The Forced Bride

‘Certamente.’ He dropped them back into their wrappings with an almost disdainful flick of the hand.

Emily bit her lip. All she really wanted to do now was walk away from him and die in a place where her corpse would never be discovered. On the other hand, she didn’t want her father to receive a full description of the incident, she realised resignedly. So—something would have to be done.

She said stiltedly, ‘I—I thought you were out walking.’

He shrugged. ‘Your father suggested I return in time for tea. He said it was quite an occasion.’ He glanced down at the bra and thong, his mouth twisting. ‘I see he was right.’

‘They were intended as a joke,’ she said quickly. ‘But I don’t think Daddy would find it very funny.’

‘Then, perhaps, we should not distress him by mentioning it.’

‘No,’ she said. Adding reluctantly, ‘Thank you.’

She waited, but he made no attempt to move, and she was aware of his gaze resting on her reflectively.

She cleared her throat. ‘I—I know what you must be thinking…’

‘No,’ he said quite gently. ‘You do not.’ And handed her the card with Simon’s message. ‘As a matter of fact, I too am enjoying a fantasy,’ he went on. ‘But mine does not involve clothing—of any kind.’

He gave her a cool, impersonal smile and walked on, leaving Emily gasping as if she’d been winded.

She spent a long time in her room, trying to summon up the courage to go down and face the tiny sandwiches, the featherlight scones with cream and the huge elaborate Christmas cake that Mrs Penistone had provided. Because she’d be expected to sample all of them under the sardonic gaze of their guest, and any loss of appetite would be noted and commented on by her father.

Which, in turn, would provide further opportunities for that appalling—that vile Rafaele Di Salis to amuse himself at her expense, she realised stormily.

Because that was all it had been. Yet another dubious joke, but one which he’d had no right to make.

Except that a girl who’d just received a secret gift of suggestive underwear from her boyfriend could hardly be prim about some mild sexual teasing. But, however she rationalised it, the memory still made her squirm uncomfortably.

I just wish he’d complete his business with Daddy and go, she told herself as she put the underwear back in its wrappings and buried it deep in a drawer, then went slowly and reluctantly down to the drawing room.

‘Well?’ Simon breathed into her ear. ‘Are you wearing them?’

Emily looked down at herself—at the demure white silk shirt with its deep Puritan-style collar, and the ankle-length velvet skirt in shades of dark blue and turquoise.

‘Er—no.’ She made her tone placatory. ‘They didn’t seem quite right—not under this.’

‘Well, maybe,’ he conceded moodily. ‘Tell me something, Em. Don’t you ever get tired of playing Daddy’s little girl? You’re past the age of consent, so isn’t it time you grew up and started being a woman? My woman, in fact?’

She gasped. ‘I thought we’d agreed to wait.’

‘And I’ve been waiting, for God’s sake. Have a heart, honey. I’m only human and I’m getting sick of walking away from you with just an ache in my guts.’

Her cheeks warmed and she looked round in embarrassment. ‘Simon—keep your voice down. People will hear you.’

‘What are they going to hear? That I want you? That’ll come as no surprise to anyone in the neighbourhood—except your father, maybe.’ He moved fractionally closer. ‘Isn’t there some way we can be together, sweetheart?’

‘You mean this evening?’ Emily was incredulous. ‘But I’m my father’s hostess. I can’t just—disappear. Besides, I’m under orders to make sure that our house guest meets everyone,’ she added with a touch of bitterness.

‘You mean the tall Mediterranean job who’s been roaming round the village lately?’ Simon snorted. ‘I wouldn’t worry about him.’

‘But I have to worry. I was in trouble yesterday for spending time in my room when I should have been dancing attendance on him. Daddy actually ticked me off about it, when I was on my way up to bed.’

She sighed. ‘So now I’m supposed to compensate for yesterday’s rudeness by looking after him tonight. Making sure he’s not bored—keeping his drink freshened and all that stuff.’

‘You could have a problem there,’ Simon informed her. ‘Because all the women in the room are clustered round him, drooling. You’d probably have to kill to reach him.’ His voice sank to a persuasive whisper. ‘Sweetheart, this is a big house. There must be somewhere we can go—just for a while?’

