Louise Fuller - Vows Made in Secret

Laszlo stared at Prudence, his handsome face cold and blank. But inside it was as though he was falling from a great height. His mind was racing, explanations tumbling over one another, each one more desperate and untenable than the last. And all the time, like a silent movie, the short, doomed pretence of their love played out before his eyes.

Aware that he was playing for time, he felt a rush of anger. But words had literally failed him—for he had blotted out all traces of her so completely that just looking at her made him feel dizzy.

‘I could ask you the same question,’ he murmured.

And then, with shock, he remembered that it had been only that morning that his hunger-fuelled brain had conjured up her memory. He shivered as the hairs stood up on the back of his neck and he remembered the cry of the owl he had heard earlier. Had he somehow summoned her here?

The part of his mind not numb with shock pushed the suggestion away irritably: of course he hadn’t. Clearly she hadn’t come looking for him, for her own shock was unmistakable. So what exactly was she doing here?

Eyes narrowing, he stared assessingly at her and waited for answers.

White-faced, Prudence stared back at him dazedly. She must have fallen down a rabbit hole, for what other explanation could there be? Why else was Laszlo Cziffra here in this isolated castle in the Hungarian countryside? Unless—her blood turned cold—could he be working for Mr de Zsadany?

Her mind cringed from the possibility and, remembering his blank-eyed indifference when she’d told him she was leaving him, she felt suddenly sick. But that had been seven years ago. Surely after all this time they could treat each other with at the very least a polite neutrality? But instead of cool curiosity, he was watching her with a sort of icy contempt.

‘I don’t understand—’ She broke off, the colour draining from her cheeks as he walked slowly across the faded Persian carpet towards her. ‘What are you doing here?’ she said again. ‘You can’t be here.’

Watching the shock on her face turn to horror as he approached, Laszlo felt the floor yaw beneath him like a wave-tossed ship. But he had no intention of revealing to Prudence how strongly he was affected by her presence. Or her evident dismay at seeing him again.

Breathing deeply, he steadied himself. ‘But I am,’ he said slowly. ‘Why are you trembling, pireni ?’

She tried to ignore it. Just as she was trying to ignore how handsome he was and his nerve-jangling nearness. But the familiar word of endearment seemed to grow to a roar inside her head, drowning out her answer to his question.

For what felt like a lifetime they stood, staring at one another in silence, as they had done a hundred...a thousand times before.

The man’s voice, when it came, startled both of them.

‘Ah, there you are! I’m sorry I’m late. The traffic was terrible.’

A plumpish, middle-aged man, with thick, dull blonde hair and a panicked expression on his face, hurried into the room. Turning to Prudence, he shuffled some files under his arm and held out his hand.

‘I’m so sorry to have missed you at the airport, Miss Elliot. You got my message, though?’

Still speechless with shock, Prudence nodded. She had felt a momentary spasm of relief at the man’s arrival. But now it would appear that her relief was premature. For his words had made it painfully clear to her that Laszlo’s presence was a shock only to her .

The man glanced cautiously at Laszlo and cleared his throat. ‘I see you two have already met. So let me introduce myself. Jakob Frankel. I work for the law firm that represents Mr de Zsadany. May I say on behalf of the family how grateful we all are for you stepping in at the last moment. It was really very kind of you.’

Laszlo felt his guts twist. His brain was struggling to give meaning to what was happening. Jakob had told him that Edmund Seymour was ill and that someone else was coming in his place. Typically, he’d forgotten—for one stranger was no better or worse than another. But suddenly Jakob’s words seemed to take on a new and wholly unpalatable significance: Seymour’s replacement was Prudence Elliot . And that meant she would be living under his roof for the foreseeable future!

‘It’s my pleasure,’ Prudence said hoarsely.

The lawyer nodded and, looking nervously from Prudence to Laszlo, said, ‘Everyone is most grateful.’

Prudence smiled weakly and opened her mouth to speak but Laszlo interrupted her.

‘Miss Elliot could buy her own castle with the fee we’re paying her. I don’t think she needs our gratitude as well.’

Flinching at the undertone of hostility in his voice, Prudence felt rather than saw Laszlo’s dark, probing gaze turn towards her. Her breath, suddenly sharp and serrated, tore at her throat and she touched her neck nervously. She still had no idea what he was doing here but he must be important, for the lawyer was clearly deferring to him. The thought somehow exhausted her, and she felt suddenly on the verge of tears.

This wasn’t supposed to be happening. It was bad enough feeling out of her depth professionally. But now there was Laszlo, staring at her with those cold, dismissive eyes, and all she could think was that he could still make her feel like nothing. How he had made her feel like nothing seven years ago. Swallowing, she gritted her teeth. At least she’d fought for their relationship; he, on the other hand, had been too busy doing whatever he’d done to get himself arrested.

And she wasn’t nothing. In his words, she was being paid enough to buy a castle to do this job and that was what she was there to do. Her job. It didn’t matter that once upon a time, her love hadn’t been good enough for him.

Lifting her chin, she turned towards the lawyer. ‘You’re very kind, Mr Frankel,’ she said clearly. ‘Thank you for allowing me to come. This is a marvellous opportunity for me. I just hope I can live up to your expectations.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,’ Laszlo murmured softly. ‘We have very low expectations.’

There was another long, tense moment of silence and then Frankel gave a nervous laugh. ‘What Mr Cziffra is trying to say—’

‘Is that Miss Elliot and I can take it from here,’ Laszlo finished smoothly.

The lawyer looked at him doubtfully. ‘You can?’

‘I think I can manage.’ Laszlo’s voice was as cold and flat as an Arctic ice floe and Prudence shivered as Frankel nodded, his plump face flushed.

‘Of course,’ he said hastily. ‘Of course.’ He turned towards Prudence.

‘You’ll be in safe hands, Miss Elliot! After Mr de Zsadany, no one knows more about the collection than his grandson.’

The shock was like a jolt of electricity.

Prudence felt her whole body still and then start to shake. The room was spinning at the edge of her vision. Janos Almasy de Zsadany was Laszlo’s grandfather! But how could he be? Janos Almasy de Zsadany was a billionaire several times over. Laszlo was a Romany—a traveller who lived in a trailer. How could they possibly be related?

With an almost painful stab of hope she wondered if she had misheard Frankel and she turned to Laszlo, expecting, praying he would still be staring at her with the same cold, uninterested expression. But she saw instead that he was staring at her with a look of pitying scorn and horror.

Her stomach convulsed with fear. Frankel was telling the truth.

Heart thumping, feeling dizzy and sick, she glanced numbly at the lawyer. But he seemed unaware of the turmoil he had created with his simple statement of fact. Fighting her misery, she glanced back at Laszlo. There was no denial on his face—no embarrassment or confusion, and she stared at him, unable to ignore, even in her misery, his luminous, impossible beauty.