"Oh, he believes it, all right! It's partly my fault," she admitted miserably. "At first, when I wanted to hold him off, I let him think that I—I was frightened because I'd been mistreated. I've tried since then to explain to him, but he simply won't listen; he refuses to talk about my 'past affairs' and he's furious because I won't go to bed with him—" She stopped, aghast at what she had blurted out to his mother, but Madame Constantinos gave her a startled look, then burst into a peal of laughter.
"Yes, I can imagine that would make him wild, because he has his father's temperament." She chuckled. "So, you must convince my blind, stubborn son that your experience is wholly fictional. Do you have any idea how you might accomplish such a thing?"
"He'll know," Jessica said quietly. "Tonight. When he realizes that I have a right to a white wedding dress."
Madame Constantinos gasped as at last she realized the significance of the dress. "My dear! But Robert—no, of course not. Robert was not a man to wed a young girt for physical gratification. Yes, I think I must hear how this came about, after all!"
Quietly Jessica told her of how she had been young and alone and Robert had wanted to protect her, and of the vicious gossip she had endured. She left out nothing, not even how Nikolas had come to propose to her, and Madame Constantinos was deeply troubled when the tale ended.
"There are times," she said slowly, "when I would like to smash a vase over Niko's head, even if he is my son!" She looked at the wedding gown. "Have you nothing else to wear? Nothing white?"
Jessica shook her head. "No, nothing. I'll have to wear it."
Petra brought crushed ice and folded it in hand towels to make compresses for her eyes, and after half an hour all traces of her tears had gone, but she was unnaturally pale. She moved slowly, all vitality gone from her, all sparkle killed. Gently Madame Constantinos and Petra dressed her in the peach gown and set the matching veil on her head, then they led her from the room.
Nikolas wasn't there; he was already at the home of his godfather, but the villa was filled with relatives, aunts and uncles and cousins who smiled and chattered and patted her as she passed. None of her friends were there, she realized with a start, but then, there were only two: Charles and Sallie. That made her feel more alone, chilled as if she would never again be warm.
Andros was to escort her down the path that led to the village, and he waited for her now, tall and dark in a tuxedo, and momentarily looking so much like Nikolas that she gasped. Andros smiled and gave her his arm; his manner had warmed over the past few days and now he was frankly solicitous as he discovered how she trembled, how cold her hands were.
Nikolas's female relatives rushed outside to form an aisle from the top of the hill down to the village, standing on both sides of the path. As she and Andros reached them, they began to toss orange blossoms down on the path before her, and the village women were there in traditional dress, tossing small, fragrant white and pink blossoms. They began to sing, and she walked on flowers down the path to join the man she would marry, but still she felt frozen inside.
At the door of Kyrios Palamas's house Andros gave her over to the arm of Nikolas's godfather, who led her to the altar, where Nikolas and Father Ambrose waited. The altar, the entire room, danced with candles, and the sweet smell of incense made her feel as if she was having a dream. Father Ambrose blessed the wreaths of orange blossoms that were set on their heads as they knelt before the altar, and from that moment on it was all a blur. She had been coached on what to say and she must have made the proper responses; when Nikolas made his vows, his deep, dark voice reverberated inside her head and she looked around a little wildly. Then it was over, and Father Ambrose joined hands with them and they walked around the altar three times while little Kostis, one of Nikolas's innumerable cousins, walked before them waving a censer, so they progressed through clouds of incense.
Almost immediately the crowded room burst into celebration, everyone laughing and kissing each other, while cries of "The glass! The glass!" went up. The newly married couple was laughingly shoved to the hearth, where a wineglass was turned upside down. Jessica remembered what she should do but her reactions were dulled by her misery and Nikolas easily beat her, his foot smashing the wineglass while the villagers cheered that Kyrios Constantinos would be the master in his house. As if it could ever be any other way, Jessica thought numbly, turning away from the devilish gleam in Nikolas's black eyes.