Emily bit her lip. Was that how he wanted their first time together? she asked herself, troubled. A snatched encounter in some empty bedroom with the threat of discovery hanging over them?

She said quietly, ‘Simon, I can’t. My father’s bound to miss me and we can’t take the risk.’

‘Later, then. When the party’s over and everyone’s gone.’ His voice was urgent. ‘I’ll give it a couple of hours, then I’ll come back across the garden, so leave the conservatory unlocked for me, hmm?’

He paused. ‘Please, darling. It would mean so much to know you’re ready to trust yourself to me.’

Emily hesitated miserably, then nodded. ‘If—that’s what you want.’

His grin was triumphant. ‘Oh, you’ll want it too, my pet, I promise you that. And wear my present, eh?’

Emily moved away, aware that her mouth was dry and her heart thudding uncomfortably. Some instinct made her look across the room and she realised that, hemmed in as he was, Rafaele Di Salis was watching her, his dark face expressionless.

And she’d already turned away before she remembered she’d intended to stare back.

She was on edge for the rest of the evening. Someone—some stranger outside herself—moved through the groups of people, smiling and talking, but was unable to recollect a single word that had been said.

However there was nothing wrong with her eyesight. And it seemed that Simon had been perfectly correct about Rafaele Di Salis’s ability to attract the women in the room. In particular, Jilly Aubrey seemed so attached to his side that it would probably need a surgical operation to remove her. Which proved, Emily told herself waspishly, that there was no accounting for taste.

It seemed to have been a good party, however. Everyone was saying so as they reluctantly departed. In the hallway, someone produced a sprig of mistletoe and kisses were freely exchanged amid laughter and cheering. Emily had to submit to her fair share, smiling with spurious brightness as she did so. But Simon was not among the claimants.

‘I didn’t see the Aubreys leave.’ She tried to speak casually as the door closed behind their last guests.

‘They went nearly an hour ago,’ Sir Travers returned. ‘Apart from the girl Jillian,’ he added disapprovingly. ‘She stayed on, having persuaded to Rafaele to drive her home later.’

Now why does that not surprise me? Emily thought ironically.

The clearing up after the party was accomplished swiftly and efficiently by Mrs Penistone and the extra staff hired for the evening, and eventually Emily was able to go up to her room, but not before she’d slipped unobtrusively through the dining room to the conservatory beyond and unlocked the door.

She could only hope that the housekeeper would not decide to carry out a last-minute double-check.

Or was that really what she was hoping for? Because, if she was honest, she felt almost sick with apprehension as she undressed and took a quick shower.

Reluctantly, she put on the bra and thong and took a wincing look at herself in the mirror. She didn’t look or feel in the least sexy, she thought wretchedly. Just uncomfortable and—in-credibly stupid. But if this was how Simon wanted her…

All the same, she was glad to cover up by zipping herself into her dark green velour robe.

Why was she hesitating? she wondered, as she brushed her hair into a silken cloud on her shoulders. Tonight was a turning point in her life—the magic time when she would belong at last to Simon—the man she loved—and it would be beautiful—wonderful, because he would make it so for her.

And, drawing a deep breath, she slipped out of her room, closing the door behind her with immense care, and went silently down the shadowed stairs to keep her rendezvous.

CHAPTER TWO

EVEN now, three years later, Emily could remember every detail of that short journey. Could recall the brush of the stair carpet under her bare feet, the way the shadows had seemed to distort even the most familiar objects and the soft creaking and groaning as the old house settled for the night.

With every step she’d expected lights to blaze on and her father’s voice demanding to know what she was doing.

She supposed she’d have to say that she couldn’t sleep and was going to the kitchen to heat some milk. He’d believe her, because she’d never given him cause to do otherwise. Or not until now, she’d thought, her throat closing.

More than once she’d been tempted to turn back. To take refuge in her room and find some excuse that would placate Simon for her failure to show.

But I love him, she’d reminded herself almost feverishly. I should be wanting to make him happy, not pacify him.

When she was in his arms, she would feel differently. She was sure of it. Convinced that this little knot of coldness in the pit of her stomach would dissolve into something altogether warmer and more receptive.

