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

‘In your own words—what else is there?’

He said slowly, ‘Perhaps—that you are a beautiful girl with an exquisite body.’

She flushed. ‘Even if it was true, I’d be just one more on a long list,’ she said tautly. ‘As we both know. So please don’t think that offering me meaningless flattery will make last night—what you did to me any more acceptable.’

‘I shall consider myself rebuked.’ He watched her for a moment. ‘But at least when you find another husband you will have some experience of married life to take with you. Comfort yourself with that.’

‘You’re all heart,’ Emily said bitterly. ‘But, after due consideration, I think I shall prefer to remain single.’

She paused. ‘However, while we’re on the subject, I understand you are intending to remarry. Is—is that true?’

‘Perfectly true.’

She leaned forward, her voice suddenly intense. ‘Then how can you possibly be here with me—like this? What about the woman you love? I—I presume you do love her?’

‘Yes,’ he returned coolly. ‘But she has a husband, just as I have a wife. And, as I cannot live with her as I wish, then you make a charming substitute, carissima. After all, who better to share my bed at this juncture than the wife I have so cruelly neglected in the past?’

‘We have very different ideas on cruelty,’ Emily said cuttingly. ‘Won’t she care that you’ve decided to begin sleeping with me—after all this time?’

‘She knows that our marriage was solely a matter of convenience, certainly. But so was hers, and she is realistic enough to understand that these arrangements have their obligations and their inevitable compromises.’ He gave her a level look. ‘For us, happiness is the future, not the past or even the present.’

‘That’s an incredibly cynical viewpoint.’ Emily lifted her chin. ‘I wouldn’t want to think of the man I loved having even duty sex with another woman.’

‘Especially if duty also becomes a pleasure, mi amore,’ he murmured, his mouth twisting. ‘Is that what you were going to say?’

‘No,’ she said. ‘Especially if I thought he was forcing himself on someone who didn’t want him.’

‘Do not let it trouble you, Emilia,’ he said softly. ‘I am sure a man that you loved would do none of these things. That you would fill his heart to the exclusion of all others.’ He smiled at her. ‘But until you find this prince, you will continue to be my wife. And—do your duty. As I shall do mine.’

‘You’re quite adamant, aren’t you?’ she said bitterly. ‘There’s nothing I can say—nothing I can do to persuade you to release me from this—unspeakable situation?’

‘You exaggerate, cara,’ Raf drawled. ‘You have spoken on the subject quite frankly. And it is hardly a life sentence,’ he added with another faint shrug.

‘Although it already seems like it.’ She looked back at him, her green eyes clouded with resentment. ‘Does your future wife realise, signore, how easily you break your promises? And what a casual approach you have to commitment?’

‘When I make my vows to her, Emilia, they will be kept.’ There was a sudden harshness in his voice. ‘And, when she is all mine, I will belong to her as completely. There will be no other—ever. Now, do you have anything more you wish to ask?’

‘No,’ she said quietly, aware of an odd twist of the heart. ‘If she’s prepared to settle for your future fidelity, that’s her concern.’ After all, someone as glamorous and sexy as Valentina Colona would hardly see me as any kind of rival, even in the short term.

She swallowed. ‘At the same time, I feel really sorry for her husband.’

‘There is no need, I assure you. He is content to settle for what he has.’

‘Then there’s nothing more to be said.’ Emily got to her feet. ‘And I’d be better employed checking on dinner.’

‘One duty at least that you can perform without reservations, carissima,’ he said blandly and picked up his book.

In the kitchen she attempted to relieve her feelings by slamming the oven door and clanging saucepans together, but her sense of mingled anger and bewilderment persisted unabated.

I can’t bear what’s happening to me, she thought swallowing. I have to get away from him. But how?

Even without the snow, she couldn’t think of a place to go where he wouldn’t be able to trace her and follow. Financially her options were limited too. Until her twenty-first birthday, she had no direct control over her affairs and she was beginning to realise how deeply this could matter.

Up to now, admittedly, Rafaele had kept a light hand on the reins, as well as strictly maintaining his distance, so she’d been able to stifle her resentment at the arbitrary way his dual role in her life had been imposed, in the sure knowledge that it would soon be over.

