A smile tugged at Kristal Hastings’ mouth as she approached the cheerful, blond giant wielding the name-board with her name on it. She had never been met this way before.
“Guten tag!” she greeted him, adding in German, “I’m Kristal Hastings. I wasn’t expecting a welcoming committee!”
“You’re not getting one—just me.” He grinned back.
His eyes did a rapid inventory of her five feet ten inches of slender, curvy womanhood.
She knew she looked good. For comfort she had slung a cinnamon jacket over a cream, silk shirt and matching linen trousers. A cinnamon, pull-on hat sat atop her neatly-styled, blonde hair. Gold earrings dangled from her shell-like earlobes, matching her bracelet and the elegant, Swiss watch at her wrist. At twenty-four she looked exactly what she was—the PR representative of an exclusive fashion-house. A very classy lady.
“Are you Rodolfo von Steinberg?” she enquired hopefully.
That was the man she had written to. The reply had not been over-friendly, yet this blond giant was remarkably so. He threw back his head and laughed.
“I’m afraid not,” he replied. “I’m Johann Schmit—general dogsbody and chauffeur. Let’s go.”
She’d had no idea what kind of welcome to expect, nor indeed who made up the household of the von Steinbergs. She just knew that, with Analiese, her beloved, Austrian grandmother and only living relative, now dead, she had nothing to lose in coming here, in search of Austrian relatives.
She had intended to hire a taxi. She would have no difficulty in giving directions, for she and her grandmother had frequently conversed in German from her earliest days. She had listened enthralled to the lilting, Viennese accents all around, as she had claimed her two cases from the revolving carousel. Hoisting them on to a trolley she had topped them with the tote-bag she had kept with her on the plane and, after the usual formalities, had set off with some trepidation towards the exit.
Other passengers straggled in groups or alone as they neared the reception area. People waved and smiled in greeting, calling out to friends and relatives as they arrived. If only there was someone for her, she had thought, fighting down a rare attack of self-pity at her lone status.
Then she had come on the name-boards, and done a double-take on seeing her own name—Kristal Hastings. Someone was waiting for her.
Johann was certainly friendly enough, but she still faced the hurdle of meeting Herr von Steinberg, whose reply to her first letter had been so dismissive. In her second letter, she had informed him that she fully intended to visit Vienna, but would stay in a hotel, and contact him from there. This had brought a grudging invitation to his home.
Dispensing with her trolley, Johann fixed her tote-bag under one arm, picked up a suitcase in each hand, and strode off towards the exit. Kristal had almost to run to keep up with him.
Outside, the mid-afternoon sky was the clearest blue she had ever seen and, after leaving behind a typical English April day of sunshine and showers, mostly the latter, she felt her spirits lift. There was no time to stop and stare, though. Johann was already plunging across the Tarmac towards a long, sleek, black Mercedes with tinted windows. He quickly stowed the luggage in the boot before opening the back door and gesturing for her to climb in.
As she did so she gave him a beautiful smile, happy to be in Vienna at last, revealing perfect white teeth and lighting her blue eyes to sapphires.
“Thank you, Johann,” she said, slightly breathless from their hasty exit.
The door shut with a satisfying clunk.
“Good-afternoon,” came a deep, melodic voice in barely-accented English.
She swung round. At the other end of the seat, half-turned towards her, sat a large, dark-haired, broad-shouldered man. His light-hazel eyes glowed amber under heavy, black brows. Her smile faded as she took in the harsh, granite features and hostile expression. Though probably no more than thirty-five, there was a wealth of experience and knowledge in those penetrating eyes. He moved restively and her eyes were drawn to a flat stomach and long, muscled thighs under a dark, superbly-tailored suit. His tie was awry, his top shirt button undone, as if he had recently left the office and was officially off-duty.
He was, Kristal had to acknowledge, the most devastatingly handsome man she had ever encountered, but, if his intention was to intimidate her, for whatever reason, then he was going to be disappointed.
“Hello, and who are you?” she enquired.
“I am Rodolfo Wolfgang Gustav von Steinberg.”
Kristal felt her stomach muscles contract as she tried to control the urge to giggle. Pompous swine! The giggle was gaining ground, but she managed to transform it into one of her loveliest smiles.
“How do you do? I’m delighted to meet you,” she assured him sincerely. “What do your friends call you?”
Was that a glint of humour in those deep-set, black-lashed eyes?
“My friends call me Rodolfo. The family—Rudi.”
“So—do I call you Rudi?”
“Certainly not! We haven’t established what you are to our family, if anything, but I shall make it my business to find out just what you’re after.”
“Wh-what do you mean?” she asked uncertainly, now thoroughly shaken by his harsh words.
“I mean, do you make a habit of scanning the Times’ obituary column in the hope of unearthing some rich, deceased relative?”