But he caught her back to him, his hands hard on her waist and his eyes glittering as he forced her head up. "Now you're legally mine," he muttered as he bent his head and captured her lips.
She didn't fight him, but the response that he had always known was lacking. He raised his head, frowning when he saw the tears that clung to her lashes. "Jessica?" he asked questioningly, taking her hand, his frown deepening when he felt its iciness, though the day was hot and sunny.
Somehow, though afterward she wondered at her stamina, she made it through the long day of feasting and dancing. She had help in Madame Constantinos and Petra and Sophia, who gently made it clear that the new Kyria was weak with nerves and not able to dance. Nikolas threw himself into the celebration with an enthusiasm that surprised her until she remembered that he was Greek to the bone, but even with all the laughing and dancing and the glasses of ouzo he consumed, he returned often to his bride and tried to entice her appetite with some delicacy he had brought. Jessica tried to respond, tried to act normally, but the truth was that she couldn't make herself look at her husband. No matter how she argued with herself, she couldn't escape the fact that she was a woman, and her woman's heart was easily bruised. Nikolas had destroyed all of her joy in her wedding day with the peach gown and she didn't think she would ever be able to forgive him.
It was late; the stars were already out and the candles were the only illumination in the house when Nikolas approached her and gently swung her up into his arms.
No one said anything; no jokes were made as the broad-shouldered man left the house of his godfather and carried his bride up the hill to his own villa, and after he had disappeared from view, the celebration began again, for this was no ordinary wedding. No, the Kyrios had finally taken a bride, and now they could look forward to an heir.
As Nikolas carried her up the path with no visible effort, Jessica tried to gather her scattered wits and push her unhappiness aside, but still the cold misery lay like a lump in her chest. She clung to him with her arms around his neck and wished that it was miles and miles to the villa and perhaps then she would be more in control of herself by the time they arrived. The cool night air soothed her face and she could hear the rhythmic thunder of the waves as they pounded against the rocks, and those seemed more real to her than the flesh-and-blood man who carried her in his arms.
Then they were at the villa and he carried her around the side of the terrace until he reached the double sliding glass doors of his bedroom. They opened silently at his touch and he stepped inside, letting her slide gently to the floor.
"Your clothes have been brought in here," he told her softly, kissing the hair at her temple. "I know you're frightened, darling; you've been acting strange all day. Just relax; I'll fix myself a drink while you're changing into your nightgown. Not that you'll need a nightgown, but you do need some time to calm down," he said, grinning, and suddenly she wondered just how many glasses of ouzo he'd had.
He left her and she stared wildly around the room. She couldn't do it; she couldn't share that big bed with him when she felt as she did. She wanted to scream and cry and scratch his eyes out, and in a sudden burst of tears and sheer temper she tore the peach gown off and looked around for scissors to destroy it. There were no scissors to be found in the bedroom, however, so she tore at the seams until they ripped apart, then she threw the gown on the floor and kicked it.
She drew a deep, shuddering breath into her lungs and wiped the furious tears off her cheeks. The gesture had been childish, she knew, but she felt better for it. She hated that gown, an
d she hated Nikolas for ruining her wedding day!
He would be returning soon, and she didn't want to face him while wearing nothing but her underwear, but neither did she have any intention of putting on a seductive nightgown for his benefit. She threw open the closet door and grabbed the one pair of slacks she had with her and a pullover top. Hastily she snatched the top over her head just as the door opened.
Thick silence reigned as Nikolas took in the tableau of her standing there clutching a pair of slacks and staring at him with anger and fear plain in her wide eyes. His black gaze wandered to the tattered wedding gown on the floor, then back to her.
"Settle down," he said softly, almost in a whisper. "I'm not going to hurt you, darling, I promise—"
"You can keep your promises," she cried hoarsely, dropping the slacks to the floor and pressing her hands to her cheeks as the tears began to slide from her eyes. "I hate you, do you hear? You—you ruined my wedding day! I wanted a white gown, Nikolas, and you had them use that horrible peach! I'll never forgive you for that! I was so happy this morning, then I opened the bag and saw that ugly peach thing and I—I— Oh, damn you, I've cried enough over you; I'll never let you make me cry again, do you hear? I hate you!"
