Читать книгу From Venice With Love - Алисон Робертс - Страница 16

GABRIELLA found him in his office, already back from Paris on their return. ‘Raoul?’ He turned at her voice. ‘Am I interrupting? Is this a bad time?’

‘No, of course not,’ he said, closing down his laptop. ‘Come in.’ He rose to meet her, kissing her cheeks, warming her senses with his signature scent, bringing back last night’s memories in a rush that had her cheeks flushing and her body preparing all over again for their coupling. ‘You are a sight for sore eyes, Bella. I’m sorry I could not have been with you today.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, only a half lie. While it had mattered at the time, now it merely increased her resolve that what she was doing was right. Time and distance were what she needed, despite what her body kept trying to tell her. ‘How did your business go?’

He waved his hand as if dismissing it. ‘A nuisance, nothing more, but unfortunately it had to be dealt with today.’ He took her hand. ‘I hated to leave you like I did but I was loath to wake you, knowing how little sleep you got. Can you forgive me?’

She tried to ignore the flush of heat that flowed into her arm at his touch but there was no ignoring the heat that infused her face. They both knew he was the reason she’d had so little sleep. ‘I found you a present,’ she said, wanting to change the subject before she thought about what he could do to her to earn her forgiveness. ‘While we were in Murano.’

He stilled, sensing something was not quite right. She was nervous and distant, as though she’d erected a wall between them in the hours since he’d left her sleeping. He cursed the impulse that had seen him take off for Paris rather than handle what was happening here. But then, something had changed last night, something that he had not planned, and he had needed the space to deal with it.

‘You do not need to buy me gifts,’ he said. You would not want to, if you only knew …

‘It’s nothing. Here,’ she said, holding out the package to him.

He regarded it solemnly before taking the surprisingly heavy gift, strangely touched by this unexpected gesture.

‘Open it,’ she urged. Once again he caught a glimpse of that enthusiasm she had, that bright spark of life he’d once found so challenging, a quality he now associated with her and that he looked for—because it would mean his dark heart had not extinguished that spark, despite his early moodiness. ‘Unless,’ she added, a little sadly, he thought, ‘You would rather open it later?’

‘No,’ he said with a shake of his head, not wanting her to be sad now, knowing that there was enough disappointment and sadness ahead of her. Cursing himself, because with Garbas free he could see no way around it. ‘I want to see what you have found me.’

So he slipped off the ribbon and peeled open the tissue paper until he held the cool, glass weight of her gift in the palm of his hand.

‘It’s a paperweight,’ she said unnecessarily. ‘I thought you could use it in your office. It reminded me of you.’

He lifted it to the light, examining the mix of dark and light, the skilful melding and weaving of the different levels of colour with a core of intense red at its centre. With an electric charge up his spine, he saw what she so wanted to see.

She was wrong, of course.

‘Do you always see the good in people, Bella?’ he said, looking at her. Even when they are not good? Even when they want something from you that you should not have to give?

She looked confused. ‘I just wanted to give you a gift, Raoul. I’m sorry if you don’t like it; I just wanted to get you something to remember me by.’

And suddenly every hair on the back of his neck stood up. ‘Why would I need something to remember you by? You’re not going somewhere?’

‘I have to go, Raoul. I’ve had the best time—really I have—but I’m in your way here; I know. And besides, I have a job to go back to. I can’t stay here for ever, after all.’

He had blown it. There was a tightness in his throat, but it was no match for the ball tearing its way through his gut. She had been eating out of the palm of his hand and he had blown it by leaving her alone because he had had to go to Paris.

No, that wasn’t true; he could have handled his business from here, over the phone, could have given his contacts new leads to follow up in their investigations. It was because he had been afraid of getting too close—and now it had cost him. ‘When are you planning on leaving?’

‘Tomorrow. I’ve booked my ticket. Marco said he’d take me to the airport.’

So soon!

‘Are you mad at me, Bella, for abandoning you today? I knew I should not have left you that way …’

‘No, Raoul. It is more than that. This has been a lovely escape, truly, but I need to get back to my life. It is not like we won’t see each other again, surely?’