The unspoken accusation shocked Kristal to the core. She recalled the morning when she had scanned the obituary column of the Times, to check the entry relating to her grandmother: Hastings, Analiese, dearly-loved grandmother of Kristal…There had not been many entries that day and her eyes had run idly down the rest of the column, arrested by the final entry: von Steinberg, Baron Gustav, brother of Mathilde, beloved Opa of Gabriele and cousin of Rodolfo… She was beginning to understand the reason for Rodolfo’s apparent hostility! She forced herself to respond calmly.
“Only when I’m looking for the entry regarding my grandmother—my last, known relative.”
She caught a glimpse of uncertainty and something softer in his eyes. Pity? She certainly didn’t want pity from this man. She wasn’t sure what she did want, but not that. He leaned towards her and her short, straight nose, with its hint of a bump at the bridge, caught the scent of his musky aftershave. Her soft lips quivered and she felt a sudden flush reddening her cheeks. What on earth was happening to her? She glanced away to try to compose herself. A long finger touched her pointed chin and turned her face back to his.
“Is that the truth? Did your grandmother die recently?” he demanded harshly.
“Yes,” she replied brusquely.
His hand fell away and she missed his touch. Yet she could still feel it. Her skin felt seared by it.
“And your parents?” he enquired more gently.
“Their yacht overturned ten years ago when I was fourteen. I was staying with my grandmother at the time—I never left.”
They lapsed into silence. He produced a lap-top computer and proceeded to work on it. Surreptitiously, she watched his lean fingers tapping away on the machine, fingers she was sure would know how to caress a woman—
Horrified by the direction of her thoughts, she forced her attention back to the view through the tinted window.
They crossed the Danube and headed for the outskirts of town. Eventually, Johann swung the car beneath a wrought-iron archway linking black-painted, gold-tipped railings, and into the cobbled forecourt of a large, stone-built house. An impressive, porticoed entrance was flanked by long windows on the ground floor. There were three more floors above, including the neat attic windows.
“Bring the luggage in, Johann. Josef will take it up.”
“Jawohl, mein Herr,” Johann replied with a grin.
The front door led into a vestibule, while an inner door revealed a long, wide corridor that cut through the house. There was evidence of wealth on every side. No doubt they did need to be careful, but there was surely no need to be so abominably rude.
A young maid, dressed neatly in a navy dress with a lace collar, walked briskly towards them.
“Ah, Trudi! Is Fraulein Gabriele at home?”
“Er, no, sir. She went shopping.”
“That was this morning.”
“Yes, sir.”
He sighed. “All right. Take my guest’s coat and hat and bring some tea to my study. Oh, and tell Gabi I want to see her as soon as she returns.”
The study was a very masculine room—buttoned leather, polished mahogany, books and files, and office equipment that included a computer, its colour monitor flickering away. What with that and his portable model, he was obviously a fan of modern technology.
“Now then, tell me why you’ve come,” Rodolfo demanded, once they were seated.
“I thought I explained in my letter.”
“You seem to think you’re related to the von Steinbergs. Naturally, I want to know what makes you think so. Oh, bring it over here by the fire,” he ordered Trudi, as she wheeled in a trolley. “Thanks, we’ll manage now.”
There was tea in a silver pot and a choice of milk and sugar or lemon slices. There was also a tiered cake-stand with a mouth-watering selection of cakes and pastries.
“Shall I pour?” Kristal offered.
“If you would, please. I take lemon.”
So did Kristal, so tea was dealt with quickly.
“Do have something to eat, or my cook will be deeply offended.”
“I really couldn’t.”
“Try one of these,” he suggested, selecting a flaky concoction that tasted of lemon and almonds.
“Mmm, delicious,” she enthused. “I’d weigh a ton if I ate these every day.”
“That I doubt,” he said as his eyes ran down the length of her svelte curves and once again she felt her cheeks reddening. Now that they were out of the shade of the car, the effect was all too obvious, and his eyes alighted on her flushed features. She felt like an adolescent, hating him for the effect he was having on her.
“So, what do you want to know?” she snapped.
She noted the amusement in his eyes and hated him all the more for being so aware of what was happening to her.
“You saw Gustav’s obituary—on the very same day as your grandmother’s?”
“Precisely! It seems they couldn’t be together in life, but they were destined to enter the pearly gates together.”
“What do you imagine your grandmother was to Gustav?”
“I don’t have to imagine—I know! She never made any secret of the fact they were lovers. She met him while she was helping his father with the cataloguing of his vast library. My grandmother was rather well educated for a girl in those days, and probably a great help to the old baron.”
“That may be so.” He shrugged dismissively. “The library has always been in good order, ever since I can remember. So, what are you telling me? That she seduced the son of the house, Gustav, in fact?”
“No, I’m not!” she retorted angrily. “They fell in love. He asked her to be his wife, and, on the strength of that, they became lovers.”
