Wounds of Passion by Charlotte Lamb (primary phonics .TXT) 📕

you?’ he bit out, and she felt people glancing at them, startled by his expression, even if they couldn’t quite hear what he was saying. ‘In spite of everything, you’re still going through with it?’

She broke away from him, afraid of what he might say or do next, and ran into the house. People looked round at her as she fled past, her feathered skirts brushing against them, floating around her. Patrick was on her heels. Some people began laughing, thinking it was some sort of game, a party joke; they couldn’t see her face under her mask and Patrick had masked his expression, too.

She made for the stairs, thinking, He won’t dare follow me up there! She heard Alex stop him, saying in a puzzled voice, ‘What’s going on, Patrick?’ and felt able to slow down a little, her breathing rapid and her heart thudding against her ribs.

If she imagined Alex would keep him there she soon realised she was wrong. She didn’t catch what he said to Alex, but he was soon coming after her again, taking the stairs two at a time. Despairingly, Antonia raced towards the door of her old room.

She got it open, ran through, turned to slam the door shut and bolt it, but Patrick hurled himself against the panels from some feet away. The door crashed open again, sending her flying. She and Patrick landed in a huddle together on the floor.

The thud they made must have been heard downstairs; the ceiling must have shaken; the old Venetian glass lampshades must have dipped and swayed, tinkling like bells. Everyone downstairs had hushed, the voices faded; they must be staring upwards, mouths open.

What on earth would they be thinking?

She struggled to sit up, flushed and distraught, discovered that some of the feathers on her dress were broken, snapped off by the fall, and it seemed the last straw. She snapped too, furiously shouted at Patrick.

‘Look what you’ve done! My lovely dress...ruined...and what do you think everyone at the party is thinking? They’ll be talking nineteen to the dozen downstairs... This will be all round Venice tomorrow!’

‘Damn them; damn Venice,’ said Patrick through his teeth. ‘What do any of them matter?’

‘I don’t want to be gossiped about all over the city!’ she half sobbed, picking up feathers from all over the floor.

A sound at the door made them both look round. Alex stood there, framed in the doorway, his face alert.

‘Moulting, Antonia?’ he asked her, then before she could answer said more seriously, ‘What exactly is going on?’

‘Keep out of this, Alex,’ Patrick said brusquely.

For once Alex’s friendly tolerance was missing. He scowled at Patrick. ‘She’s my niece, guy. And this is my house—for tonight, at least. That makes this my business. Antonia, is he bothering you? Shall I kick him out?’

Patrick turned his head and looked down into her eyes, silent, yet wordlessly compelling her.

She bit her lips, looked down, shook her head.

‘What does that mean?’ asked Alex. ‘What the hell is all this, anyway?’

‘She’s an adult, Alex, not a child,’ Patrick said. ‘And this is a private discussion. Will you please go back to your party?’

Alex still lingered, frowning uncertainly, watching her. ‘Antonia?’ he asked one more time.

‘I’ll be OK,’ she whispered, not meeting his eyes.

‘Well, if you need me, yell,’ Alex said slowly, then she heard the door shut, his footsteps on the stairs.

There was a silence, then Patrick said, ‘As I was saying when your uncle arrived, you can’t marry that guy. Now I’ve met him I can’t believe you ever said you would. I know you say he makes you feel safe, but it will be the safety of a gaol, Antonia. Oh, it will be a luxurious cell, and no doubt he’s kind and generous, but he’s also a good fifteen years older than you, he’s almost bald now, and he’s boring, Antonia. Don’t pretend you don’t think so. I saw your face when you were with him. He bores you. You went into this engagement like a sleep-walker, not really aware what you were doing, but any day now you’re going to wake up and realise you’re trapped, and by then it could be too late to get away.’

She had promised Cy she wouldn’t tell anyone that their engagement was over. She turned away, her face pale and mutinous, troubled.

‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ she said.

‘Of course you don’t! Reality might break in, and you can’t take too much reality, can you, Antonia?’ Contempt grated in his voice and she flinched.

‘Oh, go away, leave me alone! Alex...everyone downstairs...will be wondering what we’re doing up here.’

Patrick’s eyes gleamed, a vivid, electrifying blue. ‘You mean they’ll wonder if we’re making love?’

‘No!’ she contradicted, a rush of hot blood entering her face.

‘Of course they will!’ he muttered. A pause, then he said huskily, ‘And I’ve thought about nothing else all evening.’

Everything in her stopped: her heart stopped beating; her mind stopped working; her lungs stopped drawing in air. For a beat of time she just looked at him, suspended in space; and the sound of his husky voice was like the oceanic roar of her own blood as she heard it begin pumping again. Everything inside her began again. She was reborn. The shock of rebirth made her shake violently, barely able to stand.

‘Oh, Patrick,’ she whispered, looking at his mouth, aching for the touch of it.

His facial bones were tightly clenched, his darkly flushed skin taut over them. ‘I’ve been dying of frustration ever since Alex and his wife interrupted us,’ he said in a deep, hoarse voice. ‘I need you, Antonia.’

Helplessly she swayed towards him, captive to the sound of his voice, forgetting everything else in her own driving need for completion. She had been aching with frustration too, all evening.

Patrick put his head down and she felt him kissing her throat, burying his mouth in her, his lips apart, the moist heat of his mouth sending shudders down her back. His arm closed possessively round her,