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What if I stay anyway? We have an agreement. It doesn’t say Sylvester has to like, or even tolerate, me.
The thought made her straighten her shoulders. Could she spend the next few weeks on his beautiful island and enjoy the luxury of this house without having to spend time with her host? Accept this sanctuary as a much-needed breathing space from which to plan her next steps? If she could hang on to that remaining money, it might just get her a plane ticket to Europe. A new life could be within her grasp. All she needed to do was to be Sylvester’s invisible guest for the next month. It seemed like a plan. As far as she could see, there was only one problem with her idea...
Dinner was at eight.
Chapter 3 (#ua57f949a-2487-573a-96b1-8e6c15eb1c1c)
Mindful of Mr. Reynolds’s comments, Connie had dutifully purchased some new clothes. She had been reluctant, however, to spend too much of the cash he had given her on expensive outfits. Those crisp notes were her insurance policy, the cushion between her and the harsh reality of a job scrubbing floors. She wasn’t going to part with a single one of those dollar bills for frivolous reasons unless she absolutely had to. So the week between her meeting with Mr. Reynolds and her journey to Corazón had been spent visiting vintage clothing stores and dressmaking outlets.
Connie’s mother had been a talented seamstress, with an eye for color and style. After her husband’s death, she had supplemented her income by doing alterations and making clothes for friends, including one who had won a luxury cruise holiday. Once the excitement about the prize had died down, a panic about purchasing expensive cocktail dresses on a limited budget had followed.
“What you need—” Connie could hear her mother’s calm voice as if it was yesterday “—is a few simple, neutral gowns. Then you change the trimmings on them so people are fooled into thinking you’re wearing a new dress each time.”
She had demonstrated by swiftly pinning a length of cream silk around her friend. One minute it was decorated with a spray of tiny crystal flowers curling lovingly over one shoulder; the next, two rows of diamanté decorated the scooped neckline. “Two different dresses. You see?”
For that first dinner Connie chose a white gown of Grecian simplicity, in a draped style that left one shoulder bare. When it came to hair and makeup, she knew she wouldn’t be able to compete with Lucinda’s expensive sophistication. Shrugging, she decided she would have to rely on the novelty of simplicity instead. Arranging the glossy length of her hair in a single thick plait over her exposed shoulder, she finished the look with a touch of coral lip gloss.
Simplicity seemed to work. When she appeared in the doorway of the salon, every eye turned her way. Guthrie actually did her the honor of choking slightly on his drink. Lucinda looked thunderous but, for once, had nothing to say. Instead she rearranged the folds of her designer gown and patted her immaculately styled hair before whispering behind her hand to the woman who sat beside her.
“You look stunning,” Matt said, coming forward to greet Connie.
“Stunning in a good way?” She winced at how needy the words sounded. Four years ago she had made a vow never to cover up the scars on her neck. They were proof that she was a survivor. But on a night like tonight—wearing a dress that attracted rather than deflected attention—she needed all the reassurance she could get.
“Definitely in a good way.” He guided her into the room. “Let me introduce you to Ellie and Jonathan Carter, who must, like else everyone in the room, be some sort of distant cousins of ours.”
Ellie, Connie was relieved to note, was considerably less threatening to look at than Lucinda. Connie judged her to be a couple years older than herself and she had a chatty manner and bright eyes that missed nothing. Ellie explained she was a New Yorker, born and bred. She was also unmarried.
Jonathan was her older brother. Tall and handsome, with dark hair and penetrating green eyes, he was quiet to the point of taciturnity. Ellie informed Connie that he worked for a firm of accountants, but he was also an aspiring author. Jonathan, who seemed annoyed his sister had shared this personal information with a complete stranger, moved away to look at the view out the window.
“The news of the moment is that Sylvester will be joining us anytime now.” Ellie clearly had no idea of the heart-dropping effect those words had on Connie.
