HE ENTERED the room with a light tap to warn of his arrival. Isobel turned to the mirror to take one last look at herself and could not decide if she liked what she saw.
Nervous fingers fluttered down the short, close-fitting lined straight dress she had chosen to wear. It was made of a misty-jade silk-crêpe that clung sensually to her slender figure without being too obvious—she hoped. Her make-up was light and natural, her kitten-heeled lightweight mules matched the colour of the dress. But had she struck the note she had been striving for, in a different key to the old downright-provocative Isobel, without appearing as if she had conceded anything to the Greek idea of what was good taste?
‘What do you think?’ She begged his opinion while anxiety darkened her eyes and she wished to goodness that she’d worn her hair down—it had not occurred to her before that she liked to use her hair to hide behind and now she felt very exposed.
Leandros didn’t reply, so she turned to gauge his expression, only to go breathlessly still when she found herself looking at a man from any warm-blooded woman’s dreams. He’d discarded the conventional black dinner suit in favour of a white dinner jacket, black silk trousers and a black bow-tie. He looked smooth and dark and so sexually masculine that those tiny muscles inside her that were still gently pulsing from their last stimulation began to gather pace all over again.
His darkly hooded eyes moved over her in a way she recognised only too well. Mine, the look said. ‘Stunning,’ he murmured. ‘Nothing short of perfect.’
So are you, she was going to say, but as he walked towards her she noticed the black velvet jewellery cases in his hand and recognised them instantly.
Nervous fingers feathered the front of her dress again. ‘S-so you got them back,’ she said.
‘The heirlooms?’ His mouth twitched. ‘As you see,’ he confirmed easily.
With the neat flick of a finger he opened the flat case, gave her a few seconds to stare down at the platinum scrolls pierced with glowing emeralds and edged with sparkling diamonds that she had thought so beautiful when first she saw them. But that was before his sister’s scornful, ‘He’s given you those old things? Mother always refused to wear them. Though they are definitely wasted on you,’ had taken their beauty away.
Now those same long fingers were lifting the necklace from its bed of velvet. ‘Turn around,’ he commanded.
‘I …’ Reluctance to so much as touch any of the pieces lying in that case was crawling across her skin. ‘I gave you them back,’ she pointed out edgily. ‘I don’t really want—’
‘It has been a few eventful days filled with many second chances,’ he replied in a light tone filled with sardonic dryness, ‘for here I am, giving them back to you. They will be perfect with this lovely dress, don’t you think?’
Maybe they would. ‘But …’ The necklace sparkled and glittered across the backs of his fingers. She lifted wary eyes to his and instantly felt as if she was drowning in a thick, dark sea of lazy indulgence. Let’s go back to bed, she wanted to say. I feel safe there with you. ‘Don’t you think my wearing them tonight would be like slapping your family in the face with the fact that I am back? M-maybe I will wear them another time.’
‘But you are back,’ he pointed out with devastating simplicity. ‘You are my beautiful wife. I gave these beautiful things to you and I want you to wear them. So turn around …’
She turned around, taking that sudden gleam of determination in his eyes with her. The necklace came to lie against her skin, circling the base of her throat as if it had been specially made to do so.
‘A new beginning for you and I also mean a new beginning for everyone, agape mou,’ he said deeply as she felt the warm press of his lips to her nape.
Then he was gently bringing her round to face him. With a neat flick the matching bracelet arrived around her slender wrist. Her stomach began to dance when he reached up to gently remove the tiny gold studs she was wearing in her ears. She could not believe there was another man alive who knew how to thread the fine hooks, from which there were suspended matching emerald-and diamond-studded scrolls, into the piercing of a woman’s ears without hurting.
He was standing so close—close enough for it to take only the slightest movement from her to close the gap. She stared at the sensual shape of his mouth and wanted badly to kiss it. Her breasts began to ache, her breathing shallowing out to hardly anything at all.
Flustered by her own crass lack of control around him, she turned away to stare into the mirror again. He was right about the jewellery looking perfect with the dress, she conceded reluctantly.