Now, in the space of twenty-four hours, there were suddenly no more certainties and her countdown to freedom had turned into a test of her endurance that she dared not fail.

Demanding the annulment had been a supreme mistake. What on earth had made her think she could challenge him like that and get away with it?

I was angry, she thought. It was as simple as that. And maybe I simply wanted to make him angry too.

But why? That was the question that she could not answer.

Had she allowed the stories in the gossip columns to get to her at last? Was this some kind of—personal backlash because she found herself being air-brushed out of his life in this arbitrary way? An impulsive but misjudged bid to remind him that she still existed?

Yet why should she even care—when she herself was supposed to be in love with Simon?

None of it made any sense, she thought unhappily.

Yes, she’d been stupid to attract his attention so blatantly, when she could just have accepted his terms and faded quietly out of the picture, which was, after all, what she’d always expected would happen.

Even so, she’d never dreamed her attempt to needle him would have such dire consequences. At most, she’d expected an icy rebuke. Never this kind of retribution.

But then, what had she ever really known about Rafaele Di Salis, except that her father had trusted him, even though the younger man had owed him some mysterious debt?

And, apart from the stories in the scandal sheets, and in spite of the enforced intimacies of the previous night, Emily thought, biting her lip, he was still pretty much of an enigma to her.

For instance, all she knew about his family background was that his parents were both dead, and that was information that she’d gleaned solely from her father, who’d warned her that it was not something that Rafaele cared to speak about. He’d also suggested that she shouldn’t ask questions, but wait until her husband chose to discuss the subject with her.

Only he never had.

But when we’ve been together before, we’ve barely had conversations, thought Emily, let alone discussions. Talking is a sharing thing, and I must have known even then that it was dangerous to share. That I needed to keep him at arm’s length.

I wish I’d also realised how unwise it might be to make him angry.

For a moment it was as if her eyes blurred suddenly and she ran an impatient hand across them. She couldn’t afford any sign of weakness. She’d tried rejection and she’d tried pleading with him, all to no avail. Now, all that was left to her was survival.

I will get through this, she told herself, and I’ll walk away when it’s over without a backward glance. I have to.

The living room was empty when she went in to set the table but, just as she’d finished arranging the cutlery, Raf appeared from the cellar with a handful of candles and a selection of pottery holders.

‘Oh.’ Emily hesitated as he put two of them on the table and lit them. ‘Isn’t that a little extreme? After all, this is hardly formal dining.’

‘You saw the lights flickering, si?’ There was faint impatience in his tone.

‘Well—yes.’ So it hadn’t been her eyes, after all.

‘I think we may lose the power,’ he went on. ‘And I thought it would be safer to make other arrangements now rather than later.’ He paused. ‘I would rather not test the cellar steps in the dark.’

‘No,’ she said with constraint. ‘Of course not.’

His brows lifted. ‘You don’t like candlelight?’

She shrugged evasively. ‘I’d prefer it not to be a necessity.’

His glance was faintly mocking. ‘You favour romance over practicality, cara? How very sweet. I am encouraged.’

‘Actually,’ she said, ‘given the choice, I’d like you to fall down the cellar steps and break your neck, signore.’ And heard his low laugh follow her back to the kitchen.

As a meal, it turned out better than she could have hoped. What the chicken lacked in flavour, it made up in succulence, and the vegetables were perfectly cooked. And Emily discovered, to her great surprise, that she was ravenous.

‘There isn’t a great deal left for tomorrow,’ she said ruefully, eyeing the carcass.

He shrugged. ‘The bones will make soup. So do not worry, Emilia, and drink some more wine.’ He refilled her glass. ‘Believe me, I will not allow you to starve.’

There was a silence, then she said slowly, ‘Will you tell me something?’

‘Perhaps,’ he said. ‘Ask me and I will decide.’

It didn’t sound particularly hopeful, but she ploughed on.

‘My father told me you’d offered to marry me because you owed him—big time.’ She swallowed. ‘I’m just curious to know my—market value.’

