Second Marriage

‘When we meet?’ This time the naked dismay in her voice was not met with the amusement it had provoked before, and his tone was icy when he said, ‘Donato and Grace are my friends, Claire.’

‘I know. I know they are—’

‘And one visits one’s friends, sì? Even in England I would have thought this pleasant pastime was still alive and well?’

‘Yes, but—’

‘So there will be occasions when we meet, share a meal and so on,’ he continued in a clipped, terse voice. ‘With Donato and Grace, of course, that is all I meant. I was not—what is the word?—propositioning you.’

‘I didn’t think for a minute you were,’ she said, aghast.

‘Good. The air is then clear.’ The mercurial change was complete; he had returned to suave, cool playboy again with a swiftness that left her open-mouthed and gasping as the powerful car pulled off the road and through a large flower-bedecked arched opening into a quiet courtyard.

‘However...’ he turned to her as he cut the engine, a slightly cruel smile curving the firm, distinctly sensual mouth and doing nothing to soften the power of his harsh bone structure ‘...I meant what I said. You are a beautiful young woman, Claire, as any male with discernment would tell you. I admire beauty, even if it is the most corruptive force known to man, as much as I abhor its potential treachery.’

‘Its treachery?’ she whispered faintly, unnerved by the stony glitter in the black eyes and aware that in a strange way his remark on her appearance was not complimentary.

‘But of course.’ A veil came down over the handsome face, and she knew he had made a conscious effort to hide all emotion as he smiled again, his eyes revealing nothing more than warm amusement. ‘Beauty is a wonderful lure which nature uses to full advantage, sì?

‘The belladonna—deadly nightshade—with its fragile mauve flowers and dainty poisonous berries, for example, or hemlock’s clusters of exquisite white blooms. And then something as enchanting as the flower-like sea anemone, which attracts fish and other animals to their doom, as does the translucent beauty of the Portuguese man-of-war, whose stinging tentacles beneath its shimmering charm paralyse its prey with deadly accuracy. Nature makes full use of illusion, Claire.’

But he hadn’t really been talking about plants and animals, she thought suddenly. She was sure of it.

‘Yes, I suppose it does.’ She stared into the dark cold face as her mind raced. ‘But beauty can be wonderful too—something to be marvelled at, to share, something that lifts the soul of man, like a magnificent sunset for example.’

‘But within a short time it has faded and is dead, and one is left with the blackness of the night,’ he said quietly. ‘Nothing lasts. Nothing is what it seems.’

He was talking about his wife being taken from him so tragically. As realisation dawned she stared at him in consternation, not knowing what to say. Bianca had been breathtakingly, wildly beautiful, and they had only had a few short years together before she had died. He still loved her... ‘But memories can be precious things, can’t they?’ she asked softly. ‘The sunset might die but the serenity and peace it gives can still live on.’

‘I have not found that to be the case,’ he said, with a dismissive coldness that told her this strange and disturbing conversation was at an end. ‘Now, shall we?’ He indicated the charming honey-coloured building in front of them with a wave of his hand. ‘You will find Aldonez has a variety of dishes to suit all appetites, so do not be perturbed if you are not hungry. I think it would be nice to sit outside, sì? There is a delightful garden at the back of the restaurant.’

He had left the car as he spoke the last words, walking swiftly round the bonnet and helping her to alight with a naturalness that told her his good manners were normal behaviour. She remembered Donato had had the same inherent courtesy when she had stayed with them for her two-week holiday in the summer, treating the female race as a whole with a gentleness and protective regard that was wonderfully refreshing in this modern age. But whereas she had just thought Grace’s husband a gentleman, somehow with his best friend the whole procedure took on a seductive quality that was more than a little unsettling.

Romano took her arm as they walked across the cobbled courtyard and into the quaint and colourful little restaurant, and immediately she was aware that he was known to the plump and burly little proprietor, who gave them a welcome that could only be described as rapturous.

The greetings over, of which Claire didn’t understand a word, Aldonez led them through the main room and out onto a covered veranda where several tables had been placed to catch the full benefit of the weak sunlight. It was surprisingly warm, the veranda being something of a sun-trap, and once she was seated Claire looked around her appreciatively.