Her eyes flicked up to catch his in the mirror. He stood a head and the white-covered width of his shoulders taller than she did. She saw dark and light, frailty and strength. They contrasted in every way there was, yet fitted together as if it had always meant to be this way.
‘I still think that wearing these is like a slap in the face to your family,’ she insisted.
Reaching up with a hand, he ran the gentle tip of a finger around the sparkling necklace. ‘I think I am going to enjoy myself not too many hours from now.’
He was talking about sex on a bed draped with his wife wearing nothing but diamonds and emeralds. He was conjuring up enticing visions with which she didn’t need any help to remember for herself. He laid a kiss upon her shoulder; she quivered, he sighed—then stepped away to pick up the other velvet box he had brought into the room with him.
She had forgotten all about it until he flicked up the lid. Her stomach was not the only thing to dance with fine flutters as he took a ring between finger and thumb. Ridding himself of the box, he slid the ring onto her finger until it came to rest against her wedding ring.
‘This stays where it is,’ he said very seriously.
The huge central stone seemed to issue a proclamation as he lifted it to his mouth. The diamonds framing the emerald almost blinded her beneath the overhead light. She might not know much about precious stones but she could recognise quality when she saw it.
‘Who did these belong to—originally, I mean?’ she asked curiously.
A mocking look appeared along with a lazy grin. ‘The emeralds once belonged to a Venezuelan pirate who wore the one in the ring set into his front tooth.’
She laughed; it was irresistible not to at such an outrageous fairy tale. ‘He would have had to have huge teeth!’ she exclaimed.
‘A swashbuckling, dark giant of a man with a black velvet patch worn over one eye,’ he embroidered shamelessly. Then, so unexpectedly it took her breath away, he bent to kiss her full on the mouth.
He stole her lipstick; she didn’t care. He stole her every anxiety about tonight by reminding her of what really mattered. They left the bedroom hand in hand and walked down the stairs, meeting her mother, who was just making her way down the hallway, looking so lovely in her blue dress threaded with silver that her daughter stopped and sighed, ‘Oh, Mum …’
The nerves returned when they turned into the driveway of a mansion house set in beautiful gardens lit to welcome its guests. Isobel’s mother refused the use of her wheelchair, waving it away when their driver attempted to help her into it. Dignity and pride came before common sense tonight, though Silvia could not dismiss her need of her walking frame, no matter how independent she would prefer to be. However she was feeling buoyant and determined to enjoy herself.
Her daughter wished she could find the same motivation. Leandros’s hand resting against her lower spine instilled some reassurance but the line-up of people waiting at the entrance was so daunting that Isobel was glad they were forced to take their time by matching their pace to her mother’s slower steps.
She was introduced to Mr and Mrs Santorini and their daughter Carlotta, who was a lovely thing with dark hair and even darker liquid, smiling eyes. All three welcomed Isobel graciously but they were obviously curious about her, no matter how they tried to hide it. Nikos reminded her of Leandros when she had first met him, before life had got around to honing his handsome face. Nikos’s smile was rueful as he greeted her with a lazy, ‘Happy to see you here, Isobel.’ As he bent to place a kiss on her cheek he added softly, ‘And about time too.’
It was a nice thing for him to say, and helped to ease the next moment when Isobel had to face Leandros’s mother. Thea looked stiff and awkward as she greeted the daughter-in-law who had been such a big disappointment to her. She was kind to Silvia, though, showed a genuine concern about her accident and promised to spend time with her later, catching up on what had happened.
‘See, it wasn’t so bad,’ Leandros said quietly as they moved away.
‘Only because you’d obviously primed them,’ she countered.
The click of his tongue told her she had managed to annoy him. ‘The chip on your shoulder must be very heavy, agape,’ he drawled caustically, and the hand at her spine fell away. Feeling suddenly cast adrift as they stepped into a large reception room, Isobel then had to stand alone to deal with something like a hundred faces turning her way.
