It Happened In Rome: The Forced Bride / The Italian's Rags-to-Riches Wife / The Italian's Passionate Revenge

But now it was much too late.

Dry eyes burning, she picked up the soap and began to wash herself from head to foot, massaging the lather carefully into every inch of her skin so not one trace of him would be left behind.

Until next time, a small wintry voice in her head reminded her and she flinched, wondering just how much of him she would be made to endure.

Surely he would become irritated with her stubbornness before long and find himself a more responsive lady.

He wouldn’t have to look far, she thought. His name had most recently been linked with that of Valentina Colona, a twenty-seven-year-old former model who’d retired from the catwalk several years before to marry a wealthy industrialist from Milan, three times her age. He was now in failing health and confined to his villa in Tuscany, but his money had helped her start a chain of boutiques called Valentina X and she’d just launched her own perfume brand with the same name.

And for the last six months she’d been coyly referred to in the gossip columns as Raf Di Salis’s ‘constant companion’.

Emily even knew what she looked like—raven hair, a heart-shaped face almost doll-like in its beauty and a stunning body that managed to be lissom and voluptuous at the same time.

And last night Raf dared call me beautiful, she thought stormily. Compared with her, I’m a stick insect.

But what made his current behaviour truly inexplicable was the widely quoted story that Signora Colona would one day become the next Contessa Di Salis.

As if Emily herself did not exist, her marriage to Raf brushed to the sidelines, she’d told herself when she read the newspaper gossip. But she felt strangely stung just the same. Which was why she’d gambled that Raf would accept the offered annulment as a quick way out of his marital dilemma.

Only Raf, as he’d made only too clear last night, had not seen it that way.

Maybe he doesn’t wish to give his future wife any impression that he is less than the master in his own house, she thought, grimacing.

But if he really loves her and wants to marry her one day, why is he here with me? How can he betray her by having sex with someone else, even if it is only his wife?

That’s what I should have asked him, she told herself. After all, I’d stupidly let slip that I knew all about his extra-marital exploits.

But somehow accepting that Raf was an incorrigible womaniser, involved in a string of casual affaires, was easier than recognising him as a man capable of being deeply in love with just one woman.

Yet, in spite of that, he’d come here looking for revenge because she’d made him look a fool. But surely he could have achieved his aim without hurting the woman he loved?

On the other hand, lovers who were married to other people probably had to allow a certain sexual leeway in their relationships—were forced to be realistic about their partners’ marital obligations.

Maybe Valentina Colona was that kind of realist, although she must surely know that Raf’s marriage had only existed on paper until last night.

But maybe she didn’t care—as long as she won in the end.

Emily suddenly felt intensely dispirited and was conscious of the heated bitterness of tears rising in her throat. But she fought them back fiercely as she lifted herself out of the bath and reached for a towel.

Whatever Raf might have threatened, she told herself strongly, he wouldn’t want their marriage to drag on. It would prove far too costly.

Because he needed to concentrate on making yet more millions. At the same time, he couldn’t afford to neglect his mistress either.

Dried and dressed, she combed her hair severely back from her face and plaited it into a braid, trying to ignore the bruised eyes that stared back at her from the mirror.

She’d brought only a few cosmetics with her, just moisturiser, a lipstick and mascara, when what she really needed was a mask to shelter behind.

Because, sooner or later, Raf would wake up and come downstairs in search of her. And it was going to take every scrap of courage she possessed to face him—to start pretending all over again that she didn’t care what he’d done to her. That, somehow, this small cottage and the intimacy it inevitably imposed didn’t matter either. That she would get through the days and find some way to endure the nights without surrendering her integrity.

But how long could she feasibly remain focused? Last night it had taken every scrap of will-power she possessed to ignore her bewildered, starving senses and continue her inimical stance against him. However hard she tried to distract herself, she’d already realised that it was almost impossible to separate herself completely from what he was doing to her.

Especially when he seemed equally determined to arouse her.

Suddenly she found herself wondering—actually imagining how Raf would make love when he was in love. How tender he would be—whether there would be a difference in his kisses—in the touch of his hands. What he might say to his woman when they finally lay together, all passion spent. Whether he would simply hold her close in adoring silence, his lips against her hair?

