Moth To The Flame

Juliet was frankly taken aback. She hadn’t intended him to react like that. The strain of this play-acting was beginning to tell on her, and she had hoped he would take the hint and leave.

‘But you don’t want to dine with me,’ she said uncertainly. It was Juliet speaking now, all the assumed bravado dropping from her like a cloak.

‘I didn’t, it’s true, but I find it an idea that gains in appeal with each minute that passes.’ His lips curled in apparent self-derision. ‘Hurry and dress, bella mia, while I phone and book a table for us.’

She was about to protest again, but she hesitated. He was going to find it acutely suspicious, if, having led him on as she had to admit she had been doing, she now displayed a genuine reluctance to be in his company.

She groaned inwardly. She was hungry all right. She’d made do with a simple lunch of fruit, but the thought of another couple of hours in his company, this time in the secluded intimacy of a restaurant, was calculated to destroy her appetite. Jan would have carried the whole thing off without a tremor—she’d wanted after all to beard the lion in his den, but she—all she wanted was some peace. She had no real confidence that she would be able to continue with her self-imposed charade over the next few days. If she had to, she would leave the flat and trust to luck that she would find a cheap hotel somewhere, and that Santino Vallone wasn’t having her watched, a course of action she was certain would not be beyond him.

She gave him a cautious glance beneath her lashes. That terrifying anger she had glimpsed seemed to have subsided for the moment, but she sensed that it was still there just beneath the surface and she had no wish to unleash it again.

She managed a breathless little laugh. ‘Well, thank you, signore. But I wonder what the gossip columnists will make of you dining těte-à-těte with your future sister-in-law?’

He had the telephone receiver in his hand and was in the act of dialling, but he turned slightly and looked at her over his shoulder.

‘I imagine they’ll draw the appropriate conclusions,’ he said softly. ‘And allow me to remind you yet again, Janina mia, that you have no future as my sister-in-law.’

He turned his attention back to his telephone call and Juliet fled.

Once in the bedroom, she gave a swift glance along the brief line of clothes hanging in her section of the wardrobes, and shook her head. They were all strictly Juliet dresses, and none of them appropriate for the role she was playing. She gave a longing glance at one new dress she had brought for this holiday—white with bands of delicate Swiss embroidery, cut in an Empire style which showed off her slenderness and gave her an air of fragility.

But for an evening in a smart Rome restaurant with Santino Vallone, fragility was the last effect she wanted to achieve. She pushed the sliding door along and stared at the racks’ of clothes belonging to Jan. There was bound to be something here that she could use. She wondered where Santino was taking her, and hoped fervently that it would not be a restaurant where Jan was known. She couldn’t hope to keep the deception going with someone who would recognise Jan on sight, although she supposed there was enough of a superficial resemblance to pass at a distance. They were about the same height and build and their colouring was similar, and she supposed this was why Santino Vallone had not questioned her identity. He had expected to meet a red-haired English girl at the apartment, and his expectations had been fulfilled, although not quite in the way he thought.

She seized a dress at random and held it against herself, looking at her reflection in the full-length mirror. It was black and ankle-length, the skirt of a silky crepe, and the long-sleeved bodice in exquisite black lace. It was far more décolletée than anything she had ever worn, but she just had to hope it would give her the air of sophistication that she needed.

Her hair was another problem. Although it was almost dry again, it would not be appropriate to tie it back in her usual simple style, and she supposed the most sensible thing to do would be to twist it into a smooth knot at the nape of her neck. Nor could she hope to imitate Jan’s expertise with cosmetics, just make sparing use of eyeshadow to accentuate the green in her eyes, and relieve some of the pallor in her cheeks with blusher. She was not dissatisfied with the result when she had finished, and her hairstyle was very becoming, she thought, showing off her small ears and the delicate line of her jaw. No matter how tremulous she might feel, outwardly she looked poised and in control of the situation, and that was as much as she could hope for. She gave herself one last look and turned to reach for her dress which she had left lying across the bed.

From the doorway, Santino said coolly, ‘Charming. My respect for Mario’s judgment, if not for his common sense, increases by leaps and bounds.’

Juliet couldn’t suppress the startled cry that rose to her lips. All she was aware of were his eyes appraising her, as she stood there defenceless in the lacy black waist slip, and the half-cup bra which lifted her rounded breasts without covering them. Her face flamed and she snatched up the dress, holding it in front of her.

‘How dare you walk in without knocking!’

His brows rose. ‘Why the pretence at modesty, cara? You’ve worn more revealing garments every day, I’m certain, on that catwalk at Di Lorenzo with more eyes upon you than mine, not to mention that more private performance that I was privileged to glimpse at the Contessa Leontana’s party a few months ago.’

She was too embarrassed to heed his words closely. She knew that Jan would have outstared him, and it was true that girls wore less than she had on now every day on the beaches of the Mediterranean and the Adriatic, and if she herself had been sunbathing in a bikini she could probably have borne his scrutiny. But this was not a beach, it was a bedroom, and she’d never been in this kind of situation half-clothed with a man before. It might be utterly ridiculous in this day and age, but it was true. In some ways she was as old-fashioned as Mim herself.

She said with as much ice as she could manage, ‘I prefer to keep my private and my professional lives strictly apart, if you don’t mind, signore. Perhaps you’d be good enough to return to the salotto and wait for me there.’

He stared at her for a moment, frowning a little as if she had bewildered him, then he gave a low laugh and turned away.