Some stared in open surprise, others glanced quickly down and away. Her skin began to prickle as the nerves she had been keeping under tight control broke free. Leandros could prime his family but he could not prime everyone, she noted painfully as the hiss of soft whispers suddenly attacked her burning ears.
It was awful. She felt that old familiar sensation as if she was beginning to shrink. With a lifting of her chin she stopped it from happening. Damn you all, her green eyes flashed.
Like the old times—like the old times, she chanted silently.
Her mother arrived at Leandros’s other side, thankfully drawing some of the attention her way. Silvia, too, stopped to stare in surprise at what was taking place. ‘Are we the star turn, Leandros?’ she asked him. She wasn’t a fool; her mother knew exactly what was going on here.
One of his hands went to cover one of Silvia’s hands where it gripped the walking frame, the other arrived at Isobel’s waist. Then he lifted his dark head to eye the room as a whole, and with a few economical movements he silenced whispers.
It came as a small shock to Isobel to see how much command he seemed to have over such an illustrious assembly. He had not warranted this much respect the last time she’d been here. Their three years apart had given him something extra she could only describe as presence. She had noticed it before in other ways but had not suspected that he could silence tongues with a single lift of his chiselled chin.
People went back to whatever they had been doing before they’d arrived to interrupt. Without uttering a word Leandros guided them towards a low sofa set against the nearest wall to them and quietly invited Silvia to sit. She shook her head. Like mother like daughter, Isobel mused ruefully. Neither of them was going to allow themselves to shrink here.
A waiter appeared to offer them tall flutes of champagne. Beginning to feel just a little bit nauseous, she allowed herself a tiny sip. ‘OK?’ Leandros murmured huskily.
‘Yes,’ she replied but they both knew she wasn’t.
‘I apologise for my earlier remark.’ It was an acknowledgement that the chip-on-the-shoulder taunt had not been fair. ‘I think I should have anticipated this. But, in truth, I did not expect them to be so …’
Rude, she finished for him. And—yes, he should have expected it. But this was no time to jump into a row with him. That would come later, she promised herself.
‘Isobel!’ The call of her name brought her head up and the first genuine smile to widen her mouth. A diversion was coming in the shape of Eve Herakleides, who was bearing down upon them with her daunting giant of a grandfather and another man Isobel presumed must be Eve’s new husband.
‘Oh, this is just too good to be true!’ Eve exclaimed as she arrived in front of them. Suddenly and intentionally, Isobel was sure, friendly, warm faces were surrounding them.
She and Eve shared kisses. Leandros was greeting Eve’s grandfather—his uncle Theron—and introducing Theron to Silvia. Then Eve drew her husband forward and proudly presented him as her gorgeous Englishman. Ethan Hayes grimaced at being described in this way, but his eyes were smiling and his hand made its possessive declaration where it rested on Eve’s slender waist.
Tensions began to ease as shifted they positions to complete introductions all round. Isobel found herself confronted by the great Theron Herakleides, who looked nothing like Leandros’s mother. But then, they had been born several decades apart to different mothers. ‘I am very happy to see you here,’ he announced quite gravely, and bent to make the traditional two-kiss greeting.
Someone else arrived within their select little circle. It was Leandros’s beautiful sister, Chloe, wearing an exquisite long and slinky gown of toreador red that set off her tall, dark, slender beauty to perfection. Her actions were stilted, the greeting she offered Isobel filled with the same awkward coolness as her mother’s had been. Chloe was the youngest of the three Petronades children. All her life she had been adored and doted on by all the Petronades males, which in turn had made her spoiled and selfish, and she resented anyone who threatened to steal some of that adoration away from her.
She’d seen Isobel as one of those people. It still remained to be seen if Nikos’s lovely Carlotta was going to be treated to the same petulant contempt. But, for now, Isobel was prepared to be polite and friendly—just in case Chloe had changed her attitude in the last three years.
Leandros saw his sister differently. Spoiled and selfish though she undoubtedly had been three years ago, she had gone through a very tough time after their father died. She’d worshipped him above all others, and losing him had left a huge gap in her heart that she’d looked to him and Nikos to fill. When he’d married Isobel, Chloe had taken this as yet another devastating loss and had fiercely resented Isobel for being the cause.