A light step outside was the signal they had all been listening for. A laughing, masculine voice responded to something Vega was saying and then Sylvester stepped into the room. He paused on the doorstep, those brilliant eyes scanning the company.
Connie willed herself to remain outwardly calm, despite the fact her heartbeat was thundering in her ears. Thinking fast, she placed her glass on a nearby side table so no one would notice and comment on the sudden trembling of her hands.
Sylvester’s eyes seemed to linger on each face. Except hers. He didn’t even glance in Connie’s direction. Yet she knew, just knew with a certainty that branded itself into her heart, that he was as intensely aware of her as she was of him. You can’t possibly know that. She tried to force her rational self to take over, to stop this nonsense now. You are trying to make this into something it’s not. It was no good. Whatever this force was that existed between her and Sylvester, the very air between them shimmered with the ferocity of it.
“What sort of dreadful host arrives after his guests have assembled? I do hope you’ll forgive me.” Sylvester’s easy charm was legendary. Up close, it was devastating. In an instant the whole room was his to command. Connie was immediately aware of the strangeness of the phrase. Why would he want the sort of power that allows him to command us? It was a long time since she’d drunk alcohol and a few sips of Guthrie’s potent rum punch were clearly sending her imagination into overdrive. Water for you from now on, my girl. If only she could do something about the equally forceful impact of Sylvester’s presence. “Vega tells me dinner is ready.”
He led them into a long, hacienda-style dining room. The arched, full-length windows were open onto the terrace, allowing them views over the beach. A light breeze wafted the mingled scents of mimosa flowers, citrus and the tang of the sea into the room. Connie couldn’t help contrasting this elegant scene with years of eating takeaway meals, or sometimes nothing at all, alone in a meager room, while planning her next one-step-ahead-of-the-madman journey. Would she take luxury and tension over poverty and terror? She almost laughed aloud at the stupidity of her own question.
Sylvester took his place at the head of the table and immediately started a conversation about sailing with Ellie, who was on his right. Lucinda was quick to claim the seat on his left. Connie moved to a chair as far away from Sylvester as possible. She was glad to look up and receive an encouraging smile from Matt as he slid into the seat opposite her.
Guthrie was next to Connie, and she was surprised to learn he and Lucinda were twins. She wondered why on earth he allowed himself to be bullied by her and supposed it must be a habit that had started in the womb.
Vega’s food was delicious. Made with fresh ingredients, each dish was well cooked and plentiful. For Connie, who had spent plenty of time wondering where her next meal was coming from, it was heavenly. As she ate, Connie found her ears tuning out Guthrie’s comments and listening, almost with a will of their own, to the conversation going on beyond him at the head of the table.
“Whatever have you done to your hand?” Ellie asked as Sylvester struggled to cut his food.
“Didn’t you hear?” Lucinda cut in before Sylvester could speak. “Cousin Sylvester was so shocked by the appearance of some of our little group that he crushed his wineglass in his hand.”
Connie risked a glance at Sylvester’s face. It was impassive, but there was a flash of something in those blue eyes that might have been anger. He turned to Ellie. “Lucinda is joking, of course. I have nothing to blame for my injury other than my own clumsiness.” His voice was dismissive and Connie got the distinct impression he was making an effort not to look in her direction as he spoke. Perhaps he was able to convince himself that what he said was true. She knew better, and so did everyone else who had been present at the time.
Determinedly, Connie turned back to Guthrie. She had made a pact with herself to keep her distance from Sylvester. She should probably include eavesdropping on his conversation as part of the deal. Not an easy task in a group as small as this one.
Once he was free of Lucinda’s tight rein, Guthrie proved to be surprisingly good company. He kept Connie entertained with a steady stream of anecdotes about his job as a junior manager in a convenience store chain.
His life appeared to lurch from one comical episode to another. Although he was at pains to let Connie know how invaluable he was to his company, reading between the lines she speculated about how competent he actually was. An alarming number of unfortunate incidents seemed to occur in his working life. She decided Guthrie was one of those people for whom it was always somebody else’s problem or somebody else’s fault. He consumed a remarkable amount of alcohol during the course of the meal and Connie couldn’t help wondering how much of a contribution drink made to the mishaps that befell him.