Swiftly he crossed the room to her and put his hands on her shoulders, holding her in a grip that didn't hurt but nevertheless held her firmly. "Was it so important to you?" he murmured. "Is that why you haven't looked at me all day, all over a silly gown?"
"You don't understand," she insisted through her tears. "I wanted a white one, and I wanted to keep it and give it to our daughter for her wedding—" Her voice broke and she began to sob, trying to turn her head away from him.
With a muttered curse he pulled her to him and held her tightly in his arms, his dark head bent to rest atop her tawny one. "I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I didn't understand. Don't cry, darling; please don't cry."
His apology, so unexpected, had the effect of startling her out of her tears, and with a caught breath she raised her tear-wet eyes to stare at him. For a moment, their eyes held; then his midnight gaze slipped to her mouth, and as quickly as that he was kissing her, pulling her even closer to his powerful frame as if he could make her a part of himself, his mouth hungrier and more devouring than it had ever been before. She tasted the ouzo he had been drinking, and it made her drunk, too, so that she had to cling to him even to stand upright.
Impatiently he scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed, and for a moment she stiffened in alarm as she remembered that she still hadn't told him the truth. "Nikolas…wait!" she cried breathlessly.
"I've been waiting," he said thickly, his restless mouth raining kisses across her face, her throat. "I've waited for you until I thought I would go mad. Don't push me away tonight, darling—not tonight."
Before she could say anything else, his mouth closed over hers again. In the sweet intoxication sweeping over her at the touch of his lips, she momentarily forgot her fears, and then it was too late. He was beyond listening to her, beyond the reach of any plea as he responded only to the force of his passion.
Still she tried to reach him. "No, wait!" she said, but he ignored her as he pulled her top over her head, momentarily smothering her in the folds of material before he freed her from it and tossed the garment aside. His eyes were glittering feverishly as he stripped her underwear away, and her pleas for patience stuck in her throat as he dropped his robe and covered her with his powerful body. Panic bloomed in her, and she tried to control it, forcing herself to think of other things until she regained some small measure of self-control, but it was useless. A thin sob tore out of her throat as Nikolas drew her down into the fathomless well of his desire, and blindly she clung to him as the only tower of strength in a wildly shaking world.
* * *
Chapter Ten
Jessica lay in the darkness listening to Nikolas's even breathing as he slept, and her flesh shrank when he moved in his sleep and his hand touched her breast. Slowly, terrified of waking him, she inched away from his hand and off the bed. She couldn't just lie there beside him when every nerve in her body screamed for release; she'd go for a walk, try to calm herself down and sort out her tangled emotions.
Silently she pulled on the discarded slacks and top and let herself out through the sliding doors onto the terrace. Her bare feet made no sound as she walked slowly around the terrace, staring at the faint glow of the breakers as they crashed onto the rocks. The beach drew her; she could walk down there without taking the risk of waking anyone, though she doubted that anyone would still be up now. It had to be nearing dawn; or perhaps it wasn't, but it seemed as though she had spent hours in that bedroom with Nikolas.
Depression weighed on her shoulders like a rock. How silly and stupid she had been to think she would be able to control Nikolas even for a moment. If he had loved her, it might have been possible, but the raw truth of the matter was that Nikolas felt nothing for her except lust, and now she had to live with that knowledge.
She walked slowly along the rim of the cliff, hunting for the narrow, rocky path that led down to the beach, and when she found it, she began a careful descent, well aware of the treacherously loose rocks along the path. She gained the beach and found that only a thin strip of sand was above the tide and that the incoming waves washed about her ankles as she walked. The tide must be coming in, she thought absently; she'd have to keep watch on it and climb up before the water got too deep.