Chloe had changed over the last three years though. Grown up, he supposed, and was less of a spoiled little cat. Though he understood that Isobel didn’t know that—which was why he felt her fingers searching for the secure comfort of his hand as Chloe levelled her dark eyes upon her and said, ‘Welcome home, Isobel,’ then concluded the greeting with a kiss to both of Isobel’s cheeks with a very petulant mouth.
He was about to offer a wry smile at this bit of petulance, when something else happened to wipe out all hint of humour. As she drew away Chloe’s gaze flickered down to the jewels flashing at Isobel’s throat and a faint flush was suddenly staining her elegant cheekbones as she looked away in clear discomfort.
He had his culprit, he realised grimly.
The ever-sharp Eve also noticed Chloe’s fleeting glance at Isobel’s throat—and her ensuing discomfort. The little minx made a play of checking out Isobel’s necklace. ‘Oh, how lovely,’ she declared. ‘Are they old or are they new?’
‘Most definitely new,’ Leandros answered smoothly. ‘I had them specially commissioned for Isobel just after we were married,’ he explained. ‘As far as I recall Isobel has only worn them once before—isn’t that so, agape mou?’
‘I … Yes.’ He watched her fingers jerk up to touch the necklace. She was trying to hide her shock at what he had said, while his sister had turned to a block of stone.
‘We like to call them the family heirlooms.’ Oh, cruelty be mine, he thought with grim satisfaction as he soothed Isobel with the gentle squeeze of her hand and smiled glassily into his sister’s unblinking eyes. Chloe realized that he now knew the kind of unkind rubbish she had fed to his wife. She also now realized that she was in deep trouble the next time he got her alone. He was looking forward to it, Chloe certainly wasn’t.
The buffet dinner was announced. Maybe it was fortunate because it gave his darling sister the excuse to melt away. People shifted positions as the slow mass exodus to the adjoining room began. Eve strolled away with her husband. Theron was gallantly offering to escort Isobel’s mother. They went off together, Theron matching his long strides to Silvia’s smaller steps while talking away to her with an easy charm.
Which left them alone again. ‘I think Theron has taken to your mother,’ he observed lightly.
‘Just don’t speak,’ his wife told him stiffly. ‘I’m too angry to listen to you.’
He looked down into glinting eyes. ‘Why, what have I done?’ he asked innocently.
‘You don’t have to do anything to be a horrible person,’ she answered. ‘It must be in the genes.’
‘Then you understand why my sister is the way that she is,’ he countered smoothly, and when she went to stalk away from him he stopped her by tightening his grip on her hand. ‘We do not run away any more, agape mou,’ he reminded her.
‘Sometimes I can hate you.’ Her chin was up. ‘All the time you were dressing me up in these, you were laughing at me!’
He laughed now, low and huskily. She was beginning to sizzle. He loved it when she sizzled. ‘The Venezuelan pirate was pure inspiration.’ Another flash sparked from her eyes and he should have been slain where he stood.
‘Now tell me the fairy tale Chloe fed to you.’
Her mouth snapped shut in refusal to answer. ‘Loyalty from the witch for the cat?’ he drawled quizzically. ‘Now, that does surprise me.’
Isobel had surprised herself. She had a suspicion her silence had something to do with the pained look she’d seen on Chloe’s face as Leandros taunted her, and the fact that Chloe had flicked her a glance of mute apology before she’d slipped away.
‘I’m hungry,’ she said, which could not be less true since she knew she would not be able to swallow a single thing tonight. But the claim served its purpose in letting him know that a discussion about his sister was not going to happen. Not until she understood where Chloe was coming from these days. It was Leandros who wanted her to give his family a chance, after all.
‘Why Venezuelan?’ she asked suddenly. ‘Why not French or Spanish or—?’
His laughter sent his dark head back. People turned to stare as if they weren’t used to hearing him laugh like this. He deigned not to notice their disconcerted glances, kissed her full on her mouth then led her to join the crush around the buffet table.