And stopped herself right there, her mouth dry. Because there was no point in that kind of speculation. On the contrary, she told herself, it was positively dangerous.

She shivered as she turned away from the mirror and went slowly downstairs to begin the first day of her unwanted marriage.

CHAPTER SIX

DOWNSTAIRS, Emily discovered, there was the unexpected lifeline of housework to rescue her from any further risky introspection.

Cleaning a house had never been her sole responsibility before, she thought ruefully as she cleaned the grate and laid the fire before tidying and dusting the living room. She’d always looked after her own room at school and at the Manor, of course, and pitched in to help elsewhere when necessary, but there’d always been the back-up of efficient staff.

And, even after her marriage to Simon, nothing much would have changed. She’d assumed at first that Simon would want to live in London again and that they’d start out in a small flat like other young couples but, to her surprise, this hadn’t been his idea at all.

‘I like working from home,’ he’d told her. ‘And there’s endless room at the Manor to set up a proper office for me.’ He’d smiled at her. ‘And you’d hate to live anywhere else, darling. Admit it.’

‘But don’t you want us to have a home of our own?’ she’d asked, vaguely troubled.

‘But we have,’ he’d said. ‘And it’s beautiful. Besides, what would you do all day in some grotty flat? You’re hardly one of nature’s housewives.’

No, she thought wincing at the memory. He could have been right about that, although she realised now that his wish to live at the Manor had not been prompted by any consideration for her.

But she’d wanted so badly to believe he was in love with her and that, this time, everything would be wonderful. She’d needed to think it. Had clutched at it desperately, as if it was a life-belt and not a straw.

Had never asked herself seriously whether, as her father’s heiress, it was the lifestyle he wanted more than herself. The big house, with its paid staff to do his bidding.

Perhaps I didn’t dare ask too many questions, she thought. In case I didn’t like the answers.

She shook herself out of her depressing reverie. She had work to do and there was no hired help at Braeside Cottage. It was all down to her here and she was determined that, whatever her private failings as a wife, Raf would have nothing to complain of in her domestic abilities.

She looked at her watch. It was nearly midday already, so she would cook the chicken for supper. But, for now, she would make some coffee, she thought, glancing restively towards the stairs. And maybe some toast. However, if Raf wanted some, he could fetch it. Even if he did consider he was on honeymoon, and the thought made her writhe inwardly, there would be no bedside delivery service.

She filled the kettle and was just getting out the mugs, when there was a loud knock at the front door.

She opened it to find Angus McEwen standing on the doorstep. He was wearing a thick jacket and what appeared to be fisherman’s waders over his trousers.

‘Hello, there,’ he greeted her, grinning broadly. ‘I came to make sure you were all right. See if you needed help lighting the fire or anything.’

‘You mean you’ve walked up in all this?’ Emily forced a smile of her own. ‘That’s incredibly kind of you.’

‘Och, it’s no so bad.’ He indicated the waders. ‘These belonged to my late uncle. He was great on the fishing and Auntie Maggie always said they’d come in handy.’ He paused. ‘Did you know someone’s left a vehicle here? I don’t remember seeing it last night.’

‘I drove it here from the airport,’ Raf’s voice said from behind her.

Emily hadn’t heard a sound from the stairs, but she saw Angus glance past her, his face changing to an expression of astonishment that was almost comical. Except she didn’t feel like laughing.

Instead, she tensed as Raf came to stand beside her, his arm encircling her and his hand resting on her hip in a gesture of deliberate possession.

He was not dressed, unless she counted the robe he was casually holding around him as clothing, and she was never likely to do that.

‘Buon giorno,’ he drawled. ‘May we help you in some way?’

Angus opened his mouth, tried to speak, failed and began again. ‘I—I’m sorry. I—I don’t mean to intrude, but I thought—I understood that Miss Blake was here alone.’

‘That is indeed what she planned originally,’ Raf said softly. He drew Emily slightly closer to him. ‘But I decided to surprise her.’

Angus’s ears suddenly went pink, indicating that the probable nature of the surprise was not lost on him.

Emily, realising the floor was not about to open and swallow her as she’d prayed it might, found her own voice, ‘Angus, this is my husband, the Count Di Salis.’ She paused, allowing him to assimilate this, then continued, ‘Rafaele—Mr McEwen’s aunt looks after the cottage for—for your friends. He was—concerned that I was here by myself in this weather.’