‘Of course,’ he said, knowing there was no way he could let her return to Paris. Not yet. Garbas would need funds and plenty of them if he was to mount any kind of serious legal defence against the criminal charges already laid against him. He would have his dogs watching. He would know the moment she returned home. And then he would make up some excuse for her about why the charges had been laid in the first place, and ask if she could lend the money from her inheritance to fund his defence.

It wasn’t going to happen.

Which meant he could not let her go.

‘I’m sorry you feel you must leave,’ he said cautiously, careful not to overplay his hand. ‘But if that is what you believe you must do …’

‘I must go, Raoul,’ she said, though her eyes were tinged with sadness, as if she was half-disappointed that he did not argue the point. He took heart from the observation, realising that maybe all was not lost after all. ‘My stay in Venice has been wonderful, but I have to return to the real world at some stage.’

‘In that case,’ he said, knowing that he only had one more shot at this, ‘We must not waste a moment of tonight.’

Raoul had suggested formal for the dress code, so she decided on the golden gown Natania had admired that first day that now seemed so long ago. They took a vaporetto to Lido, to the five-star Excelsior hotel, a palace of a hotel, no stranger to royalty, film stars and other celebrities. Gabriella tried not to think about how devastating Raoul looked in his black dinner suit but in the end she had to. It was either that or think about how easily Raoul had taken the news she was leaving tomorrow. Maybe he had been expecting it. Maybe even hoping for it.

She wasn’t disappointed, she told herself, it was simply validation that she was doing the right thing.

Even if the thought of leaving him hurt like hell.

What had she expected, though? That Raoul would beg her to stay? No, that was pure fantasy. One night in a man’s bed didn’t mean for ever. Phillipa was right, she needed distance. They both did. She was doing the right thing …

They dined in the restaurant upstairs. Sparkling champagne and the finest wines provided the lubrication, a pianist playing Vivaldi the musical score, and Venice provided the spectacular view—a view that only got better as the sun set behind the city, transforming it into a city of gold. Gabriella forgot about being disappointed because, even though she was going home tomorrow, there could be no better view in the world and no one better to share it with.

After their meal the pianist started playing dance music and Raoul put down his wine glass. ‘Dance with me, Bella,’ he said, and there was no way she could say no. Why should she? Besides, she was flying home tomorrow; she and Raoul both knew it. There was no reason she should not enjoy tonight.

So she let him take her in his arms and let him masterfully, superbly, spin her around the dance floor until her blood was dizzy. In his arms, she felt his strength and his darkness, and it was hard to separate either, just as it was impossible to separate reality from fantasy. Because this was how she wanted to remember him, a swirling, evocative explosion of feeling.

So they danced, and afterwards she couldn’t remember if there had been anyone else on the dance floor with them, absorbed so totally in the man she was dancing with, and it didn’t matter because she was with him. He held her close, so close that she could barely breathe, so close that there was no distance between them, no barrier to the growing heat, the building tension as they whirled, entwined, around the dance floor.

Would he take her to bed and make love to her again tonight? She wanted nothing more to end this night, other than a promise to meet again soon. And meanwhile every sensation, every powerful, evocative feeling, was stored away in Gabriella’s memory so that until that time she could pull them out and examine them all over again, one by precious one, in the nights when she would inevitably be alone.

Meanwhile, she lost all sense of time. She only knew that the sun had long departed and the moon had risen and she feared the night must come to an end. But he saved her from the end just yet and suggested a walk along the beach before they went home.

She slipped her jewelled sandals off before venturing onto the sand and he offered her his hand so she might carry her sandals and the skirt of her gown without losing balance. She slipped her hand into his. She saw his heated smile and felt his warm grip and let both seep deep into her bones. So what that she was leaving tomorrow? She was going to enjoy every moment of this last night with him.

Just one last night …

The beach was long and almost empty, the season late; what day trippers there had been had long since departed. The beach was theirs, a long strip of sand glowing under the light of the full moon, the air balmy and still, the dark waters laced with silver.

‘Did I tell you,’ he said after they’d walked hand in hand in companionable silence for some way, ‘How beautiful you look tonight?’

Her breath hitched, her heart fluttered in her chest like a winged beast. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I don’t believe you did.’