The evening moved on. With a quiet determination, Leandros took her from group to group and pulled her into conversation in a way that she could only describe as making a statement about the solidarity of their marriage. As he did this he also exposed yet another secret, by always making sure he made some remark to her in Greek. By the time a couple of hours had gone by there wasn’t a person present who had known her before who did not know now that she understood their native tongue.
And he had done it with such ruthless intention. Leandros was making sure that people thought twice before discussing his wife in her presence. Some looked uncomfortable at the discovery; some simply accepted it with pleased surprise. The uncomfortable ones were logged in his memory; Isobel could almost see him compiling a list of those people who would not be included in their social circle in the future.
Other people made sure they kept their distance, which spoke even greater volumes about what they were thinking. Takis Konstantindou was one of those people. Chloe, of course, was another one. She could understand Chloe’s reasons for steering clear of them but the lawyer’s cool attitude puzzled her.
Then there was Diantha Christophoros. If Isobel glimpsed her at all it was usually within a group that contained either Chloe or Leandros’s mother. In a way she could find it in herself to feel sorry for Diantha, because it couldn’t have been easy for her to turn up here tonight knowing that everyone here was going to know by now that old rumours about Leandros wanting to divorce his wife to marry her had to be false.
‘Don’t you think we should go and speak to her?’ she suggested when she caught Leandros glancing Diantha’s way.
‘For what purpose?’ he questioned coolly.
‘She has got to be feeling uncomfortable, Leandros. The rumours affect her as much as they do you.’
‘The best way to kill a rumour is to starve it,’ was his response. ‘Diantha seems to have my sister and my mother to offer all the necessary comfort.’
Which said, more or less, what Isobel had been trying not to think. The family preference could not be more noticeable if they stuck signs on their backs saying ‘Vote Isobel out and Diantha in’. It was Eve Herakleides who put it in an absolute nutshell when she came to join Isobel out on the terrace, where she’d slipped away to get some fresh air that did not contain curiosity and intrigue.
‘Word of warning,’ Eve began. ‘Watch out for Diantha Christophoros. She may appear nice and quiet and amiable but she has hidden talents behind the bland smile. She has a way of manipulating people without them realising she’s doing it. It was only a few weeks ago that she convinced Chloe that she should remain here to help her mother with Nikos’s wedding arrangements, while Diantha went to Spain in Chloe’s place to help Leandros with a big celebration party he threw in San Estéban. Chloe puzzled for ages afterwards as to how it had actually come about that she’d agreed, since she had been so looking forward to spending two weeks with her brother. Then, blow me if Diantha isn’t back in Athens for less than a day when the rumours were suddenly flying about Leandros filing for divorce from you so that he could marry her. She wants your husband,’ she announced sagely. ‘And her uncle Takis wants her to have him.’
‘Takis and Diantha are related?’ It was news to Isobel.
Eve nodded. ‘They’re a tightly knit lot, these upper-crust Greeks,’ she said candidly. ‘Thank goodness for women like you and my mother or they’d be so inbred they would have wiped themselves out by now.’
‘What a shocking thing to say!’ Isobel gasped on a compulsive giggle.
‘And what shocking thing is this minx saying now?’ Leandros intruded.
A pair of hands arrived at Isobel’s slender waistline, the brush of his lips warmed her cheek—the lick of his tongue against her earlobe as he pulled away again sent her wretched knees weak.
‘Woman-talk is for women only,’ the minx answered for herself. ‘And you, dear cousin, have had a lucky escape in my opinion.’ With that provocatively cryptic remark, she walked away.
They both turned to watch her go, an exquisite creature dressed in slinky hot pink making a direct line for her husband, who sensed her coming—his broad shoulders gave a small shake just before he turned around and grinned.
‘She hooked him in against his will,’ Leandros confided. ‘I think he still finds it difficult to believe that he let her do it.’
‘Well, I think he’s a very lucky man,’ Isobel stated loyally because she liked Eve and always had done.