‘So I heard as I came downstairs, and I am glad that I can reassure him that you are perfectly safe, mi amore.’ Raf was smiling. ‘You have had a long walk, my friend,’ he added pleasantly. ‘Believe that I shall be sure to inform Signora Albero, when I see her next, how well you look after her tenants.’

‘Aye, well—thanks,’ Angus managed as he turned away. Then paused, his hand going into an inside pocket. ‘I thought you might like a Sunday paper, Miss—er, Mrs…’

‘Contessa,’ Raf supplied.

Angus nodded, gulped and handed over the folded broadsheet. ‘And it said on the radio just now that the weather’s going to get worse before it gets better,’ he added glumly. ‘I thought mebbe I should mention that too.’

For a moment they watched him trudge off, then Raf drew Emily back into the cottage, firmly closing the door.

‘So what was that all about?’ She turned on him hotly. ‘Why not have a banner made with SHE’S MINE in huge letters?’

‘It will not be necessary. He got the message. I regret his disappointment,’ he added lightly. ‘But the exercise will do him good.’

‘He came here to help,’ she protested. She shook her head. ‘You can’t believe, can you, that someone might actually go out of their way—just to do a kindness?’

‘I think it unlikely, yes.’ Raf followed her into the kitchen. ‘For a man to walk so far in these conditions to see a beautiful girl with no hope of reward? Never.’

‘Perhaps you shouldn’t judge other men by your own dubious standards, signore.’

‘You do not think I can be kind?’ He shrugged. ‘On the other hand, you have not granted me much opportunity to prove otherwise, carissima.’

‘If you’d wanted to be kind, you’d have stayed away.’ Emily spooned coffee into the cafetière with fierce precision. Then paused. ‘Would you like something to eat?’

Raf burst out laughing. ‘You are a girl of contradictions, cara. Would you not prefer to let me starve?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘But coping with a corpse wouldn’t be practical.’ She hesitated again. ‘We could have poached eggs on toast, perhaps.’ She added stiltedly, ‘I—I thought I’d roast the chicken this evening—if that’s all right with you.’

‘But of course.’ He paused. ‘So we have an empty afternoon before us,’ he went on softly. ‘How can we occupy it, I wonder.’

‘You could always start by putting some clothes on,’ Emily suggested tautly.

‘Perhaps.’ He paused. ‘Or maybe I might persuade you to take yours off instead.’

Her breath quickened. ‘No!’

He leaned against the archway. ‘That is a very definite negative, carissima.’ He sounded faintly amused. ‘I can see why you scared my lawyers, especially poor Pietro.’

She glared at him. ‘This is not a joke. I have no intention of performing some kind of striptease in broad daylight in order to please you.’ Her voice was ragged. ‘And, if you push it, I’ll walk out of here and to hell with the snow. I’d rather freeze in a drift than be degraded like that.’

‘My sympathies are with the drift,’ he returned coolly. He studied her for a moment. ‘I am surprised that you find the idea of undressing in front of a man to be degrading, Emilia.’ He added sardonically, ‘I remember a time when you seemed eager to do so.’

Oh, God, she thought, you would remind me of that awful night. But you’re still wrong. Because I never felt like that—never wanted to—not even with Simon…

Aloud, she said frigidly, ‘That was with the man I loved, signore. Not you. Besides, it was the middle of the night.’

‘Daylight, lamplight, starlight,’ he said reflectively. ‘Does it really make such a difference?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘It does.’ She looked at him, lifting her chin. ‘I realise that I can’t prevent you—helping yourself to me at night, but my days are going to be my own and I want that understood.’

There was a loaded silence, then Raf gave a brief shrug. ‘Very well. You may have them, if they are so important to you.’ He paused. ‘But your nights will belong to me. Is it agreed?’

She gave a small jerky nod.

‘Then maybe you too could make a concession, carissima,’ he said softly. ‘And, tonight, show me a little of the kindness you spoke of so eloquently a few moments ago.’

He turned away. ‘Now, to demonstrate my good faith, I will get dressed.’ He ran a musing hand over his chin. ‘But I shall wait to shave, I think, until later.’