And yet…

She’d have been lying to herself if she hadn’t hoped that her first time with Simon would have been more meaningful in some way. More romantic than these hasty and covert moments ahead of her.

Although, as she’d gathered from the conversation of her more sophisticated school friends, usually the first time was no big deal. Merely something that needed to be got out of the way, so that more pleasurable experiences could follow.

There was also the vexed question of birth control. Emily reckoned uneasily that she was the only girl in the sixth form not to be on the pill. But would Simon have guessed this and made his own arrangements, or would she have to pretend everything was all right—and risk the consequences?

She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. Her father would be angry and disappointed with her, of course, but as she and Simon were planning to be married anyway, would it really be so awful if the wedding date had to be moved forward because she was pregnant?

Well, the short answer to that was yes. Because it was the last thing she wanted to happen.

The situation would be much easier to handle if Simon’s career wasn’t currently on hold, she thought forlornly. How could he cope with a wife and baby without a regular salary or a home of his own?

Her father might offer him something, she supposed, but she wouldn’t count on it. Not if he had Simon foisted on him as a son-in-law before they’d even had a chance to become properly acquainted, let alone friends.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door to the conservatory and slipped inside like a small, quiet ghost.

It was one of her favourite places in the house, its warmth like a blanket, enveloping her in comfort. She stood still for a moment, eyes closed, breathing the raw earthy smells and listening to the familiar muted hum of the heating system.

There was no other sound. No movement either. And Emily realised with something very like relief that Simon wasn’t there.

But perhaps she should allow him a few minutes’ grace, she thought reluctantly. After all, she couldn’t go to bed leaving the outside door unsecured, yet she certainly didn’t want him arriving late either, rattling at the lock and wakening the entire household in a frustrated attempt to gain access.

Oh God, I should never—never—have agreed to any of this, she groaned inwardly, sinking down on a bench next to the miniature palms and peering at the face of her watch in the gloom. I’m not the stuff conspirators are made of.

She sat tensely, hands clasped in her lap, willing the moments to pass more quickly.

When she saw Simon next, she would pretend it had never happened, she told herself. She’d tell him her father had been on the prowl, and she hadn’t dared leave her room. Hope that he hadn’t had a wasted journey.

She was just getting to her feet when she realised that the door to the garden was opening silently to admit the dark figure of a man.

For a brief second she froze in the realisation that it was too late to slip away.

This is Simon, she reminded herself urgently. This is the man you love and want. And it’s time to commit yourself to that love, once and for always.

She drew a breath, then went to him, running, flinging herself into the arms that instantly closed about her as she lifted her face for his kiss.

But, instead of the passionate demand she’d expected, he was almost restrained, keeping his ardour well in check, and Emily was grateful for it.

Eyes shut, she gave herself up to the pleasure of the cool, gentle brush of his lips against hers, his exploration of the soft contours of her mouth as if this was strange, uncharted territory to him.

As if…

And in that same moment, she knew with total clarity that this was wrong—all wrong. That the hard male body she’d pressed herself against so ardently was taller, leaner than Simon’s, and altogether more muscular. That she was not being held and kissed as Simon held and kissed her. And that this man even smelled differently, Simon’s familiar brand of aftershave having been replaced by something infinitely more subtle and expensive.

But only too recognisable, just the same…

Oh, God, she whimpered in silent horror, as realisation dawned. Oh, God, it’s—him.

Gasping, she tore her lips from his and pushed at him violently.

‘Let go of me.’ Her voice was shaking. ‘Let go of me at once, damn you.’

‘You mean this entrancing welcome is not intended for me, after all?’ Rafaele Di Salis asked mockingly. ‘I am desolate.’

But he relaxed his clasp sufficiently for Emily to take an uneven step backwards, out of range. At the same time, he clicked the switch by the door and the overhead light went on, catching her in the act of scrubbing violently at her mouth with her hand in an attempt to remove any lingering traces of his kiss.

To cover her confusion, Emily went into attack mode. ‘What do you think you’re doing—creeping into the place like a burglar?’

His brows lifted sardonically. ‘Are you saying that you mistook me for a thief—and not Simon Aubrey?’

‘Simon,’ she said curtly, ‘need not concern you.’

