Duarte's Child Page 12

  'Calm down? Where am I being moved to now? Out the front door? Or down to the cellars with the rats?'

  'Let's not get totally carried away, Emily. There are no rats in the Monteiro wine cellars.' Duarte made what she considered to be a totally unnecessary contradiction.

  'But there is one upstairs!'

  Duarte frowned. 'You are joking, I hope—'

  'Why are you always so literal? I'm referring to you!' she hissed in frustration.

  Duarte tried to reach for her hand. She folded her arms but he was persistent. Unfolding them by the means of gentle pressure, he imprisoned one of her hands in his. Then he dragged her down the corridor, across two landings and all the way over to the other side of the house. Nothing short of thumbscrews would have squeezed a demand to know where he was taking her from Emily's mutinously compressed lips.

  Duarte cast open the door of his own bedroom, indeed threw it dramatically wide. Emily stalked in, seething with so many uncontrolled emotions she was afraid she might explode.

  'Now look around you,' Duarte suggested, sounding just a little taut.

  Her teddy nightshirt was spread across one corner of his bed like a major statement. 'But...b-but, we've never shared a room—'

  'Any reason why we shouldn't?'

  Straying away from him, thrown into a loop by this unexpected development, Emily plucked her nightshirt off the bed, embarrassed that it had been put on show when it was so very unworthy of public display.

  'Is that a...no?'

  Emily shrugged and rubbed the fringe on the rug with the toe of her canvas-shod foot. But in the depths of the eyes she kept tactfully lowered lurked surprised satisfaction. Indeed, it was amazing how powerful she felt at that moment. He would have done anything sooner than ask up front. She could feel his tension. A non-verbal invitation to share a marital bed was quite a proclamation of intent on his part and a none-too-subtle step in the right direction. Suddenly the past five days of dreadful stress she had suffered while attempting to seem unconcerned by the divisions between them seemed very worthwhile—ultimately, he had come to her.

  'It's a big bed,' Emily acknowledged softly. 'I suppose we can be as frigidly polite in that bed as we are at the dinner table.'

  'OK,' he murmured with a level of cool that almost made her smile. 'By the way, I've bought you a present.'

  Emily was stuffing the nightshirt into as small a ball as possible and endeavouring to lose it discreetly by pushing it with a prodding toe below the bed. 'A...present?'

  Duarte indicated the gilded boxes now stacked two feet high on the dressing table.

  'For...me?' Emily hurried over to the stack to investigate with great curiosity. Never before had Duarte given her a surprise gift

  She hauled all the boxes over to the bed. The lid of the biggest one went flying and she ripped into the tissue paper and was astonished to emerge with some sort of garment. 'You bought me...something to wear?'

  'For the party tonight.'

  'Why would you buy me something to wear?' Emily asked in sincere bewilderment.

  Duarte elbowed back his well-cut jacket and dug two lean hands into his trouser pockets and shifted a wide shoulder in an understated shrug. 'A whim...'

  She shook I out the incredibly tiny garment. 'But it looks like...? She bit back the tactless word, 'underwear', and studied the fine glistening fabric with wide questioning eyes.

  'A dress?' he suggested.

  'A...d-dress?' she stammered, striving valiantly to conceal her horror at the prospect of appearing in public with bare arms, legs on display and nothing whatsoever to draw attention away from her non-existent bosom. 'But it's too small to be a dress..."

  Duarte breathed in deep.

  'And it's so pale in colour.' A sort of delicate palest blue that was certain to make her naturally fair skin look washed-out and ghostly.

  'Maybe this wasn't one of my better ideas,' Duarte remarked in a rather strained undertone.

  Dear heaven, she was being so cruelly tactless! He finally made the effort to go and buy her an unexpected and personal gift and she stood around moaning about it like an ungrateful brat. If he wanted her to appear with every skinny bone accentuated, she would do so. If he wanted her to wear a dustbin bag, she would try to wear it with a smile. It was the thought which counted, not the actual gift

  With forced enthusiasm she dug into the remainder of the boxes, terrified of what other horrors awaited her. Shoes to match but so flat, she would disappear; only two-inch high heels, she noted in dismay. Lingerie fine enough to flow through the proverbial wedding ring alongside the dress but at least while she was shivering, she would be benefiting from an extra layer. An unpadded bra...how could he? Was nothing sacrosanct?

