Vows Made in Secret. Louise Fuller
give meaning to what was happening. Jakob had told him that Edmund Seymour was ill and that someone else was coming in his place. Typically, he’d forgotten—for one stranger was no better or worse than another. But suddenly Jakob’s words seemed to take on a new and wholly unpalatable significance: Seymour’s replacement was Prudence Elliot. And that meant she would be living under his roof for the foreseeable future!
‘It’s my pleasure,’ Prudence said hoarsely.
The lawyer nodded and, looking nervously from Prudence to Laszlo, said, ‘Everyone is most grateful.’
Prudence smiled weakly and opened her mouth to speak but Laszlo interrupted her.
‘Miss Elliot could buy her own castle with the fee we’re paying her. I don’t think she needs our gratitude as well.’
Flinching at the undertone of hostility in his voice, Prudence felt rather than saw Laszlo’s dark, probing gaze turn towards her. Her breath, suddenly sharp and serrated, tore at her throat and she touched her neck nervously. She still had no idea what he was doing here but he must be important, for the lawyer was clearly deferring to him. The thought somehow exhausted her, and she felt suddenly on the verge of tears.
This wasn’t supposed to be happening. It was bad enough feeling out of her depth professionally. But now there was Laszlo, staring at her with those cold, dismissive eyes, and all she could think was that he could still make her feel like nothing. How he had made her feel like nothing seven years ago. Swallowing, she gritted her teeth. At least she’d fought for their relationship; he, on the other hand, had been too busy doing whatever he’d done to get himself arrested.
And she wasn’t nothing. In his words, she was being paid enough to buy a castle to do this job and that was what she was there to do. Her job. It didn’t matter that once upon a time, her love hadn’t been good enough for him.
Lifting her chin, she turned towards the lawyer. ‘You’re very kind, Mr Frankel,’ she said clearly. ‘Thank you for allowing me to come. This is a marvellous opportunity for me. I just hope I can live up to your expectations.’
‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,’ Laszlo murmured softly. ‘We have very low expectations.’
There was another long, tense moment of silence and then Frankel gave a nervous laugh. ‘What Mr Cziffra is trying to say—’
‘Is that Miss Elliot and I can take it from here,’ Laszlo finished smoothly.
The lawyer looked at him doubtfully. ‘You can?’
‘I think I can manage.’ Laszlo’s voice was as cold and flat as an Arctic ice floe and Prudence shivered as Frankel nodded, his plump face flushed.
‘Of course,’ he said hastily. ‘Of course.’ He turned towards Prudence.
‘You’ll be in safe hands, Miss Elliot! After Mr de Zsadany, no one knows more about the collection than his grandson.’
The shock was like a jolt of electricity.
Prudence felt her whole body still and then start to shake. The room was spinning at the edge of her vision. Janos Almasy de Zsadany was Laszlo’s grandfather! But how could he be? Janos Almasy de Zsadany was a billionaire several times over. Laszlo was a Romany—a traveller who lived in a trailer. How could they possibly be related?
With an almost painful stab of hope she wondered if she had misheard Frankel and she turned to Laszlo, expecting, praying he would still be staring at her with the same cold, uninterested expression. But she saw instead that he was staring at her with a look of pitying scorn and horror.
Her stomach convulsed with fear. Frankel was telling the truth.
Heart thumping, feeling dizzy and sick, she glanced numbly at the lawyer. But he seemed unaware of the turmoil he had created with his simple statement of fact. Fighting her misery, she glanced back at Laszlo. There was no denial on his face—no embarrassment or confusion, and she stared at him, unable to ignore, even in her misery, his luminous, impossible beauty.
He looked up and she flinched as he met her gaze, the softness of his mouth only seeming to emphasise the hard challenge in his eyes.
Frankel coughed. ‘Right. In that case I’ll be on my way. Goodnight, Miss Elliot! I’ll see myself out, Mr Cziffra.’
‘Thank you, Frankel.’ Laszlo stared steadily at Prudence, his eyes glittering like shards of yellow glass. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening. And don’t worry. I’ll take good care of Miss Elliot.’
Prudence felt her stomach turn to liquid as Laszlo turned towards her and nodded.
‘I promise I’ll give her my full and undivided attention.’
The table lamps felt suddenly like spotlights, and although the room was warm she felt cold and shivery. She watched Frankel leave with a mounting sense of dread, every nerve in her body straining to breaking point. She wanted to run after the lawyer and beg him to stay but her body was rooted to the spot. Numbly, she stared at the paintings on the wall. Just moments ago they had given her such innocent pleasure. But not any more. Now they seemed like cruel-eyed onlookers, mocking her stupidity.
The anaesthetic of shock and bewilderment was starting to wear off and she felt a sudden stabbing surge of irritation. Okay, it was awkward and stressful for both of them to be thrown together like this, but surely she had a far greater reason to be upset than him? Surely she deserved some answers here? Her lip curled. In fact, how could he just stand there and not offer one word of explanation?
Glancing at his expressionless face, she gritted her teeth. Quite easily, it would appear. Her chest tightened. He hadn’t changed a bit. He was still putting the onus on her to resolve everything. As though he were a witness rather than a central protagonist in what was happening.
‘Pretending I’m not here isn’t going to make this go away!’ she said slowly. Willing herself to stay as cool as she sounded, she lifted her chin and met his gaze. ‘We need to sort this out.’
Laszlo stared at her. ‘“Sort this out”?’ he echoed softly. His mouth tightened as he suppressed a humourless laugh. There was nothing to sort out! Except out of which door he would throw her! ‘Is that what we need to do?’ His eyes met hers. ‘So. You’re Seymour’s replacement?’ he said coolly.
Heart thumping against her ribcage, Prudence nodded. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she cleared her throat. ‘And you’re Mr de Zsadany’s grandson!’
She fell silent and waited for his answer. But he did nothing more than nod. Turning her head, she clenched her fists: the words incorrigible and impossible were ricocheting inside her brain. Was that it, then? No explanations. Not one word to acknowledge the impact and implication of those words.
As though reading her mind, Laszlo sighed. His eyes looked through her and past her as he spoke. ‘My mother was Zsofia Almasy de Zsadany. She was Janos’s daughter and only child.’
It was like hearing a marble statue speak and her heart flinched at the chill in his voice.
‘She met my father, Istvan, when she was sixteen. He was seventeen, a Kalderash Roma. Both their families opposed the match but they loved each other so much that nothing could keep them apart.’
His eyes gleamed and she felt a jolt of pain at the accusatory barb of his words.
‘They were married and I was born nine months later.’
Prudence stared at him numbly. Who was this Laszlo? And what had he been doing living in a shabby trailer in England? Had he been rebelling? Or estranged from the de Zsadanys? Her head was swimming with questions. From knowing next to nothing about him she suddenly had so much information she could hardly take it all in. But her heart contracted as she realised that even the small things he had shared with her had been half-truths.
‘Why were you there? In England, I mean?’
He frowned. ‘After my parents died