‘Ah, but he does, Emilia. Because I fear that he will not be able to keep his appointment with you tonight, after all.’

She stiffened. ‘He told—you that?’

‘No.’ Rafaele Di Salis shrugged. ‘I told him so, when I encountered him in the garden a short while ago.’

She gasped. ‘You were spying on us?’

‘I had just returned from driving Signorina Aubrey home and heard him crashing through the shrubbery as I walked back to the house. He is fortunate there are no dogs on the premises, or he would have woken the whole household—including your father.’ He allowed a significant pause. ‘I persuaded him that his visit was—inappropriate and he left.’

She said chokingly, ‘And what gives you the right to interfere in my affairs?’

‘You mean there have been others?’ He tutted. ‘And I would have sworn that Simon Aubrey was the first.’ He glanced round. ‘And I must tell you, cara, that this is hardly the most comfortable setting for so momentous an event as losing your virginity.’

For a long moment Emily was incapable of speech, aware that every inch of her skin was burning with embarrassment.

At last she said hoarsely, ‘You are—disgusting.’

He laughed. ‘No, merely practical. Besides, your would-be lover seemed in no mood for a tender seduction when I met him just now. Frankly, he appeared ill-tempered. And, when I arrived at his uncle’s house earlier, it was clear there had been a family disagreement of some magnitude in which he was involved.’

‘That is none of your business!’

‘I agree,’ Rafaele told her cordially. ‘Which is why I made an excuse and left at once, without the coffee I had been promised.’

She glared at him. ‘Or anything else, presumably. Is that why you decided to ruin my time with Simon, signore—because you’d missed out with Jilly?’

He said gently, ‘That, mia cara, is a vulgarity not worthy of you.’ He paused. ‘I look on your father as my friend, Emilia, and I would try to prevent anything that would distress him. And the discovery that you had agreed to a secret liaison under his own roof would be a serious blow to him. You must know that. Your young man should have more regard for your honour.’

Emily flung back her head. ‘It so happens, signore, that Simon and I are engaged to be married. We were meeting tonight to—to discuss our plans for the future, and not for the sordid reason you imagine.’

His stride towards her was so quick and purposeful that she didn’t have a chance to step backwards. And, before she could defend herself, his hand had snaked out and pulled down the zip on her robe almost to the waist. The edges fell apart, revealing to his gaze the flimsy black triangles that barely concealed her nipples.

He said contemptuously, ‘It seems I am not the only one with a sordid imagination, signorina. Let me tell you that you are too young and far too lovely to require such tawdry adornment. You disappoint me.’

‘How dare you?’ Her voice was a strangled croak as she struggled to cover herself again, her fingers made clumsy by haste and shame. ‘Oh, God, how dare you—touch me? Insult me? You call yourself Daddy’s friend? He’ll throw you out of the house when I tell him…’

‘When you tell him—precisely what?’ Rafaele Di Salis cut impatiently across her stumbling words. ‘What you were doing here? Why you were dressed as you are?’ He shook his head. ‘No, Emilia, I recommend that you hold your peace about tonight, as I shall. Now, go to your room,’ he added almost wearily. ‘And I will lock up here.’

She did not wait to argue, but fled. In the quiet of her room, she threw herself across the bed, burying her face in the covers, as shock and misery overwhelmed her.

I want to die, she told herself passionately, a sob rising in her throat. Just to die. Because then I’ll never have to see Rafaele Di Salis again.

But, for the time being, she had to go on living—enduring the terrible memory of his condemnatory gaze and the harsh dismissal of his words.

And, somewhere among all of that, was the realisation that Simon had tamely given up and gone home, which, she discovered wretchedly, didn’t seem nearly as bad.

She spent a miserable and restless night, with the covers pulled over her head, and it was a pale, hollow-eyed Emily who went reluctantly down to breakfast the next morning to confront her tormentor the best she could. She’d rehearsed a number of dignified and cutting speeches in case he should make some ill-chosen reference to the night’s events, but they proved unnecessary.

Because he wasn’t there, and when she forced herself to ask her father about their guest’s non-appearance, she was breezily informed that Rafaele Di Salis had left first thing that morning to catch a flight to New York.