‘Well, hurry then,’ he tossed at her. ‘You surely don’t take this long to change at Di Lorenzo?’

Her hands were shaking so much she could hardly adjust the zip of the dress, but at last she was ready. She bit her lip as she saw for the first time just how revealing the bodice really was, but she told herself that it was too late to change again, and anyway it was exactly the sort of dress that Jan would have worn. She snatched up the black velvet purse she had found wrapped in tissue on one of the wardrobe shelves and went towards the door.

Santino Vallone was sitting on one of the sofas glancing through a magazine as she came along the gallery, and for a moment she was afraid. Suppose it was one of the magazines that used Jan for their fashion spreads? From what she knew of her sister, she would be quite narcissistic enough to have them lying round the apartment. She hesitated slightly as she reached the top of the steps, wondering whether he would jump to his feet, his face grim and accusing, and what she would be able to salvage from the wreck if he did, but he merely laid the magazine aside and got to his feet. He stood looking at her for a long moment, and there was an odd expression deep in the tawny eyes. Then he strolled forward, pausing to break off one of the deep crimson roses as he came.

He walked slowly up the steps, his eyes effortlessly holding hers. She found herself thinking desperately that it was as if she had been mesmerised. She could not look away, and she felt that betraying blush rising again. He reached her side and before she could guess his intention, he leaned forward and slipped the rose into the revealing vee of the deeply slashed lace bodice, between the shadowy cleft of her breasts, and for one heart-stopping moment she felt his fingers brush against her flesh.

Then he stood back critically to view his handiwork, a faint smile lifting the corners of his mouth.

‘An enchanting contrast in textures,’ he remarked with a coolness she was not capable of emulating. ‘The velvet of the rose against the silk of your skin. You are worth waiting for, Janina mia.’

And while she was still breathlessly taking in what he had said, including his last enigmatic remark, he put his hand under her arm, and led her to the door.

CHAPTER THREE (#u8d5f4bc7-81c8-5e5f-a034-26088a082e04)

HE was an expert driver, but then naturally he would be, Juliet thought crossly as the low-slung sports car purred its way almost noiselessly through the evening traffic.

She wanted to ask where they were going, but felt it was better to pretend that she knew, and she tried not to look too eagerly around her as they drove through part of the city she had never seen before. Jan, she was sure, would take her surroundings very much for granted.

Her companion seemed silent as they drove and she was thankful for it. All sorts of snags which she had not previously taken into consideration were now beginning to occur to her—the major one being that she would probably be expected to be quite conversant with any number of intimate details about Mario and his immediate family, not to mention his friends. What on earth was she going to say if Santino began to question her on the subject? She would be bound to make all sorts of glaring errors, and his suspicions would be aroused at once. He was no doubt already thinking that it was odd that a girl who worked in Rome should have next to no knowledge of the Italian language, unless he had simply concluded that she was too lazy to learn it.

Juliet found herself wishing that she had made her identity known at the very start, and steadfastly denied all knowledge of Mario and his involvement with her sister. She could have pretended that Jan had sub-let the apartment to her—all kinds of explanations and excuses, some more convincing than others, were coming to mind. Anything, she thought ruefully, would probably have been better than the web of deceit she had started to spin. It would only take a little judicious probing from the brooding man beside her, and her whole fragile fabrication would come tumbling down.

She hoped apprehensively that the restaurant would not be too fashionable. The fewer people she was seen by the better. And the darker the restaurant was the better too, she told herself. By candlelight, in a secluded corner, she might just be able to pass for Jan if she was seen at a distance by someone who actually knew her sister.

But her hopes were dashed when they finally reached their destination. Santino had chosen a restaurant right on the outskirts of the city. It was large, popular and quite clearly expensive, and their table, far from being hidden in some dark corner, was almost in the centre of an enormous terrace, overlooking exquisite formal gardens, and with a panoramic view of the city itself.

Juliet found herself the cynosure of all eyes as she walked to the table, and she had not been in Rome long enough to be untroubled by the frankness of some of the masculine glances and sotto voce remarks which pursued her. She sank rather thankfully into the chair the waiter was holding for her, and hoped she had managed to mask her embarrassment at the small ordeal. It was the kind of situation that Jan would have revelled in, she supposed, being escorted by someone as dark and devastating as Santino Vallone. It was quite a relief to shelter from prying glances behind the huge menu that she was handed. She wondered with dismay if she was supposed to appear knowledgeable about the choice of food being offered, and heard her companion give a low-voiced order to the waiter for two dry Martinis to be brought to them.

He leaned back in his chair and gave her an enquiring look. ‘What do you wish to eat, Janina? A simple steak and a salad, perhaps?’

‘Certainly not,’ she denied indignantly, her eye focussing on a magnificent trolley laden with hors d’oeuvres which a waiter was steering between the tables.

He raised his eyebrows slightly. ‘You do not fret perpetually about your weight? Meraviglioso!’

Juliet suddenly found herself thinking of the idle remark she had made to Jan—a lifetime ago, it seemed. Could it really be only twenty-four hours? She flushed a little.

‘No,’ she said with constraint, ‘not at the moment.’ She glanced about her, casting round for a change of subject, wanting to get away from any personal element. ‘What a magnificent view!’

‘Have you never been here before?’

She lifted one shoulder casually. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t remember …’

‘One goes to so many places,’ he finished for her, rather mockingly. ‘You are a true Roman, Janina. I am surprised that you still find the skyline romantic.’