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‘It’s all very well for you, standing there all high and mighty with your billions of dollars behind you,’ Nick burst out savagely. ‘You don’t even begin to know what the real world is all about. If you did—’
‘If I did, I still wouldn’t use a woman to satisfy my own needs if that wasn’t what she wanted. Money has nothing to do with morals, Blayne. We’ve all got freedom of choice.’
‘Bastard,’ Silas heard Nick mutter venomously as he walked away from him. But the sudden compression of his mouth into a hard line wasn’t caused by Nick’s aggression.
He had claimed a moral superiority over Blayne, and it was true that he would never physically abuse or force a woman in any kind of way, but according to his mother in planning to marry Julia he was using her.
‘A marriage between us will benefit her as much as it will me,’ he had told her.
‘Only if she shares your thinking, Silas, and I have to say that I don’t think she will. You claim to be a practical man who has no desire for a marriage based on love. I doubt that Julia will share that point of view.’
Silas stopped himself. This was hardly the best time for him to start indulging in a guilt trip over Julia’s feelings.
Any practical person would agree with him that a marriage between them would be extremely beneficial to both of them. In and out of bed. He considered himself to be an aware and fair lover, and Julia hadn’t flirted with him earlier on because she didn’t want to have sex with him, had she? There was no reason why they shouldn’t share a mutually very satisfying sex life. If they did, then he was certainly prepared to remain a faithful husband, and he felt confident that he could keep Julia satisfied enough not to want to stray herself. Their marriage would certainly have a far stronger foundation than one based on ‘romantic love’. One only had to look at the tragedy of Lucy’s marriage to Blayne to know that.
CHAPTER FIVE
THERE were undeniably some advantages to her ‘engagement’ to Silas, Julia reflected as their chauffeur-driven limousine swept them down toward Positano, and first-class travel had to be at the top of the list.
Julia knew that many people found Silas dauntingly formidable. His unemotional practicality had certainly irked her over the years, but there were times when a practical man was a bonus and this was definitely one of them. She considered herself to be a modern, independent woman, but she had certainly enjoyed having nothing to do other than sit back and relax and admire the awe-inspiring Amalfi coastline.
Silas, predictably, had been working, his BlackBerry handheld PDA device in constant use as he phoned and e-mailed, while the chauffeur with true Italian élan and a breathtakingly macho disregard for the coaches lumbering the other way.
‘Relax,’ Silas had murmured at one point, when she had audibly drawn in her breath, sure that they would go over the cliff. ‘He knows he won’t get a tip if we don’t survive.’
It had astonished her that he had noticed her apprehension. He certainly hadn’t been looking at her. She knew that, because every time she had looked at him he had been totally focused on e-mailing.
What would it take to shake Silas out of that cool, distancing manner of his and into the heat of raw human passion…or rather who would it take? She would certainly need to be a very strong woman, and a very determined one. What would he be like as a lover? Experienced, certainly, and knowledgeable about what pleased a woman for sure. Silas set high standards for himself, and his skills. And a woman would be able to trust him to take care of everything there was to be taken care of. Silas would have a clean bill of health and an awareness of what could be safely risked and what could not. He would take due care to make sure that his lover experienced the maximum amount of pleasure without inflicting on her any kind of pain.
Physically, perhaps, but what about emotionally? Was Silas, with his cool distance from the rest of the human race and their untidy emotions, capable of understanding what it meant to be hurt emotionally?
‘I’ve e-mailed your grandfather, apologising for not asking his formal permission for our engagement. I told him that your impetuosity overwhelmed us.’
‘My impetuosity?’ Julia challenged him.
Silas smiled at her.
‘Well, he would hardly be likely to believe me if I said it was mine, would he?’ I’ve also e-mailed my mother, and the New York society columns.’
‘Have you told her that my impetuosity is to blame as well?’ Julia asked wryly.
‘My mother doesn’t need an explanation.’
Whilst Julia was silently digesting his comment, Silas added, ‘You’re going to need an engagement ring, but, I’ve suggested to your grandfather we wait until you can return to New York with me.’
‘Silas, I don’t want a ring.’
She might just as well not have spoken.
‘It seems appropriate to me that you should wear the Monckford diamond.’