The pretty square garden was small, but the lacy perimeter fence was entwined with luxuriant foliage and sweet-smelling flowers. Small shrubs and bushes were scattered between old stone slabs that paved most of the area, with a large magnolia tree in one corner to provide a spot of shade in the summer. ‘From March onwards Aldonez packs tables and chairs on every inch of ground,’ Romano said with a distant smile as he watched her absorb her surroundings. ‘He knows most of the tourists like to eat alfresco.’

‘It’s very pretty.’ She suddenly felt unbearably shy as she glanced at him over the small table, his startling good looks and arrogant masculinity seemingly enhanced by the intimacy of sharing a meal. On the short journey from the airport she had barely noticed the scenery outside the car, her senses briefly registering the southern earthy charm Naples exuded but most of her conscious thought held by the magnetic pull of the man opposite.

Crazy. She lowered her eyes to the menu Aldonez had placed in front of her a couple of minutes before. Absolutely crazy to allow her senses to be dominated like that—and wouldn’t he just love it if he knew how she was thinking? When all was said and done, even if he did still love his wife, he didn’t have to be so arrogant, did he? So impossible to communicate with, so abrasive?

‘Would you like me to translate?’

‘What?’ As she raised her head and met the hard gaze she would have given the world to be able to say she spoke fluent Italian, but she didn’t, and, infuriating man that he was, he knew it.

The fact that she was forced to acknowledge she had been gazing at the squiggles on the card in front of her without even seeing them didn’t help either—but that, at least, he didn’t know.

‘The menu? Would you like me to translate for you?’ he asked again, his voice patient but with the kind of long-suffering tone one might adopt with a difficult child.

‘That won’t be necessary, thank you.’ She’d rather walk through coals of fire first. ‘I only want a green salad and a long, cold drink,’ she said evenly. ‘If that’s possible.’

‘Of course.’ He bowed his head slightly, and the movement should have been polite but was definitely sardonic. ‘May I suggest a side dish of garlic and butter potatoes with that? It is one of Aldonez’s specialities.’

‘Thank you.’ She nodded her head and wondered how someone so altogether stunning could have inspired such dislike in her. ‘Is there a cloakroom here? I’d like to wash my hands...’

‘Sì, just to the left of the main door. I will show you.’

Once alone in the small stone cloakroom, that boasted one deep-set porcelain bowl of ancient origin and one very modern lavatory in bright yellow, she gazed into the ornate and rather fine mirror above the wash-basin despairingly. This had all gone wrong somehow, badly wrong, and she had been so excited earlier in the day. Large, soulful brown eyes stared seriously back at her as she nipped at her lower lip anxiously, her pale creamy skin a perfect foil for her dark eyes and chestnut hair.

Beautiful! She grimaced at her reflection disbelievingly. What an obvious line, and yet it hadn’t been like that, not really. But he couldn’t have meant it. She shook her head, causing her silky fine hair to flow in a soft wave across her hot face. She wasn’t ugly, she knew that, but she was no beauty either—not like Grace. Men had always turned to take a second and third look at Grace, even though her friend was oblivious to their attention most of the time.

Oh, well... She shrugged, dropping her eyes from the mirror and running her wrists under the cold water tap before splashing her face. She was quite happy with who she was, give or take her hot temper and a few other faults she could have done without, so her looks weren’t important one way or the other. But she did wish she hadn’t got off to quite such a bad start with Donato’s friend. She was here to make Grace’s life easier and worry-free as her confinement approached, not to enter into a war with her friend’s husband’s brother-in-law from day one.

She’d just have to bite her tongue and keep quiet when Romano was about. She raised her head and nodded at herself determinedly. She could do that, couldn’t she? She should have done it already, not reacted to him like an indignant hedgehog with prickles at the ready. It was kind of him to have come all this way to fetch a virtual stranger, and she hadn’t even thanked him properly. It wasn’t even as if she had met him before and he was renewing an acquaintance; he had been in America when she had come to Italy in the summer and she had left before he had returned.

Yes, she had behaved badly. She prepared to go back to the table full of good intentions. He might be arrogant and imperious, and more than a little high-handed, but he must have some good points for Grace to rate him so highly, and it wasn’t as if she’d see much of him while she was here anyway. She’d thank him nicely for coming to fetch her, smile sweetly regardless of how maddening she found him, and refuse to rise to any provocation, intended or unintended, from now on.