‘Then I am remiss. So let me tell you now.’ He stopped walking then and turned to her. ‘Tonight you are more beautiful than I have ever seen you. More beautiful than the sun setting over the most beautiful city in the world, more beautiful than the pearl of a moon hanging heavy in the sky.’

There was so much power in his words, so much depth and feeling, that her heart almost burst from her chest to embrace him. But at the same time she knew she dared not believe him. ‘Thank you, Raoul, but I wish you wouldn’t say such things.’

‘Why shouldn’t I tell you what I think?’

‘Because I am leaving tomorrow, and you will only make it harder—for me, at least.’

‘Then don’t leave.’

She laughed a little uncertainly and turned, starting to walk back the other way. ‘We’ve been through this. I have to go. I can’t stay here for ever.’

‘And what about what happened last night? Didn’t that mean anything to you?’

‘Hey, I wasn’t the one who left this morning without saying goodbye.’

‘I knew you were angry with me.’

‘No. I’m not angry.’ She thought about the talk she’d had with Phillipa earlier today, the sense her friend had made, even though the thought of leaving and missing out on more nights like she’d spent last night …But, no, space and distance were what she needed now. Head space. Physical distance. ‘Last night was amazing. But everything has happened so quickly, I need some time to work it all out. To work out what I want.’

He took her hand and squeezed it. ‘I understand.’

They walked a little way to the sound of the sea lapping at the shore, music and laughter wafting on the breeze from a party somewhere up the coast, and she thought that was the end of the matter until he said, ‘Can I let you in on a secret?’

She turned to him. ‘Of course.’

He stopped her and took her hand to his mouth, pressing his lips against her palm, sending a sizzle all the way to her toes. ‘A long time ago, I made a promise to myself. Last night, in your bed, I was tempted to break it.’

She shook her head, confused, laughing just a little to try to ease the tension. ‘I’m not sure I understand.’

‘You see, I do not break promises easily. And wanting to break a promise made me hurt you, I think, by leaving this morning without a word.’

‘You had business, you said.’

‘I did. But I did not have to leave you to do it. I was afraid of what might happen if I stayed.’

‘Raoul,’ she said, her heart tripping, ‘What are you saying?’

‘A long time ago I vowed never to marry again. I promised myself that I would never take another wife. But last night, in your bed, I came close to breaking that vow—so close that it scared me.’

Every cell in her body froze; her lungs squeezed tight, so tight she could barely get out the words. ‘I don’t think I understand.’

‘I panicked this morning. I behaved stupidly and left you, and I hurt you and made you angry when that was the last thing I wanted to do. What I really wanted to do was ask you, Bella, if you would do me the honour of becoming my wife.’

‘Raoul …’

‘I know I don’t deserve it, Bella. I know I am the last person you would want to marry, and the least deserving, but would you consider my proposal anyway? Would you marry me?’

‘You’re serious. You’re actually serious.’

‘I have never been more serious in my life.’

She looked up at him, his eyes so intent that for a second she was tempted—oh, so tempted—to fall into those dark depths and believe him.

But, no! She shook her head and started walking down the beach away from him, her heart thumping like a drum, making so much noise it was no surprise she couldn’t think straight. ‘Raoul, that’s just crazy.’

‘Don’t you think I know that?’ she heard him call. ‘Don’t you see why I couldn’t face you this morning?’

No. She couldn’t think. And she couldn’t see that. She couldn’t see anything, not with the sudden tears streaming down her face as she stumbled along the sand.

She wasn’t even sure what she was running from. Didn’t she want Raoul to want her? Except that it almost seemed too much, too soon. Too perfect. Too imperfect. Oh God, what should she believe?

‘Bella!’ he yelled, catching her arm, pulling her to him.

‘You didn’t want me here,’ she remembered as she slammed into his hard chest. ‘You never wanted me to come to Venice in the first place, and yet now you tell me you want to marry me?’ She punched him on the arm, on the shoulder, would have punched him on his chin if his wrist hadn’t snagged hers and dragged it down where her fist could do no damage. ‘So what are you trying to prove by asking me to marry you?’