  Strolling over, Duarte extended a large jewel case. 'Sapphires to go with the dress.'

  She froze as if a spectral hand had danced down her spine. As he flipped open the case to display a gorgeous necklace and drop earrings, Emily exuded discomfiture rather than pleasure. 'Did Izabel...ever wear them?' she whispered haltingly.

  'No...I have never asked you to wear anything worn by Izabel!' Duarte grated in a seriously rattled response.

  'But I thought...you know? All that jewellery you shoved at me just after we got married...I thought it had belonged to her.'

  Duarte looked heavenward as if praying for self-control. 'Izabel only ever wore diamonds and Victorine has them now. I gave you the family jewellery, not one piece of which Izabel liked.'

  'Well, I wish you'd told me that a long time ago...' Emily admitted tremulously, now willing to stretch out a shy fingertip to touch the gleaming beauty of a single sapphire. For her, just for her. She could hardly believe it. She swallowed the great fat lump forming in her throat and blinked back tears.

  'I may have my flaws but I am not that insensitive.'

  They were talking about Izabel quite naturally, Emily registered in surprise. He was finally talking about Izabel instead of going horribly silent and bleak and avoiding the subject.

  'I'm really touched that you should go to all this effort just for me,' Emily said chokily but she hoped, where the dress and the bra were concerned, he wasn't planning to make a habit of spontaneous shopping trips on her behalf.

  'It's an effort that I should have made a lot sooner than this,' Duarte breathed almost harshly.

  'Better late than never...' Emily mumbled, pretty much stunned by that admission of fault. She felt even guiltier that she had never worn any of the jewellery he had given her after their marriage because she'd honestly believed it had all been Izabel's. She must have seemed so ungrateful, she thought now.

  She took a deep breath. 'I think I ought to admit that I've always been terribly jealous of Izabel.'

  'Jealous?' Duarte awarded her a startled look.

  Emily winced. 'She got the wedding dress and the honeymoon. She was so beautiful and really gifted at decorating—'

  'She hired top designers—'

  'And being a hostess—'

  'She hired the best caterers—'

  Emily frowned, for he was denting the mystic myth of Izabel and she could not understand why he should be so disloyal to her predecessor's memory. 'Obviously, she was special. You fell in love with her when you were only a teenager—'

  Duarte vented a grim laugh that silenced her. 'Please don't tell me that you listened to Victorine's story about Izabel and I having been childhood sweethearts!'

  'Well, yes...but—'

  Seeing her confusion, Duarte groaned out loud, his lean strong face bleak. 'You really don't know the truth even now, do you? But then, who would go out of their way to tell you the sordid details? I didn't want to relive them and Victorine always preferred to inhabit a dream world where her daughter was concerned.'

  'Sordid details?' Emily queried in bewilderment. 'What are you talking about?'

  'Izabel was a drug addict and not one who had any desire to be cured.'

  Feeling the bed hit the back of her knees, Emily dropped
down on it in a state of shock. 'You're not serious...'

  Recognising her disbelief, Duarte expelled his breath on a hiss. And then he told her about Izabel. Yes, he had first met her when he was sixteen but Izabel had been five years older and quite out of his reach. Indeed he had not met her again until be was in his twenties. An heiress in her own right, Izabel's father had died when she was a child and she'd been raised by her adoring mother and allowed unlimited freedom from an early age.

  'Unfortunately, I didn't move in Izabel's world, nor did I know her circle of friends. While they were partying, I was studying and then working eighteen-hour days in the bank. When I met her again six years later, I was mad for her,' Duarte admitted bluntly. 'I couldn't believe that she was still single. I couldn't wait to marry her; I just couldn't believe how lucky I was...'