It was during the main course of Spanish-style chicken and rice that Connie’s attention, along with that of everyone else at the table, was drawn back to Sylvester as Lucinda began to question him about the history of the island.
“The word Corazón means heart in Spanish, of course.” Lucinda’s penetrating voice carried around the room. “And the island is well known for its heart-shaped coastline. So I assume that is where the name came from?”
“You assume wrong.” Although Sylvester’s tone was softer, his words were equally compelling. Other conversations stopped as they all turned to look at him. “The island’s full name is Corazón de Malicia. It means ‘malevolent heart’ or ‘heart of malice.’”
“But that’s nowhere near as pretty.” Lucinda pouted. “In fact, it makes it sound quite nasty.”
“That’s because the story of how the island came by its name is nasty.” Sylvester paused, taking a sip from his glass.
As though drawn by a force beyond his will, he looked directly at Connie for the first time since he had entered the room. And nothing else mattered. The people around them faded into insignificance. Time stilled. In that instant she could sense his feelings as clearly as she knew her own. There was no doubt in her mind. She knew his reaction on the beach had not been about the scars on her neck. This was something deeper and darker, and it was inside them both. Neither of them wanted it, yet at the same time it was unavoidable. They could be silent and reserved, avoid each other’s gaze and pretend, but when their eyes did meet—as they met now—there was no hiding place for either of them. Connie didn’t try to understand what was going on; all she knew was that when she gazed into Sylvester’s eyes her heart leaped with a combination of joy, fear and something older and unfathomable. And she never wanted to look anywhere else.
“Well, you can’t say that and then not explain!” Lucinda’s indignant exclamation had the effect of rousing Sylvester from his trance.
Connie caught a brief flash of regret in his eyes as he withdrew them from hers. Then a slightly mischievous smile touched his lips as he turned to Lucinda. “Very well, but it’s a strange tale and an old one. I can’t vouch for its truthfulness. It concerns an ancestor of mine, one Máximo Silvestre de León y Soledad.”
“Are you named after him?” Ellie asked.
The smile deepened. “Of course. The name was handed down through the generations...and Americanized in the process, of course. Máximo was the founder of our great family.”
“And is it true? Are you descended from Ponce de León himself?”
“There are no formal records, but it’s a link that has repeatedly been made. Not necessarily within my own family.”
“How amazing!” Lucinda’s eyes sparkled. “To think you can trace your family tree back to the man who discovered Florida.”
Sylvester’s smile had vanished now and his voice held a harsh note that was unlike his usual charming tone. “I prefer to think Florida was here all along and needed no discovery by the Spanish. But, back to the story of Máximo...
“Juan Ponce de León’s intention when he arrived here in 1521 was to set up a Spanish colony in La Florida, or the place of flowers, as he had named it on his earlier visit. When he arrived, he encountered a hostile reception from the native Calusa Indians. In a skirmish, Ponce de León was shot in the thigh with a poisoned arrow and, although he managed to escape to Cuba, he died of the wound. Máximo fared rather better. His life was spared by the Calusa. It was an unusual move. They were not known for their merciful nature. On the contrary, they were known to be quite savage to their enemies.”
“Is it known why they changed their habits for Máximo?” It was Matt who spoke up this time. Although he lounged back in his seat, he, like everyone else around the table, appeared to have picked up on the tense atmosphere generated by the story.
“There has been much speculation. Perhaps it was Máximo’s personal charm—according to records kept at the time, he was accounted a very charismatic man—although the ability to enchant an entire warlike tribe must have been quite an achievement.”
Watching his face as he spoke, listening to that, soft, lyrical voice, Connie could believe the Máximo of all those years ago had possessed that sort of magnetism. His descendant certainly did.
