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She wasn’t so sure, but smiled back politely, then her heart gave a wild leap as Patrick loomed up behind them and tapped Giorgio on the shoulder.
‘Mind if I steal your partner?’ he curtly asked.
Giorgio looked round, began, ‘Yes, I do...’ then met Patrick’s dangerous stare and stopped speaking, looked alarmed, moved instinctively away from her, dropping her hand.
‘Is that OK with you, Antonia?’ he asked, though, as if having his doubts about leaving her alone with a man who looked like Patrick.
Patrick’s eyes burnt into her, silently compelling her to agree.
She swallowed, nodded, speechless.
She wanted to turn and run, but with all those people around how could she, without making a scene? Patrick slid a hand around her waist. She quivered in response to his touch, and her treacherous body responded by swaying close to him, irresistibly drawn to what it wanted.
They began to dance, her head level with his shoulder; she was bitterly tempted to shut her eyes and let her head fall against him, but she couldn’t do that, so she gazed fixedly over his shoulder instead, her feet stumbling.
‘Sorry,’ she mumbled, and he stopped, looked down at her with those hard, angry eyes.
‘You’re still going to marry him, aren’t you?’ he bit out, and she felt people glancing at them, startled by his expression, even if they couldn’t quite hear what he was saying. ‘In spite of everything, you’re still going through with it?’
She broke away from him, afraid of what he might say or do next, and ran into the house. People looked round at her as she fled past, her feathered skirts brushing against them, floating around her. Patrick was on her heels. Some people began laughing, thinking it was some sort of game, a party joke; they couldn’t see her face under her mask and Patrick had masked his expression, too.
She made for the stairs, thinking, He won’t dare follow me up there! She heard Alex stop him, saying in a puzzled voice, ‘What’s going on, Patrick?’ and felt able to slow down a little, her breathing rapid and her heart thudding against her ribs.
If she imagined Alex would keep him there she soon realised she was wrong. She didn’t catch what he said to Alex, but he was soon coming after her again, taking the stairs two at a time. Despairingly, Antonia raced towards the door of her old room.
She got it open, ran through, turned to slam the door shut and bolt it, but Patrick hurled himself against the panels from some feet away. The door crashed open again, sending her flying. She and Patrick landed in a huddle together on the floor.
The thud they made must have been heard downstairs; the ceiling must have shaken; the old Venetian glass lampshades must have dipped and swayed, tinkling like bells. Everyone downstairs had hushed, the voices faded; they must be staring upwards, mouths open.
What on earth would they be thinking?
She struggled to sit up, flushed and distraught, discovered that some of the feathers on her dress were broken, snapped off by the fall, and it seemed the last straw. She snapped too, furiously shouted at Patrick.
‘Look what you’ve done! My lovely dress...ruined...and what do you think everyone at the party is thinking? They’ll be talking nineteen to the dozen downstairs... This will be all round Venice tomorrow!’
‘Damn them; damn Venice,’ said Patrick through his teeth. ‘What do any of them matter?’
‘I don’t want to be gossiped about all over the city!’ she half sobbed, picking up feathers from all over the floor.
A sound at the door made them both look round. Alex stood there, framed in the doorway, his face alert.
‘Moulting, Antonia?’ he asked her, then before she could answer said more seriously, ‘What exactly is going on?’
‘Keep out of this, Alex,’ Patrick said brusquely.
For once Alex’s friendly tolerance was missing. He scowled at Patrick. ‘She’s my niece, guy. And this is my house—for tonight, at least. That makes this my business. Antonia, is he bothering you? Shall I kick him out?’
Patrick turned his head and looked down into her eyes, silent, yet wordlessly compelling her.
She bit her lips, looked down, shook her head.
‘What does that mean?’ asked Alex. ‘What the hell is all this, anyway?’
‘She’s an adult, Alex, not a child,’ Patrick said. ‘And this is a private discussion. Will you please go back to your party?’
Alex still lingered, frowning uncertainly, watching her. ‘Antonia?’ he asked one more time.
‘I’ll be OK,’ she whispered, not meeting his eyes.