‘What are you trying to prove? I’ve told you I want to marry you. Why do you fight that? After the night we shared, why can’t you believe that?’

She shook her head. ‘That was one night! We need more time. It’s too soon.’

‘I thought it was too soon. How could I think of breaking a promise I had made for life after such a short time with you? Don’t you think I have tortured myself all day for leaving you like I did? For leaving you thinking I didn’t care?

‘But let me make it plain—this is not about one night. Because I wanted you the moment I first set eyes on you. I wanted you then, Bella. I want you now. And I am willing to break every vow I have ever made in my life to have you, if you will only have me.’

‘But wouldn’t it be more sensible to wait?’

‘Why wait, when we feel this way? Why live apart when we are made to be together? Because if I am not mistaken you feel it too, don’t you? You feel this magic between us. Do you really believe this is going to go away? Why should we wait when we are so good together?’

There was something exciting about his words, something urgent and powerful that tugged on that part of her that wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe his words were true—maybe because they so closely mirrored her own feelings.

She didn’t really want to leave. Logic told her she should, but her heart would always stay here with Raoul, no matter how far she moved, no matter where she lived.

But still he hadn’t said the words that she so wanted to hear. ‘You tell me how much I mean to you, and yet you haven’t told me that you love me.’

‘Haven’t I?’ He took her in his arms and kissed her then, so deep and deliciously that it felt like his kiss had touched her very soul and sworn his love. ‘But then, if I didn’t love you, why else would I want to marry you?’

He kissed her again and she knew she had not imagined it the first time—that there was no way he could not love her, not when his kiss touched her so deeply, not when she knew in her heart he was the man for her.

It might be crazy, rash and all kinds of madness, but it was a madness they clearly both shared—and what point was logic and waiting when what you wanted was clearly right?

‘You are really sure about this?’ she asked one final time to be sure of what he was asking. ‘You really are serious about wanting to marry me?’

‘I have never been more serious in my life.’

And the zipper of heat that flushed out from her spine confirmed that she had no choice, no choice at all …

‘Then I will marry you, Raoul. Please, yes, I will marry you.’

‘I so wish Umberto could be here,’ she mused as Phillipa handed her the bouquet, a glorious rose concoction in soft apricot, peach and cream colours from which long ribbons fluttered. It was two minutes before the wedding ceremony was due to get underway and they were expecting a knock at the door at any moment to let them know it was time. Meanwhile she had time to think about Umberto and a moment they had both missed out on.

‘He would be so proud of you,’ Phillipa said.

Gabriella could only agree. Umberto would have had no objections to her marrying Raoul. He would have approved wholeheartedly, no doubt, which was some consolation, given he was not here to give her away. She just wished he could be here to see how she looked today.

The beaded gown clung to her body like a second skin and the hours she’d put in today at the spa and hair salon had been well worth it. Her skin was smooth, her nails perfectly manicured and her hair had been pulled up into a classic style, sleek and polished, with a few tendrils coiling around her face, a face that today even she conceded came close to beautiful. That was probably more due to the fact she couldn’t stop smiling rather than her perfectly applied make-up, but whatever it was it was working.

Today she felt like a princess from some long-ago fairy tale about to marry her fairy-tale prince. And the only thing that could have made her feel better was her grandfather being here to see her get married.

‘Strange, really, how it was Umberto’s death that brought Raoul and me together. Do you think he’ll be here somewhere today watching over us?’

‘I know he will. And he will be as happy for you as the rest of us are.’

She smiled as she looked down at the bouquet. ‘You know, I really thought you might try to talk me out of marrying Raoul, but you’ve been fantastic. Thank you.’

‘Why on earth do you say such things?’

‘Because you told me to wait and to take my time, and now I’ve gone and done neither. I thought you’d be lining up to tell me I’m about to make the mistake of my life.’

Her friend laughed. ‘Okay, so I thought you were being rash and I was worried about you. But I’ve seen you with Raoul, and do you really think I would interfere in anything, or in your dealings with anyone, who had obviously made you so happy? It is clear Raoul loves you with all his heart.’