“The most popular theory is a high-ranking Calusa maiden, possibly the daughter of a chief, appealed for mercy on his behalf.”
“So Máximo was a bit of a ladies’ man?” Guthrie gave a smirk around the table.
“What makes you say that?”
Somehow, although she couldn’t say how, Connie sensed an undercurrent of anger in Sylvester’s question.
“Well, you know...”
“On the contrary. We don’t know. So let’s stick to the facts, shall we?”
Guthrie, muttering under his breath in the manner of a sulky schoolboy, subsided into his seat.
“Although we can only speculate about the reasons, Máximo lived among the Calusa for some months. It’s not clear how he parted company with them, or how he came to claim this island. One thing we do know is a curse was placed upon our family by the mother of the Calusa king. It was that curse which gives this island its name.” When Sylvester paused, the only sound was of the waves caressing the sands.
“What was the curse?” Overcoming her nerves, Connie spoke directly to Sylvester for the first time. For some reason she really needed to know the answer to that question. Her mother’s words came back to her. They are a star-crossed family. Yes, there was that. But her yearning for more went deeper. Like the pull she felt to Sylvester himself, there was something drawing her into this story.
Sylvester’s eyes returned to hers and, although she drew in a sharp breath as that electrical current of energy surged through her once more, she managed to maintain the contact. “It was in the dead language of the Calusa, but the translation was that Máximo’s descendants must forever remain pure of heart. If they do not, any drop of impurity contained within them will, from then on, be magnified a thousandfold, damning the house of de León forever. Word of the curse spread and that was how the name Corazón de Malicia came about.”
“It seems a strange curse. Why not simply condemn him to die a horrible death? Surely that would be a more effective way of dealing with him?” Matt’s finely tuned legal mind honed in on the detail.
“Revenge is a sweeter wine when sipped slowly. It seems to me the whole point of curses and hexes is to strike a fear into the soul of the receiver that lasts long after the point of contact with the person delivering it. This one certainly did that.
“Instead of Máximo’s life, the old Calusa woman took from him all he cherished. His proud name, his heritage, his status. For generations she has defiled the de León family name, sapped our strength and eroded our pride. I am branded with an island home named Heart of Malice. Each of you, just like anyone who has heard of us, will be aware of the rumors about this place.” He encompassed his house with a sweep of one hand. “It’s the same old story. I’ve lost count of the number of newspaper and magazine articles that have been written about the family who have everything. Except good fortune. You know what the press say. Don’t marry a de León...unless you want to die young.”
Connie winced. A quick glance around the table told her everyone was thinking the same thing. They were all remembering the shocking reports of car, plane and boat accidents, terminal illness, murder and suicide. How many ways could the members of one family die too soon? Fate seemed to grow ever more creative where the family was concerned. No wonder the world believed Corazón was doomed. And now Sylvester himself seemed to be providing irrefutable confirmation. This island’s beauty was a thin veneer beneath which black poison oozed.
“So the curse became a self-fulfilling prophecy that has lasted almost five hundred years?” Matt’s skeptical voice broke the mood.
“Yes. Far more effective, wouldn’t you say, than simply striking Máximo down on the spot?” Sylvester waited while the words sank in. “And now I suppose you must all be eager to discover why I have invited you—who are all de Leóns, however distant—to spend the next month here on my cursed island?”
Chapter 4 (#ua57f949a-2487-573a-96b1-8e6c15eb1c1c)
Throughout the remainder of the meal, Sylvester did his best to avoid looking in Connie’s direction. It wasn’t good for his heart rate or his self-control. Whenever he did lose the battle with his willpower and glance her way, she immediately made sure she was looking elsewhere. Once or twice she wasn’t fast enough and he caught those glorious dark eyes staring at him with a mixture of curiosity and something more. Something primeval and longing. She feels it, too! The realization sent a surge of triumph through him, like a wildfire singeing his nerve endings. Unlike him, she didn’t know what “it” was. How could she? That thought instantly quenched the fire.
