The Venetian's Proposal

She shook her head. ‘I’d managed to get an office job, but Jeff was unlucky. The company he’d joined made massive cutbacks, and he was one of the first to be made redundant, so we were still trying to save up when the accident happened.’

‘Earlier you mentioned that after the accident you went to live with your friend Sandy?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m surprised you didn’t remain at home.’

‘Our parents were killed in the same accident. The three of them were coming to pick me up from work when a lorry went out of control and hit them. We were all going on a family holiday.’

‘So you were left with no one.’

‘Sandy was very kind.’

‘How did you cope with your freedom?’

She looked up startled. ‘I suppose the answer’s not too well. Though I never thought of it as freedom… It just seemed more like loneliness. I missed Jeff so much…’

‘Having lived together for most of your lives, I suppose you were bound to. What was he like?’

‘Very much like you.’ She spoke without thinking.

The look in Dominic’s eyes was swiftly veiled, yet she felt certain that he was far from pleased by the comparison.

Coolly, he said, ‘Well, as you obviously loved him a great deal, I should feel flattered… Though I’m not convinced you know me well enough yet to compare us.’

‘I—I meant in looks,’ she stammered. ‘Like you, he was tall, dark, and handsome…’

‘A hackneyed phrase that can cover a multitude of sins,’ Dominic observed mockingly. ‘However, do go on.’

But as she described her late husband, visualising his face as she spoke and superimposing his features on the man sitting opposite, she knew her impression that they were alike was totally false.

The only similarity was the height and colouring.

Jeff had been over six foot, but compared to this man’s broad chest and mature width of shoulder he had been… The thought that came to mind was weedy…

Feeling dreadfully disloyal, she pushed it away.

Both had hair that was a true black and wanted to curl, but while this man’s was cut short and tamed Jeff’s had been a boyish riot of tight ringlets.

He had still been boyish in many ways, his hands big-knuckled and bony, as though he hadn’t yet grown into them, his face thin and sensitive-looking, with fine features and the air of a dreamer.

This man was anything but boyish. His hands were strong and well-shaped, with blunt fingers and neatly trimmed nails; his face was lean, with patrician features and an air of toughness and authority.

Jeff, by nature, had been kind and gentle and considerate.

Of Dominic’s nature she knew nothing.

Yet looking at him now, and recalling the way he had adjusted her stole, she felt oddly certain that, like a lot of powerful men, he might well be tender and protective.

She missed that. The tenderness. The caring.

Watching her face, noting the wistful expression, and misinterpreting it, Dominic said, ‘It’s about time we changed the subject. You’re starting to look sad, and talking about your husband can’t be easy.’

‘A short while ago, it wouldn’t have been possible,’ she admitted. ‘But I think I’m finally coming to terms with his loss.’

That was the truth. Tonight, though there had been tricky bits, on the whole it had been relatively painless to talk about Jeff.

There were so many happy memories, and he would always have a very special place in her heart. But, as though a heavy load had been lifted, she no longer felt that crippling weight of grief she had carried for the past three years.

Watching her expression, Dominic said gravely, ‘Welcome back to the world. What plans have you for the immediate future?’

‘Short-term, I shall stay in Venice for a month or so. Make this holiday a new beginning. You see, I…’

His grey eyes were fixed on her face, intent, waiting.

On the point of telling him about John and her reason for travelling to Venice, she hesitated. Then, deciding she had done more than enough soul-baring for one night, changed her mind. ‘I haven’t taken a holiday since I joined Westlake, so I decided it was time I took a break.’

Their waiter appeared to ask if they wanted anything further and, after consulting Nicola, Dominic ordered coffee with cream for her, espresso for himself, and two brandies.

It arrived quite quickly, accompanied by a silver filigree plate of chocolates.

When the waiter had moved away on silent feet, Dominic asked, ‘Have you ever been to Venice before?’

‘No, though I’ve always wanted to. I’ve often visualised the warmth and colour, the wonderful old buildings, water everywhere, and crowds of people…’

‘That about sums it up,’ he said with a smile. ‘Though the crowds are usually there only in the summer and at carnival time, and mostly in the touristy areas.’

‘Then you don’t find them a problem?’

‘Not personally. There are many parts of Venice that hardly ever see a tourist—quiet backwaters, picturesque or decaying, depending on your point of view, where the ordinary Venetians live.’