‘Mmm,’ he murmured, ‘so am I …’
‘No—don’t,’ she breathed when he began to lower his dark head again. ‘Not here; you will ruin what bit of dignity I have managed to maintain.’
His warm laughter teased as he used his grip on her waist to swing her round until her hips rested against the heavy stone balustrade behind her. His superior bulk was suddenly hiding her from view of everyone else. Eyes like molasses began sending the kind of messages that forced her to lower her gaze from him.
‘I like you in this,’ she murmured softly, running her fingers beneath the slender lapels of his white jacket.
‘Tell me I look like a Greek waiter and I will probably toss you over this balustrade,’ he warned.
Her smile appeared wrapped in rueful memories of the time she had once said that to him in an attempt to flatten his impossible ego. ‘I was such a bitch,’ she confessed.
‘No,’ Leandros denied that. ‘You assured me at the time that you had a hot thing for Greek waiters. I think I was supposed to feel complimented,’ he mused thoughtfully.
It was irresistible; she just had to lift her laughing eyes upwards again. It was a mistake. She just fell into those eyes filled with such warm, dark promises. Her breath began to feather, a new kind of tension began circling them like a sensual predator circling its two victims while inside the house, beyond the pair of open terrace doors, a party was taking place. Music was filtering out to them on the warm summer air along with laughter and the general hum of conversation.
‘I love you,’ she said. It came out of nowhere.
He responded with a sharp intake of breath. His shoulders tensed, his whole body stiffened, his grip tightened on her waist. ‘Fine time to tell me that!’ he snapped out thinly. But he wasn’t angry, just—overwhelmed.
She began to tremble because it had been such a dangerous thing for her to say out loud. It committed her, totally and utterly. It stood her naked and exposed and so vulnerable to hurt again that her throat locked up on a bank of emotion which threatened to turn into tears.
He was faring no better. She could feel the struggle he was having with himself not to respond in some wildly passionate way. A verbal response would have been enough for Isobel. A simple, ‘I love you too,’ would have helped her through this.
‘I’ll take it back if you like,’ she shot out a trifle wildly.
‘No,’ he rasped. ‘Just don’t speak again while I …’
Deal with this; she finished the sentence for him. It was silly; it was stupid. They were grown-ups who were supposed to have a bit more class than to put each other through torture in public. She couldn’t stop herself from flicking a glance at his face. As she did so he looked down. A wave of feeling washed over both of them in a static-packed blowback from just three little words.
They could have been alone. They should have been alone. Her breasts heaved on a tense pull of air. His hands pulled her hard against him. ‘Don’t kiss me!’ she shot out in a constrained choke.
‘The balustrade is still very tempting,’ he gritted. ‘I thought Eve was the biggest minx around here but you knock her into a loop.’
Heat was coursing through her body; the shocking evidence that he was on fire for her was shutting down her brain. The music played, the laughter and hum of conversation swirled all around them. In a minute, she had a horrible suspicion, she was going to find herself flattened to the ground with this big, lean, suave and sophisticated man very much on top.
‘All sweetness and light,’ he continued, thrusting the words down at her from between clenched teeth. ‘All smiles and quiet answers for everyone else. The hair is up, so neat and prim—since when did you ever give way to such convention? Everyone back there sees the beautifully refined version of Isobel but I have to get the tormenting witch!’
‘Keep talking,’ she encouraged. She was beginning to get angry now. ‘If you do it for long enough maybe you will wear yourself out!’
‘I am not wearing out.’ He took her words literally. ‘I am just getting started. From the moment you strode back into my life on those two sensational legs of yours you’ve had me standing on pins like some love-lost fool with no idea what is happening to me.’
‘Did you dare use the love word then?’ she taunted glacially.
‘I’ve always loved you!’ he thrust out harshly. ‘I loved you when we flirted across the top of a Ferrari. I still loved you when you left me pining for three damn years!’
‘Three years of pining,’ she mocked unsteadily. ‘I didn’t see any evidence of it.’ But he’d said it. He had actually said it.
‘We’ve been through that already,’ he snapped out impatiently.
‘You brought me back here to divorce me.’
