Vows Made in Secret

‘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.

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

SHE STARED AT him blankly. Even? Even!

‘What that’s supposed to mean?’ She flung the words at him, wishing they were sticks or stones or better still bricks. But he didn’t reply. Instead he made an impatient sound and she watched helplessly as his face closed tight like a trap. Her muscles were aching with the effort of not picking up a lamp and beating him to death with it. How could he do that? Just switch off in the middle of a conversation and take himself outside of it?

Feeling a familiar cold, paralysing panic, she wrapped her arms around herself. But of course she didn’t need him to answer anyway. She knew exactly what he was talking about.

An undertow of defiance tugged at her frustration and slowly she shook her head. ‘No, Laszlo. If you’re talking about the fact that I ended our relationship, then we are not even. Not even close to being even.’

Her whole body was suddenly shaking and she wrapped her arms more tightly around herself. Walking away from Laszlo and from her romantic hopes and dreams had been hard—one of the hardest things she’d ever done—and it had taken every ounce of willpower she’d had. But if he’d wanted to, if he’d wanted her, he could have stopped her; she’d given him every chance to change her mind. Only he’d barely uttered a word when she’d told him that she was leaving him. Certainly not the sort she’d craved. He’d let her go and that had been his choice.

A sudden, suffocating misery reared up inside her as, with a shudder, she remembered just how cold and unapproachable he’d been.

She stood rooted to the spot, numbed and struck dumb at her own stupidity. No wonder he’d been so secretive—smuggling her into his trailer and carefully sidestepping her requests to meet his family. Fool that she was, she’d been too dizzy with love, too in thrall to the way her body had softened and transformed beneath his touch, to wonder why. Besides, she’d been flattered at the start, at least, for she’d believed that he wanted her all to himself. He’d stolen her heart and her virginity in quick succession and all the while he’d been living a lie.

She looked at him wearily. But why did this lie matter, really? After all, she couldn’t change the past. Or change the fact that he hadn’t loved her enough to fight for her. Her mouth twisted. This discussion was a dead end. There was no point in trying to talk about their relationship now: it was seven years too late. And besides, she had a new life now. Maybe not the one she’d been hoping for, but a good life, and she wasn’t about to let him pick up her world and smash it to smithereens.

Her pulse fluttered into life and she glanced at the door, wishing she could go back in time to the moment before she’d walked through it. And then, with a start, she remembered that even if that had been possible it simply wasn’t an option. Edmund needed this job. That was why she had come to Hungary. And she needed to focus on that fact and not get sidetracked into a post-mortem of her romantic past.

She took a calming breath. The cataloguing was more important than her feelings. Not that she had any feelings for Laszlo any more. At least not any that should get in the way of what was essentially a job like any other. Their relationship was history and, while clearly she would never have chosen to meet him again, let alone work with him, there was no reason not to treat him like any other client—albeit one who was difficult, bordering on the socially inept.

Fighting down the urge to bolt through the door, she lifted her chin and met his gaze. She wasn’t going to let his inability to let go of the past upset her. She would be calm and efficient—a detached professional.

‘This is getting us nowhere, Laszlo,’ she said firmly. ‘I’m here to do a job for you and your grandfather.’

Biting her lip, she paused, her muscles tightening again. Did Janos know about her relationship with his grandson? That could be awkward. But then her body relaxed. Somehow she didn’t think so. It was a long time ago, and they’d never met, and Laszlo had probably had hundreds of girlfriends since her. Her cheeks grew suddenly hot and quickly she pushed that thought away.

‘I know he wants to start on the cataloguing as soon as possible, so why don’t we put aside our differences and try and concentrate on making that happen for him? Can we do that? Can we call a truce?’ She gave a small, tight smile and clenched her hands into fists to stop herself from crossing her fingers.