Digesting the implication in his words, Emily’s throat tightened. She said in a falsely bright voice, ‘Then I’ll hold breakfast for you.’

‘Grazie.’ He inclined his head to her with a touch of mockery. ‘You are becoming a wonderful wife, carissima mia,’ he added softly. And went.

Emily leaned against the sink. He had allowed her to win, she thought shakily. But she was not deceived. Because it was only a very minor triumph in the war of attrition between them.

Besides, he’d made it clear that he expected ultimate victory. That nothing else would do for him.

She said under her breath, But I won’t let that happen. I—I can’t…Because it would change my life for ever. Whereas, once I cease to be a novelty, he—he will just walk away.

She stared through the window at the bleak and dazzling whiteness outside.

But wasn’t that what she really wanted—for him to go? she asked herself desperately. And somehow could find no answer.

It was a strange afternoon. In spite of Raf’s assurance, Emily still felt tense and on edge. After all, he’d broken his word before, she told herself. What was to stop him doing so again?

Besides, the other promise he’d made to her last night still lingered uneasily in her mind.

When she carried the tray of poached eggs and coffee into the living room she discovered that the fire was crackling briskly in the grate and Raf, soberly clad in khaki trousers and a black woollen long-sleeved shirt, was kneeling on the hearthrug, adding more coal to the blaze.

‘Oh,’ she said, ‘I meant to do that.’

‘From now on, I will attend to it.’ He gave her a brief smile as he got to his feet, adding lightly, ‘I do not wish you to ruin your hands, cara. Or give your admirer another excuse to call.’

She said between her teeth, ‘Once and for all, he is not my admirer.’

He gave her a dry look. ‘No longer, certainly,’ he agreed, as he sat down at the table.

She was trying to think of a suitably chilly riposte when her attention was suddenly distracted.

‘Oh, God, it’s snowing again.’

‘We were warned that it might.’ Raf poured the coffee. ‘Is it a problem?’

‘Your car,’ she said. ‘I thought we might be able to dig it out—and leave.’

‘To go where?’ He sounded politely interested as he cut into his toast.

‘Does it matter? Just—away from here. After all, we—we both have lives to get back to.’

‘And it would suit you much better if those lives were resumed hundreds of miles apart,’ he murmured. ‘No deal, carissima. The forecast in the newspaper warns that roads in this area may become impassable for a while and only essential journeys should be attempted in the rest of the region. Your reluctance to be alone with me hardly justifies the risk.’

He paused. ‘And you made the decision to come here.’

‘I had no idea it would be like this,’ she said. ‘What’s more, I bet you didn’t realise that we might be marooned here when you set the arrangement up.’ She shook her head. ‘Oh, God, I was so damned stupid. I should have realised it was a trap.’

‘Is that how you see it?’ Raf asked silkily. ‘Yet I find it delightful. Quiet, remote. The ideal place to begin married life. Don’t you think?’

‘You don’t want to know what I think,’ she said bitterly.

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘If you relaxed a little, Emilia, you might enjoy being here too.’

And he was not simply referring to the environment, Emily thought, biting her lip.

When the meal was over, Raf cleared the table, in spite of her protests, and carried the used cups and plates into the kitchen. Emily followed unwillingly and found him crouched in front of the fridge studying the chicken.

He said, ‘Do you wish to cook it in wine? Shall I fetch some from the cellar?’

‘No, thank you. I’m simply going to roast it.’

‘And these are the vegetables?’ He looked at them with an air of faint disbelief. ‘May I help prepare them?’

‘That won’t be necessary.’ She hesitated. ‘As you can see, this is a very small kitchen, so could it be designated as my space? Please?’

There was a brief silence, then he said too courteously, ‘But of course. Forgive my intrusion.’

He disappeared into the living room and Emily tackled the washing-up. When it was completed, she cleaned all the surfaces until they shone, then wiped them over again. She was tempted to scrub the floor—anything that would delay her from having to join him in the living room—but she didn’t want him to think that she was nervous. Even though she was.

But when she eventually ventured in he barely seemed to notice. He’d discovered a box of chessmen and a board somewhere and seemed absorbed in a problem he’d found in the newspaper.

