The Touch of Passion by Lynda Ward

Author:Lynda Ward [Ward, Lynda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Contemporary Romance
Publisher: Belgrave House
Published: 1982-02-15T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eight

By the time they returned to Pietrasanta three days later, Gemma was subdued and resentful, cowed by Jordan’s perplexing swings in mood. During the daylight hours he had been a charming and congenial companion. He had escorted her all around Pisa, mingling with the crowds of sightseers and pointing out details of art and architecture with the polished aplomb of a tour guide. Gemma had viewed everything with appropriate appreciation, but curiously, the sight that had given her the most pleasure had been the dingy little antique shop just off the Borgo Stretto, where, Jordan told her, he discovered the lovely bronze statuette that now graced his private art collection. Eagerly Gemma had plunged into the morass of old newspapers, shabby furniture and dirty unidentifiable objects piled in the storage room, calling out to Jordan that she intended to find a piece for herself. He had watched her benignly, and when at last she came back to him, disappointed and a little bedraggled, he handed her a thin dusty book and said, “Here, I found something for you. This isn’t art, but I’m sure you’ll find it interesting.”

Gemma’s forehead had wrinkled as she gazed at the faded gilt letters on the cover, pronouncing the title with care. “Codice cavalleresco italiano. I can’t translate any of that except the last word.”

“It’s The Italian Gentleman’s Guide to Chivalry,” Jordan explained, “a Victorian book of rules for conducting a duel. A hundred years ago, no proper household would have been without one. Even now, very occasionally—well, not all that long ago a Roman journalist was challenged to a duel by the editor of a Communist newspaper. The journalist declined, on the grounds that a Communist was not a gentleman.” Gemma had joined in her husband’s laughter, just then feeling closer to him than at any other time during that brief bewildering honeymoon.

For no matter how they spent the days, each night was the same: Jordan made love to her with stunning skill, his hands and mouth arousing her deliberately until, vanquished, she begged for release. Then, after he had carried her with him to a devastating climax, she would lie in his arms, shaking, breathless— bereft. The tenderness that had so disarmed her on their wedding night was gone now, wiped out by her own rash words. Left in its place was—not brutality, but what was perhaps worse—suave insolence. Jordan disregarded her wishes and subjected her to his own will, using her ruthlessly, forcing her to admit her reluctant need of him and then rewarding her defeat with a satisfaction in which there was no fulfillment. Each night when she submitted to his potent caresses, she swore it would be the last time— and each morning she found herself looking with anguished longing toward the night to come.

As he whipped the new Ferrari, a duplicate of the one that had been wrecked, around the curves of the road leading up to his villa, Jordan glanced over at Gemma’s white face and asked

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