Flame Of Desire

Flame Of Desire Carole Mortimer Carole Mortimer is one of Mills & Boon’s best loved Modern Romance authors. With nearly 200 books published and a career spanning 35 years, Mills & Boon are thrilled to present her complete works available to download for the very first time! Rediscover old favourites - and find new ones! - in this fabulous collection…A passionate proposal…Demanding, arrogant artist Luke Vittorio is used to having women fall at his feet. So he’s intrigued when innocent Sophie doesn’t seem to like anything about him! Now he’s determined to make Sophie his…Luke makes Sophie feel alive! No other man has ever aroused that fiery response in her and she can’t help but fall for his magnetic charms. But can she accept his surprising proposal with only the hope that his burning desire will blaze in to more…? Flame of Desire Carole Mortimer www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) Table of Contents Cover (#u5d344f08-d58d-5512-8c66-9ea57e9959f0) Title Page (#u715b11bd-ae2d-5910-b51e-9af2a4746e07) CHAPTER ONE (#u2eac3e49-92de-5868-b468-26ad134fcb43) CHAPTER TWO (#u44abe80a-d0fa-5ef5-aafd-89a9243e8ad7) CHAPTER THREE (#u2370495a-9c93-5f1d-b238-0465798a9117) CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) CHAPTER ONE (#ulink_d8cb93de-606f-5cad-8d20-08509e17fcc1) SOPHIE’s father put down his newspaper long enough to look at her. ‘If you go out this evening I do not want a repeat of yesterday,’ he said sternly. ‘We have guests arriving this afternoon and I wouldn’t like them to witness a scene like last night’s.’ Sophie pouted sulkily. ‘That wasn’t my fault.’ He looked sceptical. ‘And just whose fault would you say it was? Mine? Your stepmother’s? We weren’t the ones trying to creep into the house at two o’clock in the morning.’ Sophie gave up all pretence of trying to look as if she were eating her breakfast. ‘I’d been to a party, you knew I was going to it.’ Her stepmother pursed her lips. ‘But not the time of morning you’d be arriving home. Really, Simon, this roaming about the countryside at all hours of the day and night will have to stop. After all, Sophie is only nineteen.’ Simon Bedford sighed, beginning to wish now that he hadn’t brought the subject up. ‘I know, Rosemary, I know, and I’ve already made my opinion concerning Sophie’s actions last night very clear. And I trust her to see that it doesn’t happen again.’ ‘I should hope so,’ sniffed her stepmother. ‘Why on earth she has to mix with those—those ruffians, I have no idea. Goodness knows we’ve tried to introduce her to the right sort of people.’ ‘Oh yes,’ Sophie’s mouth turned back in a sneer. ‘People like Nicholas Sedgwick-Jones. He’s about as exciting as a cold rice pudding!’ Her mother’s eyes snapped angrily, china blue eyes set in a beautiful doll-like face. Rosemary Bedford was small and delicately made, her appearance belied by the streak of ruthlessness predominant in her personality. At thirty-six she looked much younger than her years, often being mistaken for Sophie’s older sister instead of her stepmother. She had married Simon Bedford when only eighteen to his already thirty-seven, and she had exploited his love for her to the full, until now, eighteen years later, that love had turned to amused tolerance. Simon had soon come to realise that his main attraction to his young wife had been the money he possessed in abundance. And he had also realised that he couldn’t hope to compete with the younger men his wife amused herself with from time to time, and had soon even given up trying to do so. Their marriage might not be the idealistic thing he had expected it to be when they first married, but at least he had Sophie from his first marriage. Of course he and Rosemary had expected to have children of their own, he desperately wanted a son to carry on the family name and fortune, but year after year had passed with no sign of the desired child, and now they had given up hope of there ever being one. ‘Nicholas is a very nice young man,’ Rosemary insisted. ‘And he likes you.’ ‘The feeling isn’t reciprocated,’ Sophie said scathingly. ‘He’s boring, pompous and egotistical. He only asks me out because he’s after Daddy’s money. Everyone knows the Sedgwick-Jones are broke.’ ‘Sophie!’ her stepmother’s voice rose shrilly. ‘Your father didn’t pay for you to go to a private school so that you could come out with things like “as exciting as a cold rice pudding”, and “broke”. You’ve been taught how to talk properly, please do so.’ ‘Oh, Mummy, you know I’m right about Nicholas. All he can talk about is his boring old farm.’ Rosemary gave her stepdaughter a cool look. ‘I’m sure his conversation is preferable to anything those hooligans you call friends have to say. Their main topics of conversation seem to be fashion and sex—and not always in that order,’ her nose wrinkled her distaste. ‘And look at you—you even look like them!’ Sophie was aware that her stepmother didn’t approve of her long blonde hair being worn loose, or her choice of denims and tight sweaters as suitable clothing. And she didn’t approve of the friends Sophie had made at the local college either, but she refused to give them up, no matter what the pressures might be. She shrugged. ‘Everyone looks like this at college.’ ‘Exactly! You should make an effort to remember who you are. Just think of your father’s humiliation when he sees the people you go about with.’ Rosemary sighed. ‘Well, at least make sure you behave yourself in front of our weekend guests. A lot of them won’t understand your need to rebel in this way.’ ‘Who’s coming?’ asked Sophie. ‘Just a few friends, about a dozen or so.’ Rosemary studied her painted nails. ‘Luke Vittorio has agreed to come down.’ Simon gave her a sharp look. ‘I didn’t know that.’ His wife smiled at him brightly. ‘I thought I’d told you, darling. He’s bringing that girl he’s going about with at the moment.’ ‘Eve Jeffers,’ Sophie supplied. ‘She’s one of the leading models in the world at the moment.’ And Luke Vittorio had been the fashionable portrait painter for the last ten years. He was an outrageous extrovert, his exploits almost as well known as his portraits—and his scandals. He was ruggedly attractive, emitting a sensual aura that seemed to act like a magnet on all women. And the women he attracted weren’t always single. ‘I know who she is, Sophie,’ her stepmother snapped. ‘They’ve been seen everywhere together the last few months.’ ‘I didn’t know if Daddy knew her,’ Sophie said defensively. Rosemary’s mouth turned back. ‘I would doubt it, fashion isn’t your father’s strongest point—or yours either, for that matter. Look at your clothes—if those denims were any tighter they’d be indecent!’ ‘She’s slender enough to carry them off,’ Simon remarked from the depths of his newspaper. ‘I couldn’t give a damn what she wears as long as she’s well covered. When did you invite Luke Vittorio down here?’ he demanded of his wife. ‘I can’t remember now,’ she answered vaguely. ‘At Pamela’s party last week, I think. What difference does it make when I invited him? He’s coming, that’s all we need to know.’ Simon scowled. ‘I can’t understand why a man like him would want to come here,’ he muttered. ‘He’ll probably be bored within a few hours. He’s used to much more exciting entertainment than we can offer.’ ‘Exactly,’ Rosemary’s mouth tightened. ‘He enjoys peace and quiet like the rest of us.’ ‘I haven’t noticed you’ve been enjoying it much lately. You’re spending more and more time in town. I suppose the only reason we’re honoured with your company this weekend is because you have all your friends coming down.’ ‘Don’t make a scene, Simon,’ his wife said impatiently. ’We’ve been through this so many times. I like the London society, you don’t.’ ‘That’s right, I don’t. I do like to see my wife occasionally, though.’ Sophie stood up, excusing herself before this developed into a full-scale argument. There had been a lot of these arguments of late and she had found it was better to make herself scarce when one was brewing. ‘Where are you going?’ her stepmother demanded. ‘Down to the village.’ ‘To see those friends of yours, I suppose?’ ‘To see Helen, yes.’ She wouldn’t be drawn into her stepmother’s spiteful mood. ‘I don’t want you to be late back. Luke will want to have a look at you.’ ‘At me?’ Sophie looked at her curiously. ‘Whatever for?’ ‘Your father has commissioned him to paint you.’ She looked at her father, her eyes wide. ‘Daddy?’ He was still intent on his wife. ‘You asked him, Rosemary?’ ‘One doesn’t ask Luke. He decides who he’ll paint and who he won’t. I merely asked him if he would look at Sophie. He’ll make the final decision.’ ‘Daddy?’ Sophie cut in, frowning her puzzlement. ‘Luke Vittorio is going to paint me?’ ‘Well, he is the best, chicken. And we would like a portrait of you for the family record. It’s to be your mother’s birthday present to me.’ ‘A Luke Vittorio portrait? He’ll never paint me, Daddy,’ she denied. ‘He only paints beautiful women. He’s very exclusive. He’s turned down some really important people merely because he didn’t think them beautiful.’ ‘You’re attractive enough when you take the trouble to dress properly,’ her stepmother admitted grudgingly. ‘And he hasn’t agreed to do it yet, only to look at you.’ Sophie squirmed. ‘I’m not sure I care to be “looked over” by him!’ She had seen him on a chat show on television once, a tall arrogant man who hadn’t lived his thirty-eight years without being aware of his blatant good looks and cashing in on them. And he had the most piercing brown eyes she had ever seen, eyes that appeared to miss nothing, and she felt sure they didn’t. He was an artist, trained to observe and take note. He had made Sophie feel nervous just looking at him, his self-confidence awe-inspiring. And he was very mocking, making her feel quite sorry for the interviewer by the end of the programme. For someone who was so much in the public eye he was curiously clam-like about his real private life, refusing point blank to discuss any of the women in his life, except to acknowledge that there had been quite a few. But she hadn’t needed him to tell her that, she had only to open a daily newspaper to see that taunting arrogant face peering back at her, and always with a beautiful companion, and hardly ever the same one twice. He always seemed to be either entering or leaving the country, never in one place for long at a time. ‘You’ll do as your father and I want,’ Rosemary said irritably. ‘If Luke decides to paint you you’ll sit for him. You can’t refuse when it’s to be a present to your father.’ ‘But his birthday isn’t for months yet!’ ‘Three months away. And Luke can’t paint you overnight. He may not even be able to start right away, in fact I’m sure he won’t be able to. You have to understand that Luke isn’t just any artist, he’s the best of his time, able to dictate his own terms. And you’ll treat him with the respect he deserves when you meet him at dinner,’ she warned. Sophie couldn’t see anyone treating him any other way, he would soon put them in their place if they did. She could imagine him being quite cruel on occasion; that quirk to his mouth indicated a hardness that was a natural part of the man himself and not something he had acquired. ‘What time is he arriving?’ She intended making sure she wasn’t here, despite her stepmother’s warning. Her father was a rich and important man himself, and she didn’t care to be looked over by anyone. Her stepmother shrugged. ‘When he feels like it, I would imagine. Luke lives by his own rules.’ Sophie opened the dining-room door. ‘Arrogant devil!’ she muttered. ‘We’ll have none of that when he gets here,’ Rosemary said sharply. ‘I’ll be on my best behaviour,’ Sophie promised with a certain amount of sarcasm. ‘That isn’t always good enough. The times you’ve embarrassed your father and me—–’ ‘Let the girl go,’ Simon interrupted. ‘You’ll only make her more determined to do the opposite of what you say.’ Sophie grinned at her father. How well he knew her! ’Thank you, Daddy.’ Her stepmother’s mouth was a thin angry line. ‘Why do you always side with her, Simon?’ she asked petulantly, the easy tears appearing in her china-blue eyes. ‘The two of you always gang up on me. It’s no wonder I spend more and more time in London. I might just as well not bother to come home at all!’ Simon put his newspaper down with a sigh, realising he was in for one of the scenes that always left him feeling drained. Rosemary should never have had to cope with a child, her jealousy and spitefulness towards his only child always making it difficult for him to show any love and understanding for Sophie without a near-hysterical outburst from his wife. ‘Leave us, Sophie,’ he advised, standing up to put his arm about his wife. ‘Now calm down, Rosemary,’ he said gently. ‘You’re ruining your make-up.’ Sophie quietly left the room. Poor Daddy, he was in for a difficult time of it. She wondered what her stepmother would wheedle out of him this time. One of these scenes usually resulted in Rosemary acquiring something blatantly extravagant. The last time it had been a diamond brooch, the diamond being one of the biggest in the world. She met Mrs Joyce, the housekeeper, in the hallway, a fresh pot of coffee in her hand. ‘I shouldn’t go in there right now,’ Sophie stopped her. ‘Mummy—Mummy’s a little upset.’ Mrs Joyce tutted. A member of the household since Sophie had been a baby, she was as familiar with these scenes as Sophie. ‘What happened this time?’ ‘I’m afraid it was my fault, Joycy,’ Sophie used the family name for the housekeeper. ‘Mummy gets upset by my behaviour. I don’t mean to upset her, but I—–’ she broke off as her stepmother left the dining-room, no evidence of tears on her face now as she smiled at them. ‘Mr Bedford’s coffee, Joycy,’ she smiled. ‘He’s never human until he’s drunk several cups of your delicious brew.’ She hummed to herself as she left them. Joycy watched her mistress leave. ‘I wonder what your poor father has promised her this time,’ she remarked with amused tolerance. ‘Something else she doesn’t need,’ Sophie said dully, aware that once again she had caused her father to be put in an awkward position. It was a terrible way to think, but things were a lot quieter around here when her stepmother stayed in London. She and her father lived a peaceful existence here, her father travelling rarely to his firm situated twenty miles out of London, and she going to the local college. The two of them spent a lot of time together, a lot of their tastes being similar despite their age difference. Joycy smiled. ‘I’d better take this coffee in, it should help soothe your father.’ Sophie grimaced. ‘I think he’s going to need it,’ was her parting comment. Poor Daddy, she thought as she cycled the mile to Helen’s house. He didn’t ask much from life, just a loving wife and daughter and the continuous success of his prosperous firm. But she and her stepmother had never got on. Sophie had spent most of her childhood brought up by servants, and so every time she had met her stepmother the sparks started to fly. Not that she didn’t care for Rosemary—after all, she was the only mother she had ever known—but to Rosemary she was just a constant reminder of the passing of the years, a reminder Rosemary neither wanted or welcomed. What on earth her stepmother would do if she ever presented her with a grandchild she daren’t think. Not that that was a possibility for years yet; she didn’t even have a boy-friend. Helen was out in the back garden sunbathing when Sophie arrived. ‘You look hot.’ She poured her out a long cool drink of lime from the jug on the table. ‘I am.’ Sophie collapsed on to the adjoining lounger. ‘You didn’t cycle over in this heat?’ Sophie sipped gratefully at the lime. ‘It’s quicker than walking.’ ‘But more exhausting. It’s a pity you don’t like driving.’ ‘I don’t have the concentration. Did you get into trouble for being late last night?’ she changed the subject. Helen giggled, a petite girl with bubbly red hair and mischievous green eyes. ‘This morning, you mean. Dad was furious! How about you?’ ‘About the same. Mummy turned up last night when I was out,’ Sophie added pointedly. Helen grimaced. ‘The outcome of my late night was that Dad’s forbidden me to go out for a week. He’ll have forgotten all about it by tomorrow, but it means I won’t be able to go anywhere tonight.’ ‘Neither will I. Mummy’s invited some people down for the weekend, which means I have to stay in to dinner tonight.’ Sophie sighed. ‘I wouldn’t mind, but she will insist on inviting Nicholas as my dinner partner.’ ‘Poor you,’ Helen sympathised. ‘Who’s been invited for the weekend? Your mother usually knows the interesting people.’ ‘I only know two of the guests, Eve Jeffers and—and Luke Vittorio.’ Helen choked over her lime juice. ‘Luke Vittorio?’ ‘The one and only.’ Helen looked impressed. ‘I saw him on television the other night. God, he’s handsome. He has mesmerising come-to-bed eyes.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘And he’s so dark. That must be his Italian blood, I suppose.’ ‘Possibly.’ Helen noticed her lack of enthusiasm for the first time. ‘You aren’t looking forward to him being there?’ That must be the understatement of the year! ’Most of Mummy’s friends I can take, but him … Well, it’s like Daddy said, what can we possibly do to entertain him? We aren’t exactly surrounded by night spots.’ ‘I should think there must be lots of ways he could be entertained,’ Helen said teasingly. ‘I can think of a few ways myself.’ ‘He’s bringing his own girl-friend down for that,’ Sophie informed her with disgust. ‘I don’t suppose he can go for very long without a woman.’ Helen raised her eyebrows. ‘What’s he done to upset you? You don’t usually take dislikes to people like this.’ ‘I’m not usually forced into their company,’ she said with ill-humour. ‘Mummy has asked the great man to paint me.’ That really startled Helen. ‘A Luke Vittorio portrait …’ ‘That’s what I said. Oh, he’ll say no, of course, but I don’t like the idea of him dissecting each little part of me before he rejects me. He’s so damned arrogant!’ ‘I suppose so.’ ‘You don’t sound very sure. I’ll tell you what, come over tomorrow afternoon and you can meet him.’ Helen sat up, smiling eagerly. ‘Really?’ she asked excitedly. ‘Yes, and welcome to him.’ Her friend laughed. ‘Let’s go and have a game of tennis, you can run off some of this steam. Stay for lunch and then go home when Mr Vittorio is safely installed in your house. Mum and Dad have gone out for the day shopping, so we have the house to ourselves.’ They played tennis for a couple of hours before going back to Helen’s and making themselves a hamburger each. It was almost three o’clock in the afternoon by the time Sophie set off for home. She really couldn’t delay any longer, she would have to change before meeting Luke Vittorio. Her stepmother would be furious if she presented herself in tee-shirt and tight denims, and her hair was completely wild from her exertions on the tennis court. Her face was completely bare of make-up, her skin smooth and creamy, her lips a healthy pink, her violet eyes glowing as she enjoyed her ride back to her home. She enjoyed the ride back much more than the ride to Helen’s, freewheeling down the long hill that had taken such effort to get up before lunch. What breeze there was whipped through her long silver-blonde hair, her eyes glowing with pleasure. She was almost on top of the car turning out of the side road before she saw it, and she felt sure the driver of the Mercedes hadn’t seen her at all. The car was turning in from the right and she swerved precariously to avoid it, crashing up the grass verge to land in an undignified heap in a newly ploughed field. The ground was soft to land on, but nevertheless Sophie felt shaken by the fall, peering over the tiny hedgerow at her bicycle, the wheels still spinning noisily. She sat up, rubbing her elbows which seemed to have taken the main pressure of her fall. She looked up as a shadow fell across her, unaware of the dusty marks on her now pale cheeks, and her eyes widened with shock as she recognised the driver of the car she had swerved to avoid. Luke Vittorio! There could be no mistaking that muscular physique clothed in fitted black silk shirt and thigh-hugging black trousers, the forbidding mouth with the full sensuous bottom lip, the hawk-like nose, the magnetic brown eyes, and the dark overlong-styled hair. He was much taller than she had imagined, well over six feet, and his skin was naturally dark instead of tanned, but there could be no doubt that this was indeed Luke Vittorio. Sophie scrambled to her feet, hurriedly brushing down her denims so that she didn’t have to look into that dark, compelling face. ‘You are unhurt?’ His voice was deep and husky, deeply accented despite his having lived in England and America for the last twenty years. ‘Only a little bruised,’ she muttered, her head bent as she studiously brushed off every bit of dust on her denims. Nothing had prepared her for the flesh-and-blood sensuality of this man, the blatant sexuality that must surely affect every woman he came into contact with, the deep husky voice that had sexy intonations. There was something wholly primitive about the man, something untamed and untameable, and he had shaken her more than falling off her bicycle had done. One long sensitive hand came out to grasp her forearm, his shirt sleeves turned back to just below his elbows to reveal the dark hairs against his swarthy skin, made to look even darker by the broad gold wrist-watch on his arm. Sophie couldn’t take her eyes off his hand, a long tapered hand with thin sensitive fingers, an artist’s hand. ‘You are sure you are unharmed?’ he persisted. Sophie looked up to meet the blaze of his mesmerising brown eyes head on, deep brown eyes with a lighter brown circle around the iris. ‘I’m fine,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I just didn’t see you until it was too late.’ The hand dropped away from her arm. ‘I am well aware of that.’ His voice was curt, losing its silky quality. ‘You were completely out of control as you came down that hill. I am only surprised there was not more damage done than there was.’ His censure angered Sophie, all the more so because she knew he was right. ‘To me or to your car?’ she asked sarcastically, her head thrown back, her hair streaming down her back. ‘Both,’ he answered abruptly. ‘Is your bicycle still workable?’ She picked it up, noticing the slightly bent handlebars but determined not to tell this arrogant man. ‘It seems all right to me,’ she told him moodily. He nodded impatiently. ‘Would you like me to drive you anywhere?’ Sophie frowned. ‘What for?’ Luke Vittorio sighed. ‘I did not know if you felt too shaken to cycle the rest of the way to your home. You live on one of the hillside farms, perhaps?’ She almost laughed at his wrong assessment of her. He obviously considered her to be a simple farm girl, the thought of her being the daughter of Simon and Rosemary Bedford not even crossing his mind. It wasn’t surprising considering her clothes and the fact that she was riding a dilapidated bicycle, nevertheless she found his condescension annoying, determined not to tell him of her identity and surprise him at dinner this evening. She would love to see this man squirm, and perhaps this incident had given her the ammunition to do just that. ‘I live not far from here,’ she evaded. ‘I can make it there all right.’ ‘Perhaps you had better give me your address anyway.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Why?’ ‘You may suffer some delayed injury. I will of course check up on your health.’ Sophie smiled, a taunting smile that held little humour. ‘If I suffer any delayed injury you can be sure I’ll let you know, Mr Vittorio.’ His brown eyes narrowed speculatively, sweeping over her slender figure, violet eyes and long silver-blonde hair with slow insolence. ‘You know who I am?’ She gave a short laugh. ‘It would be hard not to. You’re a celebrity.’ He appeared unimpressed by her attempt at breathless adoration. ‘Nevertheless, I think it would be better if I knew where you live.’ ‘There’s really no need.’ She concentrated on checking her cycle over, her hair falling forward in a straight gleaming curtain. ‘There’s really nothing wrong with me.’ ‘Perhaps,’ he agreed. ‘Your hair, is it natural?’ Her head shot up at the unexpectedness of his question. ‘Well, it isn’t dyed, if that’s what you mean,’ she said resentfully. ‘And violet eyes,’ he mused. She was surprised he had noticed her hair, let alone the colour of her eyes. The artist in him again, she supposed. ‘They’re natural too, I’m afraid,’ she answered tauntingly. ‘I did not presume they were not.’ ‘But you doubt the naturalness of my hair.’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘I was merely curious.’ Sophie’s attention was caught by the girl stepping elegantly out of the passenger side of the Mercedes, a girl who was instantly recognisable as Eve Jeffers. This girl was so beautiful, her features so perfect, her hair a black shining cap, her figure faultless, that she almost didn’t look real. She came to stand next to Luke Vittorio, her lacquered nails resting intimately in the crook of his arm. ‘It’s getting late, Luke darling,’ she purred in a voice that grated on Sophie’s nerve-endings. ‘We should be on our way.’ Sophie bristled angrily. No concern for her health here, not even a polite query. This girl might be beautiful, but there was something about her that Sophie didn’t like; perhaps it was the coldness in her eyes or the faint hardness to her mouth, but whatever it was she didn’t like her. Luke Vittorio nodded. ‘You go back to the car, I will be with you in a moment.’ ‘We wouldn’t want to keep our beautiful hostess waiting.’ Eve arched an eyebrow at him. ‘I’m sure she’s just longing for you to arrive.’ Luke’s mouth tightened. ‘Go back to the car, Eve. I want no more of your innuendoes today,’ he added harshly. ‘I’m sure Rosemary wouldn’t consider them innuendoes,’ she purred. ‘And then there’s that brat of hers to look at,’ she taunted before walking gracefully back to the car. Sophie’s anger had been increasing by the second. What did this girl mean by these remarks about her stepmother? Of course Rosemary was looking forward to her weekend guests’ arrival, but why should the model imply that she was especially looking forward to Luke Vittorio being there? She didn’t like the implication behind that at all—or the implication that she was a brat. He turned back to her. ‘So you will not tell me where you live?’ ‘There’s no need.’ He would know soon enough! And so would Eve Jeffers, although she felt sure the other girl wouldn’t give a damn. ‘Very well,’ he nodded curtly, before turning and walking away. Sophie watched the car speed out of sight before making some attempt to straighten the handlebars on her bicycle. They wouldn’t straighten up completely, but at least it was rideable now. She would get Martin to have a look at it when she reached home. The Mercedes was parked alongside several other cars in the driveway as she pedalled round to the back of the house to enter through the kitchen. Her stepmother would never forgive her if she let any of the guests see her like this. Joycy was arranging the tea things as she came into the room, but stopped what she was doing to stare at Sophie. ‘What happened to you?’ She put a selfconscious hand up to her hair. ‘Nothing. Why?’ ‘Your face is covered in dirt. What have you been doing?’ ‘I had a slight accident on my bicycle,’ Sophie admitted sheepishly. ‘Again?’ Joycy shook her head. ‘I’ve told you so many times not to use that contraption. It wobbles terribly and the brakes don’t work properly.’ Sophie knew that, now. If the brakes had been working properly she wouldn’t have come off the damn thing. ‘Perhaps Martin could take a look at it for me.’ Martin was Joycy’s husband, and her father’s chauffeur and butler. Joycy laughed. ‘If I remember correctly the last time he looked at it he told you it was ready for the scrap heap.’ ‘But I have to have transport of some kind.’ ‘Martin is the chauffeur.’ ‘Transport of my own,’ Sophie said patiently. ‘While you take the tea things into the lounge I think I’ll try and sneak up to my room.’ She ran one of her dusty hands down her denims. ‘I’m not really presentable.’ ‘You certainly aren’t! You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?’ ‘Only dented my pride a little. Flying over the handlebars of a bike isn’t exactly the height of elegance.’ Joycy frowned. ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You look a little pale.’ Sophie grinned. ‘Well, I wouldn’t mind one or two of your delicious scones to tide me over until dinner.’ ‘There can’t be much wrong with you if you still have your appetite.’ Joycy picked up the tray in preparation to leaving. ‘You know where they are.’ Sophie took two of the still warm scones out of the tin, buttering them hurriedly before making her way to her room. She was going to look her very best tonight, show Luke Vittorio exactly what he would be turning down when he refused to paint her. She would show him that it wasn’t only women like Eve Jeffers and her stepmother who could look beautiful. She could look quite attractive herself if she really tried, and tonight she intended trying. She washed her hair first, drying it before she took a long leisurely bath. She came out of the bathroom smelling deliciously of pine bath-oil, the delicate perfume absorbed into her skin. The next thing to do was curl and style her hair, the natural staightness of it soon taking on a more attractive wave, two wings of hair pulled back at her temples from the centre parting to be secured loosely by two gold slides. The simplicity of the style emphasised her high cheekbones, enlarging her wide violet eyes. She wasn’t the sort of girl who usually bothered with all the feminine foibles, spending most of her life as a tomboy, but today she was making a special effort. She manicured and painted her nails a light peach colour before applying a light powdering of make-up, the lip gloss she wore exactly matching the nail varnish and the dress she had decided to wear. Her eyelashes were naturally long and dark, but she applied a light dusting of brown eye-shadow to add depth. The peach dress was one her stepmother had taken her out and bought for her on one of her rare visits up to see her in town. Rosemary had indulged her for once, preening visibly as the saleswoman assumed them to be sisters. The gown was Grecian in style, with a wide band of silver brocade surrounding her narrow waist. The light tan she had acquired during the last couple of months was shown to advantage against the peach chiffon, a thin delicate gold chain about her throat the only jewellery she wore. What her stepmother and father would make of this transition she could only guess, but for all her natural poise and confidence it took great effort to go down to dinner that evening. She smiled politely at several of the people she recognised who were gathered in the lounge, accepting the sherry Martin handed her with a broad wink in his direction. He frowned at her levity before turning away. Dear Martin, how she loved to tease him! Luke Vittorio was already deeply engrossed in conversation with a group of people on the other side of the room, although perhaps that wasn’t quite the right description. There was a tolerant smile on his dark face, but Sophie felt sure he regarded the woman talking to him with amused contempt. It was there in his eyes, in his very stance, and Sophie felt sorry for the woman as she obviously tried to make an impression on him. He looked even more attractive than he had this afternoon, the blue velvet jacket fitting tautly across his wide powerful shoulders, the white shirt flamboyantly frilled at the front although not effeminately so. He wore black trousers, his legs long and muscular beneath the fitted material. ‘So we meet again after all.’ She turned sharply at the sound of that huskily accented voice, the man she had been talking to drifting off as he knew himself overshadowed by the other man. As she had been standing with her back towards him she had no idea how Luke Vittorio had known it was her. She gave him a cool nod. ‘Mr Vittorio.’ ‘Please, call me Luke,’ he invited smoothly. ‘And I may call you—–?’ ‘You may call me—–’ ‘Ah, Luke,’ her stepmother came over to them, extraordinarily beautiful in the flowing red figure-hugging gown. ‘I see you’ve met my little Sophie.’ Sophie cringed, feeling about five years old. But then her stepmother would probably have preferred it if she were, much less ageing to herself. She looked up into the narrowed brown eyes of Luke Vittorio with defiance. ‘Mr Vittorio and I haven’t yet introduced ourselves, Mummy,’ and she gave him a challenging smile. CHAPTER TWO (#ulink_f2302f04-5a3e-5769-8d44-3738e45fe83f) SHE had felt sure he was taken aback by her identity, but there was no evidence of it now in his chillingly handsome face. ‘This is your daughter, Rosemary?’ he queried softly. Her stepmother gave a brittle laugh. ‘This is my stepdaughter, yes.’ Those deep brown eyes were levelled on Sophie again. ‘I did not realise.’ ‘Do introduce yourself properly, Sophie,’ Rosemary gave her an angry glare. ‘I have to go and save your father from Monty again. He will insist on talking for hours about horse-racing,’ she explained to Luke, ’and Simon has no interest in it at all.’ ‘You did not think it necessary to introduce yourself this afternoon?’ Luke Vittorio asked abruptly once her stepmother had left them in a haze of her cloying perfume. Sophie placed her empty sherry glass down on the side-table with relaxed calm. ‘Should I have done?’ ‘I would have thought it polite, considering you know my reason for being here.’ She arched her eyebrows. ‘Do I?’ ‘I would have thought so,’ he said coolly. Her mouth twisted as she remembered the way her stepmother had said this man was going to ’look her over’. ‘I’m not exactly what you expected, am I?’ she challenged. His head was held at a haughty angle, his eyes narrowed. ‘And what did I expect?’ ‘I believe Miss Jeffers described it as a—brat?’ ‘I am not Miss Jeffers.’ His voice was distinctly cool now. Sophie gave a light laugh. ‘I’m aware of that. But I believe you expected someone a little—younger?’ He nodded distantly, the black sheen of his hair catching the overhead light. ‘Perhaps.’ There was no perhaps about it. She had known as soon as Eve Jeffers had called her a brat that they were expecting a much younger girl, possibly someone of ten or eleven. ‘And what do you think now?’ He shrugged his broad shoulders, muscle rippling beneath his velvet jacket. ‘Your age is irrelevant as to whether I paint you or not. As a matter of interest, how old are you?’ ‘I’m not sure my stepmother would want me to tell you that. She’s just old enough to be my real mother.’ He gave a mocking smile. ‘I am sure you are right when you say Rosemary would not like me to know that—she has a way of looking constantly young.’ His admiring eyes followed her stepmother as she flitted about the room talking to her guests. ‘And a stepdaughter of nineteen isn’t very flattering,’ Sophie said abruptly, not liking the way he was looking at Rosemary. It brought back the feeling of uneasiness she had felt at Eve Jeffers’ disparaging remarks about Rosemary this afternoon. Luke Vittorio smiled fully now, showing his firm even white teeth. ‘I am sure Rosemary would not think so.’ Sophie’s resentment grew, but she was prevented from making any reply by the arrival of Eve Jeffers at Luke Vittorio’s side, the pebble-green eyes flicking over her speculatively. That brief glance was enough to show Sophie that she wasn’t considered a rival. ‘Sorry I’m late down, Luke darling,’ Eve said throatily, her hand in the crook of his arm. ‘I haven’t missed anything, have I?’ she asked maliciously. Sophie revised her earlier opinion of this woman being beautiful; there was too much hardness about her and a cruel twist to her painted lips for her to merit such a description. Not that she didn’t look pure perfection in the green gypsy-style evening dress, there was just a hardness about her that marred that beauty. ‘You have missed being introduced to Miss Bedford,’ he informed her. The black eyebrows arched. ‘The brat?’ She looked around. ‘Has she been sent to bed already? Oh well, spoilt kids aren’t amongst my favourite people anyway.’ She looked back at Sophie. ‘Do I know you?’ ‘No,’ Sophie said stiffly. Eve frowned. ‘I’ve seen you before, I’m sure of it. Are you a model too?’ ‘You flatter me!’ ‘Sophie!’ She looked up as she heard her name called, seeing Nicholas Sedgwick-Jones making his way towards her. She groaned inwardly as he beamed down at her, waiting for his opening line as she always did. ‘You’re looking particularly beautiful tonight,’ he gushed. This time she did groan. Nicholas always said the same thing, it was only the time of day that changed. It wouldn’t have been so bad if she didn’t suspect his widowed mother of teaching it to him parrot-fashion before he came out every day; there was certainly no sincerity behind his words. She made the introductions to the other couple, aware that Luke Vittorio regarded Nicholas with as much contempt as she did. Luckily they all started going in to dinner at that moment, although she didn’t think herself so lucky a few seconds later when Luke Vittorio offered her his arm to go in to dinner. She had no choice but to accept. ‘Shouldn’t you be taking in your girl-friend?’ she said tartly once out of earshot of the other two. ‘I am sure Eve will be suitably entertained by your friend.’ As she could already hear Nicholas launching into an account of his life on his farm Sophie didn’t feel sure of any such thing. Nicholas bored her, so what he would do to the much more sophisticated model she had no idea. He was still enthusing about his favourite subject as they came into the dining-room, and Sophie felt almost sorry for the other girl as she saw her mother had placed them next to each other at dinner. She didn’t feel so elated when she found herself seated next to Luke Vittorio. Her mother sat at the head of the table, Luke sitting to her left and Sophie next to him. Nicholas and Eve were sitting at the other end of the table. ‘Has Sophie managed to introduce herself yet?’ Rosemary asked Luke. ‘Oh yes,’ he nodded. ‘I think Mr Vittorio was under a mishapprehension, Mummy,’ Sophie said with relish, forking melon into her mouth. ‘About what, Sophie?’ her stepmother frowned. ‘About the age of your stepdaughter, Rosemary,’ Luke cut in. ‘I believed someone as beautiful as yourself could not possibly be the mother of a nineteen-year-old girl. Your stepdaughter seems to find my error amusing.’ ‘Sophie is a naughty child.’ Rosemary put her hand intimately on his arm. ‘I hope you’ll consider her worthy of your talent.’ And Sophie hoped he wouldn’t! She had had enough of his arrogance already, let alone having to sit for him for possibly hours on end. ‘I’m sure Mr Vittorio is much too busy to paint me,’ she protested. His dark eyes mocked her. ‘I have not yet made up my mind.’ She bristled angrily. ‘Well, I have,’ she said crossly. ‘I don’t want to be painted, by you or anyone else.’ ‘Sophie!’ there was an angry flush to her stepmother’s smooth creamy skin. ‘You’ll do as you’re told.’ ‘I do not paint unwilling subjects,’ Luke Vittorio stated haughtily. Sophie felt sure that all the women he painted were more than willing, and not just to have their portrait painted. ‘Good,’ she smiled happily. ‘That lets me out.’ ‘Sophie!’ once again Rosemary gasped. ‘I’m sure Mr Vittorio understands,’ Sophie said uncaringly. ‘And I’m just as sure he doesn’t,’ her stepmother’s voice was harsh. ‘I’m so sorry, Luke,’ she gave him a glowing smile, ’Sophie isn’t normally this rude.’ Only to people as arrogant and condescending as this man! ’Have I been rude?’ she queried with feigned innocence. Rosemary’s mouth was set in an angry line. ‘You know very well you have.’ ‘Then I apologise,’ she said in the same offhand manner she had carried out the rest of the conversation. ‘But I was only telling Mr Vittorio the way I felt.’ He gave her a cool look. ‘The fact that the portrait is to be a gift to your father is of no consequence to you?’ She blushed at his intended rebuke. ‘I’m sure Daddy will survive without it.’ ‘I believe it was to have been a birthday present, an addition to the family record.’ ‘And would you like that, Mr Vittorio, to be the painter of one of our family portraits?’ He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘It does not bother me one way or the other. I paint only what I want to paint. What my client does with that painting once it has been completed is none of my concern.’ Rosemary gave a light tinkling laugh. ‘Every portrait you do is highly acclaimed, Luke, and they’re always kept in a place of honour.’ ‘I’m sure they are,’ Sophie put in dryly, sipping her wine. ‘If you can’t be civil,’ her stepmother snapped, ’then don’t say anything at all!’ Sophie shrugged. ‘That suits me.’ After that she devoted all her attention to the man sitting to her left, dazzling him with her laughing violet eyes, flattering him outrageously. And all the time she was aware of the soft murmuring of conversation between her stepmother and Luke Vittorio. Not that she could hear what was being said, they were talking too quietly for that. Her stepmother was the gracious hostess to this sophisticated man, and yet Sophie knew that she would be in for a certain amount of angry reprisal once her stepmother had her alone. She had in fact been more outspoken than she intended, but she didn’t regret it. Her stepmother might like the man, enjoy his company, but. she wasn’t going to become another of the women following him with adoring eyes. She didn’t much like the attention Rosemary paid him either, and she could see her father watching them closely too. Nicholas managed to be at her side again as they stood in the lounge drinking coffee. His boyish face always looked pink and well scrubbed, his fair hair kept short and brushed away from his forehead. Sophie supposed he could be called good-looking—if only he didn’t have such a boring turn of conversation. He was doing it again now, launching into a lengthy tale about a sick cow he had. ‘Of course I knew the diagnosis before the vet told me,’ he said enthusiastically, ’but you have to call these chaps out just to confirm it.’ ‘Yes, of course you do,’ she agreed vaguely, watching as her stepmother continued to stay at Luke Vittorio’s side. He was obviously the guest of honour, a feather in Rosemary’s social cap, but it really wasn’t like her to neglect her other guests like this. ‘I—er—I don’t suppose you would care to come over to tea tomorrow?’ Nicholas looked at her expectantly. ‘My mother would love to see you.’ Sophie didn’t doubt it. Every time she saw Mrs Sedgwick-Jones she extolled the virtues of her only child, hinting broadly at how she would welcome Sophie as a member of the family. The Sedgwick-Joneses might have breeding, but they had very little money to go with it. It wouldn’t be so bad if Rosemary didn’t encourage them, inviting Nicholas over here every chance she had. She shook her head. ‘I don’t think I can, Nicholas, not with all these guests here. It wouldn’t look very good if I just disappeared tomorrow afternoon.’ ‘But they aren’t your guests,’ he persisted. ‘And I’m sure your stepmother wouldn’t mind. Besides, these people aren’t even in your age group.’ Neither was he, if the truth were known. He might only be twenty-three, but he acted much older. ‘I don’t think I should,’ she refused. ‘Not when we have guests.’ And one guest in particular. It was a disquieting feeling seeing her stepmother’s head bent towards that dark one so often, and her feelings of unease increased as she saw the frown on her father’s face. ‘He’s a distinguished-looking chap, isn’t he?’ Nicholas remarked at her side, drawing her attention back to him. ‘Mm?’ ‘Luke Vittorio,’ he explained. ‘He’s a very noticeable chap.’ He had obviously followed her line of vision and misunderstood her interest. ‘I suppose you could say that,’ she acknowledged ruefully. ‘He’s not what you expect of an artist, though, is he?’ Sophie gave an amused smile. ‘And what did you expect? The classical paint-stained smock, the paintbrush behind each ear?’ A dark hue coloured his cheeks. ‘Now you’re mocking me!’ She put a hand on his arm. ‘Only a little,’ she gave him an apologetic smile. ‘But Mr Vittorio could hardly sit down to dinner in his working clothes. I’m sure he wears denims and tee-shirts when he paints.’ And looked just as distinguished in them as he did his other clothes. The man carried himself with arrogant elegance and would stand out in a crowd no matter what he wore. ‘You seemed to have a lot to say to him at dinner,’ observed Nicholas. ‘I’m surprised you noticed,’ she teased. ‘You seemed pretty well occupied with Eve Jeffers.’ She had seen the other girl trying to stifle a couple of yawns as Nicholas didn’t stop talking throughout the whole meal. Again he blushed, although she thought he was secretly pleased about her noticing such a thing. He perhaps, mistakenly, thought her to be jealous. ‘Miss Jeffers was very interested in that sick cow I was telling you about.’ She shook her head. Poor Nicholas, he had no idea how boring he was. She looked up to find a pair of deep brown eyes watching her with mocking amusement, and glared resentfully at Luke Vittorio, guessing that Nicholas was the reason for his amusement. Her stepmother seemed to have momentarily left the man’s side, although he wasn’t short of company, surrounded as he was by a group of the female guests. Sophie put her hand in the crook of Nicholas’ arm, leading him purposefully over to the chattering group. She edged her way in to stand at Luke Vittorio’s side, giving him a dazzling smile as he looked down at her questioningly. ‘Would you care for some more coffee?’ she asked him politely. He seemed surprised by her friendly attitude after her earlier rudeness, his eyes narrowing. ‘No, thank you. Your stepmother has seen to my needs.’ Sophie’s mouth tightened. Not all of them she hadn’t! ’Nicholas has been longing to talk to you,’ she pulled the shy young man forward. ‘There wasn’t time before dinner.’ ‘Oh, but—–’ Nicholas began to protest. She patted his arm. ‘Now don’t be shy, Nicholas. I’m sure Mr Vittorio would love to hear about your farm. Tell him about that poor sick cow you had.’ Nicholas looked uncomfortable. ‘I’m sure that can be of no interest—–’ ‘Of course it would,’ she encouraged, surprised that for once he seemed to have realised someone had no interest in the welfare of his animals. ‘I’ll just go and make sure our other guests have everything they need. I won’t be long.’ ‘But—–’ She gave a mischievous smile before walking away. She would teach Luke Vittorio to laugh at her. Let him listen to Nicholas and see how he fared! He seemed to be faring very well ten minutes later when she looked over at him; the two men were apparently deep in conversation. She turned away angrily, accepting a glass of champagne from the tray Martin was offering to the guests. She had quite expected Luke Vittorio to excuse himself as soon as it was polite to do so, but no, he seemed quite content to talk to Nicholas. ‘The stem of that glass is not my throat,’ he said from close behind her. Sophie turned hurriedly to confront the artist, releasing the tight grip she had on the glass. ‘Do you have reason to think it was?’ she returned lightly. ‘Oh, yes,’ he gave a slight smile. ‘Do you not think it was rather cruel of you to leave your young friend like that?’ Her violet eyes glowed her malicious pleasure. ‘Didn’t you enjoy your little chat with him?’ ‘I enjoyed it very much. I thought you cruel to Mr Sedgwick-Jones, not myself.’ ‘To Nicholas?’ she frowned her puzzlement. ‘Yes. I am sure he came here this evening with the sole purpose of being with you. He did not expect to have to answer my quite extensive questioning about his livestock.’ She gave him a suspicious look. ‘Extensive questioning?’ He gave an inclination of his dark head. ‘I have a farm myself in America—or perhaps you would call it a ranch.’ ‘You have a ranch?’ She was aware that she was repeating everything he said, but he had taken her aback. She had fully expected him to be as bored with Nicholas as everyone else seemed to be. ‘A few acres,’ he confirmed. She felt sure that ’a few acres’ amounted to hundreds, possibly thousands. ‘But your home is in London,’ she pointed out. ‘I have no—home. I live where it suits me, and no doubt one day it will suit me to live in America. I have a manager there at the moment, but I visit from time to time.’ She could just see this man astride a horse, master of all he surveyed. The healthy tinge to his swarthy skin indicated that he did not spend all of his time working indoors and socialising now. No, there was power in his muscular physique, not an ounce of superfluous flesh on his tall agile body. ‘So you can understand,’ he continued, ’that I found your friend’s conversation very interesting. He is very knowledgeable on certain subjects.’ ‘Yes,’ she agreed tightly. The amusement in his dark eyes deepened. ‘You did not expect me to find him so,’ he mocked. Sophie gave him a furious look. ‘Are you always so arrogant and—and emotionless?’ she snapped. Luke’s mockery became more pronounced. ‘I do not think I am the one to ask about that. I have all the usual male appetites and emotions.’ ‘I know that,’ she sneered. ‘And not all of your conquests are single wom …’ She broke off, looking with horror from him to her stepmother and back again. Oh no, she couldn’t believe it, not Rosemary and this man! But what other explanation could there be, why else did her father look so anxious and her stepmother so glowingly beautiful? She had always known that her stepmother and father didn’t have the normal marriage of her friends’ parents, the two of them enjoyed a different life-style, but that Rosemary could be interested in another man had never occurred to her. They had always appeared fond of each other, but she doubted her parents were actually in love with each other. But another man … ‘You have gone very pale.’ Luke Vittorio stood in front of her, shielding her from the rest of the people in the room. ‘Are you feeling unwell?’ She swallowed hard, nausea rising up in her throat. ‘I—I feel sick,’ she choked, unable to look at him. ‘I think you should go to your room and lie down,’ he advised. ‘Perhaps you would like me—–’ ‘I wouldn’t like you to do anything,’ she snapped, her eyes flashing her dislike. ‘Why me in particular?’ She glared at him. ‘I think you know the answer to that. Excuse me, I can’t bear—–’ ‘Luke,’ Eve Jeffers came up to them, smiling broadly, ’I can’t seem to get you alone this evening.’ She gave Sophie a disparaging look. ‘The Bedford women seem to be monopolising your attention.’ At least she had progressed from a brat to a woman! And she understood this woman’s reference to her stepmother looking forward to Luke’s arrival now, understood it and hated it. And she hated him! He had no right to encourage her stepmother in this folly, to use his sensuality like a flytrap against Rosemary’s ever-increasing consciousness of the coming of middle age, her awareness of the passing of the years. She gave the other girl a tight smile. ‘You can have him back now,’ she gave Luke a look of intense dislike. ‘I’ve finished with him.’ ‘Well, really!’ Eve Jeffers gasped. Sophie didn’t wait to hear any more. She wanted only to escape, to go to her room and be sick, to wallow in her own misery. She didn’t need to look up as she was pulled round, knowing that her accoster must be Luke Vittorio. ‘What do you want?’ she demanded nastily. ‘I do not care to be dismissed in that way,’ he told her coldly. Sophie didn’t know how she could ever have thought his eyes magnetically seductive. Right now they were like hard angry pebbles, although she managed to meet his gaze with haughty defiance. She wouldn’t be daunted by him, not by a man she hated and despised. ‘Well, that’s too bad,’ she answered. ‘Because I’ve certainly dismissed you. I don’t like you, Mr Vittorio, and I make no secret of the fact.’ ‘You most certainly do not. I would be interested to know the reason for this dislike.’ She looked pointedly at her stepmother. ‘I’m sure you’re well aware of the reason. Let go of me!’ She shook off his hand. ‘You are indeed a brat.’ His dark eyes swept over her scathingly. ‘That’s right,’ there was challenge in every curve of her body. ‘I should try to remember that before you go any further.’ He frowned. ‘Any further in what?’ ‘You have your girl-friend here, let that be enough for you.’ Luke gave a short husky laugh. ‘You are surely not implying that I am interested in you?’ Again he laughed. ‘You could not be more wrong.’ Sophie snatched her arm out of his grasp. ‘I should damn well think so!’ her eyes spat her hatred of him. ‘I think one female member of this family under your spell is enough!’ He shook his head, his hand falling to his side. ‘You surely do not suspect—–’ ‘Suspect!’ she cut in shrilly. ‘I suppose that’s the right word for what you and my stepmother are doing. I more than suspect you, Mr Vittorio, and I’m sure a lot of other people do too.’ Her father included! ‘You could not be more wrong.’ ‘I couldn’t be more right! Oh, I’ll admit that my stepmother ought to have more sense, but no doubt you can be flattering enough when you choose to be. She can’t exactly be blamed for her infatuation, I’m sure you encourage her. But let me tell you this,’ a hard determination entered her voice. ‘If my father ever finds out, if you ever hurt him in any way I’ll make you pay for it. I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way.’ ‘You love your father very much?’ He appeared unperturbed by her heated threat. She flushed at his complete disregard for what she had said. ‘Of course I love my father,’ she snapped. ‘And your stepmother also?’ he pressed quietly. ‘That’s a stupid question,’ she said abruptly, aware that her love for her stepmother was not the spontaneous affection she felt for her father but more a love formed out of duty. And she had a feeling this man knew that! It was something she had worried about when she was younger, but as her stepmother made it clear she preferred not to be bothered with anything maternal she had come to realise that any affection on her part would be regarded with distaste by Rosemary. It had been a painful thing to accept, but at least she could feel happy at her father’s place in her stepmother’s affections. At least, she had! If this man did anything to spoil that … ‘You have not answered me,’ Luke Vittorio broke into her thoughts. She gave him a look of irritation. ‘I thought I had,’ she said curtly. ‘Just stay away from my family, Mr Vittorio.’ His eyes deepened with mockery. ‘That will not be easy. I am, after all, a guest of your family.’ ‘Of my stepmother,’ she corrected. ‘Don’t expect anything but contempt from me!’ She swung away from him, her room seeming even more of a haven now. ‘Sophie? Sophie, where are you going?’ She inwardly groaned as she recognised Nicholas’s voice. She had forgotten his very existence the last few minutes. She fixed a smile on her face before turning to face him. ‘How are you enjoying yourself, Nicholas?’ she asked politely. ‘Well, I—It’s all right, I suppose. But I came here to see you. You haven’t said yet whether you’ll come over for tea tomorrow.’ She was even more determined not to leave the house tomorrow now. She wanted to keep her eye on her stepmother and Luke Vittorio. ‘Not tomorrow, Nicholas. Perhaps next weekend,’ she added at the disappointment on his face. ‘You promise?’ he clutched at her hand. ‘I can’t promise that, Nicholas,’ she answered lightly, doing her best to release her hand without appearing too obvious. ‘Ask me later in the week.’ ‘Oh, but—–’ ‘Please, Nicholas,’ she put up a hand to her throbbing temple. ‘Don’t go on about it now. I—I can’t think straight.’ He frowned his concern. ‘Aren’t you feeling well?’ She gave a strained smile. ‘It’s just a sick headache. I was going to lie down when you stopped me.’ ‘Without saying goodnight to me?’ Sophie sighed. ‘I just want to lie down, Nicholas. Good manners don’t come into it when you feel like this.’ ‘No, of course not. How thoughtless of me. I—–’ ‘Are you all right, Sophie?’ Her father had come to stand at her side. Her pale face must have answered for her. ‘Come on,’ he put an arm about her shoulders, ’let’s get you up to your room.’ She smiled at him gratefully. ‘Call me in the week, Nicholas,’ she called, hoping he would do no such thing. Her father guided her up to her room before helping her to undress and get into bed. He bathed her hot forehead for her. ‘Now, what happened to you?’ he asked gently. ‘Too much wine?’ She grinned ruefully, knowing she could never tell him the real reason for her sudden sickness. ‘Probably,’ she agreed. ‘I don’t suppose young Sedgwick-Jones helped,’ he smoothed back her hair. ‘He really is a pushy young man.’ Sophie smiled at the understatement. She looked at her father, noting how handsome he was even now at fifty-five. He was a tall man, not running to fat as many of his contemporaries were, with only faint touches of grey in his thick brown hair, a handsome, distinguished man in his own right, and yet for some reason he and her stepmother had lost that vital spark between them. Seeing her stepmother’s obvious interest in Luke Vittorio had opened her eyes to so many things. It wasn’t just her parents’ apparent differences in life-style that held them apart, there was something else too. She had only noticed this coldness between them the last couple of years, her stepmother’s more and more frequent visits up to London. Or perhaps it had always been there and she hadn’t noticed it; she had been away at boarding-school until she was seventeen and hadn’t had chance to observe them together that much. But she was sure her father was still deeply in love with Rosemary, knew that he could be deeply hurt by Luke Vittorio. But she wouldn’t let it happen, would stop it somehow. She smiled shakily at her father as he tucked the covers in around her. ‘I love you, Daddy,’ she said huskily. He gave her a strange look, a slight frown on his face. ‘I know you do, poppet. And I love you. Rest now, try to get some sleep. And no wine for you next time.’ Sophie kept up her smile until he had left the room. She didn’t know how she was going to do it, but she was going to stop this affair between her stepmother and Luke Vittorio. After all, there couldn’t be anything serious between them, certainly not on Luke Vittorio’s part anyway; his affairs were well known. And he had brought Eve Jeffers with him, although she could just be a smoke-screen. The model seemed to know something was going on, but perhaps she didn’t know enough. Or perhaps she didn’t care. There was no chance of the affair becoming a serious one, so perhaps the model was just biding her time. That seemed the most logical explanation, and it would explain her bitchiness towards Rosemary. Sophie looked up with a start as her stepmother came into the room. She couldn’t remember the last time Rosemary had been in here. Her stepmother looked down at her. ‘Your father tells me you aren’t feeling well.’ ‘No,’ she agreed huskily, kneading the sheet between thumb and finger. ‘What’s wrong with you?’ ‘Just a sick headache.’ Rosemary frowned. ‘Your father seemed to think it was the wine.’ ‘Yes.’ ‘I suppose this is your excuse for your rudeness earlier on,’ Rosemary snapped. Sophie had known this was coming, had known since her outburst to Luke Vittorio at the dinner table that her stepmother would not let the incident pass. And in the light of her discovery about the two of them Rosemary’s anger was all the more understandable. She wouldn’t want to lose the handsome Italian because of the rudeness of her stepdaughter. ‘Yes,’ she nodded. Her stepmother’s blue eyes were coldly angry. ‘What sort of an answer is that?’ ‘I—Well, I just don’t like Mr Vittorio.’ Was it her imagination or did she see a faint glimmer of relief in her stepmother’s face? If she had it didn’t show now. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, everyone likes Luke.’ ‘Well, I don’t,’ Sophie said sulkily. ‘It isn’t that important anyway. He’ll only be painting you, nothing else.’ Oh yes, he would, he would be providing a perfectly respectable reason for her stepmother and himself to keep in contact, to occasionally be seen together. Well, not if she could help it! ‘I don’t want to be painted by him.’ ‘You’ll do as you’re told.’ Rosemary had obviously run out of patience with her. ‘And I don’t want any more rudeness to him. Your father would be very shocked if he knew about your behaviour.’ Not if he knew the real reason behind it! ’Yes, Mummy.’ Rosemary gave her a sharp look, suspecting sarcasm and finding none. ‘I’ll see you in the morning,’ and she slammed out of the room. Sophie kept a watchful eye on her stepmother and Luke Vittorio all the next day, although there was really nothing to witness today. Perhaps Luke Vittorio had learnt by his folly of yesterday, but he seemed to keep a polite distance between himself and the other guests, Eve Jeffers being the only person he appeared to talk to. Helen duly arrived for tea, blushing profusely after Sophie had introduced her to the artist. ‘Gosh, he’s lovely!’ She couldn’t take her eyes off him. Sophie gave her a disgusted look. ‘He’s arrogant and conceited.’ Helen’s eyes widened before her gaze wandered back to Luke Vittorio as he stood talking to Sophie’s father on the other side of the room. She couldn’t seem to see anything but the handsome Luke Vittorio, loving the way the cream trousers and shirt clung to his muscular body and accentuated his swarthy colouring. ‘Surely not?’ she said breathlessly. ‘Believe me, he is.’ And he had no right to be talking so casually to her father, not when he was having an affair with his wife. But a man like that wouldn’t give a damn. ‘Ooh, look!’ squealed Helen. ‘They’re coming over!’ And they were too, the two men talking amicably together. Her poor father, it wouldn’t occur to him to suspect this man of being interested in his wife. Her father smiled at the two girls. ‘Mr Vittorio—Luke, has just been telling me that he would very much like to paint you, Sophie,’ he told her triumphantly. She raised shocked eyes to that dark satanic face, flinching at the cold disdain for her in his eyes. ‘I don’t—–’ ‘Of course I will not be able to travel down here for your sittings,’ Luke Vittorio spoke for the first time. ‘You will have to visit me at my apartment in London for that.’ CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_b650e0d1-e804-5f49-8579-f8f003b882ad) ‘OH, but—–’ Her father frowned. ‘Surely that isn’t necessary, Luke. A couple of sittings down here would be enough.’ Luke shook his head. ‘I am afraid not. I do not work that way. I cannot work from sketches, and as I said, I do not have the time to travel down here for the necessary sittings.’ Sophie was speechless after her first words of protest. She didn’t want to travel up to London to see this man, visit his apartment, spend any more time in his company than she needed to. The glittering satisfaction in his deep brown eyes told her that he was enjoying her discomfort, and she knew with sudden clarity that this was his revenge on her for her rudeness of yesterday. Well, his satisfaction would be shortlived. ‘Mr Vittorio’s right, Daddy,’ she said with a smile, looking for some sign of surprise on the artist’s face and finding none. An expert at hiding his true feelings, was this man. That just made her all the more determined to thwart him. If he expected her to protest at his proposed plan he was going to be disappointed. ‘I can travel up to London at the weekends. I could stay at the apartment with Mummy,’ and so make it awkward for the couple to meet! Her father looked undecided. ‘I suppose it is a solution. I must admit that when your mother first suggested this I didn’t realise I would have to lose my daughter’s company at the weekends too.’ ‘Perhaps Mummy will come home and keep you company.’ Although she doubted it, she doubted it very much. As if on cue her stepmother joined their little group, smiling her pleasure when told of the proposed portrait. She put her hand in the crook of Luke’s arm, smiling up at him, looking very petite against his superior height. ‘That’s marvellous, Luke,’ she said huskily. ‘It means we’ll see a little more of you.’ Not if Sophie could help it! Perhaps this was a good idea after all, perhaps this was a way to stop this affair before it became too important. ‘Not really, Mummy,’ she put in quietly. ‘It just means I’ll see more of Mr Vittorio.’ China-blue eyes narrowed. ‘What do you mean?’ The seductive purr was gone from her voice. ‘I’ll be staying at the apartment and visiting Mr Vittorio at his home.’ The way she put it it sounded like an intimate arrangement. A fact Luke Vittorio was quick to notice. ‘For professional reasons only,’ he said softly. ‘But of course,’ she glared at him. The remark hadn’t been meant for him. ‘Yes, of course,’ her stepmother echoed sharply. ‘And when is all this to start?’ ‘I will call Sophie when I am free,’ Luke replied. ‘It will not be for a few weeks yet, I am engaged in other work at the moment.’ Sophie didn’t speak to him again until after dinner, but deliberately sought him out before he left. ‘I’ll look forward to seeing you again, Mr Vittorio,’ she said tauntingly. ‘I am sure you will,’ he returned mockingly. ‘Just tell me this, why did you agree to paint me?’ Her curiosity had got the better of her. He raised a dark eyebrow as he slowly studied her from head to foot. ‘Why should I not? You will make an interesting study. There is a coolness outside belied by the heated passion inside. I will enjoy trying to capture this elusiveness of yours.’ Sophie’s face was fiery red by this time. ‘I’m sure you’re reading things into my character that simply aren’t there.’ ‘I do not think so.’ He crossed one well-shod foot over the other. They were seated together on one of the sofas, Sophie slightly unnerved by his closeness. He was clothed in a cream suit and brown shirt open at the neck to reveal the start of the thick mat of hair that she felt sure covered most of his body, and if anything he looked even more attractive than he had the previous evening. He would be leaving shortly which probably accounted for his less formal attire. ‘I do,’ she disagreed. ‘It isn’t’ heated passion you can detect, it’s burning anger.’ ‘We shall see.’ ‘We most certainly will not!’ She sat forward in her agitation. Luke laughted softly. ‘How you delight in jumping to conclusions! You seem to do it often where I am concerned. One of these days you will realise how foolish your thoughts are concerning myself.’ He stood up. ‘But not yet. That will come with time.’ ‘Time is something I don’t intend to give you too much of,’ she glared up at him. ‘You will give me all the time I want,’ he told her haughtily. ‘It could lead to some awkward questions from your father if you do not—and I am sure you would not want that. Would you?’ ‘No, I wouldn’t, damn you! Is this portrait so important to you that you’ll go to these lengths?’ she demanded disgustedly. He shrugged. ‘I will not know that until I actually begin. I look forward to seeing you again soon,’ he bowed arrogantly. ‘I’ll make sure it’s a memorable meeting!’ His teeth flashed whitely in his swarthy face. ‘I am sure you will.’ Sophie didn’t feel quite so confident as she travelled up to London for her first sitting four weeks later. She wasn’t looking forward to seeing him again, for all her bravado at their last meeting. As it had turned out she hadn’t been the one to talk to him on the telephone when he finally rang to arrange this sitting, she had been at Nicholas’s, having at last given in to his persuadings to visit his house for tea. As she had expected, Mrs Sedgwick-Jones hadn’t stopped listing her son’s virtues all the time she was there, virtues that to Sophie seemed to make him even more unsuitable as a husband for her. She was disappointed therefore when she returned home to find Luke Vittorio had telephoned in her absence, disappointed because she would have enjoyed another of their verbal clashes. But now she was going to London and would see him face to face, and she found the prospect a little daunting. Today she would be meeting him on his home ground, and she was very aware of the fact that she would be at a disadvantage. As a guest in her parents’ home he had not been as forthright as she suspected he could have been, but any rudeness from her here would not go unpunished. But first she had to face her stepmother. The two of them had seen little of each other the last four weeks and Sophie could feel herself tensing for their meeting as she travelled in the taxi from the station. As it turned out she needn’t have worried; Rosemary was out when she reached the apartment, and a solitary lunch was served to her by Bernard the butler. He was a silent individual, revealing only that her stepmother had gone shopping and was meeting friends for lunch. She hadn’t expected Rosemany to be overjoyed to see her, but she hadn’t expected her to be out altogether either. She had no idea what she was supposed to wear for this painting; Luke Vittorio hadn’t said and she hadn’t thought to ask. Her stepmother could probably have advised her, but she hadn’t been very approachable lately, in fact she had rarely been home. Consequently Sophie had brought a couple of dresses with her, hoping to consult her stepmother when she reached London. She had travelled down in denims and a purple sun-top, having decided to have a refreshing shower before changing for her meeting with Luke Vittorio. Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию (https://www.litres.ru/carole-mortimer/flame-of-desire/?lfrom=688855901) на ЛитРес. Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.