There was a silence. Then, at last, ‘The debt is immeasurable,’ he said expressionlessly. ‘But it was the only repayment he ever asked of me, so I could not refuse. Does that content you?’

‘How can it?’ Her voice sounded stifled. ‘When it would have been so much easier on both of us if you’d simply—found the money from somewhere.’

His faint smile twisted. ‘And even easier to be wise in retrospect, cara.’ He rose to his feet. ‘Now I will make some coffee.’

Once the clearing away was done, in actual hours and minutes it seemed a long while until bedtime, but Emily found the time passing with disquieting speed as she turned the pages of the thriller she was trying to read with only the sketchiest idea of what was taking place in print.

She could not concentrate. In spite of herself, her eyes kept straying to the neat wooden clock in the centre of the mantelpiece, watching the inexorable movement of its hands. The countdown to the inevitable moment when she would have to submit to him all over again in that big bed upstairs, she thought, her throat tightening.

Seated opposite her, Raf appeared to have no such concerns. He seemed totally absorbed in his own book as he lounged in the corner of the sofa, reaching every now and then for his wineglass.

And how dared he be so relaxed, when she was like a cat on hot bricks?

And the worst of it was that she really wanted to go to bed. She was being assailed by wave after wave of drowsiness, which she had to conceal at all costs, she thought resentfully, putting her hand to her mouth in an attempt to stifle yet another yawn.

‘Why don’t you stop struggling, carissima, and admit you are tired?’

He was watching her, she realised angrily, with open amusement and had probably been doing so for several minutes, book discarded, hands loosely clasped behind his head as he leaned back on the cushions.

‘I’m not a bit tired,’ she denied hurriedly and saw his smile widen.

‘I am delighted to hear it,’ he told her softly. He got up and put the guard in front of the fire, then moved round the room, checking the door and turning off the lamps. Making the usual preparations for the night, as if he’d done so a hundred times before. Whereas, in fact…

Her mind closed off at that point. She sat where she was, unmoving, her whole body taut, aware of the uneven barrage of her heart against her ribs.

At last he came to her in the fire glow, reaching down for her small, cold hand and drawing her to her feet.

‘It is time for bed, mia bella,’ he said quietly and led her upstairs to the room where the shadows waited.

CHAPTER SEVEN

EMILY stood in the middle of the room, staring down at the floor, anticipating the moment when he would touch her and the fight to resist the lure of her senses would start once again. Along with the realisation that she was by no means sure of victory.

Rafaele came to stand behind her and she felt him remove the band that confined her hair and begin to free it from its tight braid. His fingers were gentle and very thorough, combing through the silky strands until they hung loose about her face and shoulders.

In some strange way, she thought dazedly, her skin warming, it was one of the most intimate things he had ever done to her. Almost more so than sex itself.

Then he lifted the scented auburn mass in both hands and she felt his lips caress the exposed and vulnerable nape of her neck.

Her entire body shivered at the brush of his mouth and she wondered if he knew this, and realised it was all too likely. That he knew everything about female bodies, their responses and reactions. Knew—and exploited his knowledge. So any sign of weakness on her part could be her ultimate downfall, and she must never forget that. Never.

It also seemed, from the smoothness of his skin against hers, that he’d had the promised shave—presumably while she’d been preparing dinner.

Advance planning, she thought, digging her nails into the palms of her hands. He said softly into her ear, ‘Don’t make me wait too long, cara,’ and moved away, but only, she realised at once, to undress. She knew, too, that he expected her to do the same, there in front of him. And that there was no real reason to hesitate, because he’d already seen her naked. Had already touched and kissed every inch of her, his astonishing patience pitched against her stubborn will.

She had nothing left to hide from him, but her hands were still slow and reluctant as she tugged her sweater over her head and tossed it on to the nearby chair. She unzipped her cords and eased them down over her hips, stepping out of them in order to do the same with her tights, all the time keeping her back resolutely turned to him.

His approach was soundless. She only realised he was standing close behind her when she reached round awkwardly to unhook her bra and felt him move her hands aside so that he could perform the task himself.

He slid the straps from her shoulders, kissing the faint marks they’d left on her skin, then removed the little garment completely, dropping it to the floor.