For just a moment she had managed to push away thoughts of Nikolas, but now they returned, swooping down on her tired mind like birds of prey. She had wagered her happiness in the battle with him and she had lost. She had given her innocence to a man who didn't love her, all for nothing. Nothing! In the dark, savage hours of the night it had been forced into her consciousness that she had gained nothing, and he had gained everything. He had wanted only the release he could find with her flesh, not her virginity or her love. She felt used, degraded, and the bitterest knowledge of all was that she had to see it through. He'd never allow her to leave him. She had learned to her cost that mercy was not a part of Nikolas's character.
She almost choked on her misery. It hadn't been at all as she had imagined. Perhaps if Nikolas had been tender, adoring, easy with her, she wouldn't feel so shocked and shattered now. Or perhaps if he hadn't been so frustrated, if he hadn't drunk so much ouzo, he would have been more patient, better able to cope with her fright. If, if! She tried to excuse him by telling herself that he had been pushed past control; she told herself over and over that it was her own fault; she should have made him listen before. But after a day of unbroken pain and un-happiness, it was too much for her to handle just now.
A wave suddenly splashed above her knees and with a start she looked about. The tide was still coming in, and the path was a long way down the beach. Deciding that it would be easier to climb over the rocks than to resist the tide, she clambered up on the jagged rocks that lined the beach and began picking her way over them. She had to watch every step, for the moonlight was treacherous, making her misjudge distances. Several times she wrenched her ankles, despite taking all the care in the world, but she persisted and at last, when she looked up, she saw that she was only a few feet from the path.
In relief she straightened and stepped onto a flat rock; but the rock was loose and she dislodged it, sending it skittering down, to splash into the water. For a moment she teetered, trying to regain her balance, but another rock slipped under her foot and with a cry she fell sideways. Her head banged against a rock and instant nausea boiled in her stomach; only instinct kept her clawing at the rocks, trying to catch herself before she fell the entire distance. Her hands tore other rocks loose and she fell painfully, the loose rocks bouncing down onto her and knocking others loose in their turn. She had started a small avalanche and they piled up against her.
When the hail of rocks had stopped, she raised her head and gasped painfully for breath, not certain what had happened. Her head
throbbed alarmingly, and when she put her hand up, she felt the rapidly swelling knot under her hair. At least she wasn't bleeding, as far as she could tell, and she hadn't fallen into the water. She sat for a moment trying to still the alarming sway of her vision and the nausea that threatened. The nausea won, and she retched helplessly, but afterward she didn't feel any better. Slowly she realized that she must have hit her head harder than she had first thought, and her exploring fingers told her that the swelling now extended over almost the entire side of her head. She began to shiver uncontrollably.
She wasn't going to get any better sitting here; she needed to get to the villa and wake someone to call a doctor. She tried to stand and groaned aloud at the pain in her head. Her legs were like dead weights; they didn't want to move. She tried again to stand, and it wasn't until another rock was dislodged by her struggles that she saw the rocks lying across her legs.
Well, no wonder she couldn't stand, she told herself fuzzily, pushing at the rocks. She could move some of them, despite the dizziness that made her want to lay her head down and rest, and she pushed those into the sea where it boiled only a few feet below her,
But some of the rocks were too heavy, and her lower legs were securely pinned. She had made a mess of her midnight walk, just as she had made a mess of her marriage; it seemed she couldn't do anything right! Helplessly she began to laugh, but that hurt her head and she stopped.
She tried shouting, knowing that no one would hear her above the booming of the tide, especially as far away as she was from the villa, and shouting hurt her head even worse than laughing had. She fell silent and tilted her head back to stare at the two moons that swung cra-zily in the sky. Two moons. Two of everything.
A wave hit her in the face and it cleared her senses for a moment. The tide was still coming in. How high did the tide get here? She couldn't remember noticing. Was it nearly high tide now? Would the water soon start dropping? Smiling wearily, she leaned over and rested her throbbing head on her curled-up arm.