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  `Aren't you coming with me?' she asked before she could stop herself. That sounded altogether too much like an appeal for his company.

  He shook his head. 'Have I not said that Stephanos will escort you? I shall be tied up here for some time. Certain—complications have arisen which require my attention.'

  Lacey supposed dully it was something to do with Vernon—Carey, but she did not inquire further. She was too preoccupied with her imminent journey to Theros, and the subsequent meeting with his family, to worry about anything else.

  `Troy.' She put a beseeching hand on his sleeve. 'Please don't make me go to Theros just now. I don't feel like meeting anyone, and I don't think I could cope with Eleni at the moment.'

  `That is nonsense,' he said coldly. 'Aunt Sofia will treat you like a mother, and Eleni will at least give you something else to think about than your own grief. If you remain here, pethi mou, you will simply brood yourself into illness. That will do no good either to yourself or your father's memory. Now I advise you to go and start your packing.

  `Very well,' she yielded listlessly. 'I suppose I have no choice anyway.'

  `Very little,' he said, smiling grimly.

  As she prepared for bed that night, Lacey realised that this was probably the last night she would ever spend in this room—perhaps even in this house. She knew that her father's will had left the bulk of his property, including Kings Winston, to Michelle and she could not imagine her stepmother wanting to retain the property. She had never cared for country life after all. Climbing into bed, she gave a long, quivering sigh and buried her face in her pillow. It seemed that all her ties with her old way of life were being irrevocably cut one after another. While her father had lived, she had at least had an element of stability, of comforting sameness to rely on. Now all she had was a husband who was still a relative stranger to her, and a new home

  in the alien surroundings of a Greek island.

  Since her father's death, she had not been able to shed a single tear. She had even remained dry-eyed at his graveside, but now fear and uncertainty about the future, allied to her real sense of loss, overwhelmed her, and with a shuddering sob she abandoned herself to her grief.

  'Oh, Daddy, Daddy,' she whispered brokenly, as the tears rained down unchecked.

  She was too immersed in her sorrow to hear her door open, and the first indication she had that she was not alone was Troy's voice close beside her, sharply repeating her name. She lifted her head from the pillow and stared up at him, her pale face drenched and stained with tears.

  'Wh—what are you doing here?'

  'I have come every night to make sure you were sleeping,' he said. 'But eventually this had to happen, I suppose.' He sat down wearily on the edge of the bed and gathered her into his arms. 'Have your cry out, pethi mou. It isn't good to be too brave always.'

  A long time after her long, quivering sobs had finally died away, she stayed quietly, her wet face pressed against his chest, warm through the thin silk of his dressing gown. At last she felt him stir, as if to move away, and a sudden feeling of alarm, almost desolation, gripped her.

  'Troy,' she murmured, a slight catch lingering in her voice. 'Don't go yet—please. Don't leave me.'

  No,' he said, his voice oddly husky. 'I shan't leave you, my sweet one.'

  She heard the faint rustle as his dressing gown slid to the floor in the darkness and then he was lying beside her, the warmth of his body igniting a fire in her own. For a moment she was tense, as she realised too late what her need for comfort had invited, then his mouth covered hers and his hands began to move, caressingly, expertly on her body so that fear and doubt, even the sharpness of grief, began to recede under this torrent of strange, new emotion that he could evoke in her. She was bewildered by the fierceness of her own desire, by this wild sweet urgency which transcended everything—even the inevitable pain of her first surrender.

  As she lay in his arms afterwards, she heard him whisper, Yineka mou.'

  She looked up at him, drowsy-eyed. 'What does that mean?'

  'It means—my wife.' He bent and kissed her with a warm possessiveness that once she would have resented.

  `I suppose you will want me to learn the Greek for "husband",' she said sleepily.

  `Among other things.' He gave a soft laugh. 'I think you will be an apt pupil, my sweet one. Now you must sleep. You have a long journey ahead of you tomorrow.'

  At his words, all thoughts of slumber deserted Lacey.

  She sat up, staring at him in growing indignation. `You mean—you're still going to send me away?' `Of course,' he said calmly. 'Why not?'