He was as far removed from her humble orbit as the man in the moon anyway, and once he’d safely delivered her at Casa Pontina he’d probably barely notice her on the occasions when he came to visit Donato and Grace.

The last thought should have been comforting, but was instead mildly depressing. Oh, for goodness’ sake don’t be so pathetic, girl, she told herself irritably, before brushing her hair into gleaming order with hard, stiff strokes that set her scalp tingling, spraying a touch of her favourite perfume on her wrists, and then walking firmly out of the cloakroom, her head high.

CHAPTER TWO

‘CLAIRE!’ Grace waddled out of the front door, her face beaming and her arms outstretched, and Claire had left the car before Romano could reach her door. The two women gave each other as close a hug as Grace’s bulk would allow before Claire drew back and looked at her friend with something akin to amazement on her face.

‘You’re huge.’ It wasn’t tactful, but they had always been honest with each other.

‘Tell me about it,’ Grace said ruefully. ‘I can’t watch any of those wildlife programmes on TV lately, the sight of hippos plodding around hits too near home!’

‘Don’t be silly.’ They were both laughing helplessly now. ‘You’re still as beautiful as ever, just...’

‘Fat?’

‘Mumsy, which is exactly what you are going to be, isn’t it? How are you feeling?’ Claire asked softly.

‘Big, tired, achey...and incredibly happy.’

Grace grinned at her and they hugged again before a cool voice behind Claire said, ‘Shall we go into the house? Donato has asked me to make sure you keep your feet up, Grace, until he gets back this evening. You and Claire can gossip all you like once you’re sitting down.’

‘See how it is?’ Grace grimaced at Claire as she tucked her friend’s arm in her own and turned towards the house. ‘If it isn’t Donato or Lorenzo fussing, it’s Romano. I’m surrounded by men who think I’m going to break.’

‘That’s no bad thing.’ As they walked up the huge stone steps that led to the ornate studded front door of Casa Pontina Claire smiled at her friend. ‘And now I’m here to add my pennyworth to the nagging.’

‘“Nagging”?’ As the three of them entered the magnificent hall with its beautifully polished floor and air of timeless graciousness Romano stopped and looked down at the two women. ‘What is this “nagging”? This is an English word?’

‘I suppose it is.’ Grace smiled up at him, and Claire was struck by how open and relaxed his face was as he returned the smile. The austerity had gone, along with the coldness, and the result was devastating. He certainly hadn’t smiled at her like that.

He really was something else, Claire thought wryly as she watched and listened to Grace explaining the meaning of the word. Not that she was affected by him, not at all, she assured herself quickly. But, nevertheless, one certainly didn’t get many men like him to the pound. Or many women who could match such wealth and power and good looks...women like Bianca. They must have made a stunning couple.

Explanations over, the three of them walked into the imposing drawing room where Cecilia, the robust cook, and Anna and Gina, the two little maids, were waiting to greet her, along with a long, low coffee-table groaning with a selection of sandwiches and cakes. ‘I thought you might be peckish. It’s some time until dinner, although Romano insisted he would take you to lunch,’ Grace said happily. ‘Was it nice?’

‘Very nice.’ Claire didn’t elaborate further; she was still mulling over the ‘insisted’. Although ‘very nice’ wasn’t really the right description if the truth be known, she thought quietly. When she had returned to the table Aldonez had served their lunch within moments, but such had been her state of unease she could have been eating sawdust for all that the food had registered on her taste-buds.

Not that Romano had been difficult at all, she admitted silently, in fact he had metamorphosed into what could only be termed the perfect escort: witty, charming, but still with that indefinable coolness that made her feel as though he was playing a game, observing her the whole time. It hadn’t made for good digestion on her part and she hadn’t been able to finish the meal, light though it had been. She was absolutely starving now, she realised suddenly, and she filled the plate one of the maids had handed her and watched the other two chat.

‘You’re staying for dinner, Romano?’ Grace asked as the cook and maids left the room. ‘Lorenzo is at a friend’s house but Donato is picking him up on his way back,’ she added as she half turned to Claire, to include her in the conversation. ‘And he left express instructions this morning that he wanted his favourite uncle to be here.’

