Island Of The Dawn. PENNY JORDAN
by a sense of familiarity, and then at last, standing in the huge living room with its elegant Italian furniture, she realised why. It was almost an exact replica of a villa they had visited during their honeymoon. It had belonged to a wealthy recluse and some friends of Leon’s had been renting it. To Chloe it had seemed the epitome of elegance, and although Leon’s villa was larger, she could see now that it was built on very similar lines, even down to the Italian furniture which she had so admired. She touched the pale cream silk settee, stroking the fine fabric, her eyes drawn to the jewel-bright colours of the silk scatter cushions carelessly heaped on to it. Chrome and glass shelving lined one wall, a modern marble fireplace in the same cream as the upholstery dominating another wall. Apart from the brilliant splashes of colour provided by the cushions and several carefully chosen objets d’art the entire room was decorated in the same pale cream as the furniture, the brilliant jades and greens of the cushions now chosen, Chloe realised, to complement the collection of jade housed in one of the chrome wall units.
‘Recognise it?’ Leon mocked. ‘I commissioned the same architect who designed the one in Antibes. It was going to be a present to mark our first anniversary.’
For a moment Chloe felt her defences weakening, but then she remembered how well Leon played his self-appointed role, and she forced herself to raise her eyebrows and say lightly,
‘Really? I’m surprised you kept it. I should have thought it would hold too many unpleasant memories.’
‘You know what they say about revenge,’ Leon said softly. ‘It needs feeding, and living here, always being reminded of why I commissioned it in the first place, helped to feed mine.’
He made it sound as though she were the one at fault; as though she were the one responsible for the break up of their marriage—a marriage which was really no marriage at all.
‘Stop play-acting, Leon,’ she demanded brittlely. ‘There’s no point.’
He turned to make some reply, but before he could speak, Marisa erupted into the room, her eyes blazing in her chalk white face.
‘Leon,’ she demanded, totally ignoring Chloe’s presence, ‘Gina has just told me that you have instructed her to prepare a suite for the Kriticos’. She says they are bringing Nikos with them. I will not have it, do you hear? I will not have him here. I will not be forced into a marriage simply so that you can have an heir. You cannot get rid of me so easily….’ She turned on Chloe. ‘That’s all he wants you for, you know; to provide him with a son, an heir for his business empire. But I will not marry Nikos. I’ll die first!’ She burst into noisy sobs, while Leon looked on impassively.
‘I won’t marry him, Leon,’ she reiterated. ‘I won’t do it. You can’t make me!’
‘You are overwrought. We will discuss this entire matter later—although you already know my views on the subject.’
‘I know that you want to get rid of me so that you can make a baby with her!’ Marisa spat out, glaring at Chloe. ‘Well, I won’t let you! You belong to me, Leon… I won’t let you! I….’
Chloe turned away, filled with sickness and pity, unable to bear to watch Leon scooping the slender body into his arms or to listen to Marisa’s hysterical pleas as he carried her out of the room.
If she had wanted proof of exactly how far Leon was prepared to go in his determination to have a son she had just received it. She knew she ought to feel triumph—now Marisa was experiencing the same pain and despair she had once known—but all she could feel towards the other girl was pity. She knew it was the established rule in Greek households for male relatives to find husbands for their female dependents, especially in the wealthier families where marriage partners had to be chosen with care, but she had never dreamed that Leon would exercise this right over Marisa!
She didn’t wait for him to return to the salon, instead retreating to her bedroom, where once again her eyes were drawn to the enormous double bed. Was Leon really intending to share that bed with her? She looked at the bedroom door, searching in vain for a lock. There had been something implacable in his words which warned her against trying to plead with him, and besides, her pride would not allow her to stoop to such depths. So what was she to do? Endure his lovemaking and hope that she would conceive quickly? Never! There must be some way she could escape from Eos. There had to be!
CHLOE hadn’t intended going down for dinner, but it struck her that Leon might come looking for her and take her non-appearance as mute acceptance of his wishes. Her skirt and blouse, apart from having been worn all day, were hardly suitable wear for dinner, but they were all she had with her.
She stepped out of the shower and froze as she realised that there was someone in the bedroom beyond, but it was not Leon who appeared in the open doorway. It was the young maid who had brought her breakfast.
‘Which dress does the kyria wish me to lay out for tonight?’ she asked hesitantly.
Chloe sighed, acknowledging that her Greek did not extend to explaining that her wardrobe was restricted to one cotton skirt and blouse and a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt.
‘I have no clothes….’ she began slowly, but the girl dismissed her words with a triumphant flourish, pulling open the mirrored doors of the huge wardrobe running the entire length of one wall.
‘Many, many clothes,’ she protested enthusiastically. ‘The kyrios had them brought from Athens in readiness.’
Chloe blinked and stared disbelievingly at the overflowing cupboards. When Leon planned something he didn’t miss a single detail. She walked slowly across to the wardrobe, absently fingering a misty lilac dress in pure silk, which shrieked couture design, wondering how long Leon had been planning to force her to return to him.
‘I ordered them from René. After all, he made your trousseau.’ Leon had entered the room without her being aware of it. ‘He still has your measurements,’ he added casually.
Which had altered since the days when she had modelled for him, Chloe thought wryly, but she could see that the clothes were the right size someone, either René or Leon himself, had realised that a woman of twenty-two was a different shape from a girl of eighteen, and had different tastes. These gowns were far more sophisticated than anything she had ever worn before! And far more expensive. Each one would have cost her several months’ salary, and yet Leon dismissed them as though they were nothing.
‘Not exactly sackcloth and ashes,’ Leon mocked, watching the way she studied the clothes.
‘They might as well be.’ Chloe shut the wardrobe doors dismissively. ‘You might have brought me to your island, Leon; you might be able to force me to stay here, and even ultimately to bear your child—that is if you don’t mind descending to rape—but you can’t force me to wear those clothes.’
‘You think not?’ He advanced on her with a grim implacability. The young maid had made a discreet disappearance the moment Leon entered the room and, despite its size, Chloe was overcome by a paralysing sense of claustrophobia, engendered chiefly by the powerful bulk of Leon’s body.
Afterwards she was to curse herself for her stupidity, but acting instinctively, she moved backwards, stopping only when her flight was impeded by the bed.
The towel she had wrapped sarong-wise around her slender body offered scant protection against the sensual scrutiny of pale grey eyes as they slid dangerously over smooth, pale shoulders, resting momentarily on the soft swell of her breasts before dropping lower to examine the rest of her body in a manner which brought a furious wave of colour to Chloe’s skin.
‘Stop it, Leon,’ she demanded huskily. They both of them knew that whatever desire he felt towards her was purely a male physical response to a female body any female body, and yet for a second, with his eyes lingering purposefully on the frail barrier of her towel, Chloe had experienced an almost overwhelming surge of desire so strong that if he had