Louise Fuller - Vows Made in Secret

He looked up and she flinched as he met her gaze, the softness of his mouth only seeming to emphasise the hard challenge in his eyes.

Frankel coughed. ‘Right. In that case I’ll be on my way. Goodnight, Miss Elliot! I’ll see myself out, Mr Cziffra.’

‘Thank you, Frankel.’ Laszlo stared steadily at Prudence, his eyes glittering like shards of yellow glass. ‘Enjoy the rest of your evening. And don’t worry. I’ll take good care of Miss Elliot.’

Prudence felt her stomach turn to liquid as Laszlo turned towards her and nodded.

‘I promise I’ll give her my full and undivided attention.’

The table lamps felt suddenly like spotlights, and although the room was warm she felt cold and shivery. She watched Frankel leave with a mounting sense of dread, every nerve in her body straining to breaking point. She wanted to run after the lawyer and beg him to stay but her body was rooted to the spot. Numbly, she stared at the paintings on the wall. Just moments ago they had given her such innocent pleasure. But not any more. Now they seemed like cruel-eyed onlookers, mocking her stupidity.

The anaesthetic of shock and bewilderment was starting to wear off and she felt a sudden stabbing surge of irritation. Okay, it was awkward and stressful for both of them to be thrown together like this, but surely she had a far greater reason to be upset than him? Surely she deserved some answers here? Her lip curled. In fact, how could he just stand there and not offer one word of explanation?

Glancing at his expressionless face, she gritted her teeth. Quite easily, it would appear. Her chest tightened. He hadn’t changed a bit. He was still putting the onus on her to resolve everything. As though he were a witness rather than a central protagonist in what was happening.

‘Pretending I’m not here isn’t going to make this go away!’ she said slowly. Willing herself to stay as cool as she sounded, she lifted her chin and met his gaze. ‘We need to sort this out.’

Laszlo stared at her. ‘“Sort this out”?’ he echoed softly. His mouth tightened as he suppressed a humourless laugh. There was nothing to sort out! Except out of which door he would throw her! ‘Is that what we need to do?’ His eyes met hers. ‘So. You’re Seymour’s replacement?’ he said coolly.

Heart thumping against her ribcage, Prudence nodded. Keeping her eyes straight ahead, she cleared her throat. ‘And you’re Mr de Zsadany’s grandson!’

She fell silent and waited for his answer. But he did nothing more than nod. Turning her head, she clenched her fists: the words incorrigible and impossible were ricocheting inside her brain. Was that it, then? No explanations. Not one word to acknowledge the impact and implication of those words.

As though reading her mind, Laszlo sighed. His eyes looked through her and past her as he spoke. ‘My mother was Zsofia Almasy de Zsadany. She was Janos’s daughter and only child.’

It was like hearing a marble statue speak and her heart flinched at the chill in his voice.

‘She met my father, Istvan, when she was sixteen. He was seventeen, a Kalderash Roma. Both their families opposed the match but they loved each other so much that nothing could keep them apart.’

His eyes gleamed and she felt a jolt of pain at the accusatory barb of his words.

‘They were married and I was born nine months later.’

Prudence stared at him numbly. Who was this Laszlo? And what had he been doing living in a shabby trailer in England? Had he been rebelling? Or estranged from the de Zsadanys? Her head was swimming with questions. From knowing next to nothing about him she suddenly had so much information she could hardly take it all in. But her heart contracted as she realised that even the small things he had shared with her had been half-truths.

‘Why were you there? In England, I mean?’

He frowned. ‘After my parents died I spent time with both my families. My grandfather wanted me to go to school. To be educated. So I stayed in Hungary during term-time, and in the holidays I went and visited my father’s family, wherever they happened to be living.’ His eyes gleamed remorselessly. ‘I wanted to be loyal to both my mother and my father.’

She forced herself to meet his gaze. ‘I see,’ she said slowly. ‘But you didn’t want to be open and honest with me?’ She felt a sudden rise in tension as his eyes slid slowly and assessingly over her rigid frame.

‘No. I did not,’ he said finally.

