And do not try to deny the relationship. The family resemblance is there—and the colour of the hair.’ He turned and looked at her fully, the glittering dark gaze sliding with unabashed interest over the untrammelled cling of the midnight dress. ‘And the fact that you both wear so little,’ he ended silkily.

In spite of herself, Julia felt dull colour rise in her face. The cut of the dress demanded a minimum of underwear, but it infuriated her that this stranger—this interloper, should be so immediately aware of the fact—and be graceless enough to refer to it.

At the same time she was forced to acknowledge that his voice was attractive—low-pitched and resonant, with barely a trace of an accent. Not, she thought, what she would have expected from someone of his background.

She said coolly, ‘As you’re a stranger to Britain, Mr Constantis, perhaps I should warn you that sexist remarks are no longer welcomed here.’

‘Sexist?’ Alex Constantis repeated the word as if it were utterly new to him, then shrugged. ‘Yet we are still born male and female, thespinis. The human race does not yet allow for neuters. Nor will it continue for much longer unless a man is able to tell a woman that he finds her desirable.’

To her fury, Julia felt her flush deepen. Did this person actually mean … No, of course he didn’t. He was simply getting his own back by deliberately setting out to embarrass her.

She said crisply, ‘You were asking about the portrait, I believe. She was the wife of the first baronet, and her name was Julia.’

‘You were named for her?’

‘Yes.’ Julia forbore to add ‘unfortunately’, knowing it would involve her in explanations which she didn’t wish to give. Alex Constantis’s grin was far too insolent already.

He glanced back at the portrait. ‘She is very beautiful. To possess such loveliness would be a rare acquisition.’

Again Julia had the uneasy feeling that his remark was a loaded one, intended to needle her. At this rate, she thought crossly, I’ll be spending the entire evening blushing like a schoolgirl!

She forced her voice to remain level. ‘I’m afraid the portrait isn’t for sale, Mr Constantis. You’re buying a house, not a family history.’

He said softly, ‘The past does not concern me, thespinis—only the present—and the future. And it is not altogether certain that I shall buy Ambermere.’

Julia groaned inwardly. Aloud, she said stiffly, ‘If you’re having second thoughts because of anything I’ve said or done, then I’m sorry.’

‘Are you?’ He spoke in the same reflective tone, but Julia felt an inexplicable shiver run down her spine—as if he’d threatened her in some way.

Oh, I’m being ridiculous, she thought with exasperation.

She tried to speak lightly. ‘Perhaps we’d better declare a truce. May I offer you a drink?’

‘Thank you. Do you have Bourbon?’

‘Of course. It’s what my father drinks.’ Julia moved to the side table where the decanters stood, and poured a measure into a glass, angrily aware that her hands were shaking.

‘Come on, Jools,’ she whispered to herself. ‘Get it together.’

To add to her self-consciousness, she felt certain Alex Constantis had spotted her nervousness, and was amused by it, although his expression when she handed him the glass was enigmatic.

‘You are not joining me?’ he asked, and Julia shook her head.

‘It’s going to be a long evening,’ she excused herself, with a bright smile which only touched her lips.

‘Then—yiassou.’ He raised his glass to her, then drank.

Julia began to wish she had in fact poured herself a drink as well. It would have given her something to fidget with—to concentrate on—anything rather than just having to stand here, the object of his undivided attention.

‘So, tell me more about your namesake,’ he said, after a pause. ‘She was the mistress of the Prince of Wales—isn’t that right?’

Julia’s lips tightened. ‘You seem perfectly well informed already.’

‘There is a small bookshop opposite my hotel in the village. I bought a local guide book, and such a story was mentioned.’

She shrugged. ‘Then what more is there to tell?’

‘Her husband—this first baronet. What kind of a man was he?’

‘He was one of the Prince’s circle,’ Julia said reluctantly. ‘Though not a close friend. He was a gambler.’

‘So that is where the tendency comes from,’ Alex Constantis said meditatively. ‘Was he also as unlucky as your father?’

Julia shot him a look of indignant surprise, annoyed at the implied criticism in his words. ‘I don’t think I want to discuss that with you.’

‘Yet it has a certain relevance.’ The dark eyes were hooded. ‘If your father had been luckier in his wagers—in his speculation, then your family home would not be for sale to the highest bidder—and we would not be here together now.’

She said tautly, ‘Please don’t remind me.’

He laughed. ‘The truce did not last long, thespinis. But no matter. My instinct tells me that to war with you might be more interesting than to make peace.’

‘And your instinct, of course, is never wrong.’ Julia was heavily sarcastic.

‘Where women are concerned—rarely.’ He was still smiling. ‘Another sexist remark!’