Emily frowned across the room at him. ‘I wish you wouldn’t make jokes at my expense to the maids,’ she said. ‘And what are you doing in my bedroom anyway?’
He walked towards her, the expression on his face giving away nothing. He poured some coffee into a cup and added some sugar with a careless hand. ‘You are my wife.’
‘I won’t have you coming and going as you please!’
‘Would you prefer them to think that you have no attraction for me—or draw the conclusion that you are not womanly enough to want to please your husband? If is not I they will blame if they see that we are less than happy.’
‘It isn’t any of their business!’
His eyebrows rose. ‘That will scarcely prevent them from speculating on your motives for excluding me from your bedroom. Most Greeks would think poorly of such an arrangement.’
‘Even if there is no love lost?’
‘Let us say we are more realistic about marital relationships than you appear to be, Emily mou. I had no idea the English were such a romantic people. We are always, being told about the permissive ways of the northern nations, but you are different, I think? What do you expect, my Thorne? That the man of your dreams will carry you away from me on his snow-white charger and that you will be happy ever after? If you wish to be a truly romantic heroine you must accept the adventures that come your way.’
Emily gave him a steady look. ‘I’m not in the least romantic,’ she said. ‘I leave that sort of thing to Margaret and my mother—and to Patrick when he’s in the mood.’
His evident amusement made her angry. ‘The practical approach would make you accept me as your husband in every way,’ he told her. ‘In Greece such marriages are common. We begin with friendship and allow love to grow with the years.’
‘But we aren’t friends!’ she retorted.
‘Have you thought why that is?’
She shook her head. ‘I try not to think about you at all,’ she informed him roundly. She poured herself out a cup of coffee, seeing that he had no intention of doing so, and tried to keep her hands steady as she did so. She knew, even while she refused to so much as glance in his direction, that he was staring at her in that peculiarly masculine way he had, and she drew the sheet higher up around her shoulders in a defensive movement that was as old as time.
‘If you hurry with your breakfast we will have time for a swim before I start work.’ His eyes gleamed with a sudden amusement. ‘Aphrodite reunited with the waves should be a sight to see!’
‘I don’t feel like swimming,’' she said.
‘Why not? Don’t you want me to see you splashing around, afraid to go out of your depth?’
The anger that he roused in her so easily made her answer before she had thought. ‘I can swim as well as anyone I know! Shouldn’t you be looking to your own laurels?’
‘I’ll meet you in the hall in half an hour,’ he challenged her. ‘If you are as good as you say you are, I may even allow you to go swimming by yourself when I am not on hand to rescue you if you get into trouble. The sea is only dangerous here when there is a storm in the offing, and then none of us go into the water.’
‘I’ll meet you in the garden,’ she compromised.
His glance was distinctly mocking. ‘How easily embarrassed you are,’ he observed. ‘Do you want me to put clothes on my statues as the Victorians did in England?’
‘I don’t care what you do.’
‘Not even if I change my mind and make love to you instead of taking you swimming?’
She drew the tray closer to her, shrugging her shoulders. ‘It takes two to make love,’ she declared with a confidence she was far from feeling.
He bent over her, kissing the curve of her cheek with gentle lips. ‘Don’t make the mistake of underrating me, little Emily,’ he warned her. ‘So far I have agreed to allow you to call the tune, but I can command you any time I choose and you will have no choice but to obey me.’ He kissed her again, this time on the mouth, and sauntered out of her room, whistling softly beneath his breath.
Oh, how she hated him! She could have thrown the pot of coffee at his head with the greatest of ease. What right had he to threaten her? And what about him underrating her? He would not find it half as easy to treat her to the masterful approach as he seemed to think! She had a mind of her own and a tradition of independence he would find hard to shake. She was not one of his sisters to submit tamely to his dicta just because he was a man!
Yet Chrisoula, his younger sister, had been overjoyed to welcome him home the night before. At sixteen she was far more self-possessed than Emily had been at that age—or was now, when she was in her husband’s company, she admitted with a wry honesty. Chrisoula had laughed out loud as soon as she had seen Emily.
‘Ah, now we know what you have been doing in England!’ she had teased her brother. ‘But of course! Emily is as close as you will ever come to your ideal, as anyone can see. No wonder you brought her back to Greece in such a hurry!’
‘You must ask her why she came,’ her brother had said, his eyes on Emily’s startled face.
‘Did you give her any choice?’ Chrisoula had demanded, wide-eyed. She had embraced Emily with a warmth that had surprised the English girl, determined to make much of her. ‘If I know you, you carried her off to Greece without a by-your-leave and didn’t care whether she wanted to come or not.’ She hugged Emily all over again. ‘Was that how it was? You can tell us, you know. We have all suffered from Demis’ high-handed ways!’
Almost Emily had told her the truth, but something had prevented her. ‘No,’ she had said. ‘I wanted to come. Demis would have had a hard job leaving me behind in England.’
‘Then perhaps it is that you are tired?’ Chrisoula had persisted.