  Emily studied the rug at her feet. She really didn't want the intimate details, but they washed off her again because her mind was still fighting to handle the concept of the glamorous Izabel as an addict

  'I caught her with cocaine on the second day of our honeymoon. She just laughed, called me a killjoy and said I had better get used to it because that was how she lived. I was shattered,' Duarte confessed with grim exactitude. 'Before the wedding, I had seen her in a very excitable state but I didn't recognise her behaviour as abnormal or suspect the truth. She did have a very lively personality...and she was a tremendous show-off.'

  'A...show-off?' Emily's own misconceptions about Izabel were sunk into final obscurity by that almost wry label.

  'Izabel craved attention and publicity. No matter what it took, she had to be noticed and admired. She was the ultimate party girl.'

  'Couldn't you persuade her to accept professional help?'

  'Four times in three years she was rushed into hospital with overdoses. Neither the doctors, nor I, nor even her mother could talk her into entering a rehabilitation clinic or even considering a treatment plan. Mentally, she went downhill fast—but addicts have a distorted grip on reality—'

  'Surely other people must've realised she was taking drugs?'

  'When she did anything crazy, her friends would cover up for her because they had the same habits to protect and conceal. She had her own money, dealers in every port of call and any relationship we had fell apart within months. My sister Elena died because I was unable to control Izabel.'

  Duarte's restive hands moved in a small silent motion that just screamed guilt and more pain than Emily had ever witnessed in another human being.

  'I don't believe that. I don't believe it was your fault!' Emily protested fiercely.

  'When I was abroad, Elena would try to watch over Izabel, for Victorine was quite unequal to the task. My twin made the fatal mistake of getting into Izabel's car and letting her drive. The car went off the road at the most phenomenal speed...' he completed thickly.

  'Please don't think of this or talk about it any more,' Emily begged, humbled by the agony he could not hide and appalled by what she had learnt. She was devastated that he had contrived to bury what could only have been:a three-year-long nightmare behind that formidable reserve of his.

  'Not exactly a story calculated to put either of us in a party mood,' Duarte remarked broodingly.

  'If you would like to put her pictures back up, you can,' Emily mumbled, that being the biggest sacrifice and apology she could conceive at that particular moment.

  Duarte dealt her a look of sheer bewilderment

  'I feel sad for Izabel and you now. Poor Victorine too... all those pathetic tales she fed me about I her perfect daughter and I can even understand why she did it now—'

  'An alarming inability to deal with reality?' Duarte suggested.

  'No, she wanted to remember Izabel as she might have been without the drug abuse—remember the good things, not the bad. Maybe you would feel better if you copied her a little...' Emily muttered awkwardly.

  'There were no good things,' Duarte grated with sudden savage impatience. 'Why do you think I married you?'

  Tm not sure I want to know, in the mood you're in,' Emily said gently.

  But Duarte was determined to tell her. 'After Izabel, I swore that no woman would ever have that kind of power over me again,' he breathed with stark bitterness.

  Oh, well, that was really not news, Emily reflected, understanding that he was in an explosively emotional frame of mind after finally rising to the demeaning brink of admitting that his first marriage had been a disaster. Perhaps he might eventually reach the healthy point of wondering why his second marriage had run into rough waters as well.

  For Emily could now see that she had paid the price for the amount of pain, humiliation and disillusionment that the self-destructive Izabel had inflicted on Duarte. Once bitten, forever shy. She also understood there was much that he'd not said, for she could read between the lines. He had really loved Izabel because he had not given up on her. How many times had he struggled to help Izabel and had his efforts thrown back in his face?

  Somewhat put out by Emily's stoic and seemingly unresponsive silence, Duarte drove a not quite steady hand through his black luxuriant hair. Baulked of a further outlet, he said bossily, 'You should be getting ready for the party.'

  And display body parts she much preferred to conceal beneath long skirts and sleeves and loose tops that hinted at more than she possessed. Like a lamb to the slaughter, she gathered up his gifts and went for a shower to freshen up.

  When it crossed her mind that if she wore her hair down with that brief dress and low heels, she might look like she was mostly hair and vertically challenged, she decided to put her mane of red-gold hair up instead. Show off her neck. Why not? All else was going to be bared. Having donned the dress, an hour later, there was no temptation for her to examine her reflection in the mirror.