He drew her slowly back against him, her head resting against his bare chest, letting her feel the heat of his aroused body. His lips feathered kisses down the side of her throat as his hands cupped her small firm breasts, his fingertips drawing lingering circles round her nipples, making them rise proudly like dusky roses in bud.

‘Bellissima.’ His voice was husky. ‘Deliciosa.’

He let one hand move slowly downwards with smooth and deliberate purpose, his fingers slipping under the edge of her lacy briefs to seek the silken triangle at the joining of her thighs.

‘No.’ Her voice was a gasp as her hand fastened round his wrist, halting him, forbidding him to go any further. ‘Stop—please.’

He paused, his fingers splayed across the flat plane of her belly.

He said quietly, ‘Tell me something, Emilia mia. Why are you so afraid of pleasure?’

‘It has nothing to do with fear,’ Emily said stonily, aware that she was shaking inside. She pulled away from him, drawing a deep breath. Staring in front of her. Not at him. Not daring to look at him.

‘You take three years from my life, you destroy my hopes of future happiness, and then you take me.’ Her voice rose. ‘And I’m supposed to be grateful—and willing?’

She shook her head. ‘In your dreams, signore. Besides, being mauled by you is far from my idea of pleasure,’ she added defiantly.

For a long moment Raf did not move or speak. Then suddenly he was no longer holding her—touching her, and she was aware of him moving away across the room. Of the slight creak of the mattress as he got into bed.

For a few heartbeats she paused uncertainly, then fumbled off her briefs, putting them with the rest of her clothing.

Drawing a deep, jagged breath, she turned and walked to the bed, resisting the impulse to cover herself with her hands. But far from gloating avidly over her approach, Raf was lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling.

Emily slid hurriedly under the covers, pulling them up over her shoulders, then lay still, waiting for him to reach for her.

But he did not move and, as the long minutes passed, her tension grew and the deeper inner trembling intensified.

At last he turned his head and looked at her, the hazel eyes cool and steady.

‘I will make a bargain with you, Emilia,’ he said. ‘Kiss me and I will ask nothing else from you tonight.’

Emily stared at him, then found a voice from somewhere, almost squeaky with surprise. ‘You’ll let me—just go to sleep—for a kiss?

‘I have just said so.’

‘But I thought you wanted…’ She didn’t just think—she knew. When he’d been holding her just now the evidence of his desire for her had been frank and unequivocal.

‘Undoubtedly I did.’ His mouth twisted. ‘But I find I am no longer in the mood to treat you as gently as I should, given your inexperience.’ He added coldly, ‘So perhaps I deserve a little of your gratitude, after all, if my only demand is a kiss. You are escaping lightly, believe me.’

He paused. ‘Do you accept my offer, Contessa?’

‘I—I suppose so.’

‘Bene.’ He waited for a moment, watching her, brows raised. ‘But you will need to come closer, cara mia,’ he added, his tone almost bored. ‘Sadly, it is impossible for you to reach me from such a distance.’

Biting her lip, Emily edged warily across the bed. When she was within range, she leaned over him, her lips brushing swiftly and awkwardly against his in the most fleeting of contact.

There was a tingling silence, then he said softly, ‘That may be your idea of a kiss, Emilia, but it is not mine. There is ice enough outside the house at this time. I do not require it here in my bed.’

She stiffened, needled by the faint derision in his voice. ‘I’m sorry if you’re not satisfied…’

‘Now that, as we both know, is a lie,’ he said. ‘But now is not the time to discuss my level of satisfaction, or lack of it, and what you might do to improve it.’ He allowed her a moment to assimilate that, then added, ‘At the moment, you are simply required to—try a little harder.’

He raised a hand, cupping the back of her head, his fingers tangling in her hair, so that she could not pull away. ‘So, kiss me again, cara mia,’ he invited quietly. ‘Kiss me as you did on that long ago night in your father’s house.’

‘But—but that was when I thought you were—someone else.’ Her voice was a breath.

‘Did you truly, bella mia?’ Raf asked cynically. ‘I have often wondered how that could be possible. But, if it is easier for you, pretend once more that I am someone else. I promise I will not even ask his name.’