Laszlo stared at her speculatively. She wanted this job. It was obvious from the conciliatory note in her voice and the slight increase in tension around her shoulders. His gaze drifted hungrily over her neck to the pulse beating in the hollow at the base of her throat. To anyone who didn’t know her she looked like the perfect English Rose, pale and demure. But he knew the other Prudence. The one beneath that calm, poised exterior, who had wrapped herself around him with passion and fervour. That contrast, and the knowledge that he alone possessed that other, hidden Prudence, had excited him unbearably. With a spasm of disbelief, he realised it still did.

Feeling his body stiffen, he lifted his gaze and smiled at her almost mockingly. ‘Since you put it so nicely—’

She stared at him warily. She hadn’t expected him to come round so easily. But then, with Laszlo you never knew what to expect. ‘Thank you,’ she said stiffly. ‘I must say I’m a bit surprised—’

He smiled coolly. ‘I know how much women love surprises.’

Nodding, she forced herself to breathe slowly. Perhaps she could make this work. She just needed to stay focused on what was important: the fact that Laszlo was nothing more than a client. She looked up and found him watching her. A tingle of heat ran down her spine. She could almost see his desire—feel him wrapping it round her like a dark velvet cloak.

Her cheeks were burning. Quickly, before the sudden softness in his eyes could rattle her even more, she looked away. She was here to work and it didn’t matter that she and Laszlo had once shared a passion so pagan, so consuming, that the outside world had ceased to exist. Now their relationship needed to work only on a business level.

She met his eyes. ‘And I know men hate delays.’ She paused and cleared her throat. ‘So I suggest we discuss what happens now.’

Laszlo stared at her. A peony-pink flush had crept over the skin on her throat and his gaze drifted down over the pale grey blouse that clung to the soft swell of her breasts, then lower still to where the smooth downward curve of her hips and waist pressed tight against the fabric of her skirt. She was so close they were practically touching and, breathing in the familiar scent of jasmine, he found himself almost paralysed with longing again.

Breathing in sharply, he gritted his teeth. He had spent so long hating her, hating what she had done to him, that he had never supposed that he might still want her.

And yet apparently he did.

He stared at her, confused. He wanted her. But he also wanted to punish her. And yet even that wasn’t wholly true, for he couldn’t help but admire her. After all, how many other women—particularly one as shy and unworldly as Prudence—would stand their ground in this situation? Not that it surprised him. She had always possessed that quality of being in a state of quiescence, of teetering on the edge. His jaw tensed as her misty grey gaze rested on his face. Only now was not the time to be thinking about Prudence’s finer qualities. Better to concentrate on her flaws.

‘You tell me. Talking was always your thing, wasn’t it? For me, actions speak louder than words.’

He watched colour creep across her cheeks. Saw the moment that she relaxed, the tension leaving her body, making it softer and more vulnerable.

Prudence felt her cheeks grow warm. She needed no reminder of how eloquent his actions had been. Particularly not now, when she needed to keep her thoughts in some semblance of order. But his smile was like a beam of sunlight breaking through cloud. She just wanted to follow it...place herself in its path.

Focus, she told herself firmly. She cleared her throat and began to talk quickly. ‘As I said before, I know how keen your grandfather is to begin the cataloguing. So I think we should push on with the original timeframe.’

He stepped towards her and she tensed, her body suddenly a helix of tendon and muscle.

‘You’re the expert,’ he murmured.

Blushing, Prudence swallowed. His voice was such a captivating mix of soft and seductive. She felt heat begin to build inside her and for one brief moment allowed herself to remember the touch of his fingers, travelling over her skin with the virtuosity of a concert pianist. How the rippling rhythms of their bodies had quickened and intertwined to a breathless cadence.

Prudence took a deep breath. Surely she couldn’t still actually find him attractive? She must have more sense than that. But what had sense got to do with lust? No woman alive could stand next to Laszlo Cziffra and feel nothing.

