Mistress of Deception

'God, Ebony,' Alan groaned. 'What a rotten atmosphere for a young girl to grow up in.'

'To be honest, it wasn't the sexual goings-on that upset me as much as not ever being able to form a close relationship with anyone. I dared not bring girlfriends home and I learnt not to make friends with the women Mama employed, because I knew they wouldn't last. People used to think I was weird. I wasn't. I simply chose to distance myself from those around me because it was less hurtful not to care about anyone in the first place.'

Alan felt dismay and sadness that Ebony's life had been so wretched. 'Wasn't there anyone you could confide in, or feel close to? An aunt or uncle, perhaps?'

'We never visited relatives. As for my parents' friends...they weren't the type of people one could confide in. Why do you think Papa made you my guardian in his will? You were the only person he'd ever had dealings with of any honour, or principle.'

Guilt curled within Alan's stomach. Some principle he'd proved to have. Still, at least he was prepared to marry the girl, despite her appalling upbringing. But no wonder she wasn't normal, sexually. She herself admitted that she hadn't been upset by her father's excesses in the end. Her sense of right and wrong had probably been dulled by constant exposure to immoral behaviour.

'Don't look so serious, Alan. You have to admit living with Mama and Papa gave me a broad mind in certain matters.'

'Judith should have at least put you in boarding-school,' Alan muttered. 'You shouldn't have had to put up with—or witness—the things you did. Your father's behaviour was a very bad example for a growing girl's mind.'

Ebony shrugged and picked up her wine glass to drink, her nonchalance

provoking him.

'Can't you see it made you think promiscuity was normal?' he accused.

Her black eyes flashed then narrowed as they met his over the rim of the glass, but she said nothing till she had taken a swallow of the wine.

'You've always believed I was promiscuous, haven't you?' she said bitterly. 'When exactly do you believe I started having sex? How old?'

Now it was his turn to shrug, but it was an uncomfortable gesture, not an indifferent one.

'Eighteen?' she suggested.

What did she see in his face to make her look at him like that?

'Sixteen?' she tried, half disbelievingly.

When he declined to answer, she stared at him.

'My God, how low could I go before I get some sign of agreement?' she went on savagely. 'Fourteen, perhaps? Twelve, even? Answer me, damn you!'

'I'm waiting for you to tell me,' he replied, agitated by her self-righteous anger. Why couldn't she just admit she'd started young? He wouldn't condemn her for it. He could see now she hadn't had much of a chance to be different. Pierre had set the pattern in the household and she had ab- sorbed his morals without even being aware of it.

'If I recall rightly, I told you all this once before, Alan,' she bit out. 'There's only been one man before you, and I was twenty at the time.'

His sigh was full of scepticism and exasperation. Had she honestly expected him to believe that? Even if it was true, by some miracle, it didn't alter her present promiscuity. She'd spent most of last night with that bastard photographer, then come away on this boat with him this morning without a qualm.

The memory of Stevenson kissing her goodnight, of her laughter afterwards, speared Alan with a sudden and savage jealousy. It took all his mental strength to gather himself and not confront her then and there with his knowledge.

'So you did,' he replied coldly. 'And was Stevenson a good lover?'

'Was Adrianna?' she countered, not so coldly.

Steely blue eyes snapped to blazing black ones. 'I don't think that's on a par, do you?'

'No, I don't. I didn't love Gary, which makes him far less of a rival for my affections than Adrianna is for yours. You loved her, or so you always claimed. Where does she figure in your life these days, Alan? Is our marriage bed to have a ghost in it, or can I be assured your love is all mine?'

Alan glared frustration at Ebony. Damn it, but the witch was turning things around, twisting the facts. Why should he be made to feel any guilt about his relationship with Adrianna? They might not have been in love, but they had been good to each other. There'd been no mad jealousies or hurting involved, and when it had finished it had finished cleanly.