Wed To The Italian: Bartaldi's Bride / Rome's Revenge / The Forced Marriage

‘Allow me.’ There was a ghost of laughter in his voice as he rose unhurriedly to his feet.

‘I can manage,’ she said with breathless haste, aware that she was blushing again.

Guido Bartaldi clicked his tongue reprovingly as he strolled to her side. ‘You must learn not to fib, Chiara.’

Clare tensed uncontrollably as he bent over her, expecting to feel the brush of his fingers against her skin. Terrified at her own possible reaction.

But his fingers were brisk, almost clinical, as he dealt with the fastening, and stood up.

‘Relax,’ he advised. ‘Your ordeal is at an end.’

‘Thank you,’ Clare said in a wooden voice, and he laughed openly as he returned to his chair.

‘Do not strain civility too far, mia bella. You’d like to tell me to go to hell.’

She had to fight hard not to smile. ‘That’s the least of it, signore.’

‘But, just the same,’ he said. ‘I would like you to consider my offer of employment.’

Clare looked back at him in silence, then swung herself off the lounger, picked up her wrap, slid her arms into the sleeves and tied the sash tightly round her waist, with ostentatious care.

‘I think,’ he said, ‘that you are making some point.’

‘How clever of you to notice.’

‘It was not particularly difficult. Has anyone ever told you, Chiara, that subtlety is not your chief asset?’ He crossed his legs. ‘I infer you think you might find yourself in some kind of danger under my roof.’

‘You’re implying that I’m not?’ She didn’t disguise the scepticism in her voice, or in the look she sent him. ‘You may not lack subtlety yourself, signore, but some of your behaviour towards me could be described as sexual harassment.’

‘How clever of you to notice.’ A smile played round the corners of his mouth. ‘But you would have nothing further to fear on that score. Entering my household would act as an immediate safeguard. I am not in the habit of—harassing my employees.’

‘That’s reassuring,’ she said. ‘But I’m still not tempted.’

‘You have not asked how much I would be prepared to pay to secure your services.’

‘I don’t want your money,’ she said sharply.

‘As you have already made clear,’ he murmured.

‘I mean I can’t be bought.’

‘And I am not looking for a slave.’ His tone was equable. ‘Or is that another reference to my wholesale corruption of public servants?’

Clare bit her lip. ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘But you see how it is, signore. There’s no way that we could co-exist—you and I.’ And I—I couldn’t take the risk, she added silently.

‘We would not have to co-exist,’ he said shortly. ‘I am hiring you to stay with Paola, not myself. My business interests cause me to be away a great deal. We would seldom meet.’

Clare sat down rather limply on the lounger. ‘And how will Paola feel about that? She asked. ‘It’s hardly the ideal way to court your future wife.’

‘Ah,’ he said. ‘You do not think that my absence will make her heart any fonder?’

She said bluntly, ‘I’d say it would convince her that you don’t give a damn about her.’

‘Then she would be wrong.’ He was unruffled. ‘I care for her very deeply. But I am aware that she does not return my feelings. Or not yet.’ He paused. ‘I hope that you can, perhaps, change that.’

‘I?’ Clare echoed. ‘How can I do that?’

‘By bringing her to a more suitable frame of mind. By getting her to recognise that I can make her happy.’

Clare drew a deep breath. ‘Let me understand this,’ she demanded in outrage. ‘You want me to turn a hostile, unruly girl into a submissive bride for you?’

He smiled at her. ‘Exactly.’

There was a brief, fulminating silence, then she said shortly, ‘It can’t be done.’

‘I think it altogether possible—if you try. Just bend that formidable will of yours to the problem, Chiara mia, and who knows what miracle might not ensue?’

‘Perhaps it’s not a problem I particularly wish to address.’ Her mouth tightened. ‘Just why do you want this marriage, signore?’

‘I have a house,’ he said. ‘But it is not a home. I have a great name, but no heir. I have relationships, but not with a woman who can fill my heart to the exclusion of all others. Are those good enough reasons?’

Clare looked down her nose. ‘It all sounds a little cold-blooded to me.’

‘But you are so wrong,’ he said softly. ‘As my wife will discover for herself once her nights are spent in my arms.’

She looked down at the tiles at her feet, feeling the sudden startled colour flood her face. Aware of the urgent necessity to veil her eyes from him. Feeling some unfamiliar, confused emotion composed of envy and a kind of regret tremble inside her. And trying desperately to crush it down…

She said in a low voice, ‘Maybe you should start convincing her of that now.’