His hand was impelling her down to him, bringing her ever nearer to his waiting mouth.

And this time, as her lips touched the firm warmth of his, she found herself allowing the contact to lengthen—even to linger. Because, she told herself in growing confusion, this was what he wanted. And it was such a minor demand for him to make after—after all those others.

Suddenly he moved, reversing their positions smoothly and swiftly, so that she was lying on the pillow, looking up at him, her startled eyes widening.

And then he was kissing her, his mouth moving on hers slowly and achingly at first, then with a hard, deepening urgency—a hunger that made the soft, trembling contours of her lips feel bruised.

Until she could scarcely breathe. Or think rationally any more.

Or why else would she have found that, against all expectation, she wanted to return the sensuous pressure that he was subjecting her to? That she needed to learn the lines of his mouth as thoroughly as he was exploring hers? And, maybe, even more…

And then, with almost shocking suddenness, it was over, and he was lifting himself away from her.

‘A great improvement,’ he said in a tone so impersonal that Emily, still dazed, almost expected him to give her marks out of ten. He ran a careless finger down the curve of her cheek. ‘Now, sleep well, cara,’ he added lightly. ‘And may all your dreams be sweet.’

He turned to switch off the lamp, leaving her with an unwanted, but potent image of the long, supple line of his naked back before the room was plunged into darkness.

Emily turned away too, almost scuttling to the opposite side of the bed, lying, taut and breathless, on its furthermost edge as she waited for her heartbeat to regain its normality.

She was shaken to the core by her own reaction. Bitterly ashamed of her own weakness. And surprised too that Raf had actually kept his word, had not taken further advantage of her.

Yet Emily knew she had by no means escaped unscathed. That there was an even more worrying aspect of the situation that she somehow had to confront.

That long ago night…

Those were the words that were now coming back to haunt her. His unfounded but still disturbing suggestion that she might have gone into his arms knowing full well that he was not Simon.

Indicating that her female instinct should have stopped her before she’d got within a yard of him, let alone thrown herself at him.

But that’s nonsense, she told herself. It was dark, and I was very young and very stressed—nervous as hell—not thinking straight. Besides, it was Simon I was expecting. No one else. Because Raf was with Jilly. I—I knew that. Knew that, if she had her way, there was no reason to expect him back before breakfast.

And, anyway, as soon as I realised my mistake, I pushed him away instantly—immediately, she thought defensively. Of course I did. Although I admit that it should not have got to that stage. That obviously I should have known as soon as he first touched me. And that it should never—ever—have gone as far as it did.

But it was an honest error. And Raf has no right and no reason to imply anything different. As if I’d wanted to find out what being in his arms—being kissed by him—might feel like.

Which, she told herself hotly, is a shameful inference to draw from an—an innocent blunder.

Yet suddenly Emily found she was shivering, wrapping her arms round her body in an involuntary gesture of self-protection.

Because she was bitterly aware that she’d never been able to forget that brief moment in time, no matter how hard she’d tried. That she’d seen it as a warning not to allow him anywhere near her again.

But was that because she could not trust him, as Raf himself had proved only last night, justifying all her worst fears? Or was it—could it be—because she was afraid she might not be able to trust herself?

Could it be possible that there’d been one second—one infinitesimal moment on that long ago night when she hadn’t wanted to step back? When, incredibly, she’d wanted to press herself closer to the hardening danger of his body and offer her parted lips for his deeper exploration?

She hadn’t been unfaithful to Simon—of course not. But instinct had told her she’d approached some danger zone that she hadn’t known existed till then. So she’d buried all the doubts—the unanswered questions far, far down in her psyche.

But now Raf’s mocking challenge had brought them all raging back to the surface to torment her, testing the validity of her claim of ‘an honest error’.

Yes, it was still a terrible mistake to have made, but whether it was ‘honest’ or ‘innocent’ was now wide open to question.

Because she’d never managed to completely erase the memory of that barely discernible flicker of physical excitement.

And, if she was being truly honest, it wasn’t the only time that she’d reacted in that particular way.