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‘Your own place?’
‘Of course. Reconstructed from the remains of a fourteenth century monastery.’
Her eyes lit with interest. ‘Really?’
‘And truly,’ he mocked. ‘Not that you’ll find any ghosts from the past still in residence. They were all driven out by the clamour of modern machinery.’
‘You planned the restoration yourself?’
‘With the invaluable aid of an architect friend who was able to tell me what was and wasn’t possible. It was finished three years ago, so the new stonework has weathered in. I employed a landscaping company to design the grounds surrounding it.’
‘Does your family live in the same area?’
‘The Dos Santos estates are in the Douro Valley. Beautiful, but too isolated for my tastes. There’s more than one branch of the family surviving,’ he added, anticipating her next question.
‘My father’s cousin has land adjoining. There are relatives on the island of Madeira too. They own several hotels there.’
‘So you’re not the only one who chose to go into business rather than sit around enjoying the fruits of inheritance?’ Leonie remarked lightly.
The comment drew a quirk to his lips. ‘A very poetic way of putting it, though correct in essence. I leave the latter way of life to my cousins.’
Leonie would have liked to know more, but the warning flags were out. She would be doing herself no favours by delving any deeper into the life of a man she was unlikely to be seeing after today.
The thought alone brought a rare despondency. He came across as so very different from the image she’d formed via media reports. She was drawn to him in more than just the physical sense.
They left the boat at Greenwich, and took a taxi back to where they’d left the car. By then Leonie was even less inclined to call time on the day. She’d never gone short of male attention, but none of the men she’d met had radiated the same charm. Vidal made her feel she was the one person in the whole world he wanted to be with. Deep down, she knew it was all part of his technique, but she turned a deaf ear to the cautionary voices.
Drinks in a Mayfair wine bar, followed by an invitation to dinner in his hotel suite, made his intentions clear enough, but she chose to follow the same reckless path, driven by an inner, irresistible need. Life was for living. With a man like Vidal, the experience could only be good.
The suite was sumptuous, the food superbly prepared, the conversation scintillating. They ate out on the balcony, finishing off the meal with brandies.
Feeling positively euphoric, Leonie got up and went to the balustrade to look out over the sparkling panorama. ‘“When a man is tired of London, he is tired of life”,’ she quoted softly.
‘Samuel Johnson knew a very different London, I think,’ Vidal observed. He was at her back, hands sliding about her waist to draw her closer, lips parting the hair at her nape to nuzzle the tender skin. ‘The night is beautiful, but you surpass it,’ he murmured. ‘Eu quero, meu querido!’
Leonie had taken off her jacket earlier. The thin blouse she was wearing beneath offered little defence against the hands now sliding up to cup her breasts. She felt her nipples peak beneath the gentle caressing motion of his thumbs, a shudder run the whole length of her body. A core of heat rose from some central spot, radiating outwards to encompass her whole being. She felt as if she were floating, her legs too weak to support her.
Vidal turned her towards him, face dark but for the glitter in his eyes as he bent his head to find her lips. The kiss was a revelation, drawing an instant and overwhelming response. She could feel his heat, the burgeoning hardness against her thighs. He’d removed his jacket too. The fine silk of his shirt moulded to the muscularity beneath, emphasising every masculine line.
‘Come,’ he said softly.
It was only then, as he took her hand to lead her back indoors, that she began to come to her senses. This was nothing new to him. Nothing special, the way it was for her. She was just another easy lay—another notch on his bedpost.
He turned his head to view her in some surprise as she pulled sharply free of him. ‘Is there something wrong?’ he asked
‘I’m no one-night-stand!’ she jerked out
Dark brows drew together. ‘Is that how you believe I see you?’
‘Well, isn’t it?’ she challenged. ‘You had this in mind from the first, didn’t you?’
‘I was under the impression that we both of us knew where we were heading,’ he returned levelly. ‘You gave me no cause to doubt it up until now.’
Leonie felt the warmth run up under skin. She sought refuge from the truth in anger. ‘You take too much for granted! I accepted an invitation to dinner. I didn’t realise I’d be called on to pay for it in kind.’
Vidal viewed her in silence for a moment or two, a deep down spark in his eyes the only indication of emotion. ‘I apologise for the error,’ he said at last. ‘I thought you a woman of the world.’
She’d gone out of her way to give that impression, Leonie had to admit. Anger gave way to shame for a moment. The fault was more hers than his.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said thickly. ‘I got a little carried away. I’m not in the habit of it, believe me.’
The expression that crossed the sculpted features was difficult to define. ‘You were right,’ he said. ‘I do take far too much for granted. Perhaps we might begin again?’
Leonie shook her head, ousting temptation before it could swamp her. ‘I really don’t see any point. We come from different worlds. I’ll stick to my own in future.’