‘What?’ Julia stared at him. ‘You mean the one the Sixth Earl fought that duel over?’
‘Actually, it was his wife’s honour over which he fought the duel, but since it was the fact that she was foolish enough to be wearing the ring when she went to meet her lover, yes, I do mean that one. Traditionally it was the family betrothal ring, so it seems fitting that you should wear it now.’
Julia took refuge from her own chaotic thoughts by saying crossly, ‘I thought you were supposed to run the Foundation, not spend your time trying to repossess every bauble the family ever owned.’
‘The Monckford Diamond is hardly a bauble. In fact, it is an extremely rare and historic stone.’
‘Thank heavens I don’t have to wear it permanently. If it looks anything like it does in the Countess’s portrait, it must be incredibly ugly,’ Julia could not resist saying disparagingly.
Silas had always incited her to this kind of angry tit for tat, as though somehow they both had to try and outdo one another. But, no matter how much she goaded him, Silas never reacted with a satisfactory show of emotion.
They had reached Positano, its rows of pastel-washed buildings clinging to the steep hillside whilst the Mediterranean lay blue and calm below them.
No wonder artists and poets had fallen in love with this place, Julia reflected as she gazed out of the car widow in silent appreciation. And no wonder too that the Silverwoods had wanted to come here, to the place where they had first met, to celebrate two such special family events.
As regular visitors to Positano, the Silverwoods had a favourite hotel where they always stayed, and Julia had managed, after some incredibly difficult negotiations, to ensure that they would have the exclusive use of a private dining room there, that opened out onto a terrace overlooking the sea, for the celebratory meal. Not unnaturally, the manager of the hotel had demanded a large fee for the use of both dining room and patio, at what was virtually the height of the summer season.
Privately Julia was not sure she would have chosen such an exclusive and expensive venue for the celebration of an eighteenth birthday, and during initial discussions she had recognised that the Silverwoods’ teenage son was not as excited about the prospect of the double celebration as his parents. Diplomatically she had suggested to her clients that they might think about throwing a more robust type of event exclusively for their son, so that he could celebrate his coming of age with his friends.
The car turned in to the entrance to the Arcadia hotel, past the discreet plaque that bore the legend ‘Leading Hotels of the World’. She already knew that the Arcadia had been built in the eighteenth century as a private villa, and had been opened as a hotel in the early 1950s. Its rooms were apparently still furnished as though it were a private home, with carefully chosen antiques and objets d’art, and certainly the reception area bore out this description.
They were shown almost immediately to their suite, and Julia caught her breath as she saw the views from the windows. The hotel must surely command some of the best views in Positano, Julia decided as Silas tipped the porter.
‘This is
heavenly,’ she murmured appreciatively, unable to take her eyes off the sparkling blue of the Mediterranean.
‘What’s the plan of action for tomorrow?’ Silas asked, merely glancing briefly at the view as he reached for his BlackBerry.
‘The family will have already arrived today, and by tonight so will most of the guests. For tomorrow, we’ve organised the hire of a private yacht that will take everyone to Capri, where they will have lunch. Then tomorrow evening there will be a champagne reception at the hotel. Some of the guests won’t make it in time for the Capri trip, so the following day those who wish to do so can go to Amalfi. For those who don’t, a buffet lunch will be provided at the hotel, with the main event—the formal dinner—taking place that evening.’
‘And that’s it?’ Silas asked her.
‘That’s it,’ Julia agreed, straight-faced. ‘Except, of course, for the flowers, and the hairdresser, and the food, and of course the wine, plus getting the presents here, et cetera, et cetera.’
He had put down his BlackBerry and come to study the view. There wasn’t very much room on the small balcony, which meant that he had to stand behind her, so close that she could feel the heat coming off his body.
‘I think tonight we’ll dispense with the separate sleeping arrangements.’
‘What?’ Julia started to turn round and then stopped as she realised that turning round would bring her body to body with him.
‘This really is a wonderful view,’ she blurted out in panic.
‘Wonderful,’ Silas agreed kindly.
He had put his arm around her—both arms, in fact, Julia discovered.
‘I don’t think this is a very good idea,’ she warned him in a wobbly voice.
