Widow - Anne Stuart [47]
The windows were steamed up when she stepped out of the huge marble bathtub, and she pushed them open, letting the fresh air in. It wasn’t quite as hot as it had been—the air now had a hint of autumn in it, and she shivered in the huge, enveloping towel.
She pushed open the door to Pompasse’s old bedroom, only to find Gia sitting in the middle of the bed, pawing through her purse.
She looked up at Charlie’s approach but didn’t stop what she was doing. She was wearing shorts, and her long brown legs were folded under her. The bed was littered with Charlie’s possessions—her underwear, her toiletries bag, even her jewelry was spread out on the plain white coverlet.
“What are you doing in here?” Charlie had every reason to be proud of her calm tone—not an ounce of her fury showed.
Gia shrugged. “I was bored. I figured you would have brought the latest styles from America, and I wanted to see what you were wearing. But it’s just the same stuff you had before. Pompasse was right—you have no interest in dressing for men, do you?”
Charlie took a shallow breath, trying to control her anger. A deep breath would have made her towel fall off, and the last thing she wanted was to appear naked in front of Gia’s avid eyes.
She’d forgotten how incredibly intrusive the girl could be. In the time they’d both lived at La Colombala Charlie would come down to find Gia wearing her clothes, her jewelry, her perfume. And she’d smile at Charlie, taunting her, daring her to make a fuss.
And Charlie had never said a word, simply because she knew how much Pompasse had wanted her to.
But Pompasse was dead, and Gia was wearing her canary diamond ring. Despite its value, she was welcome to it, as well as the chaste pearl ring that Henry had given her.
But the plain silver ring that had been her father’s was a different matter.
With one hand she clutched the towel together. She strode across the room to the bed, yanked the purse out of Gia’s slender hands and tossed it across the room. And then she held out her own hands, much larger, paler than Gia’s. “Give them back.”
She sounded very calm. A foolish woman might not realize she was shaking with rage, and very dangerous indeed, but Gia had never been a fool. She looked at her with a speculative expression, as if considering the merits of a full-blown catfight. Charlie was taller, stronger than Gia, but she was hampered by the towel. At that moment she was mad enough not to care.
With a lazy shrug Gia stripped the rings from her fingers and dumped them in Charlie’s outstretched hand. “You never used to mind when I borrowed your things,” she murmured.
“I minded. I just didn’t say anything. Would you leave me alone? I need to get dressed.”
Gia leaned back against the pillows she’d piled high. “We’re just girls here. When did you become so prudish? Half the world has already seen your naked body, me included. Pompasse used to insist we swim naked in the pool, remember. No bathing suits allowed. So you have no secrets from me.”
“You and Maguire would make a perfect pair,” Charlie muttered, heading for the top drawer of the dresser and dropping her towel. She kept her back to Gia as she pulled on the plain cotton underwear, determined not to let her know how angry she was. Gia would only see her anger as a sign of weakness.
“Why do you say that?” Gia asked in a lazy voice. “Not that I disagree with you. He’s sort of rough around the edges, but that can be very…pleasant if you’re in the right sort of mood.”
“Then go for it, with my blessing,” Charlie said, reaching for a clean pair of jeans.
“When did you start wearing underwear? Pompasse…”
“I know. Pompasse didn’t want me to wear underwear, or a bathing suit, or a nightgown, even though he kept buying them for me. Pompasse didn’t want me to eat or breathe or speak unless he approved of it. But I left him, Gia. I don’t have to answer to him anymore.”
Gia looked as if she’d been slapped in the face. “You didn’t love him enough—”
“I wanted to be free. Didn’t you?”
She looked horrified at the notion. “Never.”
“Then you got