“Go on,” he said coldly, disbelief all over his face.
“She became pregnant. Every morning she was horribly sick. One of the staff discovered her secret, and reported it to the housekeeper who, in turn, reported it to a member of the family. As a result, she was dismissed immediately. She begged to be allowed to speak to Gustav, but he had gone on a business trip to Paris that very day. She was told that he had been informed of her story, but that he denied it, and had no wish to see her. She never saw him again.”
“He sent her money?”
“Not a penny! He had already denied paternity, don’t forget. Not that she would have accepted anything after the way she was treated, though.”
“Of course not,” he agreed drily. “I can understand Gustav letting her go, once the relationship, if it existed, had run its course. But you’re asking me to believe that Gustav allowed a pregnant girl to be thrown out without a penny—or even a reference?”
“Not even that.”
“So what did she do?”
“She made for London. It was the late Thirties. War was imminent and the Continent was becoming an increasingly uncomfortable place to be. She found work in a London hotel, where she met David Hastings, an airforce officer, who fell in love with her. He knew that she was pregnant and in love with another man, but he wanted to marry her, anyway. Being a survivor, Analiese, my grandmother, decided that holding a British passport was preferable to being incarcerated for the duration of the war as an undesirable alien.
“Immediately after the wedding ceremony there was an alert, and David Hastings, her brand-new husband, was called away. When his squadron returned, his plane was not among them. David was one of the first casualties of the war and, as a result, the marriage was never consummated. Analiese moved to the country, taking a cottage near David’s parents in Dorset. She had other marriage proposals, despite the shortage of young men on account of the war, but she never married again. She believed she was a jinx for other men, while her heart still belonged to Gustav.”
“And David’s parents believed the child was their son?”
“Yes. Oh, she wasn’t particularly happy about the deception, but it offered a two-way benefit. The baby, my father, Andrew, had grandparents, and, since David had been their only child, they had a baby to love, to make the bitterness of their loss easier to bear.”
“Very convenient! Presumably they also helped financially?”
“What if they did? When the war ended, and Andrew went to school, Analiese returned to London, where there was plenty of work, putting libraries to rights after the devastation of the blitz. From that moment on, she was well able to support her son on what she earned. All the money from David’s parents was put in trust for Andrew.”
“What became of Andrew, your father?”
“He proved quite a scholar. He won a place at Oxford, where he took a first in maths. At his last May Ball there, he met my mother. When he left Oxford, he invested in his own engineering business, later turning to computers. He married my mother as soon as she had finished her degree. He wouldn’t allow her to go out to work, though she did write a few children’s books—secretly, at first. After his own childhood, he decided a woman’s place was in the home.”
“He regretted losing his father to the war?”
“Haven’t you listened to a word I’ve been saying? David Hastings was not his father. Analiese never spared him the truth about his own father. As a result, he had incredibly strict morals—I doubt very much that he and my mother anticipated their marriage. My own teens certainly weren’t much fun. When I was home from boarding-school, I had to account for every minute I was out of the house. I would never have had a career at all if Mother hadn’t been on my side.”
“What exactly do you do?”
“I work in PR for Robards’ Fashions.”
His eyes skimmed the graceful length of her body.
“Why not as a model?”
“They suggested it, actually, when I turned up for my interview, but, although my father was no longer around, I knew he would have disapproved. It’s not something I fancied for myself, either. I always wear the firm’s clothes, though, as a sort of walking advertisement.”
“And have you also inherited your mother’s gift for story-telling?”
“As a matter of fact, I have tried my hand at a few children’s stories, but so far, I haven’t approached a publisher.”
“You should, Miss Hastings. I feel sure you have the gift. I’m sorry you’ve had a wasted journey.”
“What do you mean?”
“Frankly, I don’t believe a word about this liaison between your grandmother and old Gustav. I understand how lonely you must feel with not a relative in the world, so, because of that, together with your gift for fantasy, you’ve come up with a credible story—but not one I’m inclined to believe.”
“How dare you!” she burst out, furious at his cold contempt. “You let me pour out the long-hidden secrets of my family, and then call me a liar!”
“I prefer story-teller. Most entertaining! More tea?”
Kristal saw red. She leaped to her feet.
“How dare you sit there and accuse me of lying? You smug, arrogant—”
“Sit down!” he ordered harshly. “Think yourself lucky I’m not having you thrown out right away.”
“You don’t imagine I’m staying an instant longer in your house, do you? If you’re the last of von Steinbergs, then the sooner the name dies out the better!”
“I said, sit down,” he repeated, rising to his feet, all the more threatening for the calm silkiness of his tone.
Thoroughly rattled by now, Kristal made for the door, only to be seized by the arm and swung round to face Rodolfo. His long fingers closed round her shoulders as he towered over her.
“Let me go, you great bully,” she demanded, her blue eyes flashing defiance.
