Pagan Lover (10 page)

When the boat docked darkness had fallen; there was no one about at all, and any hopes that Tara had retained were crushed as her husband, having taken her arm in a tight grip, told her that if she so much as made a sound he would take her back on the boat, lock her in her cabin and leave her there until the early hours of the morning when everyone would be in bed and asleep. It was no idle threat, and added to that there was the presence of three strong men besides the one who held her. She was led from the waterfront up a narrow rocky path, dark and steep. There was no chance of making a dash for it, she thought—and just as if he guessed what had crossed her mind
Leon said unpleasantly,

‘Try anything on,
Tara, and I’ll make sure you smart for a week or more.’

‘I hate you!’ she seethed, glancing back to see if his men were following. They were still on the boat; she could dimly discern their shadowy figures moving about. ‘They’re bringing the luggage,’ said
Leon. ‘I collected you quite a wardrobe at the various ports we called at. However, you’ll need a lot more. I’m anxious for you to wear some of our models.’ By that he meant models created by the House of Hera, and it dawned on
Tara that he was thinking of making her an advertisement for his clothes.

Eventually they reached the house, and the door was opened by a manservant who was obviously ready to welcome his master with a smile. But the smile faded as dark Greek eyes lit on
Tara.

‘Meet my wife, Kleanthes. Tara, one of my servants.’ The man gaped, and said impulsively,

‘Your wife, Kirie Leon! But what about Miss—’ And then he managed to stop, a sort of horror on his face as he realised what he had said.
Tara, slanting her husband a glance, saw his mouth compress, his eyes glimmer with anger. ‘Welcome—Kiria
Leon—Mrs
Leon,’ stammered Kleanthes, looking fearfully at his employer. He’d be in trouble over that slip, concluded Tara, wondering who this woman was, and if she would be cast off now that
Leon had a wife. Perhaps he was not averse to having more than one woman at a time. She would not put it past the hateful beast! Kleanthes was speaking again as he stood aside for them to enter the high wide hall with its flowers and tapestry, its lovely antique furniture and Persian rugs scattered about the mosaic floor. ‘Everyone will be very happy at Kirios
Leon is having a wife at last! There will be plenty many sons—
ochi
!’

‘Go to the devil!’ returned
Tara with an onrush of anger.

‘To the devil—?’ The man threw out his hands, looking to
Leon for explanation. ‘What is this—this go to the devil?’

‘Mrs
Leon is tired. Fetch Pelayia; she will show her to the bedroom.’

‘Very good, Mr
Leon! I go this minute!’

Turning, he almost ran—going to the kitchen, thought Tara, to relate the astounding news that
Leon had brought home a wife.

‘You had better learn to hold your tongue,’ snapped
Leon when the man was out of earshot. ‘I’ve warned you about that before!’

‘I’m not having a servant talking to me about sons!’ she flared. ‘Do you suppose I’ve no pride?’

‘It’s natural in my country to connect marriage with the coming of sons. You’ll get used to the outspokenness of the Greeks.’

‘The men?’ with a glint in her eye. ‘The women, I expect are dumb—kept under by their dictatorial husbands.’

‘By God, you ask for it!’ he gritted. ‘I’d box your ears this very minute if I’d not sent for Pelayia!’

Tara sighed, making no comment as she looked around, deliberately attempting to calm her ruffled nerves by concentrating on something else. She noticed the old paintings on the walls, and the ikons, but then Pelayia was there, and within a few minutes
Tara was standing in a massive, high-ceilinged room decorated in white and gold. The curtains were sun-gold in colour, with matching bedspread and carpet. The velvet headboard and furniture were upholstered in leaf-green; all the walls were white. The whole aspect was delightful to the eye, giving an impression of good taste characterised by restraint. In the bathroom she had found thick silky towels, bath foam and talc—everything a woman would want—and she wondered how many women Leon had brought here to stay with him.

Her eyes strayed, slowly, reluctantly, to the door between this room and the one beyond. She listened for a sound, but apparently her husband was not in there—of if he was he made so sound. A sigh that was almost a sob rose from the very heart of her. To be imprisoned like this, yearning for the man she loved but forced to endure the attentions of her abductor!

Endure.... It was dishonest to pretend that she did not enjoy
Leon’s lovemaking. He drew her by some powerful force, tempted her by his subtle approach and conquered her by his mastery. What kind of a woman was she? So many times since she had met this foreigner who was now her husband she had asked herself this question. Once she had been shy, avoiding any man who might prove to he too amorous for her. David had come along and she had known from the first that he was the one for her.

And yet she could enjoy the savage pagan lovemaking of another man.

It was all too baffling for her, and in, any case she found herself stiffening and staring with widening eyes at the handle of the communicating door. It was turning, slowly, silently. The man was not human, she thought, managing to do things as silently as he. But the door was locked and he had to use the key.

He entered the room and
Tara found herself swinging around, hoping that Pelayia was still there. But the maid had gone, for as yet there was nothing to unpack, the suitcases which
Leon had bought for her and filled not yet having been brought upstairs.

Leon stood in the doorway, the light from behind him throwing his features, into shade so that he appeared more satanic than ever. She frowningly examined the taut lines of his face, the tensed muscles of his neck, the hollows in his cheeks and the low forehead of the Greek, lined and darkly evil. A formidable enemy! And yet from some hidden recess strength came to her. She would fight him with everything in her! Why should she succumb meekly as she had been doing?

‘Come here,’ he commanded, pointing to a place near his feet.

‘I’m looking at the view,’ she snapped, taking a sideways step that brought her closer to the window across which the curtains had not been drawn.