‘Your choice, of course.’ Vidal indicated the open glass doors, face impassive now. ‘I’ll order you a taxi.’
Leonie went ahead of him back into the room, steeling herself to stay in control as she watched him pick up the telephone.
‘It will be waiting for you,’ he said, replacing the receiver. ‘Charged to my account.’
No doubt an arrangement of long standing, she thought. ‘I can pay for my own transport,’ she declared stiffly.
He inclined his head. ‘You must naturally do as you see fit.’
He came over to pick up the jacket she’d tossed over a chair-back before dinner, holding it out for her to slide her arms into. She did so as smoothly and swiftly as possible, vitally aware of his closeness, and of her hammering pulses. If she’d carried on the act a little longer they would have been in bed by now, with the question of right or wrong purely academic. It took everything she had to restrain the urge to throw caution aside.
Vidal saw her to the suite’s outer door. It was still impossible to read anything in the dark eyes as she met them for the final time.
‘It was an enjoyable day,’ he said.
‘But a disappointing night,’ she responded, determined not to give way to any last-minute wavering.
The smile was unexpected. ‘No matter. Sleep well, namorado.’
What the last meant, Leonie had no idea. Nor did she care to ask. She heard the door close as she made for the lifts.
Crossing the hotel lobby was an ordeal in itself. She was certain that the receptionists on duty were watching her every step. The taxi was waiting, as promised. She gave the address and slid inside, grateful for the closed glass partition precluding any conversation. It was going to be a costly ride all the way out to Northwood, but she had no intention of crying off from paying—even if it did probably mean that the driver would gain double fare.
It was close on midnight when she reached home. As anticipated, her offer of the metered charge wasn’t rejected. Her father came out from the study as she let herself in, his expression only too easy to read.
‘You didn’t go back to your office this afternoon,’ he said.
Leonie donned a smile, a light tone. ‘No. Vidal fancied a trip on the river. We had dinner together too.’
‘Just dinner?’
‘Just dinner,’ she assured him, smothering any resentment at the catechism. ‘He’s been the perfect gentleman.’
Stuart looked relieved. ‘Good. It isn’t that I don’t trust you to keep a steady head,’ he hastened to add. ‘I was just a little concerned that he might attempt to take advantage, that’s all.’
‘Well, he didn’t.’ She could say that with truth, considering the way he’d accepted the rejection. A first for him too, she didn’t doubt. ‘I’m going straight up,’ she declared, stifling a spurious yawn.
‘I’ll be up myself in a few minutes,’ Stuart returned.
Leonie kissed his cheek in passing, mounting the stairs feeling anything but happy. She’d probably turned down the experience of her life tonight, and for what? Hanging fire for Mr Right was all very well in theory, but what if he never turned up?
She spent a restless night, rising to a day that held little sparkle. The more she thought about the previous night, the more gauche she felt. She’d acted like some naïve teenager rather than a grown woman. Vidal must consider her totally immature.
Was it too late, she wondered, to contact him and apologise for giving the wrong impression? She had no idea what his itinerary was, but he’d still be in his suite at this hour. She wanted desperately to see him again. He was like no other man she had ever met. So what if he did have a reputation? At thirty-three, and single, he was hardly going to live like a monk. They’d been so well attuned until she’d come over all moral. Given the opportunity, the relationship might even have developed into something worthwhile.
She was still grappling with the temptation when she went down to breakfast. Her father was reading the morning newspaper.
‘I think you should see this,’ he said, handing a sheet over as she took her seat at the table. ‘Just in case there’s any doubt remaining.’
The photograph leapt out at her: Vidal, resplendent in evening dress, alongside a young and beautiful woman who looked vaguely familiar. According to the accompanying write-up Vidal had refused to accept responsibility for the child she’d recently given birth to, leaving her with a ruined modelling career, and destitute. She didn’t believe in abortion, she claimed plaintively. All she’d ever asked from him was support.
Leonie swallowed thickly on the lump in her throat. Knowing him for a philanderer was one thing; this was something else. What kind of man turned his back on his own child?
‘I wasn’t planning on seeing him again,’ she said.
‘Good.’ Stuart sounded relieved. ‘He’ll be gone in a couple of days, anyway. He never spends long in any place.’
His name wasn’t mentioned again.
Leonie did her best to cast him from her mind altogether—failing because her body refused to play ball. She could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers, the touch of his hands on her skin; still smell the emotive masculine scent of him. She despised herself for the weakness.
The day went by slowly. Emerging from the office at five-thirty to see Vidal leaning against the bonnet of a silver Mercedes was a shock that left her momentarily speechless. She could only gaze at him, aware of the interest aroused in those around her as he straightened.
‘I remembered you mentioning your company name,’ he said. ‘I need to speak with you.’