His eyes were drawn to the way her hand repeatedly touched the slender column of her neck, attempting to hide the disfigurement but drawing attention to it instead. The action touched him because it lacked guile yet it told a story. She wasn’t seeking attention. She was avoiding it.
The white scars stood out in stark relief against the olive smoothness of her skin. No accident could have caused those linear marks. One scar went almost all the way across her throat from left to right. Then there were a series of other, smaller marks running parallel above and below it. Someone had taken a knife to Connie’s smooth flesh and dug it in deep. Someone, not something. His hand clenched hard on his thigh. He thought he was ready to face any challenge, but nothing could have prepared him for this. The thought came again, stronger and more despairing. Why now?
Anger flared within him. It was two-pronged, directed at the person who had wielded that weapon, but also at a fate cruel enough to twist another knife. One that was cold steel tearing at his gut because, just as everything was in place, along had come Connie Lacey to turn his orderly plans upside down.
Sylvester knew better than to let his feelings of rage spiral out of control. The de León family could never be cold-blooded. Their emotions ran deep and strong. It would be easy to blame the curse, to pass responsibility for their actions on to the story of the old Calusa woman. In the past, that was what many de Leóns had done. Because he knew what was to come, Sylvester had never allowed himself that luxury. If anything, the curse had made him keep a tighter rein on his emotions.
His awareness that the darker side of his de León personality could easily become magnified had forced him into a heightened awareness of his own faults. Quick to anger, he had learned early how to keep his temper in check. A perfectionist, he had trained himself to relax and let the details go. Impatient of idle chitchat, he had cultivated a manner that hid his intolerance under a guise of genuine interest. No one, Sylvester had determined, would ever be able to say the master of Corazón had a “heart of malice.”
Now he tightened his grip on the anger that wanted to become a frenzy. He wanted to fire questions at Connie about what had happened to cause those scars and that haunted, hunted look he saw in her eyes every now and then when she thought no one was looking at her. He also wanted to storm and rage at a set of circumstances that had brought him this dilemma.
All the pathways in his well-ordered life had been leading him here. Everything he had ever done since that first conscious memory had brought him to this point and now he was confronted with...what? Not a change of plan. That can never happen. So Sylvester kept his anger to himself, finished his meal and maintained his role as the perfect host.
Sylvester was aware his guests were all speculating on his story about the curse of Corazón. Oh, they were too polite to do so openly. The conversation over dessert was all about the weather, the Floridian cuisine, this island chain known as Corona de Perlas and the activities and sightseeing they hoped to engage in during their stay. But the undercurrent was tangible. The atmosphere had changed the moment Sylvester mentioned his reason for inviting them. Behind the polite chat, each one of them was wondering why they were here and what they could gain from their visit.
The temptation to keep them guessing a while longer was almost irresistible, but Sylvester hadn’t brought them here to toy with them. No matter how grasping the light in Lucinda’s eyes or speculative the expression in Ellie’s, they were here for a reason. He might as well get this over with.
“We’ll take coffee on the terrace, Vega,” he said when everyone had finished dessert.
The marble-tiled terrace overlooked the beach. Comfortable furnishings reflected the golds and blues of the seascape and climbing plants trailed colorful fingers over the wrought-iron balustrade. Waves washing onto the shore and the light breeze rustling in the trees provided a backdrop of sound, breaking the silence that fell over the group as they realized the time for the truth had arrived.
Sylvester noticed Connie hung back until she saw where he was sitting before deliberately taking the seat furthest from his. He felt a pang of annoyance at such obvious reticence and then dismissed it. It suited him not to have her close by. Her nearness disrupted his equilibrium, something he needed for the task he was about to undertake.
Vega took her time serving coffee and liqueurs and then, after checking she would not be needed again, left them alone.
“It must have seemed strange that I chose to invite you, a group of complete strangers, to join me in my home.” Looking around him at their faces, Sylvester could see each of them was hanging on his every word.