Gabriella wrapped her arm around her friend and squeezed her tight, for she had needed to hear that. ‘Thank you so much for that. Because it is crazy, how fast this has all happened. But I love him so much. I love him with all my heart. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.’

She turned away then, pretending to be interested in the sparkle of the diamond-encrusted pearl earrings in her lobes, wondering where the hell the knock on the door she was waiting for to tell her it was time to start the ceremony was, knowing she should take courage from her friend’s words.

It is clear Raoul loves you with all his heart.

Was it clear? She wanted it to be true. Because still he had not said the words to her. And then she thought again of the words he had said to her, letting them lend her strength …

Some things do not need to be said for us to know them to be true.

And she knew he would say it. He was just waiting for the right moment. Like tonight.

A sizzle of raw heat slid down her spine and sparked a fire deep in her belly. Tonight they would consummate their marriage in that place where it had first happened, under the lover’s alcove.

She could hardly wait.

She heard a knock on her door and felt a hand on her arm, seeing Phillipa in the reflection in the mirror. ‘It’s time,’ her friend said.

The chapel was lit with burnished golden light, the sun already descending over Venice and gilding the assembled guests. There weren’t a lot, not that Gabriella noticed anything once she saw Raoul standing at the front waiting for her, his hair blue-black under the light, slicked back into his signature ponytail, his dark suit showing his height and the breadth of his shoulders to perfection.

And, although she believed in Raoul with all her heart, although she knew that he loved her, still she looked for some kind of sign—something to confirm that she was not acting crazy, agreeing to marry a man so quickly. Something to confirm he was the man she wanted, who wanted her.

She watched him say something to Marco standing alongside him, when the music heralding her entrance started. Marco glanced up and stopped him with just a tap to his shoulder and a nod, and Raoul stilled and turned around.

Their eyes meet across the small chapel and she felt the impact of his like a blast of heat. Raoul, her soul seemed to whisper, relief infusing every part of her as their gazes tangled and meshed, knowing nobody could look at her that way unless he truly loved her. Unless he was her soul mate. Nobody else could make her feel so alive, so desired.

Phillipa turned to her and beamed. ‘Oh my God,’ she said. ‘Did you see the way he looked at you? This guy is seriously in love.’ And then she threw her smile and turned, setting off slowly down the aisle.

‘I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride.’

It was done.

Raoul felt the rush of success lift the weight of a promise made to a dying man clean from his shoulders in a tidal surge. But then he made the mistake of looking down at his new bride, who was watching him through that veil with those damned cat-like eyes, anticipating his kiss, full of expectant hopes, dreams and wishes; the tide crashed right back over him.

‘I love you,’ she mouthed and he wanted to run right then and there from the chapel. Guilt crashed over him. Hadn’t he done enough? He’d married her, hadn’t he?

He’d never wanted her love.

But people were waiting; the priest was waiting, and she was waiting. She looked more like a goddess than any woman had a right to, every diamond hanging from her ear, every bead on her dress, even the moisture in her eyes, catching the light so that she sparkled before him like a glass of fine champagne waiting to be sipped.

So he forced himself to smile. Forced himself to look at her like a man who had realised his ultimate dream and had not just fulfilled a promise to a dying friend. He lifted the veil that separated them and dipped his head, curling a hand around her slim neck and trying not to think about how good she felt under his hand, how taut her skin was, how smooth. Then they kissed and he tried not to think about how good she tasted—sweet, ripe and willing. While the ‘willing’ was difficult enough to forget, it was her whispered, “I love you,” that tortured him the most.

Because she wouldn’t love him when this was over.

She would never speak to him again.

She would hate him for ever.

Anticipation bubbled in her veins as Raoul handed her into the vaporetto and then tucked her in beside him. The wedding and reception had been everything she’d ever dreamed of and more, every little girl’s fantasy come true. And now she was anticipating a wedding night that was her big-girl fantasy come true, the night she’d been dreaming of ever since he had proposed those few long weeks ago.

It was late, the moon already wearying of the night, and she didn’t mind at first that he had little to say. They’d spent a night talking, laughing and being congratulated, barely having time to speak to each other. So it was good to have the time to sit in the curve of his arm and contemplate the coming pleasures.