‘About what?’ she asked, recovering enough of her poise to achieve a reasonable control of her voice.
He had to be conscious of the spectators, but his attention never wavered from her face, an amber spark deep down in his eyes. ‘Not here.’
Not anywhere with you! she thought, but the words failed to materialise. ‘I really don’t see the point,’ she heard herself saying instead.
‘Indulge me,’ he said.
Leonie hesitated, reluctant to cause further speculation among the onlookers by walking away as her every instinct advised. They would all know who he was, of course. His face had been splashed across too many papers and screens for them not to know. She was going to be faced with a barrage of questions tomorrow, regardless, but it would call for less explanation if she simply went with him now.
He took the hesitation itself as agreement, turning back to open the front passenger door. Leonie slid into the leather seat, reaching automatically for the belt as Vidal moved round the front of the car to gain the driving seat.
‘You’re parked on double yellow lines,’ she said.
‘I know,’ he answered. ‘There are times when the law has to be broken.’
He forced a passage out into the traffic stream, ignoring the furious hooting. Leonie stole a glance at him, unable to do anything about the toe-curling impact. It was unfair that one man should be given so much in the way of looks.
What he could possibly have to say to her she had no idea. Another apology, perhaps, for taking too much for granted last night—even though he’d had some cause. It seemed unlikely, yet she could think of no other explanation for his looking her up. Not that it would make the least bit of difference to her view of him after reading what she’d read this morning.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked as he turned onto Park Lane.
‘My suite,’ he said, jerking her upright.
‘If you think…’
‘I’m not about to repeat last night’s error in judgement,’ he declared. ‘What I have to say to you requires privacy.’ He shook his head as she made to speak. ‘This is neither the time nor the place to discuss it.’
He was right about that, she had to admit. The evening traffic was heavy, road sense in short supply. A driver needed no distractions. She subsided again reluctantly, even more confused.
They made the square eventually. Vidal drove straight down into the hotel’s underground car park. Another couple joined them in the lift. Leonie saw the way the woman looked at Vidal, then back at her own partner, as if comparing the two. Not that there was any comparison.
The other two got out at the fourth floor, leaving them to ascend to the fifth in a silence Leonie had no intention of being the first to break. She would listen to whatever it was he had to say, but he wasn’t going to sway her opinion of him. Certainly not after that morning’s revelations.
It was gone six-thirty by her watch when they reached the suite. She’d told her father she’d be going straight home tonight, though she rarely made it before seven. She’d give him a ring as soon as she got out of here, she promised herself. He tended to worry if she failed to put in an appearance when she’d said she would, imagining all kinds of mishaps. A leftover from her childhood days.
Vidal invited her to take a seat, lifting his shoulders in a philosophical shrug when she declined. Dressed today in trousers and a fine white cotton sweater, dark hair showing a hint of curl in its thickness, he was achingly alluring. Leonie steeled herself to stay on top of the emotions he still aroused in her.
‘So?’ she said.
A smile touched his lips as he surveyed her. ‘You remind me of a stag at bay,’ he said. ‘Ready to do me damage should I make one false move. You need have no fear. I’m willing to wait.’
Green eyes fired a whole shower of sparks. ‘You’ll be wasting your time!’
‘It’s mine to waste,’ he returned. ‘Not that I intend a lengthy engagement.’
The wind taken completely out of her sails, Leonie gazed at him blankly. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Our marriage,’ he said. ‘I want you to be my wife.’
Leonie knew a sudden urge to laugh. Pure hysteria, she thought dazedly. From last night to this was too much of a jump for her mind to make.
‘What kind of game are you playing now?’ she got out.
‘I’m not in the habit of playing games,’ he said. ‘Certainly not of this nature. I’ve waited a long time to meet a woman I could contemplate spending my life with. A woman who values herself enough to overcome her more basic urges. You wanted me last night in exactly the same way that I wanted you, but you refused to give way. You never have, have you?’
Leonie felt her face flame. ‘That’s none of your business!’
Vidal smiled and shook his head. ‘It’s very much my business. My wife must have known no other man. It’s one Dos Santos tradition I’ve no quarrel with. I’d prefer a quiet wedding. And as soon as can be managed.’ The dark eyes acquired a tawny spark again as he studied her. ‘I found last night frustrating enough.’
Leonie found her voice, amazed by its steadiness. ‘Does the word love figure in your vocabulary at all?’
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Though perhaps not the “at first sight” kind written about in books. The real kind takes time and knowledge to develop.’
He paused, a faint line appearing between his brows as he waited for some response from her. ‘Do you have nothing to say to me?’
She drew a deep shuddery breath, fighting a sudden mad inclination to simply go along with it all. ‘I’ve got plenty to say,’ she forced out. ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on earth!’
