of her uniform. ‘You know the fruit and flowers that arrived for your father with no name on them? Well, they’ve just found this card in Reception. It must have fallen off when the delivery was made.’ She beamed. ‘One mystery solved.’ She lowered her voice significantly. ‘Although I think he was hoping they were from Mrs Fielding.’
Cressy held out her hand. ‘May I look?’
The signature was a slash of black ink across the rectangle of pasteboard. ‘Draco Viannis.’
She wasn’t even surprised. She closed her hand on the card, feeling its sharp edges dig into her palm. Wanting it to hurt. Needing a visible scar to counterbalance all the inner pain.
She said quietly, ‘Thank you. I’ll—see that he gets it. Now, is it possible for me to have a word with the consultant?’
She didn’t go straight back to the house. There was a National Trust property a few miles away, whose grounds were open to the public. There was an Elizabethan knot garden, and a lake with swans, and Cressy had always loved it there.
She found an unoccupied bench and sat, gazing across the sunlit waters with eyes that saw nothing and a heart without peace.
Her father had needed her, she thought, so she’d turned her back on the love that Draco was offering and gone running to him. She’d wanted, just once more, to be the cherished only daughter—to bask in the old relationship. To be important to him again.
But that was always going to be impossible, she realised wearily. Because they were not the same people any longer. Life had moved on for both of them.
So why this last vain attempt to cling on to her childhood?
She looked down at her hands, clenched in her lap. She remembered other hands, dark against her pale skin, and shivered.
She thought, Was I really so afraid of becoming a woman? Was that the true reason I ran away from Draco?
Under the circumstances, her reluctance to face the challenge of her own sexuality was ironic. Because Draco himself had changed all that in one brief, but very succinct lesson.
And now she was left stranded, between his desire for revenge and her father’s indifference.
I’ve wrecked everything, she told herself desolately. Sacrificed the only chance of real happiness I’ve ever been offered.
But she couldn’t let herself think about that, or she would break down completely. And she had to be strong to get through the next few weeks or months, living on the edge of Draco’s life. Strong enough, too, to walk away with her head high when it was over.
And before that she had other problems to deal with.
Her father might be too preoccupied with the loss of his wife to question this ‘job abroad’ too closely, but her aunt and uncle might not be so incurious. They would want a full explanation, and she couldn’t imagine what she would say to them—or to Berry, who would find it unthinkable for her to leave her father in this way.
And how could she explain why her father’s debts were now in abeyance, and the house reprieved, without mentioning the precise terms of her ‘contract’ with Draco?
Her conversation with the consultant had been uncomfortably revealing. Over the years her father’s health cover had been reduced to a minimum. The top-grade private room he was occupying, and the services of the live-in nurse, were being paid for by Draco.
‘I thought you knew and approved, Miss Fielding,’ the consultant had told her, frowning. ‘He described himself as a close friend of the family.’
‘Yes,’ she’d said, dry-mouthed. ‘Yes, of course.’
It seemed there was not a part of her life that Draco didn’t control. And the fact that in this instance his influence was totally benign somehow made it no better.
Oh, God, she thought. It’s all such a mess.
And began, soundlessly and uncontrollably, to cry until she had no more tears left.
It was the sudden chill of the evening breeze across the lake and the clang of the bell announcing that the grounds were closing that eventually roused her from her unhappy reverie.
It was more than time she was getting back. Berry would have dinner waiting for her and would be worried about her non-appearance, she thought, sighing, as she returned reluctantly to her car.
The hall lights were on when she let herself into the house, but there was no sign of the housekeeper—or of dinner either. No place laid in the dining room or welcoming aroma of food in the air. Just—silence.
She called, ‘Berry—I’m home,’ and waited, but there was no response.
Maybe she’d gone into the garden, to pick some last-minute fruit for dessert or bring in some washing, Cressy thought, subduing an unwelcome tingle of apprehension.
She walked to the drawing room door, twisted the handle, and went in.
Draco was standing beside the fireplace, one arm resting on the mantelshelf as he stared down at the empty grate. He turned slightly, the dark eyes narrowing as Cressy paused in the doorway, her hand going to her throat in shock.
He said softly, ‘So here you are at last, agapi mou. I have been waiting for you.’
She said shakily, ‘So I see. Where’s Berry? What’s happened to her?’
His brows lifted. ‘Naturally, I have murdered her and buried her body under the lawn,’ he returned caustically. ‘Or so you seem to think.’
She bit her lip. ‘I don’t think anything of the kind,’ she denied curtly, aware that her heart was hammering in a totally unwelcome way at the sight of him. But then he’d startled her—hadn’t he?
‘I was just a little anxious about her,’ she added defensively.
‘So many anxieties about so many people.’ His smile did not reach his eyes. ‘What a caring heart you have, my golden girl. The truth is that I gave your Mrs Berryman the evening off. I believe she means to go to a cinema.’
‘You gave Berry the evening off?’ She stared at him, open-mouthed. ‘And she agreed?’
His mouth twisted. ‘She was a little reluctant at first, but I can be very persuasive.’
‘To hell with your powers of persuasion,’ Cressy lifted her chin. ‘You had no right to do anything of the sort.’
‘I have all kinds of rights, Cressida mou.’ His tone hardened. ‘And I mean to enjoy all of them.’ He held out a hand. ‘Now come and welcome me properly.’
Mutinously, she walked forward and stood in front of him. When he kissed her she stood unmoving, un-responding to the warm, sensuous pressure of his lips on hers.
After a moment, he drew back.
‘Sulking?’ he asked. ‘What’s the matter? Did I hurt you, perhaps, this morning?’
Colour rushed into her face. She stared down at the carpet. ‘I don’t know.’
He said, ‘Look at me, matia mou. Look at me and say that.’
Cressy raised her eyes unwillingly to him. His smile was faintly mocking, but there was an odd watchfulness in his gaze which she found unnerving.
She said, ‘No—no, you didn’t. As you know quite well.’
‘Where you are concerned, my beautiful one, I suspect I know very little.’ His tone was dry. ‘But I am glad you did not find your first surrender too much of an ordeal.’
She threw her head back defiantly. ‘Your words, kyrie. Not mine. And now perhaps you’d tell me what you’re doing here.’
‘I thought I should pay a visit,’ he said. ‘To make sure that all was well with my property.’ He paused. ‘But I see