  As she came downstairs she noticed that some gifted person had worked wonders with the floral disarrangement she'd abandoned earlier. Duarte strode out of one of the ground-floor reception rooms. Clad in a well-cut dinner jacket, he looked devastatingly male. Her heart skipped a beat but now there was a kernel of resentment

  Duarte focused on her with intent dark golden eyes and stilled as if someone had yanked an off switch inside him. Emily started backing up the stairs again. 'I could have told you...I look like you don't feed me. Give me two minutes and I'll be covered up again!'

  Duarte strode forward. 'You look breathtaking...'

  Full marks for stunned stare of appreciation, she thought and waited on the punchline that she was sure was about to come and then she would be a good sport and laugh.

  'Gorgeous, minha jóia.'

  Emily winced. 'No, I'm not.'

  Duarte grabbed her hand and practically carried her over to the giant gilded mirror on the panelled wall. 'What do you see?'

  'I'm not looking. I don't like my legs, my arms, my—er—other bits.'

  'I love them,' Duarte husked bending over her. 'You have beautiful legs—'

  "They're too short,' she hissed.

  'Very shapely ankles, dainty arms, a neck like a swan's—'

  'It's not long enough—'

  'Everything in perfect proportion and you look distinctly ethereal in that shade of blue—'

  'Spectral and gaunt?' She inched up her eyelashes.

  'Ravishing. You grew up with two sisters jealous that you outshone them entirely in the looks department. Stop tormenting yourself with your non-existent flaws,' Duarte urged with a frank exasperation that had a much more powerful effect on her confidence than his compliments.

  Finally studying her reflection, Emily saw herself as she had never seen herself. Elegant, slim and small it was true but not scrawny. Putting her hair up had been a good idea for now she could see that her face had a shape and her eyes looked all bright and starry. She turned ever so slightly sideways to check out the bosom profile. No improvement there but my goodness that dress flattered her, particularly the colour!

  She looked in the mirror and met Duarte's intent gaze
. He dealt her a hot, sizzling appraisal that spoke lustful volumes and made her quiver in helpless response. Well, she was ravishing him, anyway. 'My sisters aren't jealous of me—far from it,' she told him ruefully.

  'Why else would they always be putting you down and cracking jokes at your expense?'

  She sighed. 'It's just always been that way...their sense of humour, I suppose.'

  'And your mother either acting as if it's not happening or even joining in. I know you care about your family but I think you need to assert yourself and make them treat you with respect.'

  At that point the front doors were opened wide to greet the arrival of their first guests. There was no time for further conversation but she was disconcerted by what he'd said. It hurt that he had noticed her family's lack of respect but she was touched that he was concerned enough to advise her. Unfortunately, she could not imagine standing up to demand anything from her far more assertive elder sisters.

  The party was in full swing by the time Bliss arrived and made an entrance. Every male head turned to watch Bliss glide across the room, her shapely figure enhanced by a scarlet silk sheath dress that was a far cry from her discreet business suits.

  Her heartbeat accelerating, Emily watched Duarte cut through the crush to greet his executive assistant and she turned away again. There was nothing going on between Bliss and Duarte, she told herself firmly. They had become friends. She would just have to learn to live with that.

  Duarte was not acting like a male involved in an affair. Duarte was behaving very much like a male who wanted to keep his marriage intact. She'd actually made it to that holy of holies once denied, a shared marital bed! He had told her about Izabel. He was entranced by their son. He had bought her a whole outfit and it did seem to do something special for her. Then there were the sapphires which had attracted many admiring comments and every time she said 'Duarte gave them to me,' she felt like a million dollars.

  So she was looking on the bright side, refusing to dwell on murky suspicions for which she had no proof. Bliss Jarrett had always been a man's woman and very ambitious. It was hardly surprising that she should have ditched her covert friendship with Emily and chosen to shift her allegiance to Duarte instead. And, to be fair, Emily reflected ruefully, possibly Bliss did thoroughly dislike her now for what her foolish flight from Portugal had done to Duarte.