‘Have you lived there long?’

‘All my life, apart from three years at Oxford and a year spent travelling. As I said, my father was from the States, but my mother’s family have lived in Venice since the time of the Doges, when Italy was a great seafaring nation and one of the most prosperous settlements in Europe. Now, five hundred years past its heyday, Venice is still one of the most spectacular cities in the world.’

Noting that his voice held both enthusiasm and pride, she said, making it a statement rather than a question, ‘And you like living there.’

‘Yes, I do. For one thing it never becomes stale. There’s always so much atmosphere, whether it’s sunny, or rain-lashed, or there’s a fog rolling in off the Adriatic. And in the evening Piazza San Marco is the perfect place for lovers. Something about the ambience makes couples of all ages sit and hold hands…’

The thought of sitting in Piazza San Marco holding hands with Dominic sent little shivers of excitement running through her.

Seeing that slight movement, he asked, ‘Getting cold?’ Before she could find her voice, he signalled the waiter, adding, ‘I suppose it’s time we were making a move. We’ve both got a fair drive tomorrow, and I could do with an early start.’

The bill paid, he rose to his feet and, with what she was beginning to recognise as his habitual courtesy, pulled out her chair.

Sorry that what had proved to be a magical evening was over, she allowed herself to be escorted back down the long, worn flight of steps, through the dining room and hall, and out into the flare-lit courtyard.

Dominic’s car had been brought to the door, and, feeling the chill of the night air, she was grateful that the hood was now up.

Cupping a hand beneath her bare elbow, making her pulses leap, Dominic settled her into her seat, then slid behind the wheel just as the Baron appeared and stood beneath the huge metal lantern to wave them off.

They both returned his wave, and a moment later they were through the archway and following the mountain road down to the valley.

Dominic drove with silent concentration as, their lights sweeping a path through the darkness, he negotiated the steep bends.

Nicola, very aware of his potent sex-appeal, thought only of him, and what tomorrow might hold when they reached Venice.

Feeling a thrill of expectation, she wondered whether he’d ask where she was staying, or suggest seeing her next morning before they each started their journey.

It would be lovely if he proposed having breakfast together…

She was still enjoying the glow of excitement and anticipation as they drew into the car park at the Bregenzerwald.

He helped her out and, a hand at her waist, accompanied her to the lift and pressed the button for the fifth floor.

When they reached her room she felt in her bag for the key and, having found it, fumbled to fit it into the lock.

She was starting to feel a little light-headed. Perhaps, as she wasn’t used to drinking, she shouldn’t have had a brandy with her coffee. But it was too late now.

‘Allow me.’ He took the key from her, and, having opened the door, handed it back with a smile.

‘Thank you…’

She took a step into the room, and reached to put the key and her bag on the small table just inside the door. Then, with a sudden fear that he might just walk away, turned quickly to say, ‘And thank you for a lovely evening. I’ve really enjoyed it.’

The sudden movement made her head spin, and, momentarily off balance, she swayed towards him and put her hands flat-palmed against his chest to steady herself. She could feel the warmth of his body through the fine lawn of his evening shirt.

Becoming aware that he had stiffened and was standing absolutely motionless, she backed away a step, saying huskily, ‘I’m sorry.’

‘There’s really no need to be sorry… And I’m pleased you enjoyed the evening.’

Though the words were easy enough, there was a tautness about him, a look on his face that seemed to suggest a conflict of emotions, amongst them a touch of…censure?

It was gone in an instant, the smile back in place, convincing her that she must have imagined it.

A little awkwardly, she said, ‘Well, goodnight.’

‘Goodnight, Nicola.’

It was the first time he’d used her name.

Fascinated, she watched his mouth frame the syllables, and knew she wanted him to kiss her. Needed him to kiss her.

As though in answer to that unspoken need his hands closed around her upper arms and, drawing her towards him, he covered her mouth with his.

Though there was nothing diffident about it, his kiss was light, almost experimental, as though he was holding back to calculate her reaction before he decided exactly how to continue.

But once again her knees turned to water and her very bones seemed to melt, so that she was forced to lean against him for support.

His arms went around her, and as her lips parted helplessly beneath his he deepened the kiss.

It was like a brilliant flash of light, showing up both past and future, a revelation that was followed by a deep, black velvet darkness.