‘It was an excuse. Anyone with sense would have realised that.’
‘You had your next wife all picked out and ready.’
‘I am arrogant. You know I am arrogant. Can you not cut a man a bit of slack?’
‘Which is why I had to say it first, I suppose.’
The air hissed from between his teeth. If an electric cable had been fitted to them, they could have lit up the night there was so much static stress.
‘I think the both of us are about to go over this balustrade,’ he gritted furiously.
‘You will go first,’ Isobel vowed. ‘And I hope you break your arrogant neck!’
A sound behind them brought them swinging round in unison. Isobel’s heart sank to her shoes when she saw her mother-in-law hovering a few yards away. What did they look like? What did she see? Two people locked in a row that probably brought back a hundred memories of similar rows like this? She looked wary and anxious, her black eyes flicking from one to the other. Oh, God, please help me, Isobel groaned silently.
‘I am sorry to intrude,’ Thea said stiffly, and her gaze finally settled upon Isobel’s blushing face. ‘But I am concerned about your mama, Isobel. Theron has her dancing with her walking frame and I am afraid his enthusiasm is tiring her out.’
A single glance through the doors into the house was all that was needed to confirm that Thea’s concerns were real. The seventy-year-old Theron was indeed dancing with her mother, who was using the walking frame as a prop. The man was flirting outrageously. Silvia was laughing, enjoying herself hugely, but even from here Isobel could see the strain beginning to show on her face.
‘I’ll go and …’ She went to move, but Leandros stopped her.
‘No, let me. She will take the disappointment better if I do it,’ he insisted. At Isobel’s questioning glance, ‘Two men fighting over her?’ he explained quizzically, then dropped a kiss on her lips and strode off, pausing only long enough to drop a similar kiss on his mother’s cheek.
Suddenly Isobel found herself alone with a woman who did not like her. Awkwardness became a tangible thing that held them both silent and tense.
‘My son is very fond of your mother.’ Thea broke the silence with that quiet observation.
‘Yes.’ Isobel’s eyes warmed as she watched Leandros fall into a playful fight with Theron for Silvia’s hand. ‘My mother is fond of him, too.’
She hadn’t meant it as a strike at their cold relationship but she realised that Thea had taken it that way as she stiffened and turned to leave. ‘No, don’t go, please,’ she murmured impulsively.
Her mother-in-law paused. An ache took up residence inside Isobel’s chest. This was supposed to be a time for fresh starts and for Leandros’s sake she knew she had to try to reach out with the hand of friendship.
‘You were arguing again.’ Once again it was Thea who took up the challenge by spinning to face her with the accusation.
‘You misread what you saw,’ Isobel replied, then offered up a rueful smile. ‘We were actually making love.’ Adding a shrug to the smile, she forced herself to go on. ‘It has always been like this between us. We spark each other off. Sometimes I think we could light the whole world up with the power we can generate …’ Her eyes glazed on a wistful float back to what Thea had interrupted. Then she blinked into focus. ‘Though I understand why you might not have seen it like that,’ she was willing to concede.
Her mother-in-law took a few moments to absorb all of this, then she sighed and some of the tension dropped out of her stiff shoulders. ‘I understand that you learned Greek while you were here the last time.’
‘Yes,’ Isobel confirmed.
‘I think, perhaps, that you therefore heard things said that should not have been said.’
Lowering her gaze. ‘Yes,’ she said again.
Another small silence followed. Then Thea came to stand by the balustrade. ‘My son loves you,’ she said quietly. ‘And Leandros’s happiness is all I really care about. But the fights …’ She waved a delicately structured hand in a gesture of weariness. ‘They used to tire me out.’
And me, Isobel thought, remembering back to when the sparks were not always so lovingly passionate.
‘When you left here, I was relieved to see you go. But Leandros did not feel the same. He was so miserable here that he went to Spain on a business trip and did not come back again. He missed you.’
‘I missed him too.’
‘Yes …’ Thea accepted that. ‘Leandros wants us to be friends,’ she went on. ‘I would like that too, Isobel.’