  `I should have thought it would have been obvious why not.' Lacey's cheeks grew warm. 'Doesn't—what happened —tonight mean anything to you?'

  `That is a foolish question,' he said flatly. `Do you think this has been an easy decision for me?'

  `I don't know what to think,' she said furiously. 'Oh, God, I wish I'd never let you touch me!'

  `Our relationship was hardly as one-sided as you wish to imply,' he said drily. He sat up, his eyes hardening as he looked at her. 'But this alters nothing, Lacey. I have other responsibilities and I cannot afford the sort of distraction that you would present. I am sorry.'

  `I'm sorry too.' She moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. 'I hadn't realised of course that all I would be was—a distraction. But .I suppose that's all I am to you —a plaything to be pushed aside when you're tired of the game. Just another in the long line of girls you've taken to bed. The fact that you've actually married me is immaterial, of course.'

  'It may not be,' he said grimly. 'You may find the fact of our marriage entitles you to a good 'hiding. Whatever my life has been in the past, it does not concern you. It is over, and you are the only woman in my life.'

  `Until the novelty wears off,' she flung at him, hurt and wanting to hurt in return.

  The sardonic smile she hated flickered for a moment on his mouth.

  'But while I am here and you are on Theros, it will not wear off so quickly—for either of us,' he said lightly, and got out of bed, stretching indolently before he bent to pick up his robe.

  Stormily Lacey flung herself over, burying her head in the pillow, and she heard him laugh as he left her.

  Even when she was alone, she could still hardly believe it was true. That she had given herself to him, and he had taken all that she had to offer and yet was still bent on the same course as before as if he had been entirely unaffected by their coming together.

  She felt hot with shame as she remembered how eagerly she had responded to him. Her low emotional state, her need for comfort had made her an easy conquest, she told herself contemptuously. But in her heart, she knew it was not that simple, that even without the fierce luxury of tears to arouse her, she would have wanted him as soon as soon as his body touched hers. She had known on her wedding night that her capitulation was inevitable, had glimpsed the demands that passion might make of her. Now she was confronted with the reality and she was shaken by the capacity for desire that his expert lovemaking had revealed in her.

  But she had been naive to imagine that their brief time together had aroused similar feelings in him. In fact, if she was honest with herself, he had probably found her total inexperience boring. It was a hurtful thought, but it had to be faced. If he felt as she did, then he could not send her away in the morning, she told herself, bitterness striking at her again.

  She was still resentful when she walked into the dining room the next morning and found her husband and Stephanos deep in a low-voiced conversation that ceased on her entrance.

  'Oh.' She checked tautly on the threshold. 'Am I interrupting something?'

  Troy sighed, rising and holding the chair for her to be

  seated. 'Don't be tiresome, pethi mou,' he advised succinctly. 'Shall I ring for fresh coffee?'

  `No, thank you.' Lacey repressed a grimace as she poured out the remains of the lukewarm brew in the tall silver pot and, took a cautious sip
, aware of her husband's sardonic gaze. In his dark city suit, with his immaculate white shirt, he seemed totally alien to the lover whose lips and hands had wrought such havoc with her senses only a few hours before. In this daytime guise, he was more the arrogant stranger who had married her as an additional clause in a contract, and easier to hate.

  Stephanos leaned forward and addressed her with a friendly smile. 'Is this your first visit to Greece, Mrs Andreakis?'

  `Yes,' she replied bleakly, and saw Troy send her a frowning glance.

  `Then you have a treat in store,' Stephanos said encouragingly. `Theros is very beautiful at this time of the year.'

  `So is England,' she said stiffly, and there was an awkward pause.

  `But you will be glad to see your new home,' Stephanos persevered.

  Lacey put down her cup and looked at him. 'Let's be quite clear about this, Mr Lindos,' she said crisply. 'I don't know why you're making this journey today, but I'm going because I've been ordered to, and I'm going under protest.'

  `Lacey!' Troy's face was dark with anger, but she went on recklessly.