“We are not all strangers,” Lucinda pointed out with something approaching a pout. “Guthrie and I have met you once before, remember?”
Ignoring her comment, Sylvester continued. “I asked Arthur Reynolds, Matt’s father, who has been my trusted attorney for many years, to trace as many of my relatives as he could who were between the ages of twenty-five and thirty. They had to be of sound mind and body, have no criminal record, no dependents and no marital ties.” Sylvester smiled as he looked around. “You are the people he found who fitted those criteria and who were able to come to Corazón on the dates I had specified.”
“It did seem a little—” Ellie appeared to search for the right word “—unusual. But I thought it was a charming idea.”
You are a liar. Sylvester refrained from saying the words aloud. He wondered what her reason for being here was. Probably money. That’s what it usually came down to.
“And so to my reason for inviting you. I have decided the time has come to make my will.” There was a faint ripple of interest. Yes, I thought that might grab your attention. “I have no heir, no one to inherit Corazón or the fortune that goes with it. My reason for asking all of you here is simple. I intend to leave my estate divided between as many of you as I consider worthy of it.”
There was a brief, stunned silence, broken only by the high-pitched chipping sound of a distant osprey.
“Well!” It was Lucinda who spoke first, her voice cutting through the silence like a razor-edged knife. “I would have thought it was fairly obvious who Corazón should be left to, without any need for this drama. Guthrie and I are your nearest relatives, after all.”
“Yes, but you will note I said I wished to leave my estate to the person, or people, I consider the worthiest.” Sylvester ignored her outraged expression. “Most of you can be said to have some claim of birth, however remote.” He allowed his eyes to skim quickly over Connie. Her link was so tenuous it was almost nonexistent, but there was no need for the others to know that. “Matt is here to oversee the legalities. Being a relative himself, he is also included in my proposition.”
“I’m an employee. There is no need to include me in this,” Matt protested in embarrassment.
“There is every need, if I choose to do so.” Sylvester’s voice was smooth. “There is just one condition. It is simple and not negotiable.” Everyone went very still. Sylvester was reminded of those old black-and-white movies. This was like the scene where the detective gathers everyone together and unmasks the murderer. Cue dramatic music.
Everyone was waiting for him to continue speaking. “In order to be included in this proposal, you must remain here at Corazón, as my guests, until my thirtieth birthday in thirty days’ time. Those of you who are still here to raise a glass on that day will be named in my will as my heirs and will inherit an equal share in my fortune. As for the island itself, I will leave that to the individual I decide is worthiest of it.”
“Seems a decent arrangement,” Guthrie said. “I, for one, am quite happy to live in the lap of luxury at your expense for the next few weeks, Sylvester.”
“I thought you might be.” Sylvester kept his voice perfectly even, although his eyes dropped briefly to the empty liqueur glass in Guthrie’s hand.
“But you’ve said people tell such strange stories about Corazón.” Lucinda cast a theatrical glance over her shoulder at the dark beach. “How do we know we will be safe here?”
“If you have the slightest fear about staying under my roof, you have only to say the word and Roberto will have the launch at your disposal within the next half an hour.” Sylvester’s words cast a hush over the terrace. His meaning was clear. Stay and risk the hidden dangers that are rumored to lurk within these heart-shaped shores. Go and forfeit your share of a fortune.
The atmosphere changed in that instant. It had become a competition.
* * *
After dropping his bombshell, Sylvester went away, leaving his guests on the terrace. His departure provoked a storm of conversation, one from which Connie remained detached. She didn’t feel part of this strange arrangement, so she didn’t feel she had any right to comment. Or maybe her inclination and willpower weren’t strong enough to insert herself into the storm.
“It’s ridiculous,” Lucinda was saying sulkily. “And probably illegal.”
“If my father is advising Sylvester, it’s certainly not illegal,” Matt commented. For some reason, his words didn’t seem to reassure Lucinda.