‘That would not be appropriate,’ he told her coolly. ‘We are not even officially engaged to each other.’

Back under control, she looked up, lifting her brows satirically. ‘I did not think you were so conventional, Marchese.’

‘But then you know so little about me, Chiara,’ he came back at her, sardonically.

‘That,’ she said. ‘Is my choice.’ She rose to her feet again. ‘I won’t do as you ask. Because I can’t understand why you’d want to marry anyone who’s already run away from you once.’

He shrugged as he got out of his chair. ‘Perhaps it is the nature of love—the girl to fly and the man to follow.’ He paused. ‘Is that your only reservation?’

‘No.’

‘Ah,’ he said, and was silent for a moment. Then, ‘Paola will be disappointed. It was her idea that you should take the Signora’s place.’

‘Please tell her I’m sorry.’

‘I hope you will tell her yourself.’ He paused again. ‘And do not let your dislike for me prevent you from being her friend while you remain in Umbria. She would like very much for you to visit her.’

Clare swallowed ‘I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.’

‘Why not?’ Guido Bartaldi spread his hands enquiringly. ‘I have accepted your decision. So, what harm can it do?’

Oh, God, thought Clare, you have no idea. And thank God you haven’t…

Aloud, she said, ‘I may not be around for much longer. After all, I have…’ She paused swiftly, realising what she was about to say.

‘A living to earn?’ he supplied silkily, and accurately. ‘And yet you will not take work when it is offered. How strange.’

‘I’m a grown woman, signore. As I’ve said, I make my own choices.’

‘A woman?’ he queried thoughtfully. ‘I wonder if it is true.’

‘How—how dare you?’ She glared at him, shock tightening her throat. ‘My—personal circumstances are nothing to do with you.’

‘Basta. I am not claiming that you are still physically a virgin,’ he said impatiently. ‘That is immaterial. What matters is that sometimes, when I look at you, Chiara, I see a frightened child hitting out at the world—and hurting only herself.’

She said icily, ‘Thank you for the psychological profile. Remind me to do a run-down on you some time.’ She paused. ‘But tell Paola if she wants to visit me here, I’ll be happy to see her. Maybe we can have a dolls’ tea party.’ She bent and picked up her towel and the magazines. ‘Perhaps you’d excuse me now. I’m sure my godmother will be glad to see you before you go.’

‘I think she is quite happy talking to my uncle.’ He had the gall to sound amused. ‘He was hoping to meet you, but I see you are not in the mood.

He walked over to her, and stood for a moment looking down at her.

‘I have made you angry,’ he said quietly. ‘And also scared you a little, I think. I did not intend to.’ He took her unresisting hand and raised it to his lips, swiftly and gently. ‘Arrivederci, Chiara.’ His voice was low—intimate.

She felt the heat of the sun surrounding her like a golden web, closing her in with him as she stared at him mutely, caught in the thrall of the moment.

His tone changed—became brisk, almost businesslike. ‘And if you should change your mind about the job I have offered, naturalamente, you have only to let me know.’

The pang of disappointment was so sharp she almost cried out.

Instead, she snatched her hand away, offering him a smile that glittered like a razor.

She said dulcetly, ‘All hell will freeze over first, Marchese. Goodbye.’

And she walked away, her head held high, up the steps to the rose terrace, and into the house.

CHAPTER FIVE

CLARE made her way into the house by a side door, avoiding the salone.

She went straight to her room, where she stripped off her wrap and bikini and showered, revolving slowly under the warm cascade, tilting up her face, eyes closed, to its power, then cupping her hands and pouring water over her hair, and down her breasts and thighs until she felt cleansed and revived.

She towelled down slowly and thoroughly, discovering that she was watching her own reflection warily in the bathroom’s long mirror, as if she might find some stranger she did not recognise looking back at her.

She put on clean underwear, then slipped into a pair of dark green silky culottes, and a matching sleeveless top with a scooped neckline.

As she was brushing her damp hair, she heard voices below her window, and, peeping out cautiously, saw Guido Bartaldi and an older man, tall, grey-haired and handsome, walking towards the chauffeured limousine awaiting them on the drive.

She sighed with relief, because she’d feared Violetta might have persuaded them to stay for lunch. And it would be useless to pretend ill health again.