‘In the dark?’ with a satirical lift of his brows. ‘Don’t be absurd—’

‘I can see,’ she interrupted. ‘I’m not blind.’

‘Well, you’ll not see much in the dark—the lights on the cliffs, of course, and the sea.’

‘What do you want?’ she demanded, taking another step towards the window.

‘I’ve told you to come here! If you had any sense at all,
Tara, you’d have learned by now that I am not the man to brook defiance. Obey me—at once!’

She swallowed convulsively, aware of his intentions. He wanted to kiss her, to caress her body, to use his vast experience and finesse to triumph over her resistance. He had done it every night since their marriage, laughing with satisfaction at his victory, had taunted with the declaration that she desired him as much as he desired her. And that was why he was so confident that she would very soon abandon her attempt to find a way of escape. Even if a child were not on the way he meant to hold her prisoner, not by force but by the weakness of her resistance to his charms as a lover. And she had to admit that she was frightened—of herself as much as him. He was looking at her warningly and she said playing for time,

‘Where are my clothes? I want to wash and change.’

 
‘Your clothes are coming.’ He pointed to the spot at his feet. ‘Come to me—now!’

Her heart began to throb in wild disorder. She shook her head and yet found herself advancing towards him.

‘I—you———’

‘Thank your lucky stars that you decided to obey me,’ he said harshly. ‘I was about to give you something to remember!’

‘You’d use violence on me?’

‘I intend to bring you to heel, and to keep you there!’

He reached out, gripping her wrist and jerking her trembling body to him. She felt the slight pain of the sharp contact with his body, but it was nothing to the sheer ruthlessness of his mouth as it captured hers, sensuously exploring, subduing her efforts to keep her mouth closed against the insistence of his lips. She tried to struggle, but with a laugh he vanquished her puny attempt by imprisoning both her hands in one of his, then forcing them behind her back.

‘What are you going to do now?’ he taunted, obviously enjoying her helplessness and the white-hot fury that resulted from it. She just managed to say, ‘I wish I could kill you,’ before his hard mouth crushed out the rest. ‘Wildcat that you are,’ he mocked, ‘you’re not going to take very much taming.’ His hand released hers and stole to her breast, to caress it with the sort of rough persuasion which he knew would fire her emotions. And it did, setting every nerve in her body rioting. How easily this hateful foreigner could arouse her all-consuming desire for the pleasure and the pain of his body! It infuriated her that he was so fully aware of his power over her, his ability to bring about her surrender. Despairingly she felt herself going limp in his arms, then arching her body as she began to strain it to his. This was defeat! It brought tears of anger to her eyes even as she continued to strain against him, vitally aware that she herself was tempting now, and that, within seconds, she would be swept unresistingly into the vortex of his passion.

CHAPTER SEVEN

TARA stood by the fountain, staring out over the olive-clad slopes to the aquamarine
sea
of
Greece
and the sharply-defined line of the horizon beyond. She was fully conscious of the two gardeners working on the borders, and when a few minutes later her husband appeared from the house she turned on him, viciously declaring she would escape in spite of the fact that she was watched whenever she strayed from the house.

‘Don’t be such a vixen,’ he drawled, a frown touching his brow. ‘I can see I shall have to school you in the end.’

‘Threats again?’ She shrugged her shoulders in a gesture of indifference. ‘I’m used to them by now. I’ve been married to you for three weeks, remember.’

His dark eyes scrutinised her flushed face. Then they narrowed, glintingly.

‘You’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met,’ he told her at length.

‘Because I haven’t fallen victim to your—er— charms?’ He said nothing and she added tauntingly, ‘What a blow to your ego it must be to find a woman who hasn’t fallen in love with you. How many hearts have you broken in your life?’ she asked finally.

‘You have fallen victim to my—’ He stopped and the dark frown became more pronounced. ‘From the first, desire has been there. You must have admitted to yourself many times that, physically, I can give you far more than that David you talk about.’ He watched her closely and anger throbbed at the knowledge that he knew she would not be able truthfully to argue with his statement,

‘But I haven’t fallen in love with you,’ she said defensively.

‘Not yet, but there is plenty of time.’

‘Is it important to you that I fall in love with you?’

He shrugged his shoulders.

‘Not really. Life would be more pleasant if you did, for then you wouldn’t be such a termagant.’

She gritted her teeth.

‘I was never like this till I met you!’

‘Obviously not, because no one would ever have fallen in love with you.’ A pause and then, ‘This David’s had a narrow escape, if he only knew it.’

Tara drew a breath, and managed to control the fury within her. She had several times made the resolve to be calm—icily calm—hoping that such an attitude would successfully attack
his
calm. But she kept losing control and showing him her temper. He had shaken her on two occasions, and on several more had threatened her with a beating. But he had never lost control to that extent; she felt that he was always conscious of preserving his dignity, and he did preserve it for most of the time. She glanced at the two gardeners, a brooding expression on her face. Would there ever be an opportunity of escape? She thought of her husband’s need to attend to his various businesses and wondered when he would be going to
Athens. He would not take her with him, he had said, and of course the reason was his inability to keep her a prisoner there, as he could so easily do on this small island where she was watched every minute of every day.

He glanced at her, his eyes following the direction of her gaze.

‘How transparent you are,’ he mocked. ‘Don’t you ever stop thinking of getting away from me?’

‘No, never,’ she flashed back at him. ‘I could almost wish those two would drop dead!

‘If you did leave me,’ commented her husband mildly, ‘just look what you would miss.’ He was taunting her as usual, reminding her of her weakness.

‘You pompous ass!’ It was out before she realised it, and she knew for sure that it was only the presence of the gardeners that saved her from punishment. As it was,
Leon’s black eyes glittered with fury and his mouth went tight.