With every passing minute she felt anticipation coil and grow inside her. Tonight they would once again join the parade of nymphs, satyrs, gods and goddesses engaged in the act of love. The thought brought a secret smile to her face. She snuggled in closer to her new husband, breathing in his signature scent, relishing it, knowing that from tonight it was just one more pleasure at her disposal.

‘I love your scent,’ she murmured, nestling closer, thinking about returning to the palazzo and spending their wedding night in each other’s arms in the lover’s alcove. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of it.’

Something about the way his body stiffened and shifted against her made her look up. She noticed the lights around them looked wrong; they seemed to be heading away from Venice instead of towards it.

‘Where are we going?’ she asked, curiosity getting the better of her.

‘The airport.’

‘Raoul,’ she said, half-disappointed they were not going straight home to the apartment, half-delighted that he had gone to some trouble to make this night special. ‘You actually planned a honeymoon and you didn’t tell me? Where are we going?’

‘Spain.’

‘Tonight?’ she said with a tinge of regret. ‘But it’s already so late, and I was hoping …’

‘It’s not far,’ he said abruptly, apparently more interested in looking out to sea in the direction they were going than looking at her, and letting whatever she was hoping slide right on by. ‘You can sleep on the plane.’

She swallowed down the bubble of disappointment. It was thoughtful that he’d wanted to surprise her, really it was, but she didn’t want to sleep on a plane. Not tonight. Not when she’d been hoping that soon she would be once again lying with her new husband in her big, wide bed—their big, wide bed—amongst the nymphs and satyrs, joining them once again in their endless celebrations of the flesh, only this time as a married couple.

But, while it was sweet he’d wanted to find somewhere more special for their first married night together, something seemed wrong.

‘Is everything okay?’

‘Of course’

‘Are you sure? Something seems to be bothering you.’

‘It’s nothing,’ he said.

And then she remembered. ‘Didn’t your family have a place somewhere in Spain once?’ she asked, remembering a snippet from her past. His head snapped around towards her, but before she could read anything in his eyes his mobile phone rang.

He pulled it from his pocket and checked the caller ID before holding the phone up to his ear and turning away. ‘Excuse me, I must take this call …’

Gabriella jerked awake as the car came to a halt. She’d slept fitfully, first on the charter jet and then in the back of the car that had been waiting for them at the airport when they had landed.

‘We’re here,’ Raoul said beside her. She stretched and blinked, wondering where the resort was when she could see nothing through the gloom and swirling mist except a glimpse of grey stone walls that were just as quickly swallowed up again.

She yawned, bone weary, wondering what time it was as a light snapped on somewhere, turning the outside world a glaring white as her door was pulled open. ‘Marco,’ she said, shivering as he helped her alight to the misty outside world, a world that carried the scent of salt and sea and the sound of surf crashing somewhere nearby. ‘How did you get here so quickly?’

He nodded. ‘Natania and I left straight after the ceremony to get things ready. Welcome, Signora del Arco.’ Through her weariness shot a burst of pleasure. She was a married woman now and the idea was still so novel it sent a thrill coursing through her. A married woman, as of tonight—soon to be married in every sense of the word. She shivered again, this time less due to the cold and more to the anticipation of what was still to come.

‘Did you hear that, Raoul?’ she said, looking around for him, but he mustn’t have heard or was thinking about something else—because he was scowling, his features tight as he rounded the car from the other side.

‘Get the luggage, Marco,’ he snapped, before turning perfunctorily to her. ‘It’s cold out here. Let’s go inside.’

Something was definitely on his mind, she gathered. He’d been abrupt ever since they’d left the wedding. Or maybe he was just as tired as she. Still, she wished for the warmth of his arm around her or even the warm gesture of walking hand in hand. She realised he had barely touched her since the vaporetto trip across the water. ‘What is this place?’ she asked, still wearing her heels and cautiously following him up a short flight of ancient stone steps worn low by the footprints of a hundred generations. ‘Where exactly are we?’

‘Galicia,’ he said. ‘On the Atlantic coast of Spain.’