‘Did he indeed?’ Romano had removed his beautifully cut jacket before sitting down, and now, as he stretched back in his chair, the movement emphasising the hard, muscled chest under the black silk shirt he was wearing, Claire felt herself almost choke on a mouthful of salmon sandwich. Dynamite. With the same destructive power of that particular explosive for blowing the inexpenenced into oblivion! ‘Well, I think it is rather up to Claire, do you not agree? This is her first evening here. Perhaps she would prefer to spend it with just the family?’

‘You are family—’

‘Of course I don’t mind if you stay—’

The two women had spoken together, and although Grace’s subsequent laugh was easy, Claire’s was forced. She didn’t want him to stay, in fact there was nothing she wanted less, but he knew, and she knew, that she couldn’t very well say so.

‘That’s fine, then—a nice, cosy dinner party with all the people I love most,’ Grace said with an air of satisfaction.

Donato and Lorenzo arrived home just after seven o’clock—the former full of apologies for being unable to meet her as arranged. And although Claire made all the right noises she was vitally aware of Romano’s sardonic gaze as she said how well he had looked after her, and how nice lunch had been.

‘This “nice”, this is another word you English favour, is it not?’ Romano said softly in her ear as she rose to go and see Benito, Lorenzo’s parrot, at the boy’s request. ‘With Grace too, the weather is “nice”, the meal is “nice”. I find the word singularly unimaginative.’

‘Oh.’ She was dismayed to find he had chosen to walk with her through the hall to the back of the house, where Lorenzo’s own large sitting room was situated and where Benito resided most of the time. ‘What would you prefer me to say, then?’

‘The truth?’ The dark eyes looked down at her, daring her to respond, even as the man behind the mask asked himself why he was doing this, provoking her, trying to get a reaction. She seemed to have taken an instant dislike to him—well, so what? he thought grimly. She was Grace’s friend, over here for a few months to help out, that was all. He didn’t have to see her above half a dozen times if he didn’t want to.

‘Which is?’ Claire asked carefully, willing herself with all her heart to keep to the pledge she had made in the cloakroom of the restaurant and not let him get under her skin.

He shrugged slowly, his eyes narrowing, and again the sexual magnetism that was as much a part of the man as breathing had Claire’s breath catching in her throat. Did he know the effect he had on women? she thought weakly, before answering herself immediately with a curt, Of course he did. How could he not? He must have women throwing themselves at him every day of the week. There wasn’t a woman born who wouldn’t wonder what it would feel like to be in his arms, to have him make love to her, to have him want her. She didn’t like where her thoughts were leading and slammed the door shut on her mind before they could continue on such a dangerous path.

The Romano Bellinis of this world and the Claire Wilsons had no meeting point; she knew that. He was one of the beautiful people—rich, powerful, with a little black book that was no doubt bursting at the seams with the names of willing females ready to jump when he clicked his fingers. She had seen such women in the summer, when she had been here and the jet set had been in full residence—elegant, sophisticated beauties with model-like figures and dazzling smiles, all legs and teeth and glittering like Christmas trees with the amount of diamonds strewn about their persons. Women like his late wife, in fact.

‘Come on, Claire.’ Lorenzo, who had been a good few paces in front of them, turned at the door to his room and beckoned to her. ‘I told Benito this morning that you were coming and he does not like to be kept waiting.’

She didn’t doubt it, Claire thought wryly as she gratefully seized the excuse to finish her conversation with Romano, moving ahead of him as she hurried to Lorenzo’s side. Benito was a formidable bird in every sense of the word, but for some reason he had taken to her from the instant his bright, beady eyes had met hers, nuzzling his head, with its wickedly hooked bill, against her fingers whenever she petted him and ruffling his exotic plumage in obvious pleasure at her presence.

It was clear the bird had heard Lorenzo speak her name the second she stepped into the room. His eyes had been fixed on the doorway and the moment he saw her he began to dance clumsily on his perch, screeching her name. ‘Claire! Claire! Who’s a clever bird, then? Nice old fellow. Nice old bird.’ They were the words she had used to pet him in the summer, but she wished he had said something else, anything else, as she walked over to him. She could just sense Romano’s satisfaction at his point being emphasised so adroitly.

