Free Moth to the Flame by Sara Craven Page B

could be
    drawn round the bed at night, but last night they had not been, They
    had been looped back with heavily gilded and tasselled cords. The
    sheets and pillowcases were of linen so fine that it felt like silk
    against her skin, and they were edged with exquisite lace that even
    her untrained eyes suggested was probably handmade.
    Which brought her to the next realisation—that the sheet, and the
    elaborately quilted and embroidered bedcover, were the only
    covering she had. The colour stormed into her face. Someone had
    brought her here, undressed her and put her to bed, and she had not
    the slightest recollection of any of it happening. The last thing she
    remembered, she forced her mind back, was music and the swift
    motion of a car, and a man's voice.
    She pressed her hands against her burning cheeks as her memory
    began to stir sluggishly, and she began to recall all that had taken
    place—when? The previous evening? It was difficult to say, but
    surely she had not been to sleep for so very long?
    There was a faint unpleasant taste in her mouth, and after a
    moment's hesitation she reached for the carafe of fruit juice which
    stood on the carved chest of drawers beside the bed and filled the
    glass, draining it to the last drop. It was deliciously cool and
    refreshing, and her head was beginning to clear that little bit more
    with each minute that passed.
    She looked rather desperately round the room. Where were the
    clothes she had been wearing last night? she asked herself. There
    was no doubt in her mind that wherever she was, Santino Vallone
    had brought her there, and she writhed inwardly with shame at the
    thought of herself naked and helpless under his cynical gaze.
    She wanted to get out of bed and start looking in the huge,
    elaborately carved wardrobe for something to wear, but her lack of
    any kind of wrap made her hesitate, feeling vulnerable. After a
    moment she dragged at the bedcover and twisted it around her
    shoulders like some exotic Renaissance cloak. It wasn't an ideal
    dressing gown by any means, but anything was better than nothing,
    she thought as she climbed out of the high bed and trod across the
    thick goatskin rug which was laid over the bare wooden floor.
    The bedcover was far from being an adequate cloak. It kept
    catching on things and slipping, and it was heavy, but she held on to
    it tightly because it was all she had. The literal truth of that only
    dawned on her a moment later when the heavy wardrobe door
    swung open with a protesting squeal of hinges, and she saw that its
    cavernous depths were completely empty.
    She stood gazing at it with stupefaction. She hadn't expected a
    complete range of daywear, but at least she'd anticipated that the
    black dress she had worn at dinner would be there.
    She swung round, hitching the bedcover up around her shoulders,
    and tried the chest of drawers beside the bed. Each drawer was
    carefully lined, and a bunch of some sweet herbs was laid in each
    one, but that was all. And there was no other kind of storage space
    in the room at all.
    Juliet slammed the last drawer shut, biting her lip angrily. Of all the
    ridiculous situations to be in! she thought. She clasped the bulky
    folds of the coverlet more securely round her and set off for the
    door. It was a solid-looking affair with ornate hinges, and a heavy
    ring handle. She twisted the ring this way and that, but it made no
    difference, the door did not budge. She tugged and pulled, and in a
    kind of desperation even shoved at it, but all to no avail. She felt
    suddenly, murderously angry. She began to beat on the door with
    both fists, oblivious of the fact that her improvised cloak had fallen
    to the floor.
    'Open this door!' she shouted at the top of her voice. 'Let me out,
    damn you! Open it, do you hear?'
    The words sounded brave enough, and the noise she made was
    somehow reassuring, but as its echo died away, she felt suddenly
    forlorn, and more than a little scared. And as the