Dark Ransom Read Online Free PDF Page A

about.
    'But they are not me,' she muttered as each garment was brought out
    for her inspection.
    'Nao percebo, senhorita.' Rosita's face was becoming increasingly
    worried as the pile of rejected dresses mounted.
    Charlie patted her arm. 'It's not your fault, Rosita.' Desperately she
    pointed at a relatively simply styled cornflower-blue model on top
    of the pile. 'Perhaps we can do something with that.'
    And perhaps we can't, she added in silent resignation as Rosita
    pinned, pulled and experimented. Fay Preston had been lushly, even
    voluptuously curved. Charlie was on the skinny side of slender.
    Although Riago da Santana's crushing words still galled her,
    Charlie's sense of justice forced her to admit he had a point.
    He'd wanted Fay Preston. He'd been expecting Fay Preston. If he
    genuinely thought that Charlie had taken her place, with an eye to
    the main chance, then he had every reason to feel aggrieved.
    But he couldn't have thought that, Charlie told herself. Her own lack
    of experience and sophistication must have been obvious from the
    first seconds of their encounter.
    No, he didn't think she'd turned up here as his alternative mistress.
    He'd just been in a foul mood, and taken it out on her because she
    happened to be handy. It was the kind of situation she should have
    been used to. After all, she came across it enough at home, and with
    some of the more cantankerous of her old ladies.
    Yet somehow, coming from a man, and a devastatingly attractive
    man, as she was forced to admit, it seemed more wounding than
    usual.
    She sighed. Men as unpleasant as Riago da Santana deserved to
    have a hump, crossed eyes— and warts.
    Later, trying to find some redeeming feature in the hastily adapted
    blue dress, she took a long critical look at herself.
    Her lack of inches in vital places was only part of the problem, she
    decided gloomily. She was— ordinary-looking. Not ugly exactly,
    but nondescript. Sonia had inherited the warm chestnut hair with the
    glowing auburn lights, and the enormous eyes, dark and velvety as
    pansies against her creamy skin.
    Charlie, on the other hand, had been left with hair that was plain
    brown and very fine, accepting only the simplest of styles and
    requiring frequent shampooing. Her eyes were hazel, and her skin
    was generally pale. Except when she started blushing.
    But her appearance really made little difference, she told herself,
    turning away from the mirror with a shrug. Riago da Santana had
    made it insultingly clear that she held no attraction for him—and
    that should have been reassuring.
    As, of course, it was, she told herself hastily. And yet... She brought
    herself swiftly and guiltily to order, and went in search of her
    dinner.
    Riago da Santana was waiting for her in the sala de jantar. It was a
    low-ceilinged, rather dark room, and the long, heavily polished table
    was clearly designed for a large family.
    Charlie saw that a place had been set for her on the right of her
    host's seat at the head of the table, and groaned inwardly. She would
    have preferred to sit at the opposite end of that vast table, almost out
    of sight and out of earshot.
    He surveyed the cornflower dress without expression, but Charlie
    could guess what he was thinking.
    He said politely, 'Would you like a drink? A batida, perhaps?'
    Charlie repressed a shudder, remembering the popular fermented
    canejuice aperitif she'd been persuaded to try in Belem. On the other
    hand, some alcohol might get rid of that shaky feeling in the pit of
    her stomach.
    'Could I have a straight whisky, please?'
    'Of course.' He was drinking whisky himself, she noticed. She took
    the glass he handed her and sipped. It was a local brand with a
    distinctive, pungent flavour that stung at the back of her throat and
    made her blink a little.
    He noticed. 'You are used to single malt, perhaps?'
    She wasn't accustomed to spirits at all, as it happened, and returned
    a non-committal murmur.
    The food, when it came, was