  `Wouldn't you like to protest, Mr Lindos? Isn't having to escort your employer's wife across Europe rather a menial task for someone in your position? I'm sure it doesn't fall within your normal scope of duties.'

  `Perhaps not.' Stephanos pushed his chair back and rose. `But, Kyria Lacey, Troy is not just my employer. He is also my good friend and I am happy to perform this service for him. Escorting you is my privilege, not my duty. And now I will go and make sure that our luggage has been brought down.' And he left the room.

  Lacey swallowed, very conscious that her moment of de-

  fiancé had passed, and had achieved very little. She glanced unwillingly in her husband's direction and his eyes blazed into hers.

  'I hope you are satisfied,' he said harshly. `In future you will kindly ensure that any disagreements we may have remain our private concern. I will have no one else, friend or stranger, involved or embarrassed. Is that clear?'

  `Perfectly.' She stared back at him. 'I just didn't want your friend to be under any false impressions about our journey.'

  `Nor about your manners, obviously.' He paused for a moment. 'Bad behaviour will not force a change of heart in me, Lacey, any more than bribery.'

  `Bribery?' Her frown was puzzled. 'What do you mean?'

  His smile was not pleasant. 'Are you saying that charming interlude last night was not intended to persuade me to let you remain in England?'

  The hot colour flooded into her cheeks. She sat gazing at him, suddenly mute, unable to think what to say, how to defend herself.

  `Poor Lacey,' he said mockingly. 'What a sacrifice—and all in vain.'

  She wanted to scream at him, to reach out and claw his face, but she forced herself to self-control, even managed a tight smile to mask her humiliation.

  `But at least I shall know better than to make the same mistake again,' she said, achieving the exact degree of carelessness she wanted. -

  Something seemed to come and go in his eyes, but the impression was so fleeting she decided she had imagined it.

  `I hope you apply the same wisdom to all our dealings,' he drawled, then got up abruptly and walked out of the room. Lacey remained where she was. Her heart thudded and her palms felt moist. So he imagined that last night had been merely an act, designed to obtain her own way. That was his estimation of the precious gift she had made him. She shook her head almost blindly. And what of the part he himself had played—the controlled gentleness, the intuitiveness that he had brought to her initiation? Had he been merely cynical, acting the role of the tender bride-

  groom? She pushed back her chair and got up, pressing a hand to the sudden throb of pain in her throat.

  She heard a sound behind her and turned to see Mrs Osborne waiting in the doorway.

  'I'm sorry, Miss Lacey. I though everyone had finished.'

  'We have,' Lacey forced herself to complete self-control. 'I must go and say my goodbyes. Is—Lady Vernon in her room?'

  'Yes, miss.' Lacey sensed the disapproval in the quiet reply. Mrs Osborne hesitated a moment, then blurted out, 'Miss Lacey—do you know what's going to happen? Will her ladyship keep the house on? There are all sorts of rumours, and the staff don't know what to think.'

  Lacey bit her lip. 'I'm just as much in the dark as you are, Mrs Osborne, but I'm afraid—very much afraid that the house will be sold.'

  Glancing at the older woman, she saw the glint of tears in her eyes.

  'I'm sorry, Miss Lacey.' Mrs Osborne gulped slightly. 'It's all been such a shock, that's all. You getting married, then poor Sir James going like that. And now it looks as if we shall all have to look for new posts. I've been here for fifteen years and it will be a wrench, having to work for other people.'

  Lacey was touched. She put her hand gently on Mrs Osborne's arm.

  'But if the house is sold, then the new family will need a housekeeper. You need never look for another job, I'm sure, Ossie dear.' She paused and said awkwardly, 'If you need a reference—or any of the staff—and you don't like to ask Lady Vernon, then do write to me. I'd be more than happy ...' She stopped, not knowing how to go on, realising that Mrs Osborne was crying openly now. She kissed her cheek, gave her a brief hug, and went out of the room. Her mood was sombre as she climbed the stairs and made her way towards Michelle's room. It was no use appealing to her stepmother on behalf of the staff, she realised. Michelle tolerated the people who worked for her for as long as they were useful and efficient. As soon as either of these functions ceased, she would be quite ruthless. Probably

  only Barbara, her maid, would survive the break-up of the household, she thought ruefully.

