Witch's Harvest by Sara Craven Read Free Book Online

is exactly as it seems.' He had discarded his jacket and tie, she noticed dazedly, and undone the buttons of his shirt. He was on his feet, standing hands on hips, regarding
    Della, his expression enigmatic.
    'Vasco darling!' Della's voice throbbed dramatically. 'How could you do this to me—to us? You knew I was waiting for you in
    Paris…'
    He shrugged. 'That is not the impression your letter gave,' he said coldly. 'In any case, I found your terms unacceptable. You
    wished to marry a Rio businessman, not an Amazonian cocoa planter. I wish you better fortune in your next foray into
    matrimony.'
    A little muscle jerked in Della's face. 'But the wedding's in two weeks!'
    'It was,' he corrected with a chill that seemed to penetrate Abby's bones. 'I regret the inconvenience the cancellation will cause
    —unless Senhor Portman can be prevailed on to take my place.'
    'Darling,' pleaded Della with a sob, 'Jeremy means nothing to me. I was just saying that—to make you see how strongly I felt…'
    'Then you succeeded admirably,' Vasco said tersely. His face looked as if it had been chiselled from granite. 'You have
    convinced me that there are differences between us which could never be reconciled in marriage.'
    'But you're being unreasonable,' Della said rapidly. She was off balance now, really frightened, Abby realised with compassion.
    'I want you—you know that. Perhaps I went too far, but I'm prepared to forgive your little—romp with Goody-Two-Shoes here.
    Surely you can meet me half-way?' She gave Abby a look of molten vindictiveness.
    Vasco looked at her too, and his voice gentled. 'Get dressed, querida . I've booked a table at a restaurant for our celebration.'
    'What celebration?' Della almost spat. 'What the hell's going on here? Darling,' she swung back to Vasco, spreading her hands
    appealingly, 'I've told you—I'll overlook this. I've no doubt the little bitch threw herself at you, and…'
    'You will not speak of my future wife in those terms.' Vasco's quiet, even words hit the room like a thunderbolt. 'Now, it would be better if you left.'
    'Wife?' Della's voice was so choked with rage, and other emotions, it was hardly recognisable. 'My God, you mean you're
    actually going to marry this ugly, flat-chested little tart, this bloody little snake in the grass…'
    Vasco walked forward and took her by the arm. 'Allow me to escort you to the street,' he said coldly. 'Where your language
    belongs.' He glanced back at Abigail. 'Get dressed,' he told her again. 'There isn't a great deal of time.'
    The door closed behind them, but she could hear Della's voice raving on, feel the venom and rage radiating back to her,
    although she could not make out the words. She sank down on her bed, putting her hands over her ears. This was something
    that would haunt her, she thought, shivering.
    It seemed a long time before he returned. She heard the sound of the door with disbelief. Surely he couldn't have been totally
    unmoved by Della's suffering, by her open jealousy and misery?
    He walked round the partition and stood looking at her, his dark face expressionless.
    'Do you intend to have dinner with me in that robe?'
    'You mean—the restaurant booking is genuine?' Abby scrambled hurriedly off the bed.
    'Of course,' he said with faint hauteur. 'It seemed an appropriate way to mark our engagement.'
    'But we're not engaged,' she protested.
    'Oh, but we are,' he said softly. 'Whether you are pregnant or not, Abigail, there is no way I would leave you here at your cousin's mercy. She is ready to do you some kind of mischief.'
    'I don't blame her,' Abby muttered wretchedly.
    'It is not a point of view we share,' he said curtly. 'You owe her nothing.'
    She swallowed. 'You don't understand. I—I grew up with her, went to school with her. Her parents have been—very kind to
    me…'
    'Indeed?' His mouth twisted cynically. 'How odd. When I first visited their home, and met you there, I found it hard to distinguish whether you were a