This woman, this beautiful, young woman he had brought to his home was a window to the man he hated.
That was all. He padded back into his bedroom, his expression thunderous. “Such as?” He prompted, continuing their conversation as though he hadn’t physically left it only moments earlier.
She licked the outline of her full, lower lip, her eyes faraway. “The past.”
His sense that something with her was in pain grew stronger. He’d had so many warning signs, and he’d chosen to ignore them. Now, he stared across the moonlit floor at her, his mind pushing all the little statements she’d made together like a freight train to thetruth. “What in your past,cara, are you running from?”
But he knew.
Realisation slammed into him like a bullet. “Someone hurt you.” And he’d put money on knowing who. The man’s temper had been obvious. His vitriolic rage had simmered behind his eyes. Staring now at Kate he saw that their eyes were as different as they were alike. For hers had no anger. Hers showed gentleness and vulnerability, humour and kindness.
“You are hiding here, in Rome, from someone. Or something.” A frown pushed across his face. Kate was stricken. Her face was pale. Her eyes, somehow, even bigger than usual.
“I … I didn’t have you pegged as a fantasist.”
It was a lame, weak demurral. He discarded it instantly. He was all ruthless businessman now, intent on extracting the information he sought. “I should have understood sooner. Why else would you be here, living like this?” Her life in England had been one of luxury and comfort. At least, it had appeared that way. Only a sinister undercurrent could have forced her to this life, surely.
“You told me you haven’t seen your father in years. You haven’t been home in years.” He nodded, to himself, as everything began to unfold into a crisp piece of knowledge. “Is it him you’re running from?”
The dream was still clogged in her brain. Fear and adrenalin were impossible to quickly wish away, and they coursed through her blood and her bones. She pushed the duvet from her body and stood, but her knees were weak. “You’re crazy,” she muttered. “You don’t know anything about my father.”
His sneer should have told her the opposite was true, but her eyes weren’t focused on him. Her flight instinct had been invoked. It was taking every ounce of her will-power to stop from pulling clothes on and walking away from him.
“I know enough,” he muttered, dragging a hand through his thick hair.
“What?” Her breath snagged in her throat. Had she misunderstood.
Benedetto opened his mouth as if to say something and then shook his head. “You have told me, time and time again, only I have not listened. You have let many little things slip. You have told me without telling me, and now I am asking you to confide in me.”
Kate’s mouth worked overtime, swallowing convulsively, but she couldn’t bring liquid back to her throat. She sat down on the edge of the bed, her naked back curled likea conch shell.
The silver of the moon glistened across her smooth flesh. Smooth, but for the scar that marred her perfection.
“He did this,” Benedetto demanded, pressing his finger lightly into the mark.
A sob tore through Kate. She’d never told another soul about her father. Never. Not a single person. Even here, far from Augustine’s power, she lived in complete fear that he might hurt her somehow.
“Just let it go.”
Benedetto lifted his fingers infinitesimally, so that his touch was as light as spider’s webbing. He traced a circle around the mark, his mind slamming with this new truth. What did it mean? Did it change anything?
And if true, what the hell had he done in exposing her to this man? His desperation to avenge the past could very well have put Kate’s present in jeopardy. Oh, he didn’t fear Augustine. Physically, the man was no match for Benedetto; unlikely for Kate, for that matter. But he apparently occupied a powerful place in her life, in her memories, and perhaps her heart, and that could continue to wound her now.
“I want to make this better for you.” He squeezed his eyes shut. He had made it so much worse; what she would never know was that it was now his responsibility to fix it.
“It is better,” she murmured. Her shoulders were shaking. “It’s better if I don’t talk about it,” she repeated, her words coming to him as if from a long way away.
“Did he hurt you often?” Benedetto continued, unwilling to be thrown off topic.
“No,” she lied.
God, had he done more than hit her? Had he raped her? Nausea perforated his gut. “Did he … was he … did he molest you?”
Her head whipped up. Her eyes were brimming with pain. “No. Never. He’s my father. Don’t be disgusting.”
He believed her. Not about the abuse, but about the molestation. That, at least, was something. “But he did hurt you?”
Kate stood once more, and forced her jelly-like legs to take her across the room. “He’s a good man,” she said stonily. “And he loves me more than anything else on earth.”