When he took her hand and led her into her room, closing the door behind them, she made not the slightest protest, conscious only of him and the need he had aroused.

Setting her back to the panels, one hand on the warmth of her nape, he bent to kiss her again while his free hand began to smooth over her slender figure: the small waist, the flare of her hip, the curve of her buttocks.

After a while the silk chiffon became an unwelcome barrier and, unzipping her dress, he eased it off her shoulders, allowing it to fall at her feet. Then his lips left hers to sensuously explore the line of her collarbone and the smooth skin of her shoulder.

When they reached the tender junction where neck and shoulder met, his kisses changed to little nibbling bites that made her stomach clench and her toes curl.

His mouth returning to hers, he unclipped her strapless bra and, cupping one of her small, firm breasts, brushed his thumb over the nipple.

While she was still struggling to cope with the sensations he was provoking, he bent his head and, having laved the other erect nipple, took it into his mouth and suckled sweetly.

She was suddenly into sensual overload, the pleasure so intense that she gave a little moan and, running her fingers into his dark hair, held his head away from her breast.

A moment later she was swept up in his arms and carried to the bed. The only light was from the street outside, but in the gloom she saw the gleam of his eyes as he laid her carefully on top of the covers and sat down beside her to take off what remained of her clothing.

CHAPTER THREE

IT WAS so long since she had been tenderly held and made love to, so long since she had felt the warmth of being needed, that far from objecting, half choked by eagerness, she would have helped him had it been necessary.

But his hands were both gentle and deft, and though he didn’t linger, neither did he show the slightest sign of haste.

When she was totally naked, he said with a kind of urgency, ‘Let your hair loose,’ and, as she lifted her hands to obey, began to strip off his own clothes.

As her hair came tumbling around her shoulders, he sat on the edge of the bed and, running his fingers into the thick silky mass, began to kiss her again.

When he finally joined her on the bed, her arms were ready to welcome him, but stretching out beside her, he propped himself on one elbow, taking time to pleasure her, while he enjoyed a body that, he told her softly, was the loveliest he’d ever seen.

As he stroked and touched and tasted, she clenched and unclenched her hands, lost and mindless, caught up and engulfed by the kind of suffocating hunger and excitement she had never experienced in her life before.

Everything he was doing now only served to suck her deeper into a black and spinning whirlpool of desire, and by the time he made them one she was a quivering mass of sensations and desperate for the release that only he could provide.

Nicola floated to the surface to find it was broad daylight. The curtains hadn’t been pulled to, and the early-morning sun was pouring in.

For a little while she lay half-asleep and half-awake, gazing up at the white ceiling, where a reflected sunbeam danced. She felt relaxed and contented in a way she hadn’t felt for years.

She was trying lazily to brush aside the last clinging cobwebs of sleep to find the reason for her euphoria when, as though in answer, her mind was filled with thoughts of Dominic.

Memories of his dark, handsome face and the infinite rapture and delight he had given her came flooding back.

Her heart filled to overflowing, she turned her head.

She was alone in the bed, and his clothes had vanished. Presumably, for the look of the thing, he had gone back to his own room. But just the imprint of his head in the pillow beside her, and the recollection of his lovemaking, was as warming as the sun.

For so long the world had seemed a cold and lonely place. No love, no warmth, no joy. She had denied and suppressed all her natural needs, keeping her longings and emotions packed away in ice while life went on around her.

Now, as though to make up for the blows it had inflicted, fate had offered her a second chance of happiness.

A chance she had snatched at in a way that was not only completely unlike her but which, in her right mind, she would have regarded as wild and irresponsible.

In the normal course of events a new relationship would have moved forward at a steadier rate—getting to know one another, becoming friends, and then finally lovers.

But somehow they had skipped the first two stages. All she knew about Dominic was what she had discovered in a single afternoon and evening. That he was an excellent companion, intelligent and charming, with a dry humour and a curiously old-fashioned sense of chivalry.

She had no real idea what made him tick as a person.

After all her foster mother’s dire warnings she had gone to bed with a man she had only just met; a man who was a virtual stranger. A departure from the norm that she was forced to admit was dangerous to the point of lunacy.

Though she couldn’t regret a moment of it, she found herself wondering what on earth had made her behave so recklessly.

Too much alcohol had undoubtedly contributed, by putting her on a high and lulling her inhibitions. But if she was truthful, she knew the alcohol wasn’t to blame.