‘Or because we had a tiff on the way here,’ Demis had told his sister, his eyes fixed on his wife’s face. ‘The English may pretend to be cold, but this one is as jealous as any Greek girl.’
Chrisoula had seemed delighted at this suggestion. ‘But what had you to be jealous about?’ she had demanded.
Emily had shot Demis a speaking look. ‘Your brother likes to have his joke,’ she had said in freezing tones.
Demetrios, Demis’ younger brother, had been less curious than his sister. If anything he had been bored by Emily’s arrival and he had gone out straight after the evening meal without a word to anyone.
‘You must miss Barbara and Giorgios when they are away,’ Emily had said to him.
‘I don’t mind,’ he had answered. ‘Barbara is apt to fuss over me. That’s the trouble with elder sisters.’
Emily had taken the hint. ‘I have an elder sister myself,’ she had told him, ‘but I can’t say she fusses exactly.’
‘Then you’re lucky. Barbara could hardly bring herself to go with Giorgios in case anything awful happened in her absence.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘She’ll never forgive Demis for bringing you here while she’s away.’
But Emily had been glad she had been away. It had been enough of a strain meeting the two younger members of the family and finding her way round the huge house that Demis called home.
It wasn’t surprising that she had slept soundly when she had finally escaped to her bed, and now even that retreat had been taken away from her. It seemed that there was absolutely nowhere where she could be sure of her privacy from Demis. If she had dared she would have locked her door against him, but she was afraid of the consequences of such an action. She was more scared of the handsome, golden Greek she had married than she cared to admit.
There were only ten minutes of the half-hour left when, struggling with the reluctance that assailed her, Emily dressed herself in her swimsuit and donned the only beach-robe she possessed, made of coloured towelling and so short that it displayed the full length of her legs. Even pulled down as far as it would go, it had a saucy look that dismayed her. Accordingly, she went down the wide marble staircase, her belligerent mood reflected in the eyes she carefully averted from the sta
tue in the centre of the hall.
Demis was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. His swimming trunks saved him from being as nude as the statue beside him and she couldn’t help but be aware of the muscular strength of his body, his wide shoulders and narrow hips and the straightness of his deeply tanned legs.
Silently he handed her a freshly picked rose from the garden. The scent from it was heavy and seductive, quite unlike the overbred, showy blooms that had occasionally been presented to her in London. She took it from him, raising it to her face, and was surprised to find he had taken the trouble to remove the thorns from its long stem.
‘Thank you,’ she said shyly. ‘I love roses. The more prickles the better the scent, someone once told me. Do you think it’s true?’
‘Maybe.’ He watched her sniff the single scarlet blossom in her hand and shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘Roses are like women,’ he said. ‘They are both better with their prickles removed.’
‘I think that’s rather trite,’ she said.
‘Do you?’ He sounded amused. ‘Perhaps because no one has tried to appreciate your scent at close quarters they have been content to be scratched by your thorns. I should not.’
The stem of the rose snapped between her fingers. ‘The occasion will never arise. Besides, I should have some say in the matter, you know.’
‘You have already had your say, agape. Your future lies in my hands now.’ He caught up the belt of her beach-robe and tied it more tightly about her waist. ‘There are worse fates, yineka mou, than falling in love with your own husband.’
‘Never!’ she exclaimed. She refused to meet his eyes and her gaze fell on the naked, marble form of Aphrodite. ‘That creature and I may have more in common than you know!’ she added, willing to use any weapon to wipe the assurance from his face.
‘You have much in common,’ he agreed, his hands on the lapels of her robe. ‘What else do you have?’
‘She liked variety,’ she said. ‘So do I!’
His bright, pale eyes looked deep into hers. ‘In that case, I shall expect you to welcome me as your lover sooner than either of us thought. Why should you reject me if you welcome others?’
‘Because I don’t like you,’ she whispered.
He stepped back from her, his hands on his hips. ‘I could make you like me, Emily,’ he warned her. ‘Just as I could strip you of the thorns you seek to implant in my flesh by showing how empty your words are. I think my kisses are far from distasteful to you. Is that why you taunt me with words, Emily Thorne? Because you want me to notice you?’
She lifted her chin to show that she thought any such suggestion was beneath her contempt. ‘I taunt you? I think I’ve been remarkably restrained—in the circumstances!’
His expression was bland. ‘Come and swim,’ he said, ‘and show me how like Aphrodite you are. I expect you will prefer to prove your claim to be a good swimmer rather than the one that you are a good lover—at least for today.’ He took the rose from her hand and placed it on Eros’ flying, chubby body with a mocking look at her over his shoulder.
‘I never claimed to be a marvellous lover,’ she replied.
‘Comparisons with the goddess of love should never be lightly made. She may well find a way to punish you for taking her name in vain.’
‘Stuff and nonsense!’
He put a finger across her lips. ‘Hush! Are you as intrepid as you pretend, or merely foolhardy? Do you think she doesn’t know that for two pins you would banish her statue to some forgotten corner of the garden where I can no longer compare your charms to hers? She likes to be admired by the men who are close to her.’
‘Well, I don’t.’
‘That, my dear, is obvious.’