Prudence gaped at him, her pledge to stay calm and detached now completely forgotten. ‘Didn’t you think it might have been better, not to say fairer , to share the whole truth with me?’ she said furiously. ‘You know—the fact that your grandfather was one of the richest men in Europe? And that you lived in a castle surrounded by priceless works of art?’

He looked away from her and shrugged. Prudence felt almost giddy with rage. How dare he just stand there and shrug at her? As if it didn’t matter that he’d lied to her. As if she didn’t matter.

‘What difference would it have made?’ he said flatly. ‘There were lots of facts you didn’t know about me—why focus on that one?’ His face twisted. ‘Unless, of course, it wasn’t the truth you wanted to share. Maybe there were other things you’d have liked to share. Like my grandfather’s money.’

The breath seemed to snarl up in her throat. ‘How can you say that?’ She stepped towards him, her body shaking with anger. ‘How can you even suggest—?’ Her head was spinning, nerves humming with rage and frustration. ‘Don’t you dare try and twist this, Laszlo. You lied to me!’

Laszlo’s face was suddenly as pale and rigid as bone and she had to curl her fingers into her hands to stop herself from flinching at the hostility in his eyes.

‘I didn’t lie,’ he said coldly. ‘I am half-Romany and I did live in a trailer.’

‘Oh, that’s okay, then,’ Prudence said sarcastically. ‘Maybe it was your other half. The half that lived in a castle. Perhaps he lied to me?’

Anger was bubbling up inside her, her breath burning her throat. She wasn’t the one who’d lied about who she was. She winced as her nails dug into her skin. Had he actually told her the truth about anything?

Laszlo met her gaze. ‘You believed what you wanted to believe.’

Prudence shook her head in disbelief. ‘I believed what you encouraged me to believe,’ she said furiously. ‘There’s a difference.’

There was a dangerous silence and then his eyes narrowed.

‘You’re missing the point, Prudence. It doesn’t matter what someone believes if they don’t have faith.’ His voice was ragged, frayed with a bitterness she had never heard before. ‘Without that it’s all just words.’

She sucked in a breath. ‘Yes, it is. Your words. The lies you told me.’ Her heart was pounding; her hands were tight fists against her sides. ‘Don’t try and turn this into some philosophical debate, Laszlo. I’m upset because you lied to me and you took away my choices.’

‘So now we’re even,’ he said coldly.

CHAPTER TWO Contents Cover Introduction ‘I honoured you with a gift. The most important gift a man can give to a woman. I made you my wife and you threw it in my face.’ Prudence gaped at him, shock washing over her in waves. She opened her mouth to deny his claim but the words clogged her throat. His wife? Surely he didn’t really think that they were actually married? Her heart was pounding and the palms of her hands felt suddenly damp. Married? That was ridiculous! Insane! Dazedly she thought back to that day when she’d been led, giggling and blindfolded, to his great-uncle’s trailer. Laszlo had been waiting for her. She felt a shiver run down her spine at the memory, for he’d looked heartbreakingly handsome and so serious she had wanted to cry. They’d sworn their love and commitment to one another and his great-uncle had spoken some words in Romany, and then they had eaten some bread and some salt. Her pulse was fluttering, and despite her best efforts her voice sounded high and jerky. ‘We’re not married,’ she said tightly. ‘Marriages are more than just words and kisses. This is just another of your lies …’ Her voice trailed off at the expression of derision on his face. ‘You’re going off topic, pireni. We’re still married. I’m still your husband. And you’re my wife.’ About the Author LOUISE FULLER was a tomboy who hated pink and always wanted to be the prince—not the princess! Now she enjoys creating heroines who aren’t pretty pushovers but are strong, believable women. Before writing for Mills & Boon® she studied literature and philosophy at university and then worked as a reporter on her local newspaper. She lives in Tunbridge Wells with her impossibly handsome husband, Patrick, and their six children. Title Page Vows Made in Secret Louise Fuller www.millsandboon.co.uk Dedication To my husband, Patrick, who provided inspiration not just for the love scenes but the emotional conflict! CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO CHAPTER THREE CHAPTER FOUR CHAPTER FIVE CHAPTER SIX CHAPTER SEVEN CHAPTER EIGHT CHAPTER NINE CHAPTER TEN CHAPTER ELEVEN Extract from Tycoon's Delicious Debt by Susanna Carr Copyright