  She had half expected that Michelle would still be in bed, but her stepmother was up, and standing by the window in the tiny, exquisitely decorated sitting room that adjoined her bedroom: She swung round as Lacey entered the room and her eyes narrowed as they went over her. She was smoking a cigarette in quick, nervous puffs and Lacey saw that her face looked drawn and haggard.

  Lacey came to a halt a few feet away, feeling gauche as she usually did under her stepmother's scrutiny. The awkwardness of their last conversation still lingered, as she said quietly, 'I've come to say goodbye, Michelle.'

  `And to be wished bon voyage, sans doute.'

  Lacey looked at her levelly. 'You're not obliged to wish me anything you don't mean,' she said.

  Michelle laughed, a soft almost excited sound. 'Oh, I shall not injure my conscience by wishing you a safe journey, ma petite, believe me. Indeed, you have my sympathy—all that way with only the dull but worthy Stephanos for company. Your husband cannot be very ardent, ma mie, to allow you so far out of his sight so soon after your wedding.'

  The words were honeyed, but there was malice, bitter as gall, underlying them and Lacey felt herself flinch.

  She raised her chin and looked defiantly at her stepmother. 'But journeys end in lovers' meetings, Michelle. Isn't that what they say? And now I must be going. It's a fair drive to the airport. Goodbye.'

  Michelle smiled, but to Lacey's relief made no attempt either to kiss her or take her hand.

  `Au revoir, ma fine,' she murmured, an odd smile quirking the corners of her mouth before she turned away to resume her former stance at the window.

  Troy was waiting at the foot of the stairs as Lacey descended, his face a dark mask.

  `The car is loaded and Stephanos is waiting,' he said.

  'I'm quite ready,' she assured him quietly, and made to move past him to the open front door, but he halted her, his hand on her arm lightly but inflexibly.

  `Have you nothing to say to me?' he asked.

  `Nothing you would care to hear.' She tried to pull her arm free, but his grip tightened, and she was pulled swiftly but inexorably against the hardness of his body.

  `Then say nothing.' He bent and his mouth claimed hers in a slow, erotic onslaught on her senses that drove the strength from her legs and h
ad her clinging to him helplessly, her fingers twined round the lapels of his coat. When he raised his head, she went on leaning against him, her green eyes enormous in her small pale face, her bruised lips still parted as she sought to steady her breathing.

  She heard him laugh softly, derisively, but whether he derided her or himself she could not decide.

  'Almost you tempt me,' he murmured. 'But I must let you go. Herete, yineka mou. Try not to forget me.'

  Almost mechanically she went out of the house and down the steps to the car where the driver waited by the open door to help her in. She leaned back on the thickly padded 'seat, letting Stephanos' softly voiced queries about her comfort wash over her, forcing herself not to look back as the car purred into life and started off smoothly down the drive.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  LACEY opened her eyes to a pattern of vines dancing on a sun-drenched wall and lay for a moment assimilating her surroundings and wondering what had woken her.

  She had arrived on Theros the previous evening, too tired and too miserable from the sudden attack of sickness that she had experienced on the short helicopter flight from Corfu to notice very much about the villa.

  Miss Andreakis, Troy's Aunt Sofia, had been there, a tall, rather frail-looking woman dressed in the inevitable black, who had greeted Lacey in good but heavily accented English. There had also been several young girls in the hall of the villa, but they had turned out to be servants come to peep at their new mistress. When Lacey had asked rather timidly if she was to meet Eleni, Miss Andreakis had burst into a flood of agitated Greek, accompanied by much hand-waving. Stephanos, his eyes twinkling alightly, had interpreted that the child of wickedness had gone from the villa, without permission, and had not been seen all day. Lacey wondered whether it was the news of her own arrival that had driven Eleni to flight and thought it did not augur well for their future relationship.