She liked that even less than she had liked his previous comments. For a long moment she battled in silence with the sense of chagrin that he should say such a thing, bitterly conscious of the bright, inquiring look with which he was regarding her.
And then as the silence between them lengthened, he added, ‘Never mind, I can wait. You feel more of a woman today than you did yesterday, and who knows how you’ll feel tomorrow?’
‘I’ll feel just the same about you,’ she said. ‘I don’t like you.’
‘But you’re coming swimming with me?’
‘Oh yes!’ Her eyes glinted with temper. ‘If you can keep up with me in the water. You won’t have the same advantages as you have on land, you know. Brute strength won’t get you very far when you’re out of your depth!’
‘We’ll see,’ he said. ‘Don’t try me too far, yineka mou!’
Yineka mou, Emily repeated to herself, and came up with the unwelcome translation of ‘my woman’. She would never be his woman, whatever he might like to think. She belonged to nobody but herself and that was the way she intended it to be always. Only, as he showed no signs of listening to what she said, not really listening, she despaired of ever ramming the fact home to him.
‘When I have my own restaurant—’ she began in an unnaturally high voice, ‘—and I shall have it sooner or later, I’ve made up my mind to that, whatever you may say!—I shall try to reflect some of this sunshine and light in the decor. The light in Greece is beautiful at all times of the day.’
He sauntered through the garden ahead of her, his towel thrown carelessly over one shoulder. ‘So, you have found something to admire here? It is said that it is the light that makes the Greek so aware of physical beauty. Our buildings need the sun—and so do our people. You won’t find it easy to box it up and transport it to England. It will pull you back to Greece and to me, you see!’
‘To Greece perhaps,’ she murmured.
The swinging ease of all his movements was attractive to her, though. If she hadn’t known him as a person, she would have enjoyed watching him, she thought. She liked the gold of his skin and the hardness of his body. Did he move as well in water? she wondered. She hoped not. There had to be something she could do as well as he, if not better. She had never doubted her own capabilities before, so why should she now?
When they reached the beach, which was practically inaccessible except from the few houses that surrounded it, Demis dropped his towel on the dark brown sand and began to run towards the water. Emily followed more slowly, removing her robe as she went. She had a sudden, unreasonable fear as she entered the sea that there would still be turtle-like animals in the water who fed on human flesh, as there had been in the days of Herakles, or Hercules as the Romans had called him. But, if there were such beasts, there was no sign of them in the blue waters that frothed deliciously about her ankles.
As soon as it was deep enough to swim, she cast herself off, losing herself in the ecstasy of the feel of the water on her body. There were no doubts and difficulties left to prey on her as she exulted in her own powerful strokes, taking her ever further from the shore. The pull on her muscles, the rhythm of her breathing, all served to add to the exhilaration of the exercise her body had been starved of for so long. It was cold too, she belatedly realised, even here in Greece, much colder than she would normally have considered suitable swimming weather, and yet she herself was completely warm and happy.
She saw that Demis was still ahead of her and allowed herself to sink to the bottom, coming up underneath him and dragging him down with her. That would show him that he was not as omnipotent as he imagined! She released him and swam vigorously for the safety of a sheltering rock, but he was quicker than she had allowed for and, grasping her by the nape of her neck, he pulled her close up against him, his arms encircling her struggling figure. Try as she would, she could not escape him.
‘Demis, I want to go back. I’m cold!’
‘I could warm you—’
‘I’m going back!’
He released her at once and she swam as fast as she could for the shore, then ran as hard as she had ever run from the touch of his hands and the aura of masculinity he seemed to wear like a cloak about him wherever he was. Her robe seemed an ineffective defence
, but she shrugged herself into it, tying it tightly about her. It was ridiculous to go swimming in January, she considered. No wonder she was cold—ice cold, as if she were suffering from shock.
Demis came more slowly after her. She eyed him from under her lashes, hoping that she could handle the situation.
‘That’s the last time I swim until next summer! I can’t think why I allowed you to persuade me—’
‘You weren’t cold until you saw you couldn’t get the better of me,’ he retorted calmly. ‘You don’t like being touched, do you, Emily mou? Why not, I wonder?’
‘I don’t like you to touch me!’ she retorted.
He picked up his towel and rubbed himself down vigorously. ‘Because you might have to give a little in return?’ he questioned her. ‘Must you guard your independence so drastically?’
‘If I don’t, who else will?’
‘It depends how important it is to you,’ he returned. ‘It would be a pity to give up your real destiny for a mirage. It’s not I who threaten your independence, but your own womanhood. Think about that for a while, Emily Thorne. It’s not a restaurant you’re needing, but a husband and children of your own.’
‘I’ve got a husband,’ she reminded him, making a face.
‘Not, yet you haven’t!’
She turned her back, closing her eyes, shutting out the male taunt in his voice. Did he think her position was an easy one?
‘Have you, Emily?’
His arms enclosed her against his chest, his hands linking together across her breasts. ‘A husband would touch you whenever he felt like it, koritsi mou, and there would be nothing you could do about it, except to welcome him into your arms.’