‘Hello, Benito. Who’s a clever bird, then?’ The big, compact body was as smooth as silk under her fingers as she stroked the beautiful feathers, his head immediately nuzzling into her hand as he continued to mutter his ecstasy at her presence.

‘You are not frightened of this old villain?’ Romano joined her, his words slightly disparaging, but as she glanced up at him, ready to defend the parrot’s cause, she surprised a look of real affection on his face as he gazed at the bird, before he became aware of her glance and his expression became blank.

‘Benito? Of course not, we’re friends—aren’t we, old fellow?’ she said quietly, returning her eyes to the parrot, who glanced up at her cheekily before setting Romano in his sights.

‘Romano...Claire, hmm?’ It was said with an air of consideration that was terribly human, further underlined by the fact that the irascible old bird glanced from one to the other enquiringly, like a benevolent matchmaking uncle. ‘Claire e Romano. Nice old fellows...’

‘You are getting a little confused, Benito.’ Romano’s voice was quite without embarrassment, as though he had no idea what the bird was getting at—something Claire hoped fervently wasn’t just good manners on his part. Her own face had turned a vivid and she was sure unattractive shade of crimson. ‘Claire is not a fellow, nice or otherwise; she is a lady.’

‘Lady, lady.’ Benito was revelling in the attention he was getting; he liked nothing more than to show off to all and sundry. ‘Frutta? Frutta?’ he asked hopefully, never one to miss an opportunity to ask for food. ‘Nice old bird,’ he added for good measure, giving an imitation of a heartfelt human sigh as he finished speaking.

‘Greedy old bird, more like.’ Claire couldn’t help laughing, in spite of her awkwardness, at the bird’s roguish manner. She knew all the family were devoted to him—Grace especially crediting him with almost human powers and spoiling him outrageously—and she had to admit that the parrot’s mischievous antics and wicked sense of humour were very endearing. But there were times, like a few moments ago, when he was too human for comfort.

‘Claire, come and see the new games I had for Christmas for my computer.’ Lorenzo saved the day again as he called to her across the room from where he was seated at his desk. ‘There is a two-player one,’ he added expectantly, augmenting the veiled request with an engaging grin.

‘I will leave you to it.’ Romano smiled that detached smile as he spoke, turning in the same instant, and as she stood for a moment, watching him leave the room, she found herself reflecting on the power in his male body before she realised what she was doing. A wave of fiery red burnt across her pale skin for the second time in as many minutes, but still the lithe, muscled body under the black silk shirt and casual but expensive black cotton trousers held her attention.

For goodness’ sake, had she completely lost reason? she scolded herself as the door closed and she and Lorenzo were alone. She had never in all her life ogled a man, she had never even wanted to, and she certainly wasn’t going to start now, and with Romano Bellini of all people. He was arrogant enough without her adding to his inflated ego.

Besides which—her mouth tightened as the little voice in her mind spoke with devastating honesty—she could just imagine his reaction to her body if he saw her partly undressed. Her hand made an involuntary protective movement over the flat surface of her stomach before Lorenzo’s, ‘Come on, Claire, it’s all set up,’ jerked her out of the brief fall into the black abyss all thoughts of her accident still produced.

Nevertheless, as she battled with Lorenzo for domination of the jungle, her Tyrannosaurus Rex versus his King Kong, her mind was only partly on the game.

It had all been so different before the accident, she thought painfully. She had been happy, confident, content in a job she loved and engaged to a man she was sure was the one and only. And then, in just a few moments of time, her whole life had changed irrevocably. She shut her eyes for a second as a stab of anguish made her heart thud.

It hadn’t been her fault. Everyone—the police, her family, the witnesses at the scene—had said the young driver of the flashy sports car had shot out at the junction into the side of her estate car without any warning whatsoever, but the end result had been two grieving parents when he had died in surgery. She had spent weeks in hospital recovering from her own injuries, torturing herself with the terrifying realisation that the three children who had been in the car with her, whom she had been nannying at the time, could so easily have died. As it was, their injuries had been minor, necessitating just an overnight stay, but she could still hear their terror-stricken screams, the moans of the other driver in the tangled wreckage of his vehicle, and the sound of her own voice as she had tried to reassure the children whilst being unable to reach them, trapped as she was within the crumpled car.