‘Isn’t that rather sudden?’ She managed to pour her coffee with a reasonably steady hand.

Sir Travers looked surprised. ‘No, my dear. Raf always planned to leave immediately after Boxing Day. Didn’t I mention that?’

‘Actually, no,’ said Emily.

‘Well, he’s gone, anyway.’ Her father paused, then smiled. ‘And he asked me to pass on his good wishes for your future happiness.’

‘How kind,’ Emily said woodenly, and applied herself to her scrambled eggs.

Strange, Emily thought, shifting uneasily in the big chair, that even after the passage of three years, she should have this—instant recall, as if it had all happened yesterday. But maybe unpleasant memories stayed longer in the mind than the cheerful variety.

Not that there’d ever been any really joyous moments to glean from any part of her strange relationship with Raf Di Salis.

The celebration would come when he signed the papers to set her free. And allow her, at last, to marry her first love and put all the pain of separation and misunderstanding behind them.

Her mouth tightened as she remembered how, in the aftermath of that disastrous night, she’d waited in mounting desperation to hear from Simon. But forty-eight endless hours had passed without a word and, as the time lengthened, her pride would not allow her to contact him and demand to know what the hell was going on.

She’d been in the village, parking her bicycle outside the general stores, when Jilly Aubrey had emerged.

‘Well, hi,’ she drawled, giving Emily the usual disparaging once-over. ‘Where’s that gorgeous Italian who was staying with you? I want to invite him to our New Year bash, if he’s going to be around.’

Emily gave her a cool look. ‘I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed. He’s gone, and he won’t be coming back for New Year, or any other time.’ If my prayers are answered…

Jilly shrugged. ‘Don’t sound so pleased, honey, because you’re in the same boat. Simon’s staying on in London, according to Mother.’

‘London,’ Emily repeated before she could stop herself.

‘You mean you don’t know?’ Jilly’s eyes glinted with malice. She lowered her voice confidentially. ‘Dad found out over Christmas that he’d been borrowing money from Ma again, and there was a massive explosion, chez nous. Fall-out everywhere, my dear. So pretty Cousin Simon’s been sent off to seek his fortune, or find a job that will enable him to pay a few of his debts, anyway. If such a thing exists,’ she added with a faint sneer. ‘Whatever, he won’t be allowed back until he’s gainfully employed, so I’d look around for another boyfriend if I were you.’

‘But I’m not you,’ Emily said quietly. ‘I believe in Simon and I’m prepared to wait.’

The other girl shrugged again. ‘More fool you,’ she retorted. ‘Don’t say you weren’t warned.’ And she walked down the street to her car and drove away.

Simon could have told me, Emily thought forlornly as she queued for her stamps at the post office counter. In fact, he should have told me.

And we didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye because of that bloody Rafaele Di Salis.

Even the slightest mention of his name seemed to have the power to make her burn with rage and humiliation, although she’d done her damnedest to put him out of her mind.

But she was still haunted by the way he’d looked at her that awful night, and it was galling beyond belief that he should be the first man to see her even semi-naked.

One of her first acts after his departure had been to wrap that horrible underwear in newspaper and add it to the incinerator in the garden where the last of the dead leaves were burning.

Gone, she’d told herself. Over and done with. Only, somehow, it didn’t seem to be that simple, and she didn’t know why.

She tried to give her thoughts a more positive turn as she cycled back to the house, telling herself that it was a good thing that Simon was looking for work—the first step towards the future they were planning. Although it didn’t mean, of course, that her father would fall over himself to give them his blessing. But it was a start.

And as for Jilly’s remarks—well, Emily decided, she shouldn’t give them credence. Simon’s cousin had been spiteful over their relationship from the start. And her disappointment over Raf Di Salis hadn’t sweetened her disposition either.

Over dinner that evening, she said, ‘We aren’t having visitors for New Year, by any chance, are we?’

‘No one. Why, is there someone you wish to invite?’ her father asked.

‘No,’ Emily said too vehemently. ‘Absolutely not. I was just—checking, that’s all.’

Sir Travers examined the wine in his glass. ‘Did you hope, perhaps, that Rafaele might be joining us?’