Though Thea’s tone warned that she was going to have to work at it. Isobel smiled; what else could she do? Her mother-in-law was a proud woman. She was making a climb-down here that took with it some of that pride.
Taking in a deep breath, she gave that pride back to her. ‘I was too young four years ago. I was overwhelmed by your lifestyle, and too touchy and too rebellious by far to accept advice on how best to behave or cope.’ Lifting her eyes to Leandros’s mother’s eyes, ‘This time will be different,’ she promised solemnly.
Her mother-in-law nodded and said nothing. They both knew they had reached some kind of wary compromise. As she turned to go back to the party Thea paused. ‘I am sorry about the baby,’ she said gravely. ‘It was another part of your unhappiness here, because kindness was not used to help you through the grief of your loss.’
It was so very true that there really was no ideal answer to give to that. Her mother-in-law seemed to realise it, and after another hesitation she walked back into the house.
Leandros appeared seconds later and Isobel had to wonder if he had been leaving them alone to talk. He searched her face. ‘OK?’ he asked huskily.
She nodded, then had to step up to him and, sliding her arms inside his jacket and around his back, she pressed herself against his solid strength. ‘Don’t ever let me go again,’ she told him.
‘I won’t.’ It was a promise.
They left the party soon after that, making the journey home without speaking much. The talking was left to Silvia, who chattered away about Theron and the plans he had to take her out tomorrow for the day.
‘I can’t believe it,’ Isobel said to Leandros as they prepared for bed. ‘My mother has caught the eye of the wealthiest man in Greece!’
‘His roving eye,’ Leandros extended lazily. ‘My uncle Theron is an established rake.’
‘But he’s got to be seventy years old! Surely he can’t be looking at my mother and seeing …’
Her voice trailed away in dismay as a dark eyebrow arched. ‘I share the same blood.’ He began to stalk her with a certain gleam in his eyes. She was wearing nothing but the family heirlooms. ‘Do you think you will be able to keep up with me when I reach seventy and you will Be …?’
‘Don’t you dare tell me how old I will be!’ she protested.
But, as for the rest, well, she was more than able to keep up with him throughout the long, dark, silken night. This time it was different, like a renewal of vows they made to each other four distant years ago. There were no secrets left to hide, just love and trust and a desire to hold on to what they had found.
The morning brought more sunshine with it and breakfast laid out on the terrace for two. Silvia was taking breakfast in her room today before she got ready for her date. When it came time for Leandros to go and spend a few essential hours in his office, he left her with a reluctance that made her smile. Theron arrived. A big, silver-thatched, larger-than-life kind of man, he was polite to Isobel, flirtatious with her mother and somehow managed to convince Silvia that her wheelchair was required today, which earned him a grateful smile from Silvia’s daughter.
Left to her own devices, Isobel asked Allise for a second pot of tea, then sat back in her chair and tried to decide what she wanted to do with the few hours she had going spare while Leandros wasn’t here.
She was wearing the green combat trousers and a yellow T-shirt today. The sum total of the wardrobe she had brought with her from England had now been exhausted and she was considering going out to do a bit of shopping, when Allise arrived with the promised pot of tea and an envelope that she said had just been delivered by hand.
Maybe Isobel should have known before she even touched it that it could only mean trouble. Everything was just too wonderful, much too perfect to stay that way. But the envelope did not come with WARNING printed on it, just her name typed in its centre and the fizz of intrigue because she could think of only one person who would do this, and he had been gone only half an hour.
He was up to something—a surprise, she decided, and was smiling as she split the seal.
But what fell into her hands had her smile dying. What she found herself looking at had her fingers tossing the photographs away from her as if she were holding a poisonous snake and she lurched to her feet with enough violence to send crockery spilling to the ground. Her chair toppled over with a clatter against the hard tile flooring, her hand shot up to cover her shaking mouth. Her heart was pounding, eyes that had been shining were now dark with a horror that was curdling the blood.
She stepped back, banged her leg on the upturned chair. She was going to be sick, she realised—and ran.