Angel of Darkness

Utterly devastated. That was how she felt. For an insane moment she had wanted to tear their straining bodies apart and impose herself between them. Now wouldn’t that have been a novel end to the day? She staggered dizzily into a chair in an alcove off the hall and sat down, hugging herself as though to ward off the intense pain.

Tomaso strode past, paused. ‘Have you seen Angelo?’

She jerked a hand wordlessly in the direction of the conservatory, would have liked to say something smart like. ‘I think you’ll find he’s busy,’ but could not summon up the poise. She was hurting so much, she didn’t think she could bear it without coming apart. She twisted her hands together, battling for control but the pain simply kept on biting at her from new directions.

Inside her head, she saw them together in a far more intimate setting. She squeezed her eyes tight shut in anguish but the image wouldn’t leave her alone. She saw them intertwined in passion in tumbled sheets, lying together in the blissful aftermath that once she had known and about there she just wanted to press a button and die.

Someone pulled apart her shaking hands and gripped them tightly in his.

‘I’m sorry,’ Tomaso said heavily. ‘I am very sorry you had to see that.’

The sympathy almost sent her over the edge. She didn’t trust herself to speak.

‘Kelda...what do you want me to do?’

Her lashes lifted. Her stepfather was hunkered down in front of her, fiercely holding her hands. ‘Nothing,’ she gasped pleadingly.

‘Angelo has the right to know—’

‘No, not now!’ she forced out painfully. ‘I couldn’t stand it!’

‘You love him.’ Tomaso released his breath in a long pent-up hiss, kindly removing his perceptive gaze from her distraught face.

‘No...’ But even to her own ears it sounded false, empty, a foolish denial of the anguish she was enduring.

Tomaso sighed. ‘He would marry you—’

She was appalled by the idea and it showed.

‘I would get a car to take you home but you should stay here tonight. I don’t like the idea of you being on your own,’ her stepfather said quietly.

‘I’ll be fine.’ From somewhere, she got the strength to give him a watery smile. ‘I think I need to be on my own.’

Afterwards she couldn’t recall a single moment of the drive. She found herself back inside the cottage without quite knowing how she had got there. And then she collapsed, but not into tears. Her eyes burned and ached but not with moisture. She couldn’t cry. Tomaso’s understanding kindness had almost been her undoing, but now that she was alone all she could do was stare emptily into space.

She did love Angelo. Why had she only found that out now, when it was too late to make any difference? But what difference could it ever have made? she asked herself. Six years of bitter misunderstanding lay between her and Angelo, and her own behaviour had only confirmed his opinion of her. Why, oh, why had she set up that scene at her apartment with Russ?

Of course, she hadn’t even suspected then that she might be pregnant. But by staging that scene she had finally and most thoroughly confirmed Angelo’s low opinion of her morals. There was no way now that she would ever tell Angelo that the baby she carried was his. He despised her but he had found her sexually attractive. That was all it had ever been on his side. Sex. The very last thing on Angelo’s mind had been fathering a child.

How could you love and hate someone at the same time? Today she had hated him, but she had loved, wanted and needed him as well with a mindless craving that had shaken her to the very roots of her being. Jealousy had not touched her until now, but Angelo had plunged her into instant agony. She could not have borne Tomaso’s interference in the situation. That, at least, she reminded herself, was no longer likely.

It was after two when she heard a car raking into her driveway. She sat up in bed, listened to the slam of a door, crunching steps on the gravel. The bell went in three sharp, successive bursts.

‘Who is it?’ she called from the stairs.

‘Who the hell do you think?’

Angelo. Weakly she sank down on the second last step. ‘Go away!’

‘If I have to break in, I’ll do it!’

Her breath shortened in her throat. Tying the sash of her robe, she unbolted the door. ‘Do you realise what time it is?’ she demanded.

‘Are you alone?’ Angelo sent a slashing glance of suspicion up the stairs.

‘What do you want?’ Tension held her fast, a nasty flicker of foreboding skimming down her spine. Playing for time to compose herself, she walked into the lounge and switched on a lamp before taking up a stance by the fireplace.

Angelo looked uncharacteristically tousled. His hard jawline was blue-shadowed, his ebony hair ruffled. Although he was still wearing his grey suit, he had discarded his tie and his silk shirt was half unbuttoned. His brilliant dark eyes glittered with a cold menace, accentuated by the rigid tension etched into his striking bone-structure.