She slid her feet into heel-less silver kid sandals, and went downstairs.

She found her godmother standing by the long glass doors leading on to the terrace, staring out at the garden, so deep in her reverie that she started when Clare spoke to her.

‘Ah, carissima.’ There was a note of reproach in her voice. ‘I was wondering where you were. I wished to present you to the Conte did Mantelli.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Clare dropped a penitent kiss on her cheek. ‘I got a little overheated in the garden, and went up to my room to cool off.’ She looked round innocently. ‘Have your visitors gone?’

‘Yes.’ Violetta gave her an old-fashioned look. ‘But I do not flatter myself that they came to see me.’ She paused. ‘I understand the Marchese had a proposition for you.’

‘Yes,’ Clare said calmly. ‘He wants me to act as chaperon for his bride-to-be.’

‘That is what his uncle the Conte told me.’ Violetta sighed. ‘The girl Paola is a big problem to them all, I think. Clearly she needs someone simpatico, but with sense, to be her companion.’ She shot Clare a sideways glance. ‘I told the Conte you would be an ideal choice.’

‘Does he know that forty-eight hours ago his nephew was trying to have me jailed?’

‘Ah, but that was just a terrible misunderstanding,’ Violetta protested. ‘So unfortunate.’

‘Unfortunate for me, certainly,’ Clare agreed. ‘I could have been deported. Unable to work here again.’

‘But that has all changed now,’ Violetta said coaxingly. ‘And it would mean you would stay in Umbria, as I have always wished. It was always a sorrow to me that I had no children. And a daughter especially. This will allow me to see more of you while you earn a living.’

Clare bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry, Violetta, but I turned the Marchese down. I can’t possibly work for him. You must see that.’

‘I see nothing of the kind,’ Violetta said with a touch of tartness. ‘You would live in luxury, and be paid a generous salary simply to stop a tiresome girl from causing more trouble. How can you refuse?’

‘Quite easily. It—it’s not a cause to which I wish to devote a chunk of my life.’ Clare studied the coral enamel on her toenails as if her life depended on it.

‘But it would not even be for very long,’ her godmother urged. ‘The Conte tells me that he hopes Paola’s wedding will take place at the earliest opportunity. Marriage, of course, will settle her.’

‘So the Marchese Bartaldi intends,’ Clare said evenly, feeling as if an icy fist had clenched inside her. ‘In the meantime, it will do him no harm to act as her simpatico companion himself. Maybe he could start by giving up his mistress in Siena.’ She sent Violetta a taut smile. ‘I wonder what’s for lunch? I’m starving.’

Over the next few days, Clare applied herself to enjoying her holiday with a kind of dogged determination. There was no further communication from the Villa Minerva, so it seemed that the Marchese had decided to accept his dismissal from her life.

Which is exactly what I want, Clare told herself robustly. And all I have to do now is put the whole sorry business out of my mind.

The weather was glorious, so part of each day was spent by the pool, where she swam and sunbathed, watched indulgently by Violetta, who sat rigorously safe-guarding her complexion with a parasol.

On one occasion they drove to Urbino, so that Clare could see the art treasures in the magnificent Renaissance palace that towered over the city.

Another day they visited Assisi, where Violetta murmured sorrowfully over the damage caused by the earthquake to the two great basilicas of St Francis and Clare, which stood at opposite ends of the town, both of which were being rapidly restored, however, even down to the famous Giotto frescoes which had suffered so disastrously.

‘Was it very frightening?’ Clare asked.

Violetta shuddered. ‘The whole earth seemed to rock, mia cara. But I was so lucky. A few tiles from the roof—some panes of glass—that was all. Elsewhere such hardship and tragedy.’

As they drove back to Cenacchio, Clare found herself looking up at the rugged Appennine hills which provided such a dramatic backdrop to the narrow road they were travelling on. They said wolves still lived on those steep, thickly forested slopes, and she could believe it. There was a wild, almost savage quality about them.

At the same time they looked so majestic—and eternal. As if nothing could move them. Yet the earth was such a fragile place, at the mercy of Nature in all kinds of ways, as the recent quakes had proved so drastically.

And even when the world seemed at peace, as it did today, there were other more personal storms to endure. Disturbed nights, with too vivid dreams, and, by day, a strange, aching emptiness that she could not escape, she thought, shivering.