She had found Dominic irresistibly attractive from the word go, and the whole magical evening—the drive, the schloss, the ambience, the good food and wonderful scenery—had all played a part.

A scene set for seduction.

Except that she couldn’t blame him. She had wanted what happened. Probably more than he had, she admitted, recalling his first reaction to what she now realised uneasily must have appeared to be a come-on.

Perhaps if she explained to him that she wasn’t used to drinking…? Or would it be better to say nothing? She didn’t want him to feel guilty in any way, or think that she was trying to put the blame on him.

But why should there be any suggestion of guilt or blame? He certainly hadn’t pressured her. She had been a willing partner…

And it had been wonderful. She sighed. As well as being a skilful lover, he had been generous and considerate and, remembering the controlled passion of his lovemaking, her heart began to beat faster.

Jeff’s lovemaking had been kind and tender, warm and caring, but she hadn’t realised until last night how much it had lacked passion. Or skill.

How much she had missed.

Her main pleasure, quite often her only pleasure, had been lying in his arms afterwards, happy that he was satisfied and contented.

Maybe it had been her own fault. Perhaps she had felt too inhibited to let go and enjoy the side of marriage that she was convinced her foster mother had secretly regarded as ‘not quite nice’.

Things might have been different if she and Jeff had managed to get away—get away…she was using Dominic’s words—but it was no use thinking about what might have been. That part of her life was over. Fate had written finis to it.

Now, at last, with John’s encouragement, and having met Dominic, she was moving forward into a new, exciting, and hopefully much happier phase.

Thinking of Dominic, and recalling how he had mentioned getting an early start, she glanced at her watch. It was gone eight-thirty. He was probably waiting for her in the breakfast room, wondering where on earth she’d got to.

Pushing aside the light covers, she scrambled out of bed. Her discarded clothes, she noticed, had been picked up and placed neatly over a chair.

As soon as she had cleaned her teeth and showered she dressed in a light two-piece and flat shoes that she judged would be easy to drive in, and hastily repacked her cases.

Standing in front of the mirror, she saw a strange young woman with a smile hanging on her lips. A happy and excited woman, who had a glowing, heart-shaped face and sparkling green eyes.

With a feeling of joie de vivre, she smiled back.

She was halfway through taking her hair up into its usual neat coil when, recalling the way Dominic had run his fingers through it, her heart picked up speed and her hands started to tremble.

Telling herself not to be foolish, she finished pushing in the pins and, leaving her luggage where it was, hurried to the lift, eager as a young Juliet.

The breakfast room faced east and was light and airy, with a crescent-shaped counter that held fruit and cereals, rolls and croissants, ham, cheeses, and various preserves.

Three or four tables were occupied, and an elderly couple were standing by the buffet debating in English whether to have rolls or croissants. Dominic was nowhere to be seen.

So she was first down after all. Making up her mind to tease him about it, Nicola helped herself to fruit juice and a croissant, and sat down at a table for two. When a waiter appeared, she asked for coffee.

By the time she had eaten her croissant and drunk two cups of coffee, there was still no sign of him.

She went back upstairs and tapped at his door.

There was no answer.

Thinking he might possibly be in the shower, she knocked harder.

Still no answer.

As she stood hesitating in the corridor, wondering what to do for the best, a chambermaid appeared pushing a trolley loaded with fresh bedlinen.

With a curious glance at Nicola, she opened the door of number 54 with a master-key.

‘The man who has this room…’ Nicola said carefully, ‘I was hoping to speak to him.’

‘He has gone, fräulein. The room is empty.’

‘Oh.’ Somehow they must have missed each other. Possibly he was at the desk paying his bill.

Letting herself back into her own room, Nicola gathered together her luggage and took the lift down to the foyer.

There were quite a few people there, including the bullet-headed man she had seen the previous day, but no Dominic.

She paid her own bill and made her way down to the car park. Having stowed everything in the boot, she locked the car and crossed to the far bay where Dominic’s white car had been parked.

It was no longer there.

The realisation was like a blow in the solar plexus.

Surely he hadn’t just gone without a word?

Hurrying back to the desk, she gave her name to the desk clerk and asked, ‘Did anyone leave a note for me?’

A white envelope with the hotel logo was produced. ‘My apologies, fräulein. It should have been given to you when you checked out, but it was overlooked.’

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