Around them the mist swirled, danced and kissed her bare skin with cold, damp lips, while above them rose high stone walls that looked grim and austere and that disappeared into the fog. The surf continued to crash unseen somewhere below.

A door opened before them, massive and heavy with enormous iron fittings. Natania was there to welcome them into the massive entrance hall, looking rumpled and sexy, but sullen with it, as though their arrival had inconveniently interrupted the other couple and she’d had to hastily pull her clothes back on.

‘Do you want something to eat?’ she asked unconvincingly, looking from one to the other. Gabriella waited, hoping Raoul would say they were going straight to bed.

‘You show Gabriella to her room,’ he surprised her by saying instead. ‘I’ll be in the study. Unless,’ he said, turning to her, ‘You’re hungry?’

She was too shocked for a moment to respond and she wasn’t sure what bothered her more: the talk of her room instead of ours, or the fact he was not coming with her. ‘Not at all, but …’

‘Then Natania will show you upstairs. You must be tired.’ He kissed her on the cheek, a platonic kiss, a benevolent kiss. A kiss that went nowhere near to being the kind of kiss she was looking for this night of all nights. ‘I will see you in the morning. Sleep well.’

‘This way,’ Natania said, bangles jangling on her wrists as she headed for a curving staircase, a sound that jangled on Gabriella’s already shot nerves. But there was no way she was going to follow the woman when her new husband was already going in the other direction.

‘Raoul!’ she said, her heels clicking on the flagstone floor. She caught up with him halfway across the floor, took his arm and attempted a smile and a laugh, as if there had been some kind of mistake. There had to have been some kind of mistake. ‘It’s our wedding night, Raoul. Surely you’re not going to spend it in the study working all night?’

Something in his expression softened. He touched a hand to her hair. ‘I’m sorry, Bella.’ It was the first time, she realised, he had used his pet name for her today. ‘But it is very late and there is something I must attend to. And I thought you would appreciate a rest after our long day.’

‘Can’t it wait?’

‘No.’

‘Then I will wait for you, Raoul. You have to sleep some time.’

He just looked at her, and his dark eyes looked so empty it chilled her all the way to her bones. ‘As you wish.’

She pushed up on her toes and kissed him on the lips, brazenly letting her breasts press against his chest, lingering there so could be in no way unclear as to whether she would rather sleep or make love, no matter how long his work took or what time he came in. ‘I wish.’

Natania was waiting for her on the stairs, her dark gypsy eyes missing nothing of the exchange.

‘He’ll come up when he’s finished,’ Gabriella said with a brightness she had to plaster on to make stick. ‘If you just show me the way.’

Natania said nothing, merely performed a slow blink of her wide eyes and turned to lead the way up the long staircase, her bangles again sounding too bright and discordant for the grim setting and Gabriella’s equally grim mood.

A long gallery met them lined with heavy drapes, heavier furniture and paintings of windswept cliffs and boiling seas. A castle featured in one, severe and solid, complete with battlements and turrets, clinging to the edge of the cliff like it was part of it. This castle? she wondered. It could be, judging from the interior, dark and brooding, like a slumbering giant waiting for the light. Not exactly the honeymoon resort she’d been anticipating. Then again, she thought with a pang of hurt, so far this was nothing like a honeymoon.

‘What is this place?’ she asked, catching Natania up outside a door.

‘Castillo Del Arco,’ she said, leading her into the big high-ceilinged room. ‘It is, Raoul’s other place.’

‘It’s very—grand,’ she said, wondering how she could subtly ask where her husband’s room was.

‘I hate it,’ the other woman said. ‘It is a bad place.’

Gabriella wandered into the vast room. So this was to be her room. Clearly it was not Raoul’s. It was too soft, with its patterned wallpaper and rich, red velvet curtains; a fireplace lit with gold flames ran along one wall, a four-poster bed standing proudly against its opposite, an ornately carved blanket box at its foot. There was a door alongside the bed, and she opened it, curious to see if it led into Raoul’s room—hoping—and immediately was disappointed when she found only an en suite.

Natania’s words finally wormed their way into her consciousness. She spun around, reminded of Phillipa’s warning in the frisson of fear that ran down her spine. ‘Bad? In what way?’