She sat on the sofa opposite, her legs curled under her, and watched the leaping flames in the grate. But she realised, after a while, that she was also stealing covert looks at Raf. It occurred to her that she’d never before spent such a long time completely alone with him. And that, for at least half of it, she’d been naked. And so, of course, had he…

‘Do you play chess?’ he asked suddenly and she jumped, colour flooding her face, as she realised where her thoughts had been drifting.

‘I know the basic moves,’ she said. ‘Nothing else.’

‘Would you like to learn?’

‘No, thank you. I always preferred backgammon.’

‘Yes,’ he said quietly. ‘I remember.’ He paused. ‘There is a set in the cupboard over there, if you would like a game.’

‘Oh, no.’ Her disclaimer was hasty. ‘I—I only ever played against my father.’

‘And a different opponent would naturally be out of the question,’ he said expressionlessly and returned to his chess problem.

There was another silence.

‘I see there are books here, but I brought some others with me,’ Emily mentioned eventually. ‘They’re upstairs. But they might not appeal to you.’

‘They are romantic books, perhaps—for women? The search for Mr Right?’ His faint smile did not indicate any particular amusement.

She said coolly, ‘One of them’s Anna Karenina. I don’t think she fits that category. And there are some detective stories too. You’re welcome to borrow them—if you want.’

‘Grazie,’ he said. ‘And the cupboard also contains a radio, a pack of cards, three jigsaw puzzles and a game of Snakes and Ladders. Even without television, we do not lack for entertainment,’ he added sardonically.

‘Never a dull moment,’ Emily commented and got to her feet. ‘I’ll go and find the books.’

She had to steel herself to enter the bedroom. She didn’t want to look at the bed either but, to her annoyance, she found her glance drawn to it. She was surprised to see that it had been neatly made, its pillows plumped up and the covers smoothed. As if it had never been occupied. His handiwork, she realised with bewilderment, and quite the last thing she would have expected.

She lifted the bag out of the bottom of the wardrobe and turned, only to cannon into Raf who was standing right behind her.

Her mouth went dry. Oh, God, surely he couldn’t have construed her departure upstairs as some kind of invitation? she thought, hugging the bag defensively against her body. ‘What—what do you want?’

‘To help you with these,’ Raf told her curtly, taking the bag from her slackened grasp. ‘What else?’

He walked away from her out of the room and, after a brief hesitation, Emily followed him downstairs.

She said stiltedly, ‘I’m sorry. I—I thought…’

‘I know what you thought.’ He was putting the chess pieces back in their box. ‘But you were wrong.’ His tone bit. ‘So let us leave the subject.’

‘But can’t you see now why I want to leave here?’ She looked at him pleadingly. ‘It—it’s so cramped. And if we keep—bumping into each other, it’s bound to lead to—to misunderstandings,’ she ended miserably.

‘Only in your own head, cara.’ He sounded bored, his attention now focused on the contents of the book bag. He went through them all, then chose the new Patricia Cornwell, which Emily had mentally reserved for herself.

Not that she intended to argue about it, she told herself. Anything at all that might keep his mind off her had to be a bonus.

It was almost a relief when she could disappear into the kitchen and begin preparations for supper.

But once the chicken had begun to sizzle in the oven and the vegetables were prepared, there was nothing to detain her and she came back to resume her seat on the other side of the hearth. And to wrestle with her unhappy thoughts.

Eventually, she cleared her throat. ‘Rafaele—may I talk to you?’

‘With pleasure.’ He put his book aside. ‘But I thought you preferred silence.’

‘I suppose that’s really one of the things I want to talk about.’ She swallowed. ‘The way things are, you can’t really mean for us to live together—not in any real sense—when we leave here. Not even on a temporary basis.’

‘But that is exactly my intention, cara. I thought I had made that clear.’ He shrugged. ‘And the duration of the marriage has yet to be decided.’

She stared across at him. ‘And that’s all you have to say?’

‘What else is there?’

‘I’d have thought—plenty.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I—I acknowledge that I made you angry over the annulment thing. But can’t you now also acknowledge that you’ve punished me enough? And let me go? Let us both go, in fact?’

His brows lifted. ‘You think this is my only reason for being here—to teach you a lesson?’ He sounded politely curious.