‘I need to stop in Cenacchio,’ Violetta announced as they reached the small town. ‘My attorney wishes me to sign some papers over the lease of a field. So tedious. Why don’t you look at the shops, and we will meet at the caffe in the square in a half-hour, cara?’

Clare agreed readily to this plan, wandering happily round the narrow cobbled streets, window-shopping at the boutiques, pausing at a small bookshop to buy a local guide book, and, on impulse, a life of St Clare of Assisi.

At the delicatessen, she stared longingly at its mouth-watering displays of cheeses and sausages, and the enormous variety of goodies in jars and bottles.

Before she went home she would treat herself to some really good olive oil, she determined.

The half-hour was up, but there was no sign of Violetta at the caffe. Unperturbed, Clare seated herself at a table under the blue-striped awning, and ordered a cappuccino.

She began to glance through the life of the saint, finding to her amusement that her namesake was the patron of television.

Well, I suppose there has to be one, she thought, as she casually turned the pages.

When a shadow fell across the table, she assumed it was Violetta, and glanced up with a smile, only to find Paola gazing anxiously at her.

‘Signorina—Clare?’ Her face broke into an uncertain smile. ‘I hoped it was you. Are you alone? May I join you?’

‘Of course. I’m just waiting for my godmother.’ Clare returned the smile politely but without any particular enthusiasm.

‘Ah, the Signora Andreati. I was so pleased to meet her. Si amabile. Si elegante.’

‘Yes, she’s all of that,’ Clare agreed, her tone softening, touched by the wistful note in Paola’s voice.

The younger girl sat down beside Clare, and put a hand on her arm. ‘I have so much wanted to see you. I wanted to say how sorry I was for all that Guido made you suffer.’ She shook her head. ‘Che bruto. Did I not tell you?’

‘Yes,’ Clare acknowledged. ‘But I don’t think you should tell me again. Not when you’re talking about the man you’re going to marry.’

‘Niente paura,’ Paola asserted passionately. ‘It will not happen.’ She gave a wary look around her. ‘But I need your help.’

Clare sighed. ‘I’m sorry, Paola. But that wouldn’t be very wise. And you don’t really need help. You just have to say No and mean it.’

‘You do not understand.’ Paola lowered her voice to a whisper. ‘His uncle is with us now, and they will force me to do as they say.’

Which pretty well confirmed what Violetta had told her, Clare thought, not without sympathy.

‘Why not talk to the parish priest?’ she suggested. ‘I’m sure he isn’t allowed to marry people against their will.’

‘He does what Guido tells him,’ Paola said sullenly. ‘As they all do.’

Clare groaned inwardly. I don’t need this, she thought.

She said, ‘Then the Marchese is hardly likely to take any notice of what I say either.’

‘Oh, I do not mean that.’ Paola’s voice was conspiratorial. ‘But if you came to live at the Villa Minerva, you could help me escape.’

‘If memory serves, you tried that already,’ Clare said drily. ‘And if your fidanzato has all this power, he’d soon find you, like he did last time. Besides, where would you go?’ She leaned back in her chair. ‘Paola, the best thing you can do is try and talk Guido out of this marriage. Convince him that it would be a disaster.’

‘Or, there is another way.’ There was a glint of triumph in the other girl’s eyes. ‘I could always marry someone else.’

Clare felt her heart sink into her elegant sandals.

‘You have someone in mind?’ She tried to sound casual.

‘You know I do.’ Paola sounded shocked. ‘It is Fabio, of course.’

‘Naturalamente,’ Clare said in a hollow voice. ‘I didn’t realise he was back in the picture.’

‘He made contact again through Carlotta.’ Paola lowered her voice mysteriously. ‘Guido accused him of wanting only my fortune—said terrible, threatening things to him. For a while, he was frightened, but now he knows he cannot live without me, and he will risk anything.’

I bet, Clare thought stonily, tempted to take Paola by her pretty shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled.

But that would solve nothing. In fact, it would probably harden Paola’s determination to ruin her life. And Clare hadn’t the slightest doubt that would be the outcome if the silly girl wasn’t stopped.

She could, of course, dump the whole thing on Guido Bartaldi, but he would probably try and put a stop to the affair by locking Paola in a convent, or something equally mediaeval. And that would simply turn her into a martyr, and make her more stubborn than ever.