Somewhere in the castle a door slammed and Prudence started forward with surprise. For a moment her hands grazed his chest as she swayed against him and then, breathing unsteadily, she teetered backwards. They were standing inches apart now. He was so close she could feel the heat of his skin. Her heart was pounding as though she’d been running and her body was trembling helplessly. He smelt of newly mown hay and rain-soaked earth and she felt almost dazed with longing as every inch of her reacted to him.

‘Castles were built to keep out arrows and cannon fire. Not draughts,’ he said drily.

Still horrified by the revelation that her body apparently had no loyalty to her heart, Prudence dragged her gaze away, hoping that he hadn’t noticed or, worse, correctly interpreted her physical response to him.

‘Weren’t they?’ she mumbled, her cheeks flushing. ‘Wh—what was I saying? Oh, yes. The timeframe. Three weeks is a typical estimate for a preliminary assessment. It’s important to be thorough at that stage.’ She frowned. ‘And don’t worry. If I have any problems I can speak to Mr Seymour. In fact, I’ll be in close contact with him the entire time.’ She gave a small, tight smile. ‘I find it helpful to have another point of view. For clarity.’

Her smile faded and she stared at him nervously, aware of a sudden stillness in him, a slight narrowing of his eyes, although she couldn’t quite understand what had changed. But then, why should she care? She was here to work, and Laszlo’s moods were no longer her concern.

Clearing her throat, she straightened her shoulders and forced herself to ignore the undertow of apprehension tugging at the back of her mind. ‘A-and obviously I’m happy to discuss any concerns Mr de Zsadany has,’ she stammered. His eyes clashed with hers and despite herself she felt another twinge of foreboding.

‘Obviously...’ he said coolly. ‘I know how you love to discuss problems.’

Her heart was thumping hard. There it was again: a tiny but deliberate dig. He was taking what was nothing more than a casual, unpremeditated remark and making it something personal, to do with the past. Their past. She felt sudden swift anger. Hadn’t they agreed to call a truce? This was going to be hard enough as it was, without him making a difficult situation worse with his snippy double-edged comments.

Her mind was so churned up with emotion it took her another couple of moments before she understood just how difficult the situation was going to be. For it wasn’t as if she was just going to work with Laszlo—her blood seemed to still in her veins—she was going to have to live with him too.

A tremor grew at the back of her neck. Of course she would have to live with him. But not like this. Not dreading his every remark—not deliberately having to misunderstand his every insinuation. She needed to make it clear now that she would not tolerate being treated like that.

‘I don’t like discussing problems.’ Returning his gaze coldly, she lifted her chin. ‘It’s just that I think communication is key to a successful relationship.’

She had meant to sound assured, without being overtly confrontational. But she knew the moment she spoke that it was the wrong thing to say. For he went entirely still and his eyes locked onto hers like an infrared missile seeking its target.

Swaying, she took a faltering step backwards. ‘I didn’t mean us—’

‘Don’t bother! I already know pretty much all there is to know about your views on relationships.’

Watching the shock and confusion bloom on her face, Laszlo felt a surge of satisfaction.

His voice was little more than a rasp. ‘You explained them to me in great detail when you walked out on me—Prudence.’

She flinched as he turned towards her and spat her name into the air as though it were a poison he had inadvertently swallowed.

‘In fact...’ He paused, his lip curling with contempt. ‘You made it abundantly clear how pitiable I was to have ever imagined that our relationship might work, given the range and depth of my flaws.’

‘N-no. I didn’t—’ Prudence began shakily, shocked and unnerved by the level of venom in his voice. But her voice died as he stepped towards her and she saw real anger in his eyes.

‘Oh, but you did.’ His face was tight with emotion. ‘Only you were wrong. They weren’t my flaws. They were yours!’ he ground out between gritted teeth. ‘You were just too weak and snobbish—’

‘I was not weak and snobbish.’ The injustice of his words melted her shock and suddenly she was coldly furious. ‘I just didn’t want to pretend any more.’

‘Pretend what? That you loved me?’ His face was blunt, angular with hostility.