His eyes narrowed on her face as if something about her puzzled him. Kristal felt the fight in her evaporate as she became aware of other sensations. His hands burned her skin through the thin, cream silk of her blouse. Deep within her, desire sparked to life and slowly unfurled.
“No,” she murmured, denying what was happening as much to herself as to him.
His shrewd, amber eyes gleamed darkly. Her blue gaze dropped to his mouth and lingered there, fascinated by the way his lips arched sensually. Her legs turned to jelly. Her will-power deserted her as he pulled her slowly towards him till their bodies touched.
She had to pull away, she knew that, but her body refused to obey her mind.
She could feel his hard, muscled chest, pressing against her with a fiery heat. The rest of her body moulded itself to his. He threaded a hand through the gold silk of her hair. She heard his breath catch, and then his lips were on hers.
There was nothing gentle in his kiss. It was a kiss of plunder and demand, and, to her shame afterwards, Kristal answered that demand. Their lips met in the urgency and ferocity of desire. In no way did it resemble the chaste, goodnight kisses which she allowed her occasional escort.
She twined her arms round his neck, pulling his head down to prolong the kiss. When he pushed her from him, none too gently, she felt dazed and disorientated. His hands dropped from her shoulders.
“Well, you really are something, Kristal Hastings! Now there’s no chance of an inheritance, you make a play for the heir!”
“Why you despicable—” Her hand swung towards his lean, sardonic cheek, but he was too quick for her, and she found her wrist seized once again by those long, mobile fingers, but this time he flung her arm away as if the mere touch disgusted him and returned to his seat.
She stood there for a moment, unsure of her next move but, her legs suddenly so weak they threatened to give way, she, too, sat down. She might be wrong, but she could swear that his heart had been beating as fast as her own, so why was he now acting as if she had been the one to make the first move and instigate that kiss?
Unable to sit still, while her mind teemed with such thoughts, she reached forward, filled the tea-pot from the hot-water jug and poured herself some more tea. He pushed his cup towards her and she filled it, too.
“Thank you,” he muttered as she handed it to him. “So—”
The door swung open and a girl as tall as Kristal herself hurtled into the room.
“Rudi, darling! I’ve had a wonderful shopping trip. I’ve bought the most fabulous—” She paused, catching sight of Kristal, and the two girls took stock of each other.
The newcomer was as dark as Kristal was fair. Her glossy, black hair framed a heart-shaped face with a straight nose, softly-rounded cheekbones and eyes like periwinkles. She was tall and slim, her model-girl figure ultra-slender in black trousers and a matching cashmere sweater. Her wide mouth was smiling infectiously and Kristal returned her smile. The other laughed delightedly, a lovely tinkling sound.
“You look like my negative!” she declared.
“Gabi, what on earth are you talking about?” Rodolfo asked with barely-leashed impatience.
Kristal was equally puzzled, wondering if the other girl was slightly crazy.
“Gabi, this is Kristal Hastings, from England.”
“Kristal—what a lovely name! Look, Kristal.” She urged Kristal to her feet and led her to the gilt-framed mirror opposite the window. “Same height, same figure, same bone-structure—even our eyes are identical. But you’re fair, in pale clothes, and I’m dark, in black—like you’re my negative, or I’m yours!”
Kristal studied their reflections. The girl was absolutely right. There was an uncanny resemblance between them.
“Our noses are different,” she pointed out.
Though equally pretty, her own had that slight bump at the bridge, that lent a certain aristocracy to her face. She met Rodolfo’s eyes through the mirror, a glint of satisfaction in her own. He was clearly disconcerted.
“Kristal had some idea she might be a distant cousin of ours.”
“He didn’t tell you I as coming?” Kristal asked.
Both girls turned accusing eyes on Rodolfo.
“I told no-one. Your letter was only one among many from would-be relations. Gabi, incidentally, is my third cousin, once removed, or some such,” he explained, “and Gustav’s granddaughter.”
“Hello, Gabi.” It was too late for formal greetings with this girl, who occupied the position that, but for cruel fate, Kristal herself might have held. “I clearly made a mistake. If you could call me a taxi, Rodolfo.”
Gabi laughed her delightful laugh once again.
“Call him Rudi—Rodolfo is so stuffy! And you can’t go, Kristal. We must be related. Don’t you agree, darling? Tell her she must stay—as long as she likes.”
“I see little point,” Kristal said quietly, to absolve Rodolfo from ousting her in front of his delightful, young cousin.
“Please, Kristal. You’d be like the sister I never had.” She turned to her relative pleadingly. “Rudi?”
“Naturally, you can stay—as Gabi’s guest,” he grudgingly agreed.
“Wonderful, you’ll liven the place up no end. It gets a bit tedious with mostly just old Mathilde and me about the place. Have you seen my grandfather yet?”