No, Paola must somehow be made to see Fabio for what he really was. To be disillusioned so deeply that he would never stand a cat in hell’s chance with her again. Nor anyone else of his ilk, she added grimly.

But if Paola eluded Fabio’s frying pan, she should not be despatched to the Marchese’s fire either.

They’re just so wrong for each other, Clare told herself vehemently. It would be a wretched marriage for both of them.

Although there was no reason why she should care what kind of a mess Guido Bartaldi created for himself, she admitted, biting her lip.

No, Paola was her concern here. She might be young and giddy, but she didn’t deserve either of the fates that were being wished on her.

But, Clare conceded, she needed to learn to grow up, and stand on her own two feet. Become her own rescuer, instead of relying on other people.

I wonder if she’s capable of that? Clare thought, stealing a sideways glance at the lovely face with its full, sulky mouth. So far, she’s spent most of her time being handed round like a parcel, and letting men dictate to her. I wonder if I could show her that there’s more to life than that?

‘Clare—you do not speak.’ Paola’s voice was petulant. ‘What are you thinking?’

Clare smiled at her calmly. ‘I’m just trying to decide what the best plan of action might be.’

‘Then you will help me?’ The younger girl’s face was suddenly transfigured. ‘But how? Guido told me he asked you to take the place of the Signora, but you would not. And it will be hard for us to keep in touch when you are in Cenacchio. I cannot always think of reasons to come here.’

‘Then I’ll just have to come to the Villa Minerva,’ Clare said resignedly.

‘You mean it? You will tell Guido you have changed your mind? Oh, that is wonderful.’

‘Yes,’ Clare said, wincing inwardly. ‘I’ll tell him.’

And, as if she’d conjured him up from some dark place in her soul, she saw him walking across the square towards them, with Violetta chatting vivaciously at his side.

‘Guido,’ Paola carolled. ‘Guess what. Clare says she will be my companion after all. Isn’t that good news?’

Guido halted, his brows lifting as his dark gaze swept from Paola’s triumphant face to Clare’s tense figure.

‘I am overwhelmed,’ he said courteously, after a pause. ‘Particularly as you seemed so adamant at our last meeting. May I know what has brought about this change of heart?’

‘I’ve had time to think things over,’ Clare returned evenly. ‘And I realise there could be mutual advantages in the situation. I planned to spend a few months in Italy, and working locally I can continue to see Signora Andreati in my free time.’

She paused. ‘I presume I shall have free time?’ she added. ‘That you won’t expect me to maintain a round-the-clock watch on Paola?’

He gave her a long, dispassionate look. ‘These are details, signorina. I am sure we can work out an arrangement that will be agreeable to us both.’

‘Oh, not signorina,’ Paola protested. ‘So dull—so antiquato. You must say Clare, as I do. And she must call you Guido.’

‘As I’m going to be the Marchese’s employee, maybe a certain formality should be maintained.’ Clare returned his cool look with compound interest.

‘It shall be exactly as you wish—Miss Marriot. And staying in touch with your godmother should not be a problem either, as I hope very much she will consent to be my guest at the Villa Minerva for a few weeks. While you are—finding your feet, shall we say?’ He turned the charm of his smile on Violetta. ‘Well, signora, will you do us all the honour of accompanying the signorina when she joins my household?’

No way, thought Clare. No one’s ever managed to winkle Violetta out of the Villa Rosa at this time of year. And just as well, because I’m going to need somewhere to retreat to. And Paola might need a temporary refuge too.

But, ‘How very good of you. I should be delighted, Marchese,’ Violetta proclaimed sweetly, offering him a melting look as he bowed over her hand.

‘Naturally I do not wish to interfere with any plans you have made for her entertainment,’ Guido continued. ‘But it would be helpful if Miss Marriot could take up her duties as soon as possible.’

‘That will be no problem,’ Violetta assured him serenely. ‘We are at your disposal, signore. Clare, indeed could join you tomorrow, and I will follow as soon as I have made the necessary arrangements at home.’

Clare found she was sitting with her mouth open, and closed it indignantly.

‘Arrange my life, why don’t you’ she muttered under her breath.

She had the feeling that she was being swept along on some inexorable tide. That things were already out of her control. And it was not a sensation she relished.

She’d allowed her concern for Paola to railroad her into a decision she would certainly regret, she realised with resignation. But it wasn’t irrevocable. She was no longer Guido Bartaldi’s prisoner, and could leave whenever she wanted.