But Natania wasn’t listening. Marco had arrived with the luggage someone else had clearly packed for her and he was leaning down, kissing her.

Gabriella disappeared into the bathroom, feeling simultaneously shocked, breathless and guilty that she had witnessed the intimacy, even though logic told her she had done nothing wrong. I’m just tired, she told herself; strung out. She took a couple of deep breaths while she ran cold water over her wrists, willing the colour in her face to subside.

But there was no way she could will away her own desires, or the buzz of need that bloomed, insistent and pulsing, deep in her belly and tight in her breasts. For it should be Raoul with his mouth on hers; Raoul in her bedroom.

Damn.

Marco had left when she returned; Natania was busy unpacking her luggage. ‘There’s no point doing that,’ she told her. ‘We’ll only have to repack it all when I shift rooms tomorrow.’ Because there was no way she intended to let herself be shunted off into her own room another night. ‘Right now I just want to crawl into bed.’ Natania’s eyes flared with a wild flame that told her that was exactly what Natania intended herself—except she would not be spending the night alone in hers.

‘If you are sure …’

Gabriella just nodded, the beginning of a headache tugging at her temples. ‘You go.’ At least one of us might as well have a good night. She was just leaving when Gabriella remembered. ‘Natania, what did you mean when you said this was a bad place?’

The other woman gave her a look of such abject pity that she was almost crushed under the weight of it. ‘I am sorry, I should not have spoken of such things. Good night.’ And with that she was gone.

What things?

She prowled the room, wanting to shriek at the closed door, at the walls, the bed and the rich, dark drapes. She wanted to shriek with the insanity of it all. This was her wedding night. Her wedding night! And yet here she was, tucked away in a lonely room in a castle on some godforsaken stretch of coastline shrouded in mist.

And where the hell was her husband?

She threw off her sandals and flung them across the room, where they smacked into the wall and it was still nowhere near satisfying enough.

What the hell did he think he was doing?

Nobody worked on their wedding night. Nobody!

Thunder boomed in the distance, a low, rumbling growl that went on and on and echoed her own rumbling discontent. A flash of lightning painted the room with the curtains’ vivid red.

Damn it! Natania would know where he was. She should just have asked her. Barefoot, she rushed to the door and pulled it open to the darkened hallway. She could see nothing and nobody, until another clap of thunder that seemed to shake the very walls was followed by a light so bright it transformed night into day.

And there, at the end of the long passageway, she saw a shadowy figure—Natania?—disappearing into a room.

She called out to her but the sound was lost in the sudden crash of rain on the windows and the doors as the castle descended once again into blackness, only a thin, ghostly glow through a window at the end of the passageway providing any illumination.

She wanted to follow the woman, but right now she was probably already in the arms, if not the bed, of Marco. Did she really need to interrupt them in the act of love-making? Did she really need to remind herself of what she herself would have been doing—should have been doing—if only her husband had not decided to abandon her on their wedding night?

What would they think of her? The lonely bride, still in her wedding gown, searching desperately for her husband.

She had seen the pity in Natania’s eyes. Did she really need to see more?

The rain pelted down on the roof and walls until the pounding itself sounded like thunder. She shivered. It was freezing out here in the dark passageway; her head was thumping and she was tired beyond measure. Bone weary. Across the room the fire crackled in the hearth; the bed looked cosy and inviting. And down the end of the passage the thin, grey light was just a shade lighter. It was later than she thought. It would be dawn soon.

No wonder she was so tired. She would lie down for a while to get warm. And maybe Raoul would come to her when he had finished his work like she had asked him to. She would wait up for him.

And tomorrow—today—things would make more sense. They had to.

He stood at the rain-streaked windows, looking out into the bleak nothingness of the storm, wishing bleak nothingness for his mind to erase all thoughts of the woman lying upstairs waiting for him.

Right now she would be confused and angry. He could deal with those things, he expected them. It was the hurt he could not deal with; the hurt he knew she must be feeling.

But she was tired, she would sleep. And soon she would understand that this was the way it had to be.

‘It is done, Umberto,’ he said, gazing unseeingly into the night through the rain-streaked